#and then is like well that worked out better so no one else can hear me be wrong even though i still think im right

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 2

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

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Bucky rushed home after work that day.  The presentation had gone well, securing his bonus, but had run over the time he’d originally planned.  He had texted Y/N, but never got a response.  He got home as fast as he could, walking into the kitchen to find it empty.  Fuck, missed dinner, he thought, chastising himself as he unloaded his things and cleaned them.  He walked toward the sound of the kids’ voices in the front room.  They were all spread out on the floor doing homework, spouting off endless questions to Y/N, who was trying her best to help them while also mediating between Winnie and Becca, which seemed like a constant these days.

“Mama she won’t stop brushing her eraser shavings on my paper!” Winnie whined, trying to shove the eraser bits back toward Becca.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Becca whined back.  “Not everything I do is to spite you.  Maybe if you wouldn’t sit so close to me they wouldn’t land on your stuff!”

“Guys, please,” Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Hello my loves,” Bucky called out, trying to distract them.

The kids all looked up at him with smiles on their faces, quickly getting up and giving him hugs and greetings before sitting back down.  Bucky moved over and around them to Y/N, kneeling down next to her.  She gave him a small smile in greeting.  “How did your presentation go?” she asked quietly.

“We got it,” he replied, smiling at her.  

“Congratulations,” Y/N’s smile widened.

It was one of the few real smiles he’d gotten from her in a while, and it made his heart soar.  Before he could say anything else the girls were bickering again, and James started firing off questions.

“Quit with the eraser!  Geez, do you just not get it so you keep having to restart?  How stupid can you be?”

“Mama, did you sign that form for the field trip yet?”

“I’m not the stupid one, you are!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“And I have that bake sale coming up, did you sign up for cupcakes?  Or muffins?  Your cookies last year were good.  Oh and my soccer uniform is all grassy, did you wash it yet?”

Y/N shut her eyes tight, trying to breath through the mounting noise.

“Guys,” Bucky said in a warning tone.

“Dad she’s being so annoying.  Why can’t you just leave me alone?  This is why you don’t have any friends.”

“I have plenty of friends.  You wouldn’t know anything about that because all the friends you have are just guys trying to date you.  How does it feel knowing that they don’t actually care about you, just what they can get from you?”

“At least I can get a date.”

“Mama, what does she mean what they can get from her?”

“OH MY GOD SHUT UP!” Y/N screamed, standing up fast and pushing away from them all, covering her ears.  “SHUT UP!  ALL OF YOU!  JESUS CHRIST!”  They all froze, staring at her in shock.  “No, James, I haven’t done any of that yet.  It will get done eventually.  As for you two,” she pointed at the girls.  “I know you’re both in a very weird stage of teen years right now, but if I hear one more mean thing said between the two of you I will ground you both for the rest of the school year, do you hear me?”  They both nodded quickly.  “I cannot stand this anymore.  This constant bickering, the noise, the incessant leaning on me for every little thing.  I’m so sick of the same thing day in and day out!  I’m done!”

Bucky stared at her in shock.  She had yelled at the kids before during rough moments, but this was different.  Y/N looked at them all with a deep look of disgust.  “I love you all very much.  But this is absolutely ridiculous, and I will not put up with it anymore.  I deserve better than this endless, repetitive, tedious bullshit!  Don’t I?”  Bucky stood up and walked over to her.  She had started crying as she spoke, and as he cupped her face in his hands she looked up at him, her eyes pleading and exhausted.  “Don’t I?” she cried.

“Yes, you do,” Bucky whispered, nodding as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her forehead.  “Just breathe, pretty mama.  Breathe.”

Y/N sputtered, her hands in fists at her sides as she closed her eyes.  She let herself relax against him for a moment, but just as suddenly as it started she shook her head again and pulled out of his grasp, sniffing hard.  “I…I’m fine, I just–” she glanced at them all, her face twisting into a look of horror.  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, then turned and ran up the stairs.

Bucky watched her run, sighing when he heard their bedroom door shut loudly.  He turned to look at the kids, each of them with a look of shock and sadness on their faces.  “It’s gonna be okay, guys,” he said quietly, sitting down on the floor with them again.  “Mama just needs some time.  But she’s right,” he said, looking down at his hands then at Becca.  “Becca, if what Winnie’s saying is true, you need to find better friends.  Boys, especially at this age, aren’t worth it.”  She frowned and looked down.  “Winnie, you need to let Becca have her time away from you.  Just because you’re both close in age and go to the same school doesn’t mean you’re both the same.  She is her own person, and you are your own person.  Does that make sense?”  Winnie’s lips tightened, but she nodded.  “James, I know you mean well, but asking a lot of questions all at once is very overwhelming for Mama, and as much as she is willing to help you, she needs a breather just like everyone else.  Got it?”  James nodded sadly.  “As for all three of you, you’re old enough now, and your mom and I have taught you enough by now, to be able to handle yourselves more.  That means from now on you’re responsible for knowing your schedules, taking care of yourselves with your personal hygiene, cleaning up after yourselves, and as of now you’ll be responsible for getting your lunches for school ready, preparing your own breakfasts, and making sure you’re out the door on time for the bus.  Also, laundry,” he said, glancing at James for emphasis.  “Your clothes, your problem.  Do you all understand?”

