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just-jordie-things · 1 year ago

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crushing - takuma ino

word count: 3k warnings: i think none summary: ino's not great at making moves and you're not great at picking up on them. either way, you're undeniably crushing on each other. a/n: this is my first ino fic! i don't usually post something immediately after finishing it but i really wanted feedback on this one before i wrote bigger n better fics for him :3 ___

Takuma Ino was not a desperate man.

At least he hoped he didn’t come off that way whenever he crossed paths with (y/l/n) (y/n). He really hoped he didn’t. Because every day he spent at Jujutsu Tech, he went out of his way to ‘accidentally’ bump into her as many times as possible.

His personal best was twenty-five. That day he’d stayed well past sunset to finish the paperwork he’d neglected, but he still stands by his choices.

Nanami claimed that if he had a crush on the young manager, then he should just ask her out already, but Ino didn’t think it was that easy. Not because he was nervous- of course not! He just wanted to be certain that she would agree to go out with him before making a move. That wasn’t a ridiculous notion, was it?

It wasn’t ridiculous. It just meant things moved… slowly.

“Ino, hey,”

(y/n’s) drawn out of her conversation with Maki when she sees the Grade Two Sorcerer approaching in the hall. There’s a soft smile of familiarity on her face, unlike the student beside her who rolled her eyes and slumped against the wall, knowing that it would take twice as long to have her paperwork looked over. This wasn’t the first time Maki had witnessed the perfect distraction that was Takuma Ino. It was already the fourth time this week, and just like every other time, (y/n) fell for it right away.

Just as he approaches the both of them, a look of confusion flashes across (y/n’s) face, and she tucks the forgotten paperwork against her chest as she tilts her head at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Yokohama? I thought you were assigned to that Grade One curse with the whole…” She pauses as she makes an indefinite shape with her hands, “Explosive thing?”

“I’m about to head out for it now, but, you know,” He shrugs his shoulders, a smile forming on his face the longer he looks at her.

The first time he’d laid eyes on her he’d done a cartoonish double take, which unfortunately Nanami bore witness to. She’d been walking and chatting animatedly with Ijichi- who seemed less passionate about the conversation but was an attentive listener nonetheless- and every time he’d seen her since, Ino felt the same lurch in his heart that was the desire to linger near her just a little longer.

Before he could finish his thought, Maki was speaking up first.

“You just wanted to show up late?” She asked dryly, her expression anything but amused by the sight of young love.

“I’m not late,” He chuckles nervously, shaking his head. “I just wanted to stop by my good luck charm before I left” He claims with a little more confidence before he grins at (y/n).

She laughs at the comment, and Maki can’t help but roll her eyes just a little bit. Typical. Surely she’d swoon over the flirty comment and then drop it completely, just like she always did.

“Yeah yeah,” She mused, just like Maki expected. “Go, don’t get yourself in trouble again. I don’t think Nanami will keep vouching for you”

“Sure he will,” Ino waves a dismissive hand, but judging from the way he’s already turning away and breaking into a jog, (y/n) and Maki can see through the nonchalant act. “But it’ll be quick! I’ll have the shortest report ever for you!” He hollers from down the hall.

(y/n’s) still chuckling once he’s out of sight. Maki huffs in aggravation.

“I can’t believe you lead that guy on. You’re gonna have to let him down easy if you don’t want him to have a stroke”

“What?” (y/n) shakes her head at the student’s accusation. “I don’t lead him on, we just get along”

“You lead him on” Maki deadpans. (y/n) holds her paperwork a little tighter against herself, and the defensive action doesn’t go unnoticed.

“This isn’t appropriate, I won’t allow for this to be a silly rumor of some s-”

“Gojo Sensei says that he’ll never make a move unless you do it first” Maki shrugs.

All professionalism flies out the window in an instant as (y/n’s) face goes blank, her eyes blinking wide as she stares back at the student in utter disbelief.

“He did?” She mumbles.

Maki nods in confirmation.

(y/n) glances around herself to ensure their conversation would be a private one, before shuffling forward and lowering her voice.

“Well… what else did he say?” ___

To say that (y/n) had a bit of a crush on the Auspicious Beast Summoner would be an understatement. From the day he’d fallen in front of her- literally, he fell down half a flight of stairs and she’d rushed to make sure he was alright- there was something exciting about him. He was so kind, and funny, and he so obviously went out of his way to talk to her that she slowly found her heart fluttering more and more whenever he was around.

All this time she’d thought he was just friendly, and was eager to have a companion at Jujutsu Tech that was his age. Why else would he spend so much time around a manager when there are much cooler, much stronger people around? It was no secret what he thought of Nanami, and while (y/n) was proud of her work, she simply couldn’t compete with the skill of a sorcerer.

Usually she wasn’t one to listen to rumors, especially from a source like Gojo Satoru. He may have been a friend-of-sorts to her, but that didn’t mean (y/n) trusted him for a second. Gojo was a good guy, but he was the kind of guy to stir the pot when he was bored, and playing matchmaker was just a game to him. So despite everything Maki had told her, she didn’t necessarily believe it. She was just curious, that’s all.

And the only reason she was headed off to Ino’s office after being notified he’d returned from his mission was just to address the rumors, that’s all. She was doing him a favor by letting him know what the other sorcerers were gossiping about. There couldn’t possibly be an ulterior motive laced in there as well.

His door is open when she reaches the small workspace, but he doesn’t seem to notice when she appears there, leaning into the door frame while she takes in the crude office.

Calling it an office didn’t even feel correct. There was a desk and a computer, and a semi-comfortable looking rolling chair that Ino was sitting in. He hadn’t realized there was a visitor at the door seeing as he had his head hanging over the back of it, his mask pulled down and his hands pressed into his face. (y/n) had to bite back the chuckle that threatened to come out of her, assuming there was more to report in his paperwork than he’d assumed and was now overwhelmed by it.

With a soft tap of her knuckles on the doorframe, (y/n) makes her presence known.

“Need some help?”

Ino jolts up so suddenly his chair is sent backwards, rolling away from the desk and tipping out of balance too, but he’s quick to steady himself, staring at her sudden figure at his door with wide eyes. It’s the only part of his expression she can make out, seeing as he’s still got his mask pulled over his face.

“(y/n)!” He greets her louder than he intended, but he had yet to shake off his surprise in seeing her. A fond smile tilts the corners of her mouth, unable to be helped as she watches him awkwardly scramble in his seat. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to consider leaving if you were crying under there” She teases, finally stepping foot into the room. Her eyes wander the bare gray walls, a slight frown taking over at how empty the whole space feels.

“No, I’m not-” Before he continues, Ino’s quick to yank his mask off his face, pulling it off his head completely and dropping it on his desk. “What brings you here?” He changes the subject completely, his eyes never leaving her figure as she wanders around the room as if looking for something.

He realizes then that she’s never seen his office- not that there was much to see, as she was coming to find- but nonetheless it’s odd that she’s the one approaching him for once. It was always Ino searching around the halls of Jujutsu Tech for her, not the other way around.

“So empty,” (y/n) comments quietly, and he’s not sure if she was talking to herself or him. “You don’t like to decorate?” She asks, this time turning to him.

“I’m not in here very much,” He admits, a sheepish smile on his face. “I take most of my paperwork home. If I’m here I’m not usually in the office”

“Yeah,” (y/n) smiles softly, ducking her head to hide the way her face warms up. “That’s cause you’re usually trying to bother me”

She doesn’t see it, but Ino’s face lights up. He bears a wide grin and his eyes gleam with excitement. She was acting quite out of character today. Usually he was the one teasing her. This was a real treat.

“Bother?” He repeats, standing up from his chair and rounding his desk to lean against it, completely ignoring the half-written report on his computer that he hadn’t hit save on in a while. “I don’t seem to remember ever bothering you”

She rolls her eyes, finally looking up at him, and Ino thinks he could combust from excitement. She’s blushing, which he’s not sure he’s ever seen before, and he can tell she’s fighting back a bigger smile behind the small one she shows him.

“Well what would you call it then?” She asks, still struggling to bite back a grin that mirrors his. So much joy poured out of him it was difficult to fight the way it took her by the soul and forced her to feel nothing but warmth and butterflies.

“Obviously I was romancing you,” Ino replies without missing a beat, surprising even himself with the blunt truth. Besides the way her eyes round into saucers, (y/n) doesn’t really react to the statement. “Not my fault you’re a hard person to flirt with sometimes” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, and then tucks his hands into his pockets.

(y/n) blinks a few times, staring him down like she was suddenly an expert in body language.

“I am?” She asks, a small laugh escaping her at the suggestion. “Because maybe I didn’t know you were flirting” She says with a shrug of her own.

Ino gapes back at her, unable to keep up with the chill facade when she says something so ridiculous.

“What do you mean you didn’t know?” He asks, and she laughs again, finally losing the battle to the grin on her face. “Was I not obvious enough? You know that even Gojo was trying to get me to-”

“Yeah, I know,” (y/n) says quietly, but it’s effective in getting him to shut up. “One of his students might’ve told me some rumors they heard from him” She explains.

“What!?” Embarrassment floods his features. “Who? I want names-”

“Can’t, teacher-student confidentiality and all” She teases.

She’s learning it was quite fun to not be on the receiving end of the playful banter. In the past it was always Ino with the perfect quip or joke to have her flustered for the rest of the day, even if she wouldn’t show it. Knowing he was actually incredibly easy to mess with felt like knowing his weakness.

“You’re not a teacher” He deadpans. She laughs again.

“Well, I actually came to let you know that certain sorcerers here were spreading rumors to slander your good name,” She tells him matter of factly. “But it appears those rumors are actually true, so they’re not really rumors, huh?”

Ino rolls his eyes, but it’s in no way directed at her. He makes a mental note to bring this up to Nanami to add to the very long list of grievances caused by Gojo Satoru.

(y/n) steps close to him, linking her fingers together behind her back as she finds the courage to hold eye contact with him.

“Why didn’t you just ask me out?” She asks.

He hates that she tilts her head to the side just so. She did it on occasion when she was confused about something, and Ino’s sure that she’s not even aware that she had that tendency, but every time she did it he was so overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her that most of the time he had to completely walk away from her.

But they’re in his office, having a conversation he really didn’t want to walk away from. If he ran now, there would be no coming back from it, and his intrigue in how she felt about him outweighed the aggravation she caused him when she looked that pretty.

He’s staring at her without saying anything, and he knows it’s been a few seconds too long to be comfortable, but it’s hard to care. She’s close enough to him that he can smell her perfume and see how every strand of hair falls over left shoulder and he can’t help but take in every pretty sight of her.

He once swore he wasn’t a desperate man, hence his patience in waiting while he tried to figure out how she felt before he made a move, but standing here now, what’s one promise in the grand scheme of life?

So he leans forward off his desk a bit, desperation getting the best of him.

“Would you have agreed?”

She raises her chin, the apples of her cheeks getting rosy in color despite her trying to play it cool.

“I asked you first”

“I asked you second”

That had her bursting out in laughter, hands falling to her hips.

“Oh, real mature!” She says through a fit of bubbly giggles.

It’s cute. It was so cute in fact, Ino just couldn’t take it anymore. The fun banter he’d tried to establish had now warped into his own personal hell.

And hell didn’t even have any boring office decorations, no succulents, no photo frames, not even a calendar.

“Just answer the question,” He says, and it comes out as more of a plea than he means for it to, but he doesn’t bother trying to compensate for it, or taking it back. “Would you have agreed to go out with me?”

He has a hopeful look in his eye that only seems to gleam more with every second that passes without her response. (y/n) softens, the warmth in her chest spreading throughout her entire body and making her melt like putty. It was almost pathetic, how quickly this little crush she’d harbored for the sorcerer had grown into something more genuine than she’s ever felt for anyone before.

“Yeah,” She answers simply, quietly, barely nodding her head along with her confirmation. “Yeah, I would have”

The smile he wears is so sweet and pure that she’s mirroring it in a heartbeat.

“Okay,” He thinks he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t hurry this up, so he rushes the next string of words out so fast (y/n’s) lucky she managed to understand him. “You wanna go out then? Tonight? For drinks? And then maybe dinner?”

She’s laughing as she nods, her hands nervously fiddling together.

“Okay,” She repeats, rocking back and forth on her feet just once. “But you should finish your report first. So, call me when you’re done?”

He wants to protest, but he knows she’s right. So as he hands her his phone to add herself as a contact, Ino mentally starts going through what he has to finish so he could get through it as quickly as possible.

She’s still grinning when she hands him his phone back, already eager for the day to be over.

“I’ll be quick, promise” He beams back at her as she makes her way out of his office.

“You pick where we go for drinks, and I’ll pick where we go for dinner,” She decides, lingering at the doorway for just a moment longer. “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect” He’s back in his chair and clicking away at his keyboard as he writes nonsense into his report.

(y/n’s) gone with a little wave and a blush that only burns brighter the further away she gets. She just hopes she doesn’t run into anyone in the meantime.

Ino tries to work on his report after adding some meaningless fluff of things that didn’t really happen, and weren’t really necessary for the report. He really does try.

For five whole minutes.

But then he can’t help but open his phone to check on the contact (y/n) had just made for himself, and seeing the little orange heart emoji she’d added next to her name has him swooning way too hard- over an emoji, at least. But that’s what she reduced him to, mush.

(y/n’s) just reached the front steps of Jujutsu Tech when her phone starts blaring her ringtone in her pocket. She makes a face at the unknown number calling her, but it’s washed away as soon as she picks it up.

“Would you believe me if I said I finished already?” Ino’s speaking right away, without so much as a greeting.

She giggles into the receiver, because no, no she doesn’t.

“That’s quite impressive work” She praises.

“I think you’ll come to find I’m quite an impressive guy!” He responds, and then quickly follows it with, “Not in, like, a douchebag way though!”

She fights the urge to laugh any harder, not wanting to put him through any more embarrassment than he’s already suffered today. They still have an entire evening ahead of them, after all.

“Of course not,” She murmurs softly. “Meet me at the front steps, then? We can go into town together”

And when Ino’s there in under a minute, trying desperately not to show how out of breath he is, she doesn’t tease him for it. Not until later in the night after a few drinks in, anyways.

___

xoxo ~ jordie

#pls give me feedback on this <3 #takuma ino #takuma ino x reader #takuma ino imagine #ino x reader #ino imagine #takuma ino jjk #ino takuma x reader #ino takuma imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #ino takuma fluff #takuma ino fluff #takuma ino x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff

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pressureplus · 6 months ago

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Sebastian Solace Injury Headcannons

Warnings: Mentions of blood, anxiety, and Injury, but nothing too particularly graphic, You show up at his shop hurt and he takes care of you

(The way he cares for your injuries slightly varies depending on your relationship)

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

Platonic

• Immediately starts to chastise you the second he can smell the blood on you

• He doesn't have a nose, so how he scrunches it up is beyond you

• Your med kit isn't free, so you definitely owe him and yes, he will remember you owe him

• You can't refuse tho, he's already patching you up before you can really do anything about it

• What are you gonna do, fight him? Fight a thing more than 5 times your size with claws like steel knives? I don't think so.