They all nodded solemnly.  “Good.  We are going to have to work together to take the brunt of the work off of Mama.  She’s done too much for all of us for too long.  Which makes her an amazing mother and wife–” he stopped, nearly getting choked up on his words, before quickly clearing his throat.  “But it’s too much for just one person to handle.  We are a family, and family loves and supports each other, right?”  They all nodded again.  “Okay.  Are you all done with your homework enough for tomorrow?”  

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

“Great.  Then go get ready for bed,” Bucky said.  “Good night, my spawn.”

They all giggled and gave him goodnight farewells and hugs, gathering their things and putting them away before trudging up the stairs to get ready for bed.  Bucky sighed as he stood up again, stretching before looking around the main floor of the house.  It was mostly pretty clean, so he got to work cleaning up the last few little messes and things he could see that needed to be done, then ate the leftovers from dinner.  

When he was finished the kids had all settled down in bed, and he tucked them each in before heading to his bedroom.  Bucky hesitated at the door, unsure of how to broach what had happened.  He knocked lightly, waiting to hear anything, but after a moment of silence he slowly opened the door.  He peered in and found Y/N already in bed, her soft snores the only sound in the room.  Bucky walked in and closed the door quietly, walking over to her side of the bed and kneeling down.  She was already in her pajamas, and judging from her makeup free face and the puffiness of her eyes, she had cried as she got ready for bed and up until she fell asleep.  Bucky’s heart broke for her.  He and the kids had been leaning on her for everything for so long.  They had taken advantage of her.  She had been suffering silently because she felt like she could only depend on herself to get things done.  He reached up and gently wiped away the last bits of tears that were still wet on her face, then leaned forward and kissed her nose.  “I’m so sorry, pretty mama,” he whispered, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.  I love you.”  

Y/N squirmed a little in her sleep at his touch, but didn’t wake, letting out a short hum as she readjusted herself.  Bucky smiled at her, fixing the blanket around her and tucking her in before getting ready for bed.

@cjand10 @sebastians-love @sherwoodforesttales @shanksstrawhat

[wlwsoccerfics]

Didn't expect that! (Arsenal WomenXCatleyReader)

Summary: you are nowhere to be found on the Arsenal training grounds. Your mom is worried. you are not the only one missing though...

Steph, your Mom walked into the changing room, looking around. "Has anyone seen y/n?" She asked.

"No, last time i saw her was at lunch!" Kyra replied. Everyone agreed that this was the last time they have seen you.

"Willa might know more." Caitlin replied.

Katie and Caitlin looked around for their daughter Willa because the two of are like best Friends. Only for them to notice that she was gone as well.

"okay this Is weird! She isn't here either!" Katie answered.

Kyra texted you & Willa.

"i texted them. Maybe they will reply." Kyra stated.

"how did we manage to lose both Arsenal Babies?" Leah asked.

"i have no idea! But drills start in 10 minutes so we better go find them!" Caitlin replied. Steph was worried right now since it was your first Training back after you were out for a week due to a concussion.

"yes let's find them. I Hope y/n is okay. What If she had a dizzy spell? Could be a late aftermath of her concussion!" Steph told the team.

"let's not think about that right now! I am sure both of them are okay!" Lia replied.

They were in the middle of forming groups and talking about which group was gonna Look in which area of the Training grounds. Before they could even start searching Reneé walked in with Y/n & Willa. Both of them were blushing like crazy and wearing the other ones Training top. Which was visible due to Willa sporting y/n's number on the from and vice versa.

"i assume you guys are looking for these two." The Arsenal Coach said y she couldn't help but smile slightly.

The Team stared at them.

"Baby McFoord is making out with my sister!" Kyra answered in shock. Everyone else was staring at the two youngest Team members. The two were 16 years old.

"y/n Lilith Catley! Where have you been? And why are you and Willa wearing eachothers clothes?" Steph wanted to know. Not that she couldn't put two and two together hut she wanted to hear it from you.

You were trying your best to avoid eye contact with everyone but especially your mom. Before you could say anything Caitlin spoke up.

"i can't believe you two are wandering off to...do whatever this Is!" She said and sighed softly.

"what even is this?" Katie wanted to know.

"we are a couple!" Willa explained.

"it's true. We have been together for six months!" You admitted.

"and your hormones are all over the place so the two of you made out at work..." Katie stated.

"i think we need to talk about boundaries with you girls!" Steph told you.

"Like no closed doors during sleepovers for example!" Caitlin answered and sighed softly.

Beth looked at the three moms.

"maybe you Guys Talk to your daughters about that after practice!" She suggested. Lia nodded her head in agreement.

"i agree with Beth. The poor girls don't need their entire business Out in the Open to the entire Team! They are allowed some privacy!" Lia answered. You and Willa both looked at them. Silently mouthing 'thank you' at the two.

"okay..let's do some drills, Girls!" Reneé said, she was still standing in the doorway. "After Training the parenting can continue!" She told the team.