• He's pretty good at patching wounds, and stays relaxed the whole time he's doing it

• The motions are practiced and easy as he cleans and gauzes and wraps you up

• "Because I pity you, I'll even let you lay on the cot in the corner of my shop, hmm?"

• Understands you are useless and stupid and small, so he guesses he can help you out and demand whatever extra data you have I'm your pockets about a week from now

• He isn't exactly the most concerned with your well-being, but does go out of his way to help you and take care of you sooo...

• You must mean something to him right?

If you're not together but he likes you

• Actually gets a little worried

• He flusters easily, the crush he has for you making it a little bit more difficult for him to think clearly

• That crush making his harsh reactions harsher and his soft ones hard to verbalize

• He grabs you

• I don't have any other way to put this, he literally just reaches out and grabs you before he really thinks about it

• You don't get an explanation, you don't get scolding, he just huffs and gets pissy while he's patching you

• "I thought you were better than this- You REALLY ended up this hurt over something so easy to get away from?"

• Yes, he knows the foul mouth he's got is tanking his chances of ever actually being with you, but he already figures you're never going to want to kiss a fish so why should he care?

• Even if rejection is imminent and unavoidable, and even if he feels the constant need to be mean to you so he can protect himself, he'll still take care of you

• He does like you for a reason- a lot of reasons. And he thinks about those reasons quite a bit... Of course he wants you to be okay

• You're his favorite person, and he would rather die than admit that but also would 100% prioritize your medical care over working his shop

• Him being so fast to grab and tend to your wounds is probably one of the only things you've ever seen from him that's made you sure he doesn't hate you

• Look, there's no way this man would be smoothing his thumb over your newly applied bandages and looking upset at the notion you'd be hurt without you being SOME kind of important

• It doesn't matter how stupid you are, dummy or not, this shit is painfully obvious when he's getting vulnerable over the idea of you getting a nasty enough scar

• Will not let you leave the cot in the room until you're all better, so get ready to be defensively degraded by your favourite shopkeeper for several consecutive days!

If you are together

• Open. Meltdown.

• Panicking, throwing the door on his little store closed and coddling you like you'll fall apart if he's not treating you with the utmost care

• Even scraped knees and bumped elbows get treated like they need full medical, so you can imagine the sort of reactions you're getting to actually bleeding

• Part of him immediately blames himself while he's frantically tending to your injuries, thinking he should have watched you better today, thinking that he should have protected you right

• The next part of him promises he'll be getting whoever or whatever did this to you back for it just as soon as you're all mended and comforted

• He's a mess, a muttering, coddling mess

• You get little kisses to the bandages, as well as some quiet murmurs that attempt to get onto you for not being careful

• The grip you've got around this man's heart is too much for him to be angry, nor pretend to

• You may nearly make him cry if it's bad enough, and his hands may shake at the sight of you so hurt

• Will threaten you if you even THINK about dying, remember he can do worse to you and will if you don't shut up, he can't cope with thinking about losing you shut up shut up shut up-

• Until you're healed, you aren't leaving his bed. He puts you in HIS bed and cuddles up to you any chance that he gets

• You're going to get teased when you're all better and his brain registers it's not a big deal, but until then this is your big, protective fishy husband whether you two have gotten married officially or not

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sunrizef1 · 8 months ago

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What Happens in Vegas pt 14

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse

Word Count: 1.6k

Authors Note: No Charles content in this one but important nonetheless

Summary: Logan and Y/N talk, y/n finally reveals who’s been texting her

Masterlist

“Have I ever told you about my family?”

Logan doesn’t reply for a moment, annoyance still resting under his deadpan expression. You’re both sat on the floor of his drivers room, backs resting against the wall behind you, coffee from the Williams hospitality sitting in foam cups getting cold as they sit, untouched. Champagne dries on the top of your skin, casting a sticky residue onto your face and the ends of your hair.

Your win was now forgotten, the trophy having been left in your room to be picked up by a random Porsche employee who’d eventually get it back to you. Logan’s DNF was also now forgotten, although it did leave a lasting effect on his mood, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed tightly.

“No, but I know your dad.”

You tilt your head, pulling the inside of your cheek between your teeth as you respond, “Well, you know him now.”

Logan doesn’t respond, not in the mood to play into your vagueness. He’d invited you here to explain. He knew you’d clarify eventually, whether he asked you to or not.

“It’s a complicated story,” you pause, bile rising to your throat at the notion of explaining your childhood and forcing you to swallow it back down, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Logan hums, obviously not planning on speaking much anyway. Both of you stare off toward the floor in front of you, unspoken words hanging in the air around you.

“I was born in France, not sure if you knew that,” you start after a moment, hesitance laced in your words, “Everyone thinks I was born in Texas but my mom would’ve rather died than let that happen.”

“You probably know my mom, Amelie Laurent, French, vogues favorite person and I guess she’s a pretty famous model,” Logan pauses for a second, no doubt not aware of who your mom was, before he nods in recognition of the name.

“When my parents had me, they were still in love, I think,” you furrow your eyebrows as the words leave your mouth, “Um, but after they had me, I guess they got really busy with their jobs and stuff so they sent me to live with my grandparents in Texas for a while.”

“Didn’t really see them much growing up. My dad took me to the paddock a lot though, I got to hang out with everyone at McLaren, which was nice.”

“But he was busy so I usually got stuck with Kimi and then eventually Lewis, when he joined, which is where the uncle Lew thing comes from. Sometimes I felt like McLaren and Mercedes raised me more than my dad did,” the end of your statement comes out in a whisper, this being the first time you’d voiced the idea.

Logan glances over as your face sours, his hand coming out to hand you your, now cold, coffee. You grasp it from him and take a sip, sliding it back down to the ground after.

“When I was 8 my parents had my brother, which I think was the final straw. They got a divorce right after and my dad moved me to England. My brother stayed in France with our mom,” you wince.

“I started karting, my grandma moved to England to take me around to races when my dad couldn’t. Despite my own… objections, I spent my summers at my moms house with her and my brother.”

You pause, stomach turning as you let out a shaky breath, memories flooding back. Logan shows his first emotion of the night, glancing over to check you're not going to die. When he confirms you're, in fact, breathing, he looks back to the floor.

“I don't think she wanted kids. Maybe she did. At one point. But I think, after the divorce, all I did was remind her of my dad, a man she hated more than anything. She made it obvious with the way she treated me, as well. Well actually, the way she treated both me and my brother.”

“She never wanted me in karting, made it clear. Only reminded her of my dad again, made me do ballet in the summers. Thought it was more proper, or whatever. Didn't let us speak English at her house either, we were only allowed French, took Juli forever to learn English correctly, he'd only grown up with her.”

“Juli?” Logan asks, adding his first bit of input since you'd started talking.

“Brother,” you mumble into your knees as you pull them into your chest, resting your tired face against them. Logan nods.

“Um, she yelled a lot, I guess. A lot of stuff about our futures and how we'd always be failures if we went through with racing and football, she didn't like that Julian only wanted to play football, either.”

“Dad didn’t know, I didn’t tell him,” you mumble, “I didn’t think there was that much wrong with it until I left.”

“She just sucked, man,” you groan, eyes shutting tight as your head falls back against the wall, “I hated her so much! Because I was winning, I was getting these championships and getting these trophies and I thought she’d finally accept that I wanted to kart but the only thing she’d tell me was that I’d never get anywhere!”

You take a deep breath, holding back the faint tears in your eyes.

“But yeah, that's the worst of it, really. Completely cut contact at 15. Begged my grandparents to let me spend summers with them. They let me.”

“It just stuck with me for a while, you know? The shit my mom would say. A lot of crap about how I was failing myself with racing or how I would never have a future if I continued down that path. Said a lot of things about how I'd always find a way to lose and that it would never be worth it if I wasn't the best. Everytime I lost a race, she would find a way to use it against me, proof that I shouldn't be racing.”

“I did block her though, couldn’t stand the constant texts when I lost. Probably wasn’t even very easy to find those results, they weren’t exactly mainstream,” you furrow your eyebrows, confusion passing over your face momentarily, “Anyway, three years later, I’m 18. I move out and sign an f3 contract. My dad got super busy with Lewis’s championships and Mercedes. Kimi was actually the first to congratulate me.”

“I haven't spoken to my mom or my brother in, what? 8 years? I've mostly forgotten them by now, paris a thing of the past,” you trail off, the air of Logan’s room suddenly feeling a lot colder.

“All this to say, um-“ you rush out, shaking your head quickly.

You finally look over toward Logan, moving your body to face his, “She texted me, in Australia. Told me that the crash was all she'd ever expected from me, anyway. She's been calling ever since.”

Logan turns his head, concern written on his face.

“I think I'd forgotten about everything she said since it's been so long. But that text kind of brought it all back. It's been stuck in my mind for every single race. That's the reason I’ve been so unfocused lately. I don’t even know how she got my number, she was blocked on my old number and then I just got a new one, I don’t know how she could’ve got it.”

Logan, having dropped his previous spite, quirks his head, “What about yesterday?”

You swallow thickly, “Julian texted me. She kicked him out. He’s staying with a teammate. He’s sixteen, Lo. He’s still a kid.”

You fall back against the wall with a thump, your hands coming up to cover your eyes, “He’s still in France, still training with PSG. He’s asked to talk to me before Monaco.”

“Monaco?”

You nod solemnly, “My least favorite race, too close to my mom. I was so relieved when they took France off the calendar, you know? I’m pretty sure that, until recently, she didn’t know I was even in F1. She’s sworn off any media that isn’t French and I chose to race under dads last name. Makes me think someone told her I was.”

Logan hums, trying to process all the information you’d just told him. Eventually, he pats you heavily on the back, groaning as he stands up. You look up as he reaches a hand down to you, questions laying in your gaze.

Logan pushes his hand further down toward you, “Seems like a good enough reason to go out, celebrate your win. We can talk heavy solutions in the morning. For now, you are a race winner. A race winner who needs to get her mind off her fucked up family.”

You grin at his words, grasping his outstretched hand and letting him pull you up, “You reacted better than Arthur did. Think he was about to throw up with me.”

Logan pauses, his face screwing up with faux betrayal, “You told Arthur before me?”

You roll your eyes, “I was having a panic attack on the floor of the bathroom, talking about it was the only thing to get me out of it.”

Logan smiles softly at your response, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you two walk out of his room, “Let’s go, winner. Who do you think the most famous person you can get to celebrate with you tonight is?”

You take a moment to think about your response, “I think I saw Kendall Jenner, I’m sure I’ll probably see her at some point.”

Logan hums, looking out ahead of both of you, “You know I’ve seen the pictures of you two in Miami last year? You were so far gone.”

You laugh, hitting him in the ribs, “Shut up. We should leave soon, Porsche has probably already started partying without us.”

Logan laughs, patting your shoulder lightly as you both go to leave the Miami paddock.

———————————————

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x fem!driver #charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic

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erwinsvow · 8 months ago

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Heeeey, Shea. How are you?

I just wanted you to know I love your stories. Kook trio reader and shy reader are my favorite.

I know that's not how it went, but I really think in another universe, Rafe would have trouble getting to date shy!reader because she just wouldn't realize he was flirting hard with her. Maybe a bit of self esteeming issues or because she's inexperiente. But, anyway, I see her being completely oblivious about all his efforts and being like "he's so nice, guys. No, he would never flirt with me. You guys are insane" and everyone else would be like "girl... what?".

Thank you for your stories, they keep me smiling. <3

- T.

hi t!!! thank you so so much for your kind words, it means so much. i am so glad you love the different readers on this blog! i think your idea is so cute and funny, it suits them perfectly. here's a little bit based on what you sent and i hope you enjoy ♡

since the day you had met rafe—truly met him, not counting the multiple instances where you had passed him in tannyhill attached to sarah's hip when he hadn't even realized you'd been there—you had been a little confused about the newfound attention he was giving you.

you felt it was strange. sarah was always going on and on about how mean rafe was, how badly he treated others and how he never spared a minute to talk to anyone. but she must have been exaggerating. right?

the rafe that you were becoming more and more acquainted with was nothing of the sort. from the time he had driven you home a few weeks ago to now, he had been nothing but nice—offering you a ride everytime you were at tannyhill, asking if you wanted anything when he was on his way out. he even went out of his way to find you at the country club, stopping to say hi even if it was in the middle of one of his golf matches.

it was nice. it was really nice. everything sarah had told you about him seemed to be completely wrong, but then you realized it. rafe was probably trying to be a better brother, and starting with being nice to sarah's friends was likely a good jumping off place.

with this notion firmly stuck in your mind, you proceeded to go about your days, smiling sweetly at rafe when he was being so nice and reminding yourself to tell sarah—her brother was making a big effort, and it deserved to be recognized.

"did i see rafe walk away from the course to say hi to you?" sarah asks, and you look up at her, a little surprised. you hadn't brought it up yet, and in all honestly, didn't know when you would.

your other girl friends look a little closer at you—surprise evident on their faces too. you hate being the center of attention but somehow it feels even worse like this—they're all getting the wrong impression.

"yes.. he's being very nice. i think he's trying to make it up to you, y'know, for being mean like you say he is."

"by being nice to you?"

"by being nice to all of us," you add quickly, looking at the other girls, waiting for them to pitch in.

"he's never been nice to me."

"i don't think he's even ever said hi to me."

"so how exactly has he been nice to you?" sarah asks, and you feel your face burn. they still have the wrong impression and you have no idea how you'll correct them.

"well not much," you lie, clearing your throat. "he just gave me a ride home a few times. and he said hi a couple times here. and got me a soda from the gas station the other day."

"not much?" your friend questions.

"he never asks me what i want from the gas station-" you interrupt sarah, eager to make sure they stop speculating.

"he was just being nice. it was nothing, i-"

"what's next?" sarah asks, cocking her head at you. "don't tell me, he lets you pick the music in his car?" she laughs, and the others do too, but you stare back at her blankly.

"just once or twice," you mumble, suddenly finding your drink and the misty glass far too interesting.

"oh my god. he's totally flirting with you." you whip your head up so fast you think you got whiplash.

"you're insane. that is so not what this is. he was just being nice."

"if any other guy did this, you'd be picturing your future wedding-"

"it's not just any other guy, it's sarah's brother. do you see the kind of girls he goes out with? that's how i know he's being nice, i'm nothing like them-"

you feel incredibly flustered, face hot and playing with your hands like you do when you get nervous. your friends are laughing, and though you know it's not at you, you still hate the feeling, feeling like you might burst from the intensity of the emotions you're experiencing right now. first and foremost—the fact that maybe rafe wasn't just being nice to you.

"yeah?" you hear, though you don't look up. "then why's he walking over here right now?"

#collective OOOOHHHH #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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huellitaa · 11 months ago

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girl's guide to academic success: ep 1! ⊹˚. ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 this post focuses on: actively rooting for success! ♡ part 2 -> ♡

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 1. organisation

first off, have something to organise ur academic life with! i personally use notion (which i'll add later) but u can use anything as long as it's cute, convenient, unique and accessible to you, your life and your schedule specifically. especially as a visual learner, i like to have somewhere i can dump literally everything regarding a singular area in my life, so i do this for almost everything along with school and i highly recommend this <3

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 2. recognition of talents & improvements

analyse your strengths and weaknesses. think back on tests, exams, marks, and analyse which ones you got highest and lowest on. dont beat urself up for it, obviously; it's just to check which subjects you're doing good in and which ones have room for improvement. for example i love science but im not the best at it sometimes and we had an assessment recently and i didn't get as high as i'd like so i wrote down a little list on a piece of paper in my pencilcase for the topics i got the least in for me to study on my own to practise later.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 3. laying out goals

set down specific goals; i like to do this week by week accustomed to my schedule that week in my school notion page along with images and vision boards based on the term/semester, but you can do it for the week, the month, the year, anything as long as its helpful to you

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 4. productive planning

plan accordingly based on ur time energy. when creating any to do list or productivity plan dont pile a ridiculous amount onto it that just leaves you stressed and overwhelmed because that defeats the entire point; this works the same for academic plans and goals and lists etc.

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 5. extra credit

put extra work in to the subjects you know will help you in the future. for example, for my personal aspirations i need to excel in english, history and textiles so i always try my absolute hardest and put my all into those lessons and do extra studying for them in my free time where i can. school is to prepare you for the future so take advantage of that

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 6. asking questions

please don't be shy to ask questions! that's what teachers are there for and you won't have them forever so take advantage of it while you can! you can even do it in that little window of time just after class if ur too nervous to ask in class. for example, on my last english exam i went to my teacher after class and asked about what i needed to improve on to get the marks i missed next time, and he told me i added too much detail and some other things so i wrote it down and am keeping a note of it to remind me to improve on that next time! (i got top of my class though so i didnt mind. still kind of pissed i added too much detail though)

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 7. participation

participate! ok im saying this as someone who still struggles with social anxiety a fair amount but if u wanna get higher marks and get on good terms w ur teacher i 100% recommend this. i don't do this in every class but i do it where i can and when i'm confident in my answer, and it's really intimidating at first but what i did is i did it first in the classes i felt most comfortable on and continued from there. it gets easier every time i swear, and nobody's judging you; they'll forget about it after five minutes. plus, what would they be judging you for? being smarter than them?

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ 8. prioritising ur health

this is mentioned a lot in these types of posts but if you're tired or burnt out or overworked or just feel like you need to take a break then do. do the best you can and compromise like i said earlier if you need to, just make sure u are prioritising yourself over anything. <3

──★ ˙ ̟🎀inspo

──★ ˙ ̟🎀my notion

i also really recommend this layout by @honeytonedhottie ♡

all my love 🩷✨💬🎀💗

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sleepyangelkami · 1 year ago

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NS//FW ALPHABET e.williams

☆ WORD COUNT - 5.5K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

☆ WARNINGS - smut, nsf//w themes, much much more but unfortunately i will not be typing them all out because this entire post is around sexual themes, read at your own risk ! intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

AFTERCARE, what they're like after sex as soon as ellie's strap is out of your hole, she turns to the sweetest girl ever. not that she wasn't sweet before but sometimes she can be a little rough or degrading but she makes sure to completely flip that straight away. as soon as she has the harness off, she's cooing, praising you for doing such a good job. "did such a good job f'me, sweet girl." and immediately she's gathering you in her arms, peppering kisses all over your hairline. "think you're okay to go for a bath?" because sometimes, you're just too tired to. now, it's not as if she's about to judge you for this but she merely bathes you after because she knows you don't like the sticky, uncomfortable feeling afterwards between cum and sweat. she "good girl, doin' so well." she'll praise as she washes down your entire body for you. after sex, ellie's only priority is you and making sure that you go to sleep feeling good. usually, you're in a fresh set of jammies, hair still sort of wet while your backside is cuddled into her front.

BODY PART, her favourite body part of hers and also yours ellie quite likes her thighs. they're perfect for you, practically made for you. she loves having you sit in her lap, babbling on or getting fucked deep with her strap. she loves having you sit on her thighs like a little lapdog, or rubbing yourself off one, whining and huffing, waiting for her to do something to help. or perhaps she loves the way your head sits between them, looking all fucked out and doe-eyed at her as her hand is woven through your hair, stuffing your face back between them to eat at her cunt. ellie's favourite part of you is your hip/stomach area. she loves holding onto it, digging her fingers and bunt nails into your hips as she fucks you so deep with her strap, you clawing at her back and whining and moaning into her shoulder. she also likes tracing up and down your stomach to tease you, pressing little kisses in a row from your tits to your crotch before she tastes you, just letting you get impossibly more wet before she puts her hands and mouth exactly where you need her.

CUM, anything to do with cum really ellie's a creamerrrr!!! we all also are hyper aware of the breeding kink that this girl definitely has. she talks about her strap as if it's the real thing, pumping it into you, so pussy drunk she hasn't a notion of what words her mouth is spilling. "g'na fuck a baby into you, yeah? you want that, hm?" grunting and moaning as she shoves the strap right back into your hole, cooing at the way it swallows her whole. "fuck, jus' like that, mhm, gonna make you a mama." mumbling all these promises and swears that she has no intentions of keeping but in the moment, she'd want nothing more than to watch her own cum stringing through yours which is why she loves scissoring you too, her pussy planted on yours and listening to the wet squelches, it drives her crazy. the feeling of your cum (after your like third orgasm) melting into her own wetness. she can't control herself. she jus' wants to mix your guys' juices together 'n hump the shit out of you.

DIRTY SECRET, a dirty secret of hers bless ellie and her poor loser self. of course, ellie was the more dominant between you two, always ready to top you but before you'd gotten together, she had a dirty secret she'd hidden from you. you two had been close friends and sometimes you just drove her insane. not in an annoying way but more in a i-need-to-shove-my-hand-down-my-pants way. often times, she rubbed herself out to you. all she'd have to do is trail her hand down her boxers and suddenly her mind was on you, she couldn't even help it. she'd rub little circles around her puffy clit, your name muffled through her pillow. or in the modern!verse she'd be on her phone or even her laptop, a photo of you splayed out on the screen as she bit back her moans, her hand deep inside her, imagining it was your squelchy walls she was fucking into. "fuck me, y/n, jus' like that." even though you weren't doing anything. one time, you'd both been on the phone. it was late at night, your head resting against your pillow and your voice sounded so... raspy? it was all tired and babyish, you didn't even know what you were mumbling on about but ellie didn't much care for what you were saying anymore, too busy seeing stars as her fingers touched herself beneath the blanket. "els, you listening?" you'd mumble after not hearing much of a response in the past couple of minutes. "mhm." her broken hum. "jus' keep talkin', angel." and you would, innocently enough, not a clue in your mind of what the girl was doing on the other side of the phone.

EXPERIENCE, how experienced is she? does she know what she's doing? ellie knows exactly what she's doing for one of two reasons! if we're talking modern!verse, this girl has gotten around the entire college. every girl there knew ellie william's name along with a name of someone who she'd been with to match it. she wouldn't have shame either, if someone asked, they'd receive a vague but honest answer. but if we're talking tlou!verse, she knows things a different way. she'd seen some playboy magazine when she was on a run with dina, dina had showed it to her while laughing, thinking it was probably the funniest thing she'd ever found when on a patrol. but ellie could only flush at it, calling her weird before fishing around with other things. when dina wasn't looking, she slipped the thing into her bag. and then she began learning more and more and more. then she was on a run with you, ignoring the way you walked around all ditzy, almost knocking into something while she slipped porn tapes into her bag. best thing about going on patrol with you? she could take whatever she wanted whenever she pleased and didn't have to worry about you ratting on her. she didn't worry about you being a snitch partly because she trusted you but otherwise because she knew you were too distracted with your own loud mind to notice the suspicious things she was doing behind your back. so naive.

FAVOURITE POSITION, self explanatory it's no secret that ellie likes to toss you around the place. it's almost always like a game of chance with her, you just never know what you're going to get. one minute, she could have you in missionary, the next, you're sitting on her lap, bouncing to release any energy before bed or the next your face is smushed into the mattress. i feel as though she'd like this one a lot. she likes when your face is deep into the mattress, your ass hitting her crotch as she repeatedly fucks into you without any shame. ellie likes this because she feels like she has some sort of power over you and uses it to her advantage. "such a pretty slut, huh?" though her tone is all high pitched and slightly whiny, she couldn't help it, you just felt so good. she likes you in any position that she can bend you in half if she wants to and she wants you to know that she holds this power, not to be scared by it but she thinks a little intimidation isn't any harm.

GOOFY, is she humorous in the moment? does she make jokes? ellie makes a couple jokes here and there but nothing too significant. i think the only time that ellie would truly laugh at you is when she's in the middle of humiliating you. and even then, she does it only because she knows you like it. she'd never laugh at you in a way that would make you feel insecure but she can't help but chuckle against your collarbone when she mutters things about you being a pathetic whore for her, you only moaning response. afterwards, though, is a whole different story. she has a tendency of making fun of you afterwards as a little joke or when you joke around saying you don't like her or whatnot, she always finds a way to bring your previous nights events into the conversation, sometimes in front of jesse or dina who, at this stage, are used to ellie's antics. one time, you and ellie had been in bed afterwards and you'd made a joke saying that she didn't know what she was doing to which she started mimicking your moan. "oh, ellie! ellie! please lemme cum!" "shut up, ellie!" slapping her arm and trying to pretend that you weren't turning flush at the fact that you had said everything she had, much more.

HAIR, how is she groomed? does the carpet match the drapes? ellie shaves but i don't think she'd do it regularly. if anything, she trims. she often has hair on her pubic bone or around that area but with that being said she isn't big on shaving the rest of her body either. body hair never bothered ellie so she doesn't really care for it. it never bothered her on her arms or legs so she supposed it being down there didn't really bother her either. she also doesn't mind how or when you shave. if you want to be completely bald, be her guest, if you want a bush, go you! she really doesn't care. as i said before, hair really isn't a big deal to ellie.

INTIMACY, how is she in the moment through romantic aspect? as stated before, ellie can be a bit of a goof. but other than that she can be romantic. ellie sort of switches everything around, she's never truly the same. one day, she could have a candle or a bubble bath, on valentines she may even have rose petals. other times, you could both be clad in most your clothes and trying to contain your whimpers in a dark alleyway. sometimes, she can be awfully romantic, almost poetic even. other times she completely and utterly violates you for both your guys' enjoyment. with ellie, it's like opening a surprise easter egg. but if you'd asked her to be 'slow' through your muffled moans, she'd sort of get the hint. then, everything would turn a little romantic. she wants to make sure you're comfortable with whatever she's doing, always. and if you don't feel like being rough one night, that's okay, or if you feel that the romance is too much, that's okay too. she's your at your service, no matter what it is you're feeling on that particular day or night.

JACK OFF, anything to do with masturbation as said before, ellie was a HUGE jack off before you guys got together. it seemed like everything you did would lead her hand down her own pants, getting herself off at the thought of you. but now that you two are together, she's calmed down a whole lot. well, to a certain extent. now, she doesn't feel the need to rub one out if she gets horny, she merely shoves you against a wall and put her hands down your pants. ellie doesn't masturbate often but when she does, you're there. whether it's her mouth on your cunt and she just can't help herself, sticking a hand down her boxers and getting herself off while her tongue works on you or whether she's forcing you to watch, all whiny and subby, begging her to let you touched her or yourself, but she doesn't, of course. so unfair :(

KINK, a kink of hers overstimulation is ellie's guilty pleasure when it comes to you. she loves loves loves the way you writhe beneath her, after your fourth orgasm already, too fucked out to say anything. she has her hands on you at all times, never slowing her pace even when your back is arched and your eyes are filled with tears. "shh, baby, you can take it." pumping her fingers or her strap back into you. "take it, angel, jus' like that." all sweet as you get so fucked out so quickly. she loves having you where you can't even utter a sentence, the only word falling from your lips is her name and it sounds like a prayer. you can't stop your fucked out babbles or your whines against her. she loves having you at her fingertips, ready to mold like putty. and she'll tease you for it too. "hm? i don' know what you're saying, pretty girl." pressing kisses to your body as you try get the words out only to be cut off by whimpers. but she's having the time of her life, knowing you're close to getting your words out and shoving her fingers back into you. "huh? tell me what you want, sweet girl, use your words." knowing that you cant. she gets so pussy drunk off the thought of you coming over and over, it seems as though she's never done with you. "can you give me another? mm, good girl, i knew you could." because she's also a slut for praising you. something about the way your back arches when she calls you her good girl.

LOCATION, where is her favourite place to do it no location is off limits to this girl. once she has you alone, she doesn't care, she's taking you. she always makes sure to coax you, making sure you're all relaxed and comfortable especially if it's not in your guys' shared bed. one time, she had her fingers inside you while you were laying across dina and jesse's couch, the couple upstairs doing god only knew what. another time, she had you inside the bathroom of your parent's house while they waited for you both to rejoin them for dinner. she was like an animal. ellie really doesn't care for where you guys do it as long as you're somewhat comfortable. what she wouldn't want, is you doing something that you didn't want to. don't get me wrong, of course the bathroom wasn't a comfortable place to do it but you needed ellie then and there as much as she did so you let her hand sneak up your skirt. but, as always, there truly is no place like home, she loves having you on your guy's bed, sheets all messy and dirty as you make a big mess on them. this way, she doesn't have to worry about anyone hearing you both or walking in or even making that big mess that she loved you making.

MOTIVATION, what turns her on and gets her going your teasing. although, she's sure that half the time you don't even mean to tease her, it just happens. when you're sitting on her lap, looking up at her with 'those' eyes though of course you have no idea what in the world she's talking about. or perhaps you're looking for something and let out a small noise under your breath, you often do this when you have to get up from the couch but you really don't want to. this causes her ears to perk up and the hair on her arms to stand. she's suddenly hyper aware of your body. or perhaps you're leaning down to pick something up, your skirt up slightly giving her a little show. half the time you haven't the foggiest that you were even showing anything. but ellie knows, every time you're going to pick something up after dropping it, her eyes are trailing all over your body even if you're merely clad in a jeans. she claims that the reason she turns wet is because of your teasing but you and her both know that she'd chalk your breathing up to teasing if she could.

NO, something she wouldn't do, turn offs pick this as you please, there's no kink shaming on this blog ! 🩷

ORAL, preference in giving or receiving, skill, ect ellie eats pussy like a starved woman. she doesn't care how sloppy or messy it gets, her tongue won't stop until she's taking in all your juices. in fact, the sloppier the better. she wants you to write beneath her, her arms holding you down and her nose bumping off your clit. she eats like it's her last meal, like it's the last supper. but that doesn't mean she doesn't like getting eaten too. even when she is, though, she's seemingly always in control. she'll grab a fistfull of your hair, making a makeshift pony tail and looking down at you. she's sure that she could cum then and there. she moves your face against her, not letting you do any of the work aside from the fact that you were the one doing the giving. she loves the way you close your eyes, whimpering sending shockwaves through her body as she practically face fucks you, riding and getting herself off from your tongue. sometimes, she'll tell you to touch yourself as you do it, watching as you use your hand to try get yourself off while tasting her. she doesn't stop until she sees her cum and drool dribbling down your chin, it's surely a sight for sore eyes. she's sure then and there that you may actually be an angel.