Drills were a good distraction and you really enjoyed doing them. You always liked drills but especially now because you could avoid talking to your mom about all the new rules and about Willa. This was probably gonna be worse then the sex talk your Mom gave you when you were 14 years old.

A few hours later you were Home, sitting on the couch. Your mom sitting next to you. Her hand on your knee.

"y/n, i am happy that you found someone you care about so deeply, but i don't want you to sneak around with her behind my back." She told you.

Kyra walked over and sat down as well.

"we are so disappointed in you!" She told you, grinning softly. She tried to take the piss out of you and you knew it.

"funny!" You replied and jumped up from the couch wanting to jump on her.

"y/n! Kyra! Stop!" Your mom answered. You and Kyra often act like siblings. She often stayed over, like she did today.

It took a while before you continued the talk. You promised Steph not to sneak around with Willa anymore & that there would be no sleepover without supervision anymore. Which meant no closed doors. You agreed on the rules. Cause it wasn't like you had a choice.

The next day before Training was interesting. Cause you were sitting in one of the conference rooms with your Mom, Caitlin, Katie & Willa. Having the talk again.

"so we agree on the rules?" Katie asked. You looked at Willa. Biting down on your bottom lip. It wasn't like you had much of a say there.

"uh you guys don't leave us much of a choice!.it's not what we want!" Willa answered with a sigh escaping her lips.

Caitlin gave her daughter a look that was filled with surprise because Willa barely spoke up. Which sure was unexpected given that she was Katies daughter. Katie always stood up for herself and the team.

"so what do you want?" Caitlin wanted to know.

"freedom! We don't want you Guys to watch us like Hawks! It's not like we can get pregnant or anything! We are very Safe with our bodies and minds! We just want to have a normal relationship. Like Teenagers have! Our Jobs are already quite unique! So at least let us have a normal relationship. Let us be Teenagers! Let us make mistakes!" You finshed off your rant.

Your mom looked really impressed, so did Katie and Caitlin. And Willa looked really proud of you.

"fine. but please be careful! Don't do anything risky!" Caitlin replied.

"don't get arrested for example! It's what she means!" Steph said and sighed softly. "I hate seeing my Baby so grown Up! It's hard for me!" Your mom admitted.

"i will always be your Baby, Mom. No matter what!" You let her know and got up to hug her. She hugged you back. You talked a little more before getting ready for practice.

[weird-an]

For the wonderful @ihni <3 Sorry I'm late.

Jim's a petty motherfucker and he knows it. He has been putting Callahan on the lamest jobs and made him all the reports ever since the guy accidentally dented his car.

Now, because Joyce somehow became his conscience and told him to be a better both, he finally caved and offered to take a shift himself.

He already regretted it when he drove to work. He's regretting it even more now.

"Can I help you, officer? Billy Hargrove asks, batting his eye lashes like Jim's a lonely housewife. His lip is split and his car smells like hairspray and booze.

"It's Chief," Jim grits out. That little shit. "You've been loitering here for the third time this month and you're too young to drink. "

Billy raises his hands, giving him a boyish smile and wink, which makes him seem even younger. "Just a bit of fun, what's wrong with that, Chief?"

Billy's idea of fun is getting in trouble, Hopper knows that. The kid has been in Hawkins for half a year, but already has a fucking file.

"Licence, please." Jim stretches out his hand.

"You know who I am," Billy states.

Jim rolls his eyes. Fuck being a good boss, next time it's the other's turn again. "I still need your licence."

"Callahan has seen it many times." Billy argues. The word's are slightly slurred. The kid is drunker than Jim thought. Great. More paperwork.

"I don't give a shit."

At least the boy seems to notice that Jim's patience is running out. He hands the licence over.

Oh.

Jim's stomach sinks a little. He thought finding Billy here was annoying. It's actually sad.

"Happy birthday, Billy," Jim hears himself say - and he can't think of anything else, because asking "why aren't you home with your family?" is a question Billy's split lip probably answers.

Billy blinks. "What?"

"Happy birthday," Jim repeats.

"Thanks," he mumbles, face a little flushed.

Jim's got an idea. "There's muffins at the station."

Blueberry muffins and chocolate chip, because El wanted to bake both.

"So, I'm arrested?" Billy's shoulders slump like he was sure he could've charmed his way out of it.

"Well I should." Jim shrugs. "But I'm getting you muffins instead."

Billy squints his eyes like he isn't sure it's a joke.

"I don't need pity," he scoffs.

"I'm not offering you any," Jim grumbles. "Get in the wagon." He points at the station wagon behind him.

Billy slightly sways on the way to the car. Jim puts him on the passenger seat and lights himself a cigarette.

"Can I get one?" Billy asks, fumbling with his seatbelt. Maybe Jim should give him some Advil for the hangover instead of fucking muffins.

"Not offering that, too."

"It's my birthday," Billy argues.

Kids these days. "You're not gettin' arrested, that's your present, don't get pushy."

"My lucky day." Billy purses his bottom lip, not unlike El when she doesn't get her way.

Later, when the kid's face lights up when he stuffs himself with way too many muffins, Jim catches himself thinking that he needs to drive past Cherry Lane more often to check on Billy.