PACE, is she fast, slow, stamina, ect the thing about sex with ellie is that she likes to feel good but your feelings are her one priority. before anything begins for her, before she even thinks of feeling good, she wants to make sure you've cum at least once. with that being said, when the time does roll around that she's tying the harness onto herself, positioning her strap in front of your already sopping hole, she's only just beginning. you've already been through multiple orgasms and she's only just preparing for her first one. you're all wet from cum, sticky and messy allowing her to slip the strap in with ease. she'll be so hyped while you lay all fucked out on the bed. naturally, she has more energy than you seeing as you've had multiple orgasms whereas she's merely starting now. she's usually rough and fast and can last a whole lot longer than you cab. but at the end of the day you're also her angel so she makes sure to check on you and make sure that you're actually able to withstand another round.

QUICKIES, her opinion on them? how often? ect ellie doesn't care when it comes to who, where or what. if ellie's horny, she's making sure to take you down with her. as soon as she feels that wet splotch on her boxers or that feeling building up in her stomach, her hands are on you in a teasing way, or speaking to you in a tone that would have your cheeks hot as ever, attempting to get you the very same way she was. she doesn't care where you are, who you're with, anything, all on her mind is getting that sweet release. she's had you in the bathroom of the tispy bison, her hand on your mouth to muffle the sounds as she shoves her strap inside you. yes, she wore it out. "shh, angel, gotta be- mmgh- q-quiet, 'kay?" making sure she's just as rough as usual but also the fact that you were in a public bathroom running through her mind. "can't let anyone catch us." but that doesn't mean she slows the assault on your cunt, fucking in and out of you as roughly as she can, her hand falling from your lips and replacing them with her own. she pushes her tongue between your lips, your head against the wall as she swallows all you sounds, letting you be flush against her as you find a familiar knot inside your stomach. she'll have you coming on the counter of the locked public bathroom of the tispy bison. truly, no flat surface is off to ellie when she's horny, no matter the place. it's just a matter of coaxing you into being as careless as she is.

RISK, is she game to experiment? does she take risks? this girl is insane. ellie is possibly the riskiest person you know, and sometimes it scares you. to ellie, nothing is off limits, nothing is out of the question and by no means is anything impossible. she's finger fucked you under a blanket while you're friends have been in the same room, she's had you sat atop her lap in the back of a tour bus (band ellie!verse) while all your other band members are at the front. she realises that they're distracted and decides that nobody is going to be letting her give this chance up, her strap is under your skirt, peaking out from her jeans. or, there's a vibrator in your pants while your parents are sat across from you at the dinner table, having no idea or what you were trying to keep down. the last thing you needed was to be moaning at your mother and father while they were eating their sliced carrots. ellie loves seeing you get all shy, trying your best to keep yourself neutral enough so no one would suspect a thing, whether it's at the dinner table or merely coming back from the bathroom at dina and jesse's, not meeting their eyes and when they ask what's wrong, you have to say it's because you're feeling a little ill and not the fact that you'd just been pressed against their sink, ellie's head between your thighs. of course, ellie always excuses you then because of your sudden 'sickness' and brings you home where she can take out her strap, finally getting you where she wanted.

STAMINA, how many rounds can she go for? how long does she last? as you can tell by ellie's muscle, she works out. and even if she didn't, she still has the upper hand of going on patrol almost every day. moral of the story? ellie's fit, and not just in the way that she's drop dead gorgeous and could have any girl foaming at the mouth by a mere stare, but as in she's physically fit too. she's spent her life running from zombies, she's taken down multiple clickers all by herself. this girl is one of the strongest people you know, which is exactly why she has so much more stamina then you do. she has no shame in the fact that she can go on for so many more rounds than you can, if anything, she's proud of it. and you, the amazing, beautiful, sweet girlfriend that you were, wanted to make sure that ellie got as much roughness out of her as she needed. sometimes, you'd just lay there, fucked out and hazy as she pumped into you over and over. you were her toy, a doll for her to use as she pleased and she was forever grateful. this way, by the time she was finished, you were completely exhausted but she too was tired, knowing she lasted as much as she could.

TOYS, does she own toys? does she use them? of course ellie has her strap which she just loves fucking you with. there truly is nothing better than having you beneath her after a hard day, roughly shoving the strap in and out of your hole, holding you still and grumbling to herself about how hard her day was. there you were, her own little toy for her to play around with. you always were. in a way, you are her toy. she uses you to her own advantage, whether she wants slow, sensual or rough and hard sex. she uses your body as she pumps the strap in and out of you, sometimes substituting it for... something else. she owns a dildo now, not for her, just for you. she'd bought it online/found it on patrol (depends which verse) when you guys were together and she couldn't not buy it/bring it home to use on you. she holds you close while she pumps the thing in and out of your sopping cunt, using your body like a toy. "doin' so well." she'll mutter against you, wanting you to feel the 'dick' go in and out of you without being distracted with the cloudy pleasure of her own. "take the whole thing, baby, take it." and she wouldn't spare any room, making sure your clit is pressed against the base, making sure you took it all. "atta girl."

UNFAIR, how much does she like to tease? ellie loves to tease. she loves it because she knows it'll get you exactly where she wants you in the end. she'll have you all subby and needy for her, hands pushing at her biseps, attempting to grasp her strong upper arms or your legs writhing against her head or perhaps she has you seated on her lap, riding a large wet splotch onto her grey sweatpants. whatever the case, she makes sure you're verbal, telling you that you must ask before you cum. being her good girl and obeying her rules, of course you ask before you cum, when you feel the knot in your stomach. you're so fucked out that you hadn't even processed the possibility that she'd say no until she does. you get all whiny so quickly, pleas and begs already falling from your lips. you can't help but beg her to let you get yourself off or start touching you again after she's stopped. later that night, she'll have your head in the mattress as her fingers repeatedly hit your good spot. "too much." you'll cry, everything feeling too much as her fingers hit the back of your gummy wallls. "you asked for this, princess." she'll remind you. "so just take it like a good girl, yeah?" never stopping her constant attack to your already leaking cunt.

VOLUME, how loud is she? what sounds does she make? for ellie, it varies. sometimes, she's loud, sometimes she's quiet, truly it depends on what type of sex you guys are having. but every time without doubt, she's grunting. ellie's a grunter and she has no shame in it. she'll grunt things into your ear, things she can't control like swear words and curses with the occasional whimper. "f-fuck, feel so good, n-nghh~" strangled moan leaving her lips as her 'dick' is deep inside you, trying her best to stay in control but it's just so hard when the base of the strap hits against her clit and gives her just the right amount of stimulation. or perhaps she's finding it so difficult to keep her noises at bay because she's sure that the strap is real now because she can feel the way your hole squeezes against her, swallowing her whole. "good girl, good girl, good girl." chanting it over and over when she feels herself coming, her entire vision going white while also trying to keep control of steading your hips, holding them in place as you try to writhe away.

WILD CARD, random head cannon ellie + plushie + you = heaven. hear me out. ellie loves the fact that you own so many plushies (even if she's threatening to fight them all off for your love) she won't let you cuddle one of them if she's around because she gets jealous, obviously, because only ellie would get jealous of an inanimate object. but when she's fucking you good, strap deep inside you and you're all teary, crying out for her, she has one of your plushies in her hands. she's handing it to you, cooing at you to hold onto it and 'squeeze' while she pumps in an out of you. it drives her crazy. the way you stuff your head into the plush of the teddy, screaming her name over and over as your legs wrap around her waist. but of course, she can't let the plushie have all the fun. she's grasping at your face, pulling it out from the plush. "none of that." she'll mumble, only wanting you to grab at it, not hide from her. "wanna see your pretty face." and she'll watch as your cheeks heat up, feeling impossibly more shy under her stare. she loves the way you grasp at the plushies from her hands, feeling all needy for her and needing something to hold onto. or perhaps she's having one of those days where she sits with a blunt in her hand, watching as you sit yourself on one of the plushies, riding out your own high while she watches you with low red eyes. ellie just loves those plushies (not when they're taking away all of your attention, though.)

X-RAY, what's going on underneath them clothes? a dark purple strap. she knows that you go absolutely feral for her strap and she has no shame about it. she makes sure to have you on your knees every once in a while, your hair caught in her hands as she pumps your head up and down, forcing you to take the strap like the good girl you are. and of course, you do. you listen to her mumbles of praises as you gag around the purple silicone, teary and doey eyes looking up at her as if it'll make you feel even better and when you catch sight of her own eyes rolled back, you do, the feeling of the base hitting against her clit just becoming too much. she'll throw her head back, still clasping onto the back of your head. even when when you're the one pleasing her, she's still in control, dominating you as she pleases and you'd be lying if you said you didn't adore it. ellie also has a very toned stomach and she's awfully proud of it, but what makes her even prouder of it is how feral you go over it. when you're babbling, trying to focus yourself on the dildo she's pumping in and out of you but you're pressing sloppy kisses all over her torso or perhaps she's sat you up on it, watching as you did everything in your will to ride out your high on her abs, knowing you couldn't get anywhere with the sloppy feeling of her skin. you couldn't get that friction you needed to finish, so, as always, you ask ellie for her help. and she's more than happy to comply.

YEARNING, how high is her sex drive? ellies a dog. you know this, she knows this and she has no shame whatsoever. she blames you, though, every single time without doubt, she blames you. you could barely be breathing slightly off and she'd use that as the reasoning for the fact that she needed you pinned down beneath her. "you were giving me the fuck-me eyes, baby." she'd inform you as she laid on her side next to you afterwards, fingers brushing up and down your arm with a grin on her lips. "how?" you'd barely mumble, voice sort of raspy from screaming her name for all the neighbours to hear. "y'jus were." she'd tell you, not elaborating any more on the fact. she'd often times blame you for the way she got so horny quickly, then again who else was to blame? and you were sort of glad that she blamed you and not the air having some weird pigment in it or something. this way, you knew she was focusing on you and only you. though, ellie did often times make up crazy excuses as to why she needed to dick you down in the next five minutes. "i read somewhere that today's national lesbian sex day so..." kicking a rock under her shoe. "you said that last month." you frowned at her. she rolled her eyes. "your ass just looks really good in that skirt, baby." once again, always your fault.

ZZZ, how quickly does she fall asleep afterwards? ellie takes such good care of you when you've both finished. she knows that sometimes she can be a little extra and sometimes it can get too much for you. but the beauty in having sex with ellie is what comes afterwards, knowing that she's there to wrap you up in her arms after a nice bath. she'll wash you, though she's tired the only thing on her mind is making sure that you're okay. she's always taking good care of you, reminding you that you're her sweet and pretty girl, when you guys are fucking and when you guys are finished. then she'll get you into bed, making sure you're all snuggled up. there's nothing like getting into bed with ellie after getting all clean, a fresh set of pijamas on your body and your hair damp. she'll hold you from behind, whispering little things to you despite the fact that she too is tired. but the thing about ellie is that she likes to make sure you're asleep first. she'll take notice to your heartbeat and your breathing patterns and finally, when everything slows and ellie knows you've found yourself succumbing to sleep. only then will she find herself drifting off too.

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

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shadebloopnik · 10 months ago

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Unrequited/One-sided Radioapple but it isn't treated like an angsty end of the world thing.

Imagine they slowly get closer after all the banters, and eventually becoming close friends. Lucifer ends up catching feelings for him, and after a long while, decides to confess and ask Alastor if he felt the same.

Alastor admittedly does not feel the same.

He's getting uncomfortable, struggling to keep his composure because he's DONE this before. He KNOWS how this ends. He remembers Vox and all his insistent declarations of affection and desperate pleas for Alastor to reciprocate; the possessive entitlement. He remembers how all those sickly sweet words morphed into something venomous when he didn't give the lowlife what he wanted. He remembers the anger, the ridiculous notion that it was Alastor's fault why he was so mad, that Alastor led him on and that he obviously deserved something in payment for it all-

So yes, Alastor knows how this ends.

It doesn't mean he isn't disappointed though, because he actually LIKES Lucifer, far more than he ever did Vox. Perhaps not in the way the king might have wanted, but he did. He treasured their little talks, their drinking sessions, their shared love for their instruments, Lucifers singing, their little duets, the banter, the playful jabs, the sparring.

He'd even slowly grown accustomed to the other's touches, not feeling the same surge of disgust and discomfort whenever the shorter man would grab at his arm in excitement, forgetting his usual thoughtfulness of Alastor's touch aversion for the short moment of whatever distracted him. Alastor even enjoyed it at times, relaxing at the feel of soft feathers beneath his claws, or the sensation of gentle scratches against his ears.

Difficult as it was to admit, Alastor had grown to care for the angel, the same way he had for Rosie orv Mimzy.

But no matter how fond Alastor was of Lucifer, it didn't change the fact that he didn't feel the same way romantically, or even sexually. No way in the 7 rings of Hell was he going to lie to Lucifer about either, not going to even entertain the idea of pretending he reciprocated for Lucifer's sake. He respected his friend too much for that.

So a clear, direct rejection it is. It was a shame, but nothing could be done. He said his piece concisely, and waited, shoulders set, back straight, smile and eyes a careful blank canvas as he prepared for the inevitable.

Lucifer nodded, a normal soft smile still in place, "Thank you for your answer, it means a lot."

Which......what? Alastor expected an outburst, or at the very least sharp words.

What he did NOT expect was....acceptance? And not just that but, a happy one? Contentment?????

"You're....alright with that?", he had to ask, he had to. Lucifer was clearly just very good at masking his upset.

But the damn angel just smiled?? And it didn't even look fake, just as bright and soft as his normal smiles, albeit a little confused?? Lucifer smiled at him, his brows furrowing in a bit of confused disbelief, as though Alastor is being the weird one here.

"Uhh, yeah??? Why wouldn't I be??? Yeah I may have some feelings for you but its not like you're obligated to feel the same. Above anything else, we're friends first and foremost and i'm alright with that..."

Then he seemed to have reached his own little conclusion as his words trailed off, because suddenly Lucifer's eyes widened in realization of something, and his words picking up with a sense of panicked urgency.

Alastor would really like to know what Lucifer's supposed realization was about himself because he had absolutely no clue.

"I mean, we ARE still friends right?? I don't- I- I hope this doesn't like- change your opinion of me. You're not- oh gosh I'm not making you uncomfortable am I? I- I won't mention it! You can even forget this whole confession ever happened! We can just go on as before! I don't feel any different or would act any different! Honest! I mean, I don't regret confessing because you deserve to know and I'm not ashamed of my feelings, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! It doesn't change the way i'll treat you! Or change any aspect of our relationship! I don't even think I like you more as a lover than as a friend! I really, really do love our friendship, it matters more to me than any thoughts of being in a romantic relationship with you! So please just forget it all-"

Alastor let the word vomit wash over him, every word leaving him more confused by the minute.

Because yes, there's the desperation he expected, but...it was more about, convincing Alastor to remain friends?? Reassuring Alastor that nothing has to change?? That their friendship is the most important thing here??

(If anyone asks, no Alastor's heart didn't swell. Only lesser beings would have had the urge to cry, and Alastor is anything but.)

Lucifer is unknowingly reassuring Alastor of every single one of his insecurities about the situation. Because Alastor DID want to remain friends, he cared too much about the man to let it go so easily. It was rare to find people who treasure friendships above romantic relationships.

"I don't tend to forget easily, nor will I forget this one in particular.", he spoke, finally finding his voice. At Lucifer's defeated, pained expression( is their friendship really that important to him?), he continued. "But....yes. I'd like that.. To remain...friends."

He didn't often say the word out loud, being comfortable enough with each other that it need not be reassured with the label. But with Lucifer brightening up like his namesake, relief and happiness palpable, Alastor felt no qualms at declaring their friendship out loud.

So life went on as usual. True to his word, Lucifer remained basically the same. The following weeks were a bit stilted for Alastor, as he put some rather painful distance between him and the angel; limiting their interactions, their usual touches.

Anytime now, Lucifer would break and show his true colors, Alastor would think, waiting for the boot to drop. Lucifer would end up angry, and dissatisfied, and that was that.

But it never happened. Lucifer never expressed discomfort when Alastor avoided him, seeming to be understanding of the others need for space. He was just as affectionate as before, though initially a bit held back, as though gauging Alastor's comfort.

Months would pass, and the king never faltered. Their friendship remained strong, if not growing ever closer than before. Alastor found himself even growing more comfortable with the man. Affectionate touches were becoming common, hugs and head pats and cuddles being a welcome thing, with the reassurance that the shorter king would never disrespect his boundaries.

Lucifer seemed genuinely happy about it, despite being clearly told that none of Alastor's actions hinted at anything romantic. In fact, he seemed ecstatic that Alastor was getting more affectionate towards him as a friend. The embarrassment the radio demon felt at having Lucifer basically tear up (no really, he was crying so hard, full on drama sobbing) with joy in front of him was intertwined with the sheer incredulous fondness he felt for the man at that moment.

They were sitting at a couch one night, more than a year passing since that confession. Lucifer was leaning back, resting against the cushions, while Alastor had his head on the smaller one's shoulder, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, legs tucked close to his body. Both had a book in hand, two nearly empty cups of tea on the table in front of them. Every so often, Lucifer would flex his fingers that rested on Alastor's head, running a digit against the other's ear, often prompting the demon to lean into the touch. White wings enveloped the two, blanketing them against the chill of the night.

As Alastor turned the page of his own book, relaxing into the touch of his dearest friend, he wondered how he ever got so lucky in hell.

#this may have gotten away from me lmao #this was supposed to be a rlly short prompt of 'Unrequited love but overbrimming friendship' but instead i typed out this word vomit-#i don't know if im labeling things right here??? this may not look platonic tk others but ig im sort of projecting here #bc i want friendships like this soo badd. i mean this is still platonic right??? this is normal friendship behavior like come onnn #I've been teased about being ace bc of this mindset but i always just go RIGHT this is how friendship works y'all blind😭😭😭#bloopnik writing #bloopnik rambles #radioapple #appleradio #platonic radioapple #platonic relationships #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #duckiedeer #unrequited feelings #BUT NOT UNREQUITED LOVE HELL YEA #one sided radiostatic #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND ITS BEAUTIFUL #queerplatonic #i think #fic #fanfic #radiosilence

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livwritesstuff · 11 months ago

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thinking about this again so here's a part 2

Eddie wakes up to rain. Heavy rain, the kind that keeps the morning sky dark and bounces loud off the roof and the walls and the windows.

The rain didn't wake Eddie up. What did it was a pair of big, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him in close.

Steve’s arms.

Objectively, this should be a good thing, and past versions of Eddie (even twenty-four-hours-ago-Eddie) would be goddamn irate with him for feeling anything other than vehemently positive about it.

He’s feeling bothered. He’d gone to sleep last night feeling bothered because Steve had sacked out approximately three seconds after they’d hooked up for the first time, and now he’s being woken up by Steve’s big arms pulling him in close and that has Eddie feeling bothered all over again because this isn’t how he thought this would go at all.

“G’mornin’ Eds,” Steve mumbles, the remnants of sleep in his voice.

And then he has the audacity to press a soft kiss onto Eddie’s bare shoulder.

"Y'know," Steve says, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the diner this morning, but…sounds like it’s kinda fuckin’ gross out there. I can make us something if you want.”

Eddie sits up, suddenly feeling like he’s been left outta the loop on some part of this because Steve doesn’t even seem surprised to wake up and find Eddie still in his bed.

If there’s anything Eddie hates more than feeling bothered, it’s feeling like he’s left outta the loop, like there’s a piece of all this that he’s missing.

"Uh, what are we doing here, Steve?" Eddie asks, and he regrets it the second he sees Steve's face turn all hurt and confused.

"I don't —" Steve starts, pushing himself up on his elbow into a half-seated position, "What...what are you talking about?"

And isn't that choice of words just completely ironic?

"Oh, now you're interested in talking? Or are you gonna fall back asleep the second I start to-"

"Wait –" Steve interrupts, his eyebrows furrowed, "Are you all pissed off because I fell asleep?"

"I'm not pissed off," Eddie mutters, fiddling with a loose string on the edge of the sheets.

"What the fuck did you want me to do?" Steve argues, "Break out a deck of cards and suggest a round of poker? It was late! I was tired! I don't know how else to say it, man. You, like — you did a good job. Really had me beat, or whatever."

And, sure, Eddie allows himself to sit with that notion for a second before he shakes his head.

"I needed you to talk to me!” he exclaims, "We fucked, and then you fell asleep, Steve! Like it was just a fuckin' hook-up to you or something."

That confused look is back on Steve's face, but instead of being laced with hurt, this time it's just plain bewildered.

"What — Eddie," he says, "We talked."

Huh?

“Huh?”

“We talked,” Steve repeats, “Before we…you know, and I said that I like you and I said that I’m not really into the casual thing anymore, and you seemed pretty on board with all that, man, I dunno.”

And yeah, sure, Eddie sort of remembers that.

He definitely remembers when Steve pressed him against his closed bedroom door, and maybe he’d also been speaking at the time, but they’d been so close together and Steve had kept doing these little glances down at Eddie’s lips and there’d been this intensity in his eyes and Eddie had been pressed against Steve Harrington’s closed bedroom door.

There hadn’t been a single coherent thought in his brain, obviously, and yes, that included comprehending any of those words Steve might have been speaking so everything that had come out of Eddie’s mouth in response had been yes, yep, uh-huh, you betcha.

Eddie feels heat rising in his cheeks and by the looks of the amused smile making a home on Steve’s face, he’s not blind to what Eddie is currently realizing either.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

"Maybe," Steve allows even as he starts to pull Eddie back into his arms, "Breakfast?"

#steve is like: dear god pls let me tell robin about this she thinks i have no game #steve: i need her to know my game is so good it completely shut your brain off #eddie: don't you dare #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #might clean this up a tad and post on ao3 if i'm feeling it

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theprettynosferatu · 2 years ago

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So you have a Patriarchy kink

Hey. It's okay. You don't have to be ashamed. Kink is kink and life is life. It doesn't make you any less of a feminist, or a strong woman! It's a fantasy!

Besides... there's something to the idea, isn't it? The notion of being... conquered. Taken. So broken that your body takes over and suddenly you are betraying everything you stand for... just because it makes your pussy feel good.

You fight so hard, you have to prove yourself over and over again... surrender is tempting. Even if it's for a little while. Total surrender. Of your mind your body. Your beliefs. The ultimate fall and the most devious of delights... to betray your gender. To go on your knees and imagine being the one that corrupts and tempts and breaks others. It's so wrong. It feels so good. Your cunt loves it so much.

Oh, that word sure got a reaction. Cunt. Such a forbidden word. The ultimate degradation: being reduced to a hole for cock. Nothing more. No more fighting. No more pressure. It's liberating, isn't it? And so wicked! You know it's bad. That's the reason it feels so good. You should try saying it when you are alone. Maybe preceeded by "I am just a..."

Of course, it's not what you really believe. It's not what I believe either. But it is fun to play around with the fantasy in the privacy of our minds.

Then again... maybe the privacy is a problem. Maybe you want to act out a bit. Well, don't do anything risky. In fact, there's something simple that can make that part of you tingle in plain sight. Want to know what it is?

Get something wrong. Something silly. Something simple. Something inconsequential. Just say it wrong on purpose around a man. Know he'll correct you and play attention to how your pussy feels when he does. He doesn't have to know you did it intentionally: in one simple act you are playing out a million stereotypes, degrading yourself, making him feel smarter and see you as dumber. That's all you need to do. Right there, in front of everyone.

You'll know you're getting off on it. You know you'll rub to it. But they don't have to.

And you keep that tiny act in your pocket for the next time you want to take a break from reality and indulge your patriarchy loving side. It will feel soooo much better...

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andy-wm · 5 months ago

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i'm wondering how your thesis of "idols will come out when they want" fits into your insane shadow analysis attempting to prove jimin and jungkook fucked in the middle of their travel show (amongst other things)? like do you get joy out or trying to drag someone out of a closet they might not be in? or is it something else? just curious! 😀

Hey wdcmaxy

Since you have the guts to use your name I'll respond :)

So, you read my thesis?

*Sips whisky*

Cool. And you read my insane shadow analysis too?

Hmmm... do you come here often?

Let me answer your question then.

I think we both know the shadows analysis isn't really insane - it's based on very basic earth science. Shadows grow longer as the day progresses because of the rotation of the earth on its axis. You sound reasonably literate so i assume you know this already.

I guess your description of my shadow analysis ( I think I'll name my next racehorse 'Shadow Analysis') as insane is an attempt to discredit the idea that a fair bit of time passed while Tae was out of the house? But that was kinda silly on your part. Even children know that shadows change as the day passes.

Nothing insane about it.

He was gone for hours, no debate.

Now let's move on to the fucking part, and when and how idols choose to come out.

This is actually worth discussing.

As flattered as i am that you think my tiny insignificant blog could be a game changer for anyone, let's be real.

How many people, besides yourself, do you think read my blog?

Serious question.

I'm estimating maybe 100. Double that on a good day. Maybe 300 if i write something REALLY profound which doesn't happen often.

I am way less excited about my impact on the world than you are, because I'm a realist.

BUT if by some strange twist of fate my blog came to the attention of someone whose opinion mattered (I'm not counting you, don't worry) do you think they would take it seriously? Do you REALLY imagine a random tumblr post about shadows could make someone believe that an idol was gay if they didn't already believe it?

Here's a great example of how that wouldn't happen:

You, dear reader.

You're my example.

You came here to tell me I'm speaking shit and that I should pull my head in, correct? My insane shadow analysis hasn't changed your beliefs at all. You're here, throwing a tantrum on my page, because you don't agree with what I'm saying, not because you suddenly believe it.

Or ...

Perhaps you suspect it's true and that scares you. Maybe you can't be absolutely sure I'm wrong and that's why you need to yell at me? Could that be it? Time for a bit of self reflection?

Either way, it's not going to make an iota of difference in the grand scheme of things.

We are all just dust motes floating through time and space, my friend. You dont need to worry so much. The universe is unfolding exactly as intended.

However... There are a couple of things we should agree on:

The fact is that the shadows grew long and therefore, time passed. And Tae was out for several hours. Maybe he went out for a bit of afternoon delight himself? Maybe Jimin and Jungkook played Pokemon Go all afternoon, or prayed, or practiced their English, or braided each other's hair.

Regardless of whether they did or didn't fuck, or how many times, or on what surfaces, the time still passed.

And whether I write my blog or not, people will believe what they believe. And they will be gay or they won't be gay.

And even though I never mentioned anything about them fucking in that post, whether you like it or not Jimin and Jungkook might be fucking right now, as you read this.

One last thing...

Please bear in mind, through all of this, that fucking is not the be all and end all of life. Sure its a lot of fun if you do it right but the notion that it's more meaningful than sharing your innermost thoughts and feelings, or giving someone your time and energy, is bullshit.

You can have a roots-deep love for someone and never even think of fucking them. Or you can meet someone in a public toilet and have at it, and leave without even knowing their name.

Sex does not equal love. Fucking is not that big of a big deal.

Unless...

Unless you're fucking someone the patriarchy doesn't want you to fuck. Then its a major issue.

Hear me out.

The need to control who we fuck is based a patriarchal need to control material wealth.

To control material wealth, the patriarchy needs to control reproduction (so they can be sure their wealth stays with their bloodline, because wealth is built over many generations) and to do THAT they need to control womens' bodies.... and to do that, of course they need to control who women fuck. And who men fuck too!

Do you know what the ACTUAL issue is with men who like dick? They don't automatically buy into the patriarchal way of life. (where's the solidarity, lads?)

Why don't they?

Because lifelong monogamy and marriage and nuclear families don't matter as much when you're not equating love with sex, and sex with reproduction. When your goal isn't to accumulate wealth and pass it down to your children.

Same thing applies to women who love women. They aren't focused on being demure and pleasing the men in power. They aren't focused on making themselves wife material. They will challenge the status quo and maybe even (shock! horror!) decide not to have children. How the heck do you make sure your money and power stays in the family, how do you build an empire, when the women are perfectly happy having sex with each other and don't want to love, honour and obey??

And whose fault is all this?

Its got to be the damned queers, right? They're making people think there might be other ways to share your life with those you care about! That's why its important to squash down gayness whenever you can, right, wdcmaxy?

Look at them destroying the fabric of society!

If Jimin and Jungkook ARE fucking every chance they get, good for them. I hope they're balls deep and breathless, hitting all those sweet spots for each other having a really good time.

And if they're not fucking, it actually doesn't matter to me because the way they support each other and share their hearts is beautiful. (I do think they are fucking though)

Truthfully, whatever they're doing, as long as they're happy I'm happy.

Can you say the same, wdcmaxy?

Peace.