[pricegouge]

Also for the apocalypse if you’re still in the mood … Nik and his dochka who didn’t have a particularly healthy normal relationship to begin with, and toss in either a contagious infection or mutation-causing radiation, maybe some sex pollen type vibes. Nikolai locking his sweet girl up in her room after he’s exposed— needs to protect you from him— and he’s getting all of these sick urges… but he’s a strong man with an iron will, so he’ll be fine. You can stay in here until… until this wears off. Until there’s a cure.

His will may be iron when it comes to denying himself his own desires, but when it comes to you? It’s paper thin. He can only stand to hear your crying and pawing at the door for so long. You’re used to so much affection from him, he’s all you have left in a world that’s ending, you’re used to being able to crawl into his bed to sleep if you need to. You just can’t handle feeling so lonely, even if it’s what papochka says needs to happen to keep you safe. It hurts too much to be without him, you tell him as much, chipping away at his resolve. Not to mention the sweet scent coming from your door, like a siren call…

-🦷

I've said it before and I'll say it again. whatever the hell the opposite of dacryphilia is will always get me

cw: incest, obviously. grooming implied. dubcon due to consent being pretty meaningless but aside from that everyone is very happy to be here. i ended up adding a dash of religious guilt just cause i thought it added to reader's innocence. unedited and idek if it's hot to anyone else but like. gotta jump back on that smut writing horse sometime.

the worst part is, you want to be strong for him but you just can't seem to manage it. you know he's in pain, that he's scared for your safety. you want to be good, like he asked. because you're always good for him. but everything's been so hard ever since...

well, ever since.

(you don't like thinking about it, the incident. that first encounter, on the train, when papa had had to bloody his fist on a man's jaw because he'd gotten to close to you.)

they said it affected one's inhibition. made angry men violent, and lustful men like that one on the train... physical. in the streets, people had been reduced to animal instinct, but papa was not a sinful man so you didn't understand when he'd locked you away in your room, offering no real explanation beyond a general need to keep you safe.

yet there was no safer place than by his side, especially not when you spend every waking minute scared, jumping at shadows as the ghost of the man on the train haunts you late into the night. you'd tried to keep your cries muffled, but it was hard to do so in your sleep. twice now you've woken up to the sound of your father just outside the door, thumping his head against it as he tries to keep himself in check. keep himself away from you.

it only brings you more tears, fear and loneliness mixing until you can't even pry yourself away from the door, scratching at it like an abandoned puppy as you cry for the man who has always made things better, who's never once denied you anything until now.

he gives when you ask if it's the virus making him this way, if he's always wished to keep you locked away from him. "you're like that man, aren't you?" you sniffle, heaped next to the door one evening with your cheek pressed up against it, listening to him pacing on the other side. "acting on impulse. only, you don't want me." your voice creaks, fresh sobs building, but it's drowned out by the squeal of the hinges, the door falling away from you as it's ripped back, spilling you out into the hall where's papa's crouched to catch you, free hand heavy as he stokes it over your brow, down your cheek. with his forehead pressed to yours, he murmurs something about how stupid you are and then kisses you soundly before you can even get yourself worked up about the insult.

apologies follow, murmured against your skin in between the kisses he peppers across your face. he's sorry for locking you away, for ignoring your cries. he's sorry he left you all alone when he knows how scared you are. he's even sorry for calling you stupid, a notion that would make you giggle if not for the way his stubble scratches your skin, makes you arch into him, seeking more. he's overgrown, hasn't shaved properly in days. you wonder if that's due to a general lack of care brought about by the virus, or because supplies are going limited.

but it's hard to care about such things he's pressed against you so insistently, blocking out all other thoughts with a physicality you're unused to from him. papa has never been distant by any means (in fact the two of you have always had the close sort of relationship that's made your friends jealous. snide little comments and meant to drive a wedge between you. papa had never let you listen, assured you that your friends were simply misguided because their own fathers were no good.) but this feels different. his kisses have never lingered like this before, never been pressed into the crook of your neck, humid breath lingering on your skin as he breathes deep your scent. neither have you ever felt -. he's never been -.

"i'm sorry, milaya," he says again, aimless, like he doesn't even know what he's apologizing for anymore. generally, maybe.

there's no need for it, regardless. you hold his face between your palms and tell him it's okay and he caves, again, sinking against you with his lips sealed to yours until your knees buckle and he guides you to the bed. he keeps apologizing but you don't want to hear it, not when he's making you feel so good, so you distract him with more kisses, keep his lips busy another way. distantly, you know it's wrong, but what can it matter when the word's burning outside your window? when he's burning here and now, between your thighs, desperate for a relief only you can give him?

he promises to at least make it good, makes a sound like you've gut punched him when you say you know he will. he gets your skirt up first, lets you bunch it between your teeth when he draws embarrassing sounds from your lips, his own moving against your pussy with the same kind of ardor he'd shown your neck - desperate huffs and gentle, lingering kisses. it's… a lot, but not enough. makes you whine and squirm but doesn't make you mindless the way you'd thought it would, not until he groans in pleasure and digs himself deeper, panting against you with his nose pressed to your clit as he works you open on his tongue. he lets you get used to it, lets your pleasure build as much as it will, like this, dissatisfied and empty. he only moves when you're begging, fingers sunk into his hair as you try to pull him closer, deeper, anywhere -

of course he knows what you need. resurfaces with a deep, shuddering breath which he filters through the hair on your mound. his finger finds your hole as he mouths at you absently, too busy watching your reaction with heavy-lidded eyes. you take the first finger easily enough, cunt soaked with all his efforts. he gives you time to adjust anyway, digit gently probing against your front wall as he fucks it in and out of you minutely. it's better, but still not what you need, and he chuckles against your skin when you pout at him, trying to work your hips up despite the oppressive weight he's got leaned onto you.