#answered asks #fuck the patriarchy #do you #shadow analysis is my new user name

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drdemonprince · 5 months ago

Note

what was your journey from libertarian to leftest/anarchist like?

well, as a teen i hated authority and society and wanted complete freedom so i was a libertarian. then i realized i was gay and trans and libertarianism weren't gonna do shit for me. when obama won in 2008 i noticed that i felt relieved, even though i had not voted for him. I went away to academia shortly after that, and became surrounded by liberal people, all of them doing research with a liberal point of view, and what do you know, product of my social environment and queer and desperate for acceptance among the group that said they cared about me, I became a liberal too.

over time academia mistreated me and rejected me for who i really was, and i started to transition and realize that i was disabled. i became more left-leaning frankly because it seemed like that was the only way to be able to survive as what i was, identity wise, and find anyone at all who would correctly gender me or tolerate me. if you want to be able to hang out with other trans people and have them treat you right, there are values you basically have to say that you subscribe to. anyone who didn't subscribe to those political values was mistreated, viewed skeptically, talked to like they were dumb, and ostracized. and some of those values did make sense to me, whereas others didn't.

i saw people pushed to the social margins for being libertarians, for instance, as if that is a political ideology that carries any danger when some random trans woman with a very weak social support system says in a support group that she maybe kinda subscribes to it. i was even terrified of people finding out that i used to believe in anything "wrong" according to the social dogma, for a while. but i tried to make the most sense of the confusing tangle of community held beliefs as i could, so that i wouldnt be completely ostracized from both straight and queer society at once. and so I was vaguely leftist, but with a confused understanding of systemic oppression based on identity (among lots of other things, like abolition and anti-colonialism), and a deep terror of ever saying anything that would ever get me criticized/cancelled/viewed as a bad person.

and then the pandemic happened and i wasn't so beholden to mass community scrutiny anymore. i read a ton i looked at how politics actually plays out, and i got a little bit more capable and secure in myself and came to similarly feel awed by how much people are really capable of when they aren't being controlled or dependent upon approval in order to survive. and anarchy basically asserted that it had always been there in me, i just hadn't known the name for it. and by then i felt safe and strong enough and had enough faith in others to decide it was okay to have opinions that others disagreed with, and that i wouldn't starve out in the cold if i gave voice to them.

like a lot of people, i had misconceptions about what anarchism really was and writers like Graeber, Wengrow, Solnit, etc really disabused me of that notion and made me understand that it wasn't a scary worldview at all, it was the most human and accepting one there really was out there.

My political journey has not been especially principled or philosophical, it has been emotional, intuitive, and rooted in a lot of social influences. i think that's what most political ideologies are about for people, ultimately, belonging and safety.

I was originally a political scientist by training and in that field's body of research we see that most people do not have consistent political belief systems, they agree to a mish-mosh of statements and support various policies that don't all add up in a logically explicable way. they also don't tend to have stable views over time. just as i think morality is a pretty bad explanation of why humans do what they do, and why we help eachother and avoid doing harm, it's very evident that political ideology is a piss poor predictor of political behavior or affiliation. the far clearer explanation far more consistent with the evidence is that people politically align themselves based on their social milleu and their feelings.

this is why i always feel myself holding back from dying for a cause, and blanch when MLMs start talking about needing to do all they can to bring about communism with an almost religious fervor (beyond the fact that such thinking also doesn't line up with a lot of communist thought and theory about how capitalism falls anyway). i dont think that any of these ideologies really carry all that much weight or influence people's actions, affiliations, or political behavior on the level we all pretend that they do. i dont think they're "real". anarchy is more of a philosophy of how to relate to other people in daily life, for me, rather than a religion about how the world needs to be or where we specifically need to be heading. it's more big-I Ideological for plenty of other people, and again, i blanch when they start preaching about it as if their whole life is in service to the idea of it. I think we do anarchism by living as if we're free, every day. and that's what i care about, if i'm being honest. feeling free, safe, and cared for by some other people, without conditions, right now.

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rita-repulsa-ke · 28 days ago

Text

What If

AU where we let Agatha and Rio get back together in modern times. Also Agatha is not a ghost because I say so.

"Agatha, do you ever think about the past?"

"What? No, of course not. Terrible idea."

"Mm. All that time you spent running and hiding from me. In between saying terrible things to me, of course, when we did meet."

"Rio, my sweet, do you really want to discuss the past? With me?"

"…No. …Maybe. It's only, we never talk about it. Any of it. …Did you miss me?"

"Nope."

"…Ags."

"Of course I missed you! Don't be ridiculous. And yes, I know, it was nothing compared to the great and terrible anguish you suffered from not being able to see me, you've mentioned that about two thousand times since we've gotten, you know. Back into the swing of things."

"Into the…was the word you were looking for there 'together'? Or maybe 'married'?"

"...No."

"You really never change, beloved."

"Would you want me to?"

"…"

"...Hey, Rio."

"Heh. No, I wouldn't. Never, ever, ever, Agatha. Exactly as you are. …I could have done without the hiding, though."

"I couldn't have. Sometimes I need space."

"For centuries?"

"Yep."

"…Don't need that again."

"No promises. But before you get all annoyed and threatening, I did come back eventually, didn't I?"

"You did."

"And I even married you properly. And now I'm right here, with you."

"…So good."

"It is pretty nice, isn't it?"

"Tell me you missed me again."

"…All the time. That's why it hurt so much."

"…I always knew you never stopped loving me."

"Yes, yes, you were right all along. But stop rubbing it in or I'll get annoyed, okay?"

"Yes, beloved. …You know I love you?"

"I know. You waited for a long time."

"I did. …Ags, say it back."

"Hmmm...no, not right now. Later, maybe."

"…Ugh. Maybe you could change a little."

"Never. I'd die first."

"…………Agatha."

"Yes?"

"…you're teasing me…"

"Might be. Could happen. I mean, it's at least notionally possible that I might be teasing you, but who can say, really?"

"…It would be so nice if you died."

"Creepy. You'll just have to deal with me being alive and your wife."

"…Say that again."

"Alive?"

"The other thing."

"Mm. Your wife. All yours."

"…"

"Rio. Rio, I can't brea…that's too many flowers, Rio, where are those even growing from, we just bought this hou…"

"Come to bed, beloved."

"...Can't think of anything I'd like more. But after that, we're going to talk about the flowers and I'll try one more time to explain what a mortgage is."

masterpost or go read the dating game series, it's so silly.

#agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario #I've been gone so here I'll be nice #you guys can have fluff

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pinguwrites · 4 months ago

Text

The Doll's Burial ⸻ Jonathan Crane

READ DISCLAIMER

pairing | jonathan crane x reader

summary | You knew Jonathan Crane was meant for you from the moment you laid your eyes on him — a brilliant man, filled with wit and curiosity and youth. So perfect, in fact, that you have to take him away from the rest of the world and make him yours, your darling doll. He’ll like it, won’t he?

word count | 9k

Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON, dark!reader, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, reader’s delusional and sick and sadistic but sweet ig, religious (specifically Christian) disdain from Jon , murder/torture towards jon/in general, jon isn’t scarecrow au, slightly ooc jon, p in v sex, househusband!jonathan, PROCEED WITH CAUTION - DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE

Disclaimer: This is part of my unfinished works. I don't write anymore, but I still wanted to publish what I have. I'll use bullet points to explain what I planned to happen at the end. Also note that this is heavily unedited, there will be a lot of mistakes.

You didn’t know what beauty was until you met Jonathan Crane that fateful winter’s night, a night where the season’s gentle touch had left windows glazed with frost, and the late evening coated in a thick, gloomy darkness. Crystal flakes were falling from the sky onto your body like specks of dust, but it was nothing compared to the way it looked on him, his dark hair contrasting with the white, the snow melting upon the touch of his skin. His breath was coming out in puffs of smoke before dissipating into the bitter air, his square glasses glinting in the light of the street lamps.

Time had frozen still at that moment, as though your brain had gone numb, much like the cold was numbing your ears and toes and the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips, you observed as the man — whose name you did not know then — glanced at the slim watch on his wrist, shivering ever so slightly as a breeze brushed him by. He was wearing an elegant suit, colored charcoal, the dress shirt underneath thinly striped, and his shoes polished and new, no doubt recently bought. He seemed to be an educated man with wealth, maybe a doctor or lawyer, but you guessed doctor, because he struck you as a scientific mind, curious but practical.

He wasn’t married, as he had no ring, which led you to believe that his profession took up a lot of his time and effort. After all, how could a man as gorgeous as him not be desired? Even the thought of him in bed with you set your loins alight, not to mention the slightest notion of him being yours until death do us part.

“Silly,” you had murmured to yourself, though there was a soft smile playing on your lips. “You’re thinking too far ahead, like always.”

But it really wasn’t your fault. He was so delightful to look at. Almost like a doll, with his plump pink lips and blush-dusted cheeks. You could imagine it already: a domestic life. He needn’t not lift a finger, not think a single thought, as long as he allowed you to hold him in his arms. How was it that someone who had not done anything at all to warrant such attraction, found himself at the center of your obsessiveness?

There’s something about him. Something different I cannot deny. He was unlike anyone you had ever seen before, anyone you would ever see in the future. It was strange how humans worked, heart so easily manipulated. What was it that caught your attention in the first place? you wondered. The aesthetic of the scene? His simple presence in the emptiness of the street? Did it even matter anymore, now that you were so hopelessly captured by him?

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!”

Heart thumping against your chest at the sudden noise, you answered hesitantly, “Yes?”

The man, who was raising his voice so he could be heard across the street, gave you a wary look. “Do you know when the bus will arrive? I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you. The event felt out of control, like you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. It bothered you, but if anything, this was a sign. A sign that perhaps he was the one. “I’m waiting for it as well,” you continued. “Do you mind if I cross?”

“I don’t.”

After you made sure there were no cars nearby, you walked across the road and finally got your first view of the man, finding his features, his mannerisms, his everything to be just as breathtaking as it was from a distance. He had a relatively low voice, around a medium pitch, and it was grated, almost like a vocal fry. He had these little freckles scattered across his face like distant stars in the sky. If it was possible, you would have plucked out every single one of them to store in a jar.

“I usually don’t take the bus,” you said smoothly, trying to start a conversation, though all you could focus on the way he was looking at you, his gaze piercing and icy, “but my car’s in a workshop. I thought I’d try my luck here before heading to the subway.”

Your car wasn’t in a workshop. It was in the garage parking lot just diagonal of his view. You had only gotten out because you wanted a quick coffee at the local café. Eternally grateful that you spotted him along the way, you weren’t sure what you would have done if you hadn’t. It had only been a few minutes, and you were already in love.

The man hummed in response, not seeming to take much of an interest. “I’m in a similar situation myself . . . I’ll be on my way, then,” he said, clearing his throat.

He started walking down the sidewalk to the nearest subway station, a walk you knew was going to take about a while. And in those clothes? He was most certainly going to catch a cold. If it was proper to do so, you would have offered him your own coat, but in a city like this, where no one trusted, you didn’t need to make him suspicious of your kindness. People were like animals, small critters. Approaching them too fast would scare them off. You had to be subtle, ease into it before you did anything too rash.

“Are you coming?” he asked, turning around, waiting for you to follow him. His tone was expectant, and almost humorous, like the thought of you continuing to wait for the bus was amusing to him. It made you amused. There would be work to do with his arrogance when you finally take him away, you made a mental note of that.

“No,” you responded. “I’ve changed my mind, I’ll have a friend come pick me up.”

“. . . Are you sure?” he pressed, concerned. He was concerned for you. It was so sweet.

“I’m sure,” you repeated. If you were with him for a second longer you would have gotten down on your knees and proposed.

He considered your words, then nodded. “Well, have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You as well . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

“Jonathan,” you repeated, the word rolling off your tongue with ease. Jon-ah-thun, meaning God has given, gift of God. A gift to you, surely, or why else would he be here, standing in your presence if he wasn’t meant to be taken away? To be polite, you gave him your own name, hoping he liked it as much as you liked his, and simply said, “Have a nice day,” hiding the butterflies inside your stomach that flew around like hail in a blizzard.

Jonathan Crane, my very own doll.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against the skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then the noises stopped, and a defeated sigh left your doll’s lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped, as though he had given up. It was a shame, too. The sight of him struggling was exhilarating. It filled you with such excitement and arousal that you wished he kept going.

Currently, you were working, with your laptop placed out in front of you on your desk, some oatmeal to your right. The camera system was hooked up to the large monitor, so from here you could watch Jonathan’s movements. He had been awake since the break of dawn, the time he usually got up for work, except he wasn’t at his house today, he was in your basement, body against the cold floor, trembling like a scared bunny.

The planning was the most difficult part of this endevour. You had never actually kidnapped someone before. When you were a child, the local police suspected you in the mutilation of a few small critters in your apartment complex, and in college you were involved in the accidental death of one of your fellow students (he fell down the stairs and hit his head, nothing that anyone could prove was your fault), but to actually kidnap someone was entirely different.

It would be an ongoing investigation until the case was classified as cold, and even then some cold cases were picked up again after years; you had to make sure no could connect a link, because some people were too narrow-minded to understand how true and unconditional your adoration for him was; and not only that, but the amount of research — or stalking, as some might call it — that you had to do was exhaustive; but really, it was worth it, and Jonathan would fall for you just as you did for him within a few months, maybe a year at most. He would come to realize just how much you cared about him, and just how wonderful your life could be together. Once you arrived at that point, things would flow seamlessly. You had all the precautions in place. Even if he did try and escape, you always had a sedative in your pocket, and all the doors to your house was just as secure on the inside as it was on the outside.

The only thing you worried about was witnesses. See, Jonathan was usually very careful not to go into secluded alleyways or dingy locations on his own, which made it difficult to take him. So, you had to bump into him in a coffee shop — a coincidence, you had told him — and from there lure him out.

You sighed lovingly and gazed at Jonathan through the screen, deciding that it was time to bring him breakfast and lay out the ground rules.

After a few more minutes, you crept down the stairs with some food and water, careful not to step on any of the parts that would cause a creaking sound, and unlocked the basement with the passcode. When you opened the door, Jonathan raised his head, scooting his body away from your figure until he backed into a corner.

It was a dingy little place. It used to have carpet, but you removed that in favor of plastic tarp on the floor, nothing that could indefinitely stain the cement underneath. The walls were covered in that as well, and there was no window or clock to let him know the time. There were blankets to the side, and a small toilet to the other corner of the room. It was a good enough place for now. You hated seeing him in these conditions, but only once he proved responsible would you update him to a secured bedroom. At this point in time, he wasn’t capable of understanding things, and would only try to run away if you gave him more freedom.

Jonathan stayed quiet for a long while, and so did you, but then he scoffed. “I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. You placed the bowl in front of him, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and honey filling the stale air. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him. There needn’t be a conversation over this. He didn’t reach for the bowl yet, but you knew he would when you left. Eventually, hunger would get to him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

Yes, yes I am. I love you as true as the air you breathe, as blue as your eyes gleam, and as certain as the beat of your heart.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead.

“Your eyes are always dilated, you can’t keep them off of me. Not at the bus station, the coffee shop.” He paused. “You’re sick. I’m not in love with you. Whatever fantasy you have is not real.”

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

There was no point in hiding your intentions.

He scoffed again, head down. “Realize this, I have nothing. Whatever you want from me, I can’t give you.”

Reaching out to him, you rubbed your thumb against his skin. He was cold. Again.

“You need to learn how to keep warm,” you said, concerned. “There’s some blankets. Use them.”

Jonathan pulled away, though you could tell he wanted you to keep doing that, because for a brief moment he almost leaned into your touch and warmth. So, you did just that. You gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. He put up a bit of a struggle, but in the end, he relented, and let you caress his skin. Letting your fingers trail up his cheek to his nose, you quickly made your way to his eyelashes, his long, thick eyelashes that fluttered like a black bird’s feathers.

“I did a bit of research on you,” you said. “Just enough to make sure no one would come looking for you right away, to learn your patterns and your habits, or any other important bits of information . . . like the fact that you have a therapist.”

Jonathan looked straight into your eyes. It was almost as if, at the moment, he was more concerned about what you might have read about him than his current predicament. He didn’t want anyone to know his past, his secrets, his weaknesses. It was embarrassing, and you knew that because you read in his file — which took atrociously long to obtain — how ashamed he was of himself, how conscious.

He shoved you away, and you backed off.

“Don’t be mean,” you frowned, hurt. “It was necessary. Watching you through your window wasn’t enough to truly know you. And even now, I’m sure there’s so much I’ve missed. It’ll be nice. As long as you listen and don’t cause trouble, everything will be okay.”

“You’re delusional,” he scowled. “I’ve known enough people like you in my life to understand how you work. Once you’re tired of me, you’ll dump me and get someone new to torment.”

“That’s not true, and you’ll see that,” you protested. It broke you to know that he thought of himself as expendable. “. . . I know you need some time to think. I’ll come down in a few hours with lunch, alright?”

You took his silence as a ‘yes’.

“Good boy.”

+++

A few weeks had passed by. The snow was beginning to melt, turning into a mushy, brown sludge that you had to trudge through every morning to get to work. Admittedly, you were quite busy with your job, but you made as much time as you could for Jonathan. Your doll was in a sour mood the entire time, and after calling you a bitch and a unintelligent, perverted whore — such colorful language — he started begging you to let him go.

I won’t tell anyone. I’ll give you money. Please, I’m begging you. All clearly signs of emotional distress.

It hurt you a lot when Jonathan rejected your affection. More than you thought it would. He should be grateful that you took such an interest in him, but instead he was disgusted. Of course, he would fall for you soon, but it made you wish that he had already done so, and that too on the night you two met.

Wouldn’t it have been romantic? Love at first sight. Did you not deserve something like that? For someone to look into your eyes the way you did his and think, This is the one I want to marry. Again, you knew it would take time, but the wound still cut deep.

He was eating, which was good. One less thing to worry about. But when you checked his wrists to see if the cuffs were still locked you found them red with marks. It worried you a bit, so you applied some cream to them — or at least, tried to, with the way he was struggling and all. You did other things like bathe him, but despite how desperate you were to see his pretty cock, you never went beyond the waistline, and encouraged him to clean himself down there instead. You hoped it established some sense of trust between you two, because at least Jonathan would realize that you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable.

When you were researching Jonathan Crane — before you took him — you learned that he was a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. A professor at Gotham University first, but either way, it seemed that his heart lied with the sciences. You did a little internet digging and tracked his book orders, then picked something you thought he would like and was sure he hadn’t read yet.

One book on chemistry and its applications on brain science, and another on psychology, a look into real-world examples written by a doctor from the late twentieth century.

Carefully wrapping it up in light blue paper, you tied it with a navy-colored ribbon and made a bow. Your fingers lingered on the box, a little nervous about handing it over to Jonathan, but you walked downstairs with it anyways, opening the basement door and watching with satisfaction as he scurried away once again.

“It’s just a gift,” you laughed, setting it down in front of him. He watched it warily. “I want you to open it. I hope you’ll like it.”

Jonathan’s lower lip quivered, and you had a sudden desire to kiss him. Lips upon lips, heavy and sweet. Sometimes, you felt as though the only way to get close to him — truly close — was to peel off his skin and wrap it around you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He would die, which you didn’t want, but to think about it was enough. It was so intimate it made you hot all over.

“Please,” Jonathan muttered. “Please let me go. I’ll do anything.”

You sighed. “I don’t want to hear this again. I’ve been really patient with you. Can’t you just . . . be normal?”

“Normal?”

Oh, dear. He’s about to go into another one of his fits.

“How can you expect me to be normal when you’ve got me locked in chains?” he frowned. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t getting upset, but rather more submissive. He wasn’t scowling or spitting in your face, but rather his head was downturned and his body language more open. Was this it? Was this the point of breaking?

“I have nothing,” he continued. “No bed to sleep in, no touch . . .”

Touch. Well, he had you, didn’t he?

“You don’t like it when I touch you,” you said.

He looked away, almost embarrassed. This doll of a man had you completely enamored, fooled, like a hopeless soul waiting for the heavens. Anything he did, anything he said, would make you fold in a heartbeat. If he asked you to go get the moon, you would die, frozen in the vastness of space just trying. He could make you do anything, except perhaps let you go, but only because you knew that deep down, he didn’t really want it.

Jonathan didn’t make an effort to come closer to you, and you didn’t either. Despite your devotion, you wanted to see him make the first move. You had waited long enough. All you wanted was to be loved by him, and you knew that he had it in him to show his affection. He just feared you, feared that you would hurt him.

. . . Maybe a few more days. A few more days of waiting until you would take drastic action.

+++

Laying on the couch, you turned on the TV, opening up the Gotham news channel as background noise while you dozed off. There were a few errands to be done, but you decided to put them off until tomorrow as the weather had gotten worse. It wasn’t raining anymore, and the snow was still brown and mushy, but it was freezing, and you made the stupid mistake of leaving your car outside.

After ten minutes of just lazing around, you were abruptly woken up by the ring of your doorbell. With a groan, you got up off the couch and unlocked the door, only for your nerves to jump and a nervous chuckle escape your lips.

“I — well, hi. Can I help you, officer?” you asked, looking the man in front of you up and down. He had wispy brown hair that was covered by a fur hoodie and a kind smile painted on his face. He didn’t look like he meant any harm, but perhaps this was just a facade to get your guard down. For all you knew there could be police officers stationed all around your house. Or were you being too paranoid? Yes. You probably were.

“You can,” he said, voice a little gruff. “My name is Peter Wright, I just wanna ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”

You hesitated. “What's this about?”

Wright chuckled, but didn’t answer. “Do you know a man named Jonathan Crane? You may have just passed him on the street — he had dark hair, glasses, clean-cut . . .”

Your mind ran through all the possibilities. There was absolutely no way this man could know you two even met. You were so careful — so unbelievably careful. Was there something you had overlooked? Something you had missed? Maybe someone saw you with Jonathan and reported it to the police once they realized he was missing.

“. . . No.”

Wright smiled. “No need to be so tense. We just wanna know where he is.”

You smiled, trying to be friendly. “I’m sorry, sir, I have no clue who that is. You probably have the wrong person — ”

“ — yeah, figured,” Wright interrupted, flashing another smile. “He’s been missing for a while. You’re not in trouble, we just have to check every lead.”

“Oh, I understand completely,” you said. “May I ask, why have I become a . . . lead?”

“Just some security footage on a date of interest. You had crossed the street at a bus station.” Wright paused for a moment, seeing if you remembered anything. You did, but you kept your face blank. It was better to pretend. It made you relieved, however. This was nothing serious, and nothing that was your fault. “He wrote it down in one of his journal entries, that’s why we checked.”

“Journal entries?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

“Yes. That’s how all these smart people are like, or so I’ve been told. Methodical, pattern-orientated.”

Was he even supposed to be telling you this? It seemed like this man was more loose-lipped than he first appeared. Perhaps you could pull some information out of him, turn on your charm.

“You know what? Come inside. It’s cold, and I can make you some hot coffee.”

“Really?” Wright raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re getting let me in?”

You gave a playful glare. “I’m not gonna ask again, sir.”

Wright obliged, and for the rest of the evening, he divulged information about the case, a little too flirtatious for your taste, but it got the work done, and by the end of the day, you learned that they had nothing on you, and nothing on this case.

+++

“Jonathan,” you cooed as you entered the basement with a plate of mashed potatoes and steak. You immediately noticed that his knuckles were bloody, and realized what he was trying to do — he must have heard another person upstairs and banged against the concrete walls in the hopes that he would’ve been heard.

What a stupid boy!

“Hold on,” you muttered, annoyed, placing the food down. “I’ll get you some bandages — ”

“ — Can’t you just be here?” Jonathan said shakily, his voice hoarse. “You said you loved me but you never spend time with me, you’re always upstairs . . . I’m going insane.”

Your heart leaped. Finally. Finally! It was happening. He was beginning to see, to truly see the connection you both had. You could envision it already — a wedding, with only an eficator there to make things legitimate, with flowers and a beautiful background, perhaps a sunset or beach, or maybe some mountains — topped with snow. That would be perfect, absolutely wonderful. Oh, you would have to start making the plans now!

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” You snapped out of your thoughts. “Oh, no. No, darling. I’m just so excited, I’ve been waiting so long . . . Here, can I hold you?”

Jonathan nodded with a sniffle.

Not wasting a single moment, you wrapped him up in your arms, watching as he delicately snuggled his head in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his hair brushing up against your skin was exhilarating, making you shudder and shake like you were about to lose it. About to lose it and take him right then and there, all romantic like, with nice words and the scent of rose petals . . . Maybe your first time could be in a bath, with lit candles, cleaning each other off. It was —

Hold on. Where was his chain?

Jonathan’s arms were around your waist, but you couldn’t feel the metal. You looked to the hook on the wall and saw that it had broken off, next to it the psychology book you gave to him, heavily dented.

Chasting yourself, you felt Jonathan tighten his grip around your body. You should have checked — you should have checked for the chain like you did every time you came down. What was wrong with you? This one simple mistake could ruin everything . . .

Trying to think as quickly as you could, you looked around the room for the other book, but couldn’t find it anywhere. You had a sedative syringe in your pocket, but you couldn’t get to it without alerting him. Alas, you finally felt something poking you in the side, something sharp like an edge, and within seconds you had been tossed to the floor and hit over the head.

+++

When you finally woke up, your head was reeling. You had a massive headache, and everytime you tried to sit up your vision would go a little dark and you would give up. Before you could try again, you had a hand against your throat. You felt a horrible surge of anger, and in the midst of your emotions, a slight sense of arousal.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” you cried out, voice choked. You could feel a shift in movement, because after Jonathan realized he was hurting you, he loosened his grip, but it still wasn’t enough to get out of his grasp. He probably tried to open the basement door but couldn’t, so waited until you came to give him the passcode. You couldn’t rely on the hope that he wouldn’t hurt you. He was desperate. But so were you.

“Everything you’ve done,” he repeated with a low murmur. “You know how humiliating it is to be trapped in a basement for a month, forced to bathe in front of you because I can’t even be trusted with a flow of water? Have to piss with chains on? I’m a doctor, I shouldn’t have to submit to your delusion.”

“You should and you will!” you screeched, squirming. “You finally have someone to love you, to adore you, someone who would do anything for you, and it’s still not enough. Or you know what? Maybe you like that. Being sad all the time, not having anyone to care for you. Probably used to it, huh? Distant parents, bitch grandmother, no friends, no lovers . . .”

Jonathan tossed you to the floor and pinned you down, his nose close to yours, breathing heavy, eyes a little glossy. Then, without warning, he slapped you. The sting was both painful and pleasurable. The little whimper you let out was more of a light sigh, but you didn’t let that distract you. All you needed to do was reach into your pocket for the syringe, which he clearly hadn’t noticed was there. If you could drug him just a little, you would be able to get your power back, your control.

“I want the code. That’s it.”

“I want a kiss.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just one kiss. A nice, long one.”

Jonathan thought for a moment. His breath tickled your skin. Then, he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut, and brushed his perfect, pink lips against yours. He was so easily manipulated, so eager. Even when he had all the power, he still fell for your little antic. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

While he was distracted, you swiftly took the syringe out and stabbed him with it, pushing half the liquid in. He pulled away and gasped, but then his eyes started drooping, and his movements became more wobbly, and he fell into your arms, disorientated and dizzy.

“Mm . . . what did you do?” he asked.

You grabbed his hair, making him wince in pain. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard to be patient, not rushing you, making you feel as safe as possible” You paused. “But sometimes people aren’t grateful for what they have. That’s okay, it happens. You just have to learn. I’ll be patient again, just for you.”

You laid him on his back and started unbuckling his pants belt. He tried to stop you, but his movements were too weak and groggy.

“Don’t — don’t,” he pleaded.

You stopped, but only for the time being. You lifted him up onto his feet and let him lean against you. His feet were dragging a little against the floor, but he managed to walk. He pulled himself away from you when you made it to the top of the stairs but stumbled. He just wasn’t strong enough. You unlocked the passcode.

You led him over to the bathroom on your first floor, where you opened the tub’s tap and let the water flow. Jonathan’s eyelids drooped slightly, but you could see — smell — the fear in them. He knew what you were going to do, and he was helpless to stop it.

Taking off the rest of his belt, you pulled his cock out. White, soft, a little big, but other than that it was perfect, just like every other part of him. You brushed your finger across it, watching the way it twitched in your hands. Unable to stop yourself, you leaned down and gave the head a small kiss, but that was the last bit of kindness Jonathan was going to receive today. In fact, receive for a long while.

You dipped your hand in the tub, which was steadily flowing with water, and gave his cock a hard squeeze, making him whimper in pain. “That’s the closest to lube you’ll get,” you said. “Now come on, don’t fight me. Dip your face in.”

Pushing his head down into the tub wasn’t much of a struggle, but Jonathan wasn’t making it easy. Your doll, your poor doll. He didn’t want to be hurt, but that was what had to happen. And it would keep happening until he finally admitted that he loved you.

When Jonathan’s nose touched the water, he groaned, his head dizzy. It was cold, but by the time he could even register the temperature, his entire head was in, held by your hand as your other stroked his cock. A few air bubbles came up, but you didn’t give in. You wanted him to struggle, you wanted him to be in pain. He was like a fragile mouse caught in a trap. Only you could let him go. Only you had the power to.

After a few more seconds, you lifted his head up, watching with glee as he gasped for air, coughing and sputtering when he could spare it.

“Aw, baby boy. You don’t like that very much, do you?”

He shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him. You just shoved him down into the tub again, feeling your body tingle. You swiped your finger over that little hole where you would soon force cum to shoot out of, and pressed down on it hard. Then, you found your way to his balls, slightly pulling at the small hairs there. Pinching and squeezing. His thighs shook, so you slapped them. They were another beautiful part of his body.

You continued pumping, up and down, steadily, then pulled him out. You could feel some pre-cum on your hands . . . even when you were torturing him he couldn’t control his biological reactions.

When he came up for the second time, he begged, “Please — I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . . Mercy, I can’t!”

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and water was running down from his chin to his chest underneath the plain white shirt you had given him. His nipples were perked, probably from all the adrenaline, but you liked to think that it was because he was aroused.

“You can and you will,” you growled. “Take it. Take it!”

+++

When you were finished with him, you took him back down to the basement, his cock hanging limp through the zipper area of his pants, and tossed him to the floor. Noticing one of the books you gifted him on the ground, you picked it up and threw it at him. It hit his leg, and within seconds, he passed out.