"patience, dochka," he warns, no real heat. but it seems he's done denying you anything because his second finger lines up with the first even before he's finished speaking, blunt tip rubbing against your fluttering lips until they give, slight burn soothed by the way his first finger keeps rubbing against you. still, your father is a big man and it's a big stretch, forces a tiny gasp from you even as you try to breathe around it. and papa's at his limit for how much pain he can cause you.

his lips find your clit before you can even process the sting, long hot stripes that have you melting, legs falling away from him like a flower in bloom. he muscles impossibly closer in their absence, broad shoulders carving space for himself in the cradle of you. his free hand snakes over your hips, keeps you pressed against the mattress with enough force you couldn't squirm away even if you wanted. it's oppressive, being surrounded by him like this - even if you're not, not really, left lonely and open and embarrassed on your top half. it's good though, at least it is when you hide your face away and focus on papa's steady tongue, let him work you up until you don't feel the pain anymore, two fingers pumping into you with ease. you drift where he takes you, at his mercy as he reels you in and out of pleasure, distracted enough that you barely even register when he repeats the process with a third finger until his knuckles are bullying past your gate, earning another whine.

"i know, malýshka," he growls against your clit. "just a little more, hm? are you gonna be good for papochka?"

you're always good for him, nodding along before you can even fully register what he's asking. but that's okay because he makes it easy, sitting back enough that he can spit on your cunt, voice a low rumble of his native tongue as he watches you flinch at the sudden insult, hole clenching tight around his fingers before letting them ease oh so gently in, freshly lubed with his spit.

it gets easier after that, stretched so wide around his digits he can't miss any inch of you, scissoring you open with fingers that drag against all your most sensitive points. he doesn't go back to licking you yet, is too entranced by the way your mouth gapes, open and honest as he forces little whines from you, a heady overture to bass rumble of his voice, low enough you barely register when he switches back to english, a steady stream of praises which have you arching under him, always eager for his affection. khoroshaya devochka. that's it. there we go. give it to me. his thumb finds your clit and start to shake, falling apart at the seams.

"said i was like that man, dochka," he growls, a sudden vicious edge to his voice as he works you with singular focus. it sounds important so you try to listen, but he makes it hard with the rough pad of his thumb working you over. "durak. that man would have used you up. spat you out. not like him, milaya," he promises, kneeling back and dragging you with him, your legs pushed up and back until he could slot his hard cock up against your ass, lean his whole weight into you as he continued pumping his fingers into your abused pussy. your pleasure crests, pools in the basin he's made of your pelvis, brimming. spills when his free hand brushes your hair back from your face, that soft care you've always needed from him. "papa just wants to make you make you happy."

[frozenjokes]

can you guys stop slandering the clowns. they’re not assassins, nuns, deities of corruption, victims, or anything of the sort, they’re just clowns in the circus called hermitcraft.

ao3 link

Mumbo had always held a distinct awareness of life, a sixth sense almost, and he wasn’t so sure anyone else was the same. He felt the roots of trees under his feet, the tender pulse of want eminenting from every living thing wisping up his ankles and sinking under his skin. He’d see dogs on walks and feel the scratch of their nails on the sidewalk like marks on his bones, he held their hot breath in his lungs, felt the sting of bright sunshine on their dark eyes. He did not have to see the fox to know its teeth in his own mouth, nor did he have to hear the squealing mouse to feel fangs in his own spine.

All the same sensations he shared with humanity, no weaker, no stronger. That had always been a point of distress for Mumbo; growing older, it seemed so clear that people shared an inherent connection with each other, stronger than their link with the rest of the world’s life. Species preference did not come naturally to Mumbo, it was a trait he had to learn, and it was not one he learned quickly.

He learned adults didn’t like when he hit other kids. Arguably, they were more horrified when he threw rocks at squirrels and sparrows and cats. Mumbo was not allowed to peel the bark off trees or gouge them with sticks, but this was not a crime deemed abhorrent, so he often found his caretakers would rather look the other way than fight with him.

Mumbo was always fighting, with adults, with other kids. He could not identify with them, and as a little kid, he did not understand cooperation was necessary for his own wellbeing. The world should bend around him, or at the very least he should be able to fight to make it that way- all the social hoops just got in the way.

Mumbo loved animals. There was one foolproof way for his many various caretakers to quell him, knowledge passed from one to the other, that Mumbo was partial to bribes, and payment by any nature related book or magazine would be acceptable. He wasn’t a particularly talented reader, but he didn’t need to be, not when the pictures painted worlds infinitely better than this one, when he had memorized his favorite passages to the point where his eyes only skimmed the words, lost in the scape of his own imagination. He watched the same documentaries hundreds of times, and in foster homes it wasn’t uncommon for one to always be playing, Mumbo’s only problem being that he wanted to be outside, and the TV could not come with him.

One of Mumbo’s favorite hobbies was running away, and faced with the smallest inconvenience he would be gone, out the front door without those pesky shoes everyone always wanted him to wear. Animals didn’t wear shoes, and humans were animals, so they ought not to be wearing shoes either! The local fire departments got to know Mumbo well, and honestly, were the source of most of Mumbo’s positive adult interactions. He was not a nuisance, he was never yelled at or scorned, he was Mumbo, running around without his shoes on again, we should probably make sure he doesn’t get hit by a car or abducted. Mumbo got to ride in multiple fire trucks, he got to wear their big hats and chase several firemen around the station while waiting for his guardians to pick him up. In elementary school, when Mumbo was not allowed to be a tiger shark or a jaguar or a peregrine falcon for career day, he relented to being a firefighter.

Sometimes Mumbo still thought about that. It felt too late, sometimes. He never went to college, didn’t have a clean criminal record, and had a history of job instability. He struggled with commitments, struggled being trapped inside. Maybe a career like that could work for him regardless. As far as physical fitness went, he could probably pass a test.

He kind of didn’t want to, though. He didn’t want any job at all. Though if he had to choose an animal, his answer would probably change. Little Mumbo had great ideas, sure, and adult Mumbo’s answer at the current moment would probably be something like an albatross, what cool birds, though his ideal animal could change on a whim. It didn’t matter too much, Mumbo was pretty sure he could be happy as anything so long as it wasn’t human. Maybe that was an exaggeration. But fuck, life would be a lot simpler, wouldn’t it.

Mumbo never understood why people had to do things so differently from the rest of the world. Like- he understood, he got it, but did no one else feel like something was so deeply, intrinsically missing, that if they could just beat the shit out of someone from time to time, everything would be better? To take a life in your fingers, feel it break, Mumbo felt crazy just thinking it, but there had never been a time in his life where he hadn’t been this way. He’d always been one of the bigger kids in foster care, he’d always been stronger, but physical violence always got him in trouble, even when the other kid clearly deserved it. The adults in his life were always appalled, as if not everyone in the world had that innate instinct to hurt.

Everyone in the world did not, in fact, feel instinctually driven to hurt others. That was not normal. They were not pretending.

That was a dizzying realization. Mumbo was nineteen, just before he was about to be forced to leave his final foster home. Now, maybe that was late, but late grade school and high school were easily the worst years of his life, and kids did not have to be physical to be vicious, so. Though, those ‘worst years’ were only the worst before twenty and twenty-one when he was homeless and lost, and ‘escaping’ to the wild didn’t really work out like he’d dreamed for so many years in foster care. At twenty-two, prison sounded deeply appealing, but he didn’t get the chance to go before being bailed out by a stranger pretending to be his cousin, promising to take him home.

And he did.

Mumbo was so fucking desperate, he didn’t care. He didn’t even ask his ‘cousin’s’ name. Mumbo was shown a room, of which he locked himself inside, determined never to leave. This stranger would either kill him, acceptable, or call the police and have him thrown in jail, also acceptable, but Mumbo would not spend another night on the streets.

Grian did neither of those things. He did not push when Mumbo refused to leave his room for over twenty four hours, not to eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. Mumbo was really animal now, and there was no world in which he imagined coming back.

Grian felt differently, it seemed. Sitting outside Mumbo’s door, talking through it, chatting like they’d known each other their whole lives. Traversing the house loudly, letting Mumbo get used to the noise. Going to work, trusting Mumbo in his place alone. Gifting him the power to stay, leave, hide, or poke his head out the door of his bedroom, peering into the living room down the hall where Grian sat reading on the couch, the TV on, but muted.

Mumbo wanted to know what he was reading. What kind of books he liked, the TV he watched, what job he had, and the other things he did in his free time. Those questions burned hotter than the ever-present bloodlust at the back of his mind, at least in those early days.

Grian was receptive. He wanted to know about Mumbo, too. It felt like a trick, but all these years later, Mumbo had to relent his suspicion. At a certain point, did it really matter if Grian had ulterior motives when he’d given Mumbo a life he could live at his own discretion for this many years?

He still didn’t know where Grian came from. He never asked, not even now, twenty seven and having grown into his own. Mumbo was afraid to ask, to question anything about this happenstance, like doing so would cause the illusion to crumble under his fingers. It had been almost a year ago when Mumbo suggested he move out; he had money, he had a job, even if he’d been planning to quit in favor of something new, something to suit his atypical needs. That violence, the drive, always crawling under his skin. That was the day he told Grian, craving his rejection.

Mumbo was going to be an assassin- however you went about doing that. He was going to kill people, an idea that was impossibly exciting, regardless of the life he’d lose in the pursuit.