You locked the door and left him like that for the next few days. No food, no water, no nothing. Through the camera you could see that he was barely moving. He only got up to use the toilet, but other than that, he was like a slug. It was on the third day that you decided to go down again and nourish him, otherwise he might die, and you didn't want that, not after all this hard work.

ii.

Jonathan Crane was respected throughout the city of Gotham, a known and reputable psychiatrist amongst others in his field, as well as connected with higher elites who often funded his projects, his small passions. Never did he think he would ever end up in someone’s basement, that too the basement of a beauty.

He had gotten into a car accident while pulling out of Akrham’s parking lot. It was a stupid mistake, not even his fault, really. The curb was so narrow and it was difficult to see past the line of trees whether another car was coming or not, and in his rush to get home, he went ahead without thinking and collided with a red Sedan.

No one was injured, but his car was beat up, and after getting it towed, he had to walk all the way to the nearest bus station (which was very far away, as the aslyum was rather secluded). It was cold, and he wasn’t dressed for this weather at all. He tried to take his mind off the temperature by looking at his watch, the tick-tick ticking, but when he finally got there, he found that the bus was not coming at all. It had been fifteen minutes, and nothing was there. The entire street was surprisingly empty for a city as busy as Gotham, with only the occasional patrol car driving past.

He was about ready to head to the subway — another long trek — when he saw someone else standing across the street. It was a woman, he could tell from the figure, but she was shrouded in darkness . . . Maybe she was waiting for the bus as well.

“Hey, excuse me, ma’am!” he shouted out, hoping not to startle her. He knew how women could get, all scared and skittish when they were alone. He understood. Crime rates were high, rape and theft were common. Even he was on his guard right now.

“Yes?” the woman answered hesitantly.

“Do you know when the bus will arrive?” Jonathan asked. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes — the sign said it would arrive at seven.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m waiting for it as well. Do you mind if I cross?”

Jonathan hadn’t expected that, but agreed nonetheless. He found it a bit odd that she was waiting on the other side of the road, but figured that she might have only just arrived. When she crossed, the light of the street lamps hit her face and he was taken aback. She was awfully pretty — beautiful, in fact. She was looking at him with almost dazed eyes, a nervous expression upon her face. He couldn’t tell if she found him attractive, or if she was intimidated by him. Most people were.

They had a short conversation that eventually ended. Jonathan would head down to the subway station, and the woman had opted to call her friend to pick her up. He was a little disappointed. She seemed interesting, and there was no harm in continuing their conversation, but he was also tired and in no mood to convince her to come along with him.

He was about to leave when she asked him for his name. “Jonathan. Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he clarified.

“Jonathan,” she repeated. For a moment, he felt ill at ease. Maybe it was the reminder that he was in the middle of an empty street at night, or the way she looked at him as she repeated his name. He shook it off, he was just being silly.

The woman gave him her name — your name, a nice name. He didn’t know what it was about you, but for the rest of the day you were on his mind. It was enough to make him mention you in his journal, mention with a flow of compliments that ranged from beautiful to almost sinister.

+++

Jonathan had always had a bit of a problem when it came to people. As a child he was ostracized and bullied for his gangly body, and in his adulthood, he had always come off as too unnerving for others. It probably didn’t help that he was arrogant and assuming, too. When it came to lovers, he could get quite obsessive, a problem that broke most of his relationships. Apparently no one liked it when their boyfriends were possessive.

He’d had a few affairs before, but nothing ever serious. He could never find someone he liked enough to marry. On the surface, he semed like the kind of guy that was more interested in his work than anything romantic, but in the end he had been raised with typical values, and as much as he tried to shake it off, he really felt like his path in life was to work, marry, have children, and then die.

When he was a kid his grandmother, Keeny, stressed upon him the importance of finding a good Christian wife. She must be a virgin, submissive, good-natured, and so on. He was sure she had already picked someone from their small town for him, because she was oddly pushy towards this one Church girl who liked to have ribbons in her braids (that was all he really remembered of her). Jonathan wondered what his grandmother thought of him now. Despite all the bad memories associated with her, he still sent letters with money every once in a while. She responded sometimes, mostly with pleas for him to come back, but he never paid them any mind. He was done with her and Georgia.

In his mind, his ideal wife would be an intellectual just like him. Preferably smart, but not as smart as him, who was just as clingy as he was, who understood and could care for him, and who was perhaps a little more on the dominant side. He was always embarrassed with the fact that he liked dominant women, but wasn’t going to let that stop him from finding one, or at least, hoping one would find him.

“So, you’re opening yourself up to new relationships,” his therapist, Dr. Taylor Smith said, an encouraging smile on her face. Jonathan had been with her for years, and while they were strictly professional, Jonathan couldn’t help but be slightly attached to her. It was what happened when someone gave him even the slightest ounce of affection.

“I suppose so,” Jonathan responded, not knowing what else to say.

“If you’re ready for it, I think you should go out and start talking to people,” Smith suggested. “You have a lot of colleagues, you could start there.”

Jonathan frowned. “They’ve stopped asking me to lunches.”

“Because you decline all the time?”

“Probably.”

“Then why don’t you ask them first?”

Jonathan frowned again. “I’d rather not.”

Smith gave a knowing look. “And how do you suppose to meet people, then?”

Jonathan didn’t want to answer. He knew he was being silly, but he just didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. Eventually someone would come along and ask him out, right? He just had to wait a little . . . Perhaps he could loiter around some bookstores or near the lectures he attended so he could meet a woman who was like-minded.

“Look,” Smith said, intertwining her hands. “Before we meet again next week, I want you to have made an effort towards a relationship. Friendship would be a good start.”

“I have friends. Harleen is — fine,” Jonathan relented, after seeing the glare his therapist was giving. “I’ll do that. It’ll be my homework,” he joked, but on the inside he was thoroughly annoyed.

+++

Jonathan’s first idea was to go to a coffee shop. He had been starved for some caffeine and decided that instead of making one at home he could go out and get one. He parked his car in a nearby garage and walked over to a local shop. It had a long line of impatient-looking people, moody, too, at that.

He took his place in line, inhaling the sweet aroma of the atmosphere. A few people were working, typing away at their laptops, while others were with their friends or family or partners. He tried to look as casual as possible, sweeping his hair over his forehead every once in a while, but then he stopped, feeling stupid.

He felt like a kid back in highschool trying to get a girl’s attention. Everyone here was either already with someone or rushing to get out. It was a dumb idea. He’d just get his coffee and leave.

Maybe he could just ask his coworkers at the asylum. They were nice enough, and it would probably do good on his work relationships if he made an effort on them.

When he got to the counter he ordered a small latte and went on his way, but after turning the corner he bumped into someone. They were holding a cup of coffee — from the same cafe he just went to. The cap, which must not have been applied properly, fell to the ground, and all the hot, brown liquid splashed onto both him and . . . and . . . the lady from the bus station?

Jonathan hissed at the burning sensation, but restrained himself from letting out a small scream. A few people stopped and turned to look at them. A few of them in pity, others stifling their giggles, while one man offered to go get some napkins.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the woman — you — said, grabbing some napkins from the man and wiping your blouse off.

Jonathan glared.

“What is wrong with you?” he sneered, his face contorted in controlled disgust. “Are you stalking me?”

“What? I don’t — look, I’m really sorry, sir,” you fervently apologized, which made Jonathan feel a bit bad. “Here — some napkins — ”

“ — Don’t bother,” Jonathan said, looking down at his suit, though his tone was a bit softer.

There was a moment of silence. Jonathan admired your features for those few moments, and thought back to how he wrote about you in his journal. His cheeks flushed a light pink at the memory. Imagine what would happen if you found out . . .

“Aren’t you going to say sorry, too?”

Jonathan sighed, getting annoyed again. “I’m sorry,” but it was sarcastic.

“I want to hear a genuine apology,” you said, but before Jonathan could say anything, you continued, “That or . . . you buy me another cup of coffee and we go our separate ways.”

Jonathan was caught off guard, but he realized that it was the perfect opportunity to do what he came here for: make a friend. And she was so obviously flirting.

“Alright. But we’ll be quick. I have to change.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

You both walked back to the coffee shop, standing in line as you looked over the menu. Jonathan wondered what to say.

“It’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” he said, feeling sticky as his dress shirt stuck to his skin. “We meet at the bus station, then here . . .”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

Jonathan couldn’t believe that you didn’t remember. “I introduced myself to you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. And you told me your name.”

You thought for a moment, eyes dazed for a few seconds, but when you looked back at him you shook your head. “I-I suppose you look familiar, but I don’t really remember . . . I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

Eventually, you both got up to the front. You ordered another coffee and Jonathan paid with his card. This time, he made sure your lid was secured on properly. When he got out of the cafe for the second time that day, he felt disappointed that he had to leave you again.

At the bus station he had let you go, and was he about to do the same thing here? No. He would try, shoot his chance. If it didn't work, so what? He would get over it.

“I can walk you back to your car,” Jonathan offered, taking a sip of his coffee, which thankfully he didn’t drop when he bumped into you.

“I don’t want to bother you,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s all the way down the road.”

“I insist,” he said.

You smiled. It was such a sweet smile, Jonathan wished he could igraine the memory into his mind forever.

“What do you do for work?” he asked, trying to make light conversation.

“Real estate,” you responded. “You?”

“I’m a psychiatrist . . .”

He didn’t mention the fact that he worked at Arkham. It was infamous in Gotham, and not that great of a conversation starter. Jonathan didn’t want this to turn into an interview about what it’s like to work there, how the patients were, and so on.

When you and Jonathan reached your car, he felt that odd sense of dread again. He was near a closed-off area behind a shop. It was one of those places that had parking lots for behind a store, and was shaped almost like a square. The shop was closed, and there was only one car in the area — presumably yours.

“Sorry,” you apologized with a laugh after seeing the look on his face. “There was no parking nearby. I’m actually kind of glad you walked me . . . it’s a little scary all by myself.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” Jonathan said with a shrug, ignoring his instincts. He walked you to the car, and before he knew what was happening, he was knocked out.

+++

The chains clinked against the others in the link, the cuffs tugging against Jonathan Crane’s skin, pulled so hard it restricted the blood flow. It was only then he stopped, and let a defeated sigh escape his lips. His head leaned against the wall and his posture slumped. Since he woke up he had been trying to get out of this place — out of this basement, it looked to be. His thoughts flooded his head a million times, and it was impossible for him to produce a semblance of coherent thinking. He begged his brain to stop working, to just be quiet for a moment so he could control his emotions and focus, but it wouldn’t. It left him tired and confused and scared.

What happened to me?

Why am I here?

Was that woman responsible for this? Did she kidnap me? Oh god, she kidnapped me.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

People are going to notice I’m missing. The police will come for me, I’ll be fine.

No they won’t. It’s Gotham, no one will do anything about it.

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. Stop it. Stop thinking.

After a while, he got his thoughts to quiet, but before he could be rational, the padlock clicked and the door opened. He backed into a corner — well, as far as his binding would let him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

It was you. You were his captor. His doom.

You placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Cinnamon and honey filled the air. It had little pieces of apple cut up, and even some chocolate chips on the side. It was absolutely heavenly, and Jonathan could feel his mouth water at just the sight of it. He restrained himself, however. He was not that hungry, at least not yet, and he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poisioned.

“I’m not eating that.”

Frowning, you bent down to his level. “It's not poisoned, you know that.”

Jonathan did know that. He was smart enough to realize that a person wouldn’t go through all the effort of bringing him here, only to poison him.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked next.

“Why do you ask?” you said instead. Avoiding the question.

“You may not be in love with me now, but you will be soon.”

Was it wrong that for a moment Jonathan felt nice? In all his life, he never had someone care for him, but here, someone had gone through the effort of kidnapping him just to be with him. He felt stupid for thinking like that. This wasn’t some story, it was reality, and in reality, you didn’t actually love him. You were obsessed. Obsessed . . . Was he that incapable of being loved that people had to either hate him or obsess over him like an object? Was there no in-between?

There were a few more words exchanged. You brushed your fingers against his skin, and though he pulled away, he couldn’t deny the affection rising within him. No one had ever touched him this gently before, this kindly.

You left, leaving Jonathan alone in the cold, dark room. After a few moments of hesitation, he reached for the bowl, and began eating.

+++

A few weeks had passed by. Jonathan couldn’t tell if the weather outside had begun to turn warm, or if it was still as cold as the last time he saw it. He never knew what time it was unless you came down with food, and even then, he was probably a couple of hours off. As he spent time in that basement, searching for a way out, he felt a sense of desperate hopelessness creep onto him. Would he ever make it out alive?

He couldn’t believe that he was even in this situation. After insulting you and calling you names, he resorted to fervent begging, but even that wasn’t enough to make you let him go. In your delusion you had made his life a misery. He couldn’t keep living in your basement like some sort of pet, forced to bathe in front of you and constantly monitored by cameras.

Maybe Jonathan would have liked you better if you actually gave him a nice room to sleep in. Or if you made something other than acai bowls and fruit smoothies all the time.

He could see it in your eyes that you truly believed you loved him, and it made him feel scared. While he overviewed cases like this and met people with the same mentality to kidnap and stalk, he still didn’t know what to do. In a part of his brain, he thought that maybe you weren’t so bad and that you could have been torturing him right now, but instead was being kind and thoughtful.

You tried to apply cream to his bruised wrists, and you didn’t even scold him for trying to get out of the handcuffs. He made it a difficult process, but it was because he was afraid. He had never been touched like that before. You were making him feel all sorts of things — anger, confusion, fear.

It didn’t help when you brought down a present for him. A book on chemistry, and another on psychology. It was wrapped in a box, which was wrapped in a light-blue color. Why were you so sweet? In all his years, he had never gotten a present as meaningful as this. His heart had wrenched uncomfortably, and he had to remind himself who you were, what type of person you were.

Maybe if he used this book to hit you over the head with, it would knock you out and he could escape. He could use it to break the chains, too. They were hardcover, and th

———

(I stopped writing here.)

The rest of this section was just going to be through Jonathan’s perspective.

iii.

You opened the door hesitantly, a wave of guilt flooding your body. Jonathan lay there on the floor, beaten and bruised, shivering in a corner even though he had a blanket around him. He didn’t smell good, but you expected it to be worse, so you took it as a sign that things could still be salvaged.

———

(I stopped writing here).

Jonathan is passed out, barely able to move. For the next few days, you nurse him back to health. You clean him, feed him, and give him better clothing. He doesn’t fight back. Slowly, he starts to accept his new environment and you upgrade him to a guest bedroom, but you still lock the doors and windows so he can’t escape.

The police officer comes back to flirt. You’re annoyed, but you know you need him for info. The police officer starts to get suspicious, and out of fear he’ll do something, you murder him. The murder is sort of the climax of the story.

After that whole ordeal, Jonathan has been completely conditioned by you, but the ending is open-ended. “The Doll’s Burial” is meant to represent a burial of his true self, replaced by a version you created, or, his actual death. It depends on you — do you get bored of him, is it truly an obsession? Or do you truly love him, and are willing to spend your whole life as his wife?

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