Grian knew Mumbo was the one tearing up the leaves of the old oak in their backyard, stripping the bark with pocket knives. Grian had seen him pull up flowers and weeds alike. He had caught Mumbo with blood on his hands more than once, and turned the other way.

Grian knew.

Mumbo knew Grian knew, and he could not stand to wait for the blow of his rejection to land any longer, red hot and smoldering. Mumbo wanted it now. He needed it now, for his savior to see just who it was he’d picked off the streets, to see the mistake he’d made.

And Grian loved him anyway. Begged him to reconsider. If not to reconsider, just to stay.

Mumbo had never been wanted before. Loved, unconditionally. It was truly the most horrible, gut wrenching thing, like having sand thrown in his eyes, his windpipe being stomped on, a vice crushing his lungs. He cried so hard, chest heaving until he hiccuped, then wheezed, he truly thought he was going to die. He had never hated himself as much as when someone else loved him. He had never wanted to be truly human so badly, to feel that connection everyone else seemed to share. Maybe then he would understand. Maybe he’d be able to love Grian back.

It had only taken five months to be injured severely enough to kill Mumbo’s dreams, as well as most other work opportunities for the foreseeable future. Recovery had not been kind to Mumbo, the concussions leaving him with unbearable vertigo and nausea that kept him hunched over a toilet seat for hours at a time. It seemed like every form of entertainment was off the table when your brain was this fucked, and Grian enforced the hospital restrictions relentlessly, only allowing Mumbo old freedoms once he got the okay from a doctor. Even then, Mumbo felt lost. He was suddenly, unfathomably uninterested in everything that used to bring him joy, like his failure to chase what he really wanted hit so deep, he would never be fulfilled again so long as he laid to rot in bed.

The incident with Cub made month four of Mumbo’s recovery, and since then, Mumbo couldn’t stop thinking about him. How was he doing- bad by the look of it, but how was he doing at home, was he as restless as Mumbo, as miserable? That was assuming Cub liked being an assassin, that he was driven to hurt, and the time without had him spiraling in all the same ways, but Mumbo couldn’t help but project, not when Cub had been so helpless, just as frantic as Mumbo had been for so long.

He tried to talk to Grian about it. Tried to explain with none of the words he needed, since those words were dark and bloody, and the rate at which Mumbo was starting to want was enough to disturb even himself.

It wasn’t Grian’s fault he didn’t know how to help. Hopefully, he tried to suggest Mumbo ease back into working, just part time to ease the stir craziness of bed rest. That they go on walks despite Mumbo’s new disinterest in being outside at all, that they take a cooking class, or do yoga, or learn a random new hobby.

Mumbo got so frustrated with him. He didn’t know why, and it frightened him just how angry he was, how rage boiled over into hate some nights, laying alone in bed, wide awake, hyper aware of every sensation across his body, every brush of blankets, the draft from the old windows, his own hairs standing on end. Mumbo had always had violent impulses, he’d accepted them as part of himself, as thoughts he could not act on in accordance with the law, and he would not feel guilty for them, but it disturbed him how intensely they were starting to turn in on Grian, how detailed his fantasies would get if Mumbo indulged them, and nearing month six of his recovery, Mumbo did indulge them.

He isolated. What else was there to do?

The world was far too overwhelming, Grian was too much to face most days, and Mumbo didn’t think he could take being in his presence for too long. Grian was pushy, he was scared, he didn’t know what was going on, but even he relented dinner at the table together after Mumbo screamed he wouldn’t do it any more.

Mumbo wouldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t do this anymore.

///

Cub had run in to the grocery store around ten minutes before closing, not one of his finest moments, but he’d had trouble getting out of bed after his mid afternoon four hour nap, he was disoriented and a little weak, and he really didn’t want to go. Unfortunately, he’d run out of the frozen toaster waffles he ate most every morning for the past thirty years of his life, and he didn’t want to go tomorrow, so he had to go tonight.

Most people pushed their shopping carts at a walking pace, so while the banging of a high velocity shopping cart was unorthodox, Cub was far more focused on his waffle buying at the end of the frozen breakfast aisle. Did he go for the blueberry or the regular? He liked the blueberry, but he got them last time, so did he really want them again? Maybe he could just buy actual blueberries and put them on top, that was always good, but produce was all the way at the front of the store..

The rampaging shopping cart screeched as it turned into Cub’s aisle, the bull at the helm red and angry, Cub momentarily frozen in place before grabbing a random box and scurrying out of the way.

“AaAugh-“ came a belated noise of distress as the driver anchored the cart with deadly precision to block the easiest path of escape down the aisle, then abandoning their vehicle to trap the second path with their body, blocking Cub in. Recognition hit, and with it, terror.

“You.” Grian hissed, and despite being similar in stature to Cub himself, he looked twice as big, puffed up like an angry cat. “I owe you an apology.”

Cub was frantic in his brief search for any escape at all, but it seemed he and his waffles weren’t getting out of this one unscathed. “I’m sorry, then. I have to go.”

“No- I’m sorry, listen to me, won’t you?” Grian was still talking at Cub like he was mad at him, so this made nothing clearer.

“Why are you sorry. What is happening. You look like you have a lot of groceries, you should check out before they close.”

“I do not think I overreacted given the circumstances, but hindsight has made me believe you were probably more innocent than I initially gave you credit for. I know it’s not easy. This could happen to any of you, and it does, all the time, to no fault of your own. It’s not like you have anyone else to turn to.

“I- hey. You’re making a lot of assumptions about me. I have other people in my life.” Cub crossed his arms, a little awkwardly with the cast, to which Grian pointed, lamely.

“I only see one name.”

Cub looked down. Scar’s name was the only one visible, written large enough to cover the entire front of the cast. Cub had been so mad at him for that. He huffed, showing Grian the other side, covered in the names of most all the clowns in the clownvent. He had friends. Even if it was Scar that had made him go around collecting the signatures… and Cub didn’t know half their names… and he only talked to one or two of them a couple times a month…

Grian raised his eyebrows, looking more surprised than he had any right to be. “Other.. victims..?” he said, looking more disturbed than anything- come on!

“No! They’re the clowns! Do you guys seriously not know about the clownvent, it’s where the clowns live!”

“The. Clowns. Right,” Grian dismissed the subject as if the clowns were imaginary, and moved on before Cub could defend himself, “I need to know what it’s like.” The sudden switch in intensity caught Cub off guard, holding his waffles close as Grian suddenly advanced, “Mumbo’s sick, really sick, and I don’t know why or what to do. Scar-“

Cub snorted, “Well now you’ve gone and done it. He’ll be on his way now.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He hears. If he’s given you permission, he’ll know every time you speak about him. His name, at least. He’s nosy, he always wants to know what the fuss is about.” Cub sighed, deeply relieved. Grian was on a timer now. “You have five minutes, ten at most, but coming from you, he’ll definitely want to know what you’re saying about him. You didn’t know?”

“No one- Fuck! We need to get out of here.” With one hand, Grian grabbed his cart, and with the other, Cub’s wrist. “What does he know, just the location I said the name, or will he be able to follow me?”

“What- What are you doing!?”

“Answer me!”

“I- Just the location you said it, I think- Let go of me?”

“I’m not done with you.”

Cub was too frightened to fight, too bewildered and still too unsure on his feet to put up a proper resistance, even if Grian was really as weak as Scar insisted he was. Grian hadn’t seemed incapable when he’d shoved Cub out on his doorstep, and his grip was like a vice, tight and determined. Grian maneuvered his cart with impressive dexterity, especially for how fast he was moving, and the way Grian bulldozed through the self checkout had Cub mesmerized, up until Grian snatched the waffles out of his hands, scanned them, and shoved them unceremoniously into his reusable shopping bags, taking all four in his arms and sprinting out the sliding doors without his receipt. His- He took his fucking waffles!

Panicked, Cub pushed the cart Grian had just left back to the return, and scrambled after him. Grian whipped back, already halfway in his car.

“Get in.”

“I don’t really-“

“Get in the fucking car!”

Cub wasn’t sure at what point in his life that he lost his spine, but he was starting to believe as he fell into the passenger seat of Grian’s car that it might be a problem. He considered calling for Scar, but with Grian in the driver’s seat, it was unlikely that’d do anything but piss him off. Given the maniacal way Grian screeched out of the parking lot, Cub wasn’t trying to test his luck.

“As I was saying.” Grian spoke through gritted teeth, eyes dead forward, “Mumbo is sick. And as much as I would like to suspect the corruption’s influence, I am not so sure it’s to blame. We, uh.. We have an arrangement-“

“I know about the sex.”

“He told you!?”

“He told everyone and their brother, so like, all the clowns and some of the other circus people. He’s kinda pissed. Mostly he’s pissed it was good. If it wasn’t good he would’ve eaten you, that’s what he usually does at least. I guess he might not have eaten you, not with Mumbo around. He’s just mad he agreed not to bother you for so long.”

“For fuck’s sake! Are the clowns all spawn of corruption?”

“No, they’re just clowns. He just doesn’t give a fuck. It’s pretty obvious to everyone but the ringmaster he’s evil incarnate, but he’s fun and makes good cookies and he’s a pretty good clown. They like him well enough.”

Grian snorted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he crafted some kind of spell, curse, or otherwise on the whole circus if that’s the case.”

“No. They’re just normal clowns. They aren’t-“

“Whatever. Point is, I don’t think the corruption is behind this- not that I trust it to uphold its end of our arrangement, but I haven’t sensed his or your presence anywhere for months, and Mumbo hasn’t been speaking to ghosts or anything. I’m worried the concussions have messed with his brain chemistry, he has no interest in anything he used to care about, he sleeps all day, he’s miserable, he-“

“Oh, thank god.”

“Wh- What?”

“He looked so put together. Like, completely normal. Coping. Perfectly fine. I thought I was crazy. Like, I’ve been this depressed since I took my first steps, that’s just a given when you’re like us.”

“That- I know he’s depressed, Cub. But this is new.”

“For real?”

“Yes for real!”

“Fuuuuuuck.”

“Chronic depression isn’t uncommon mind you, unfortunately you’re genetically predisposed for failure in about a hundred different ways, but this isn’t the main issue- I mean- it’s the start of the problem, but ever since he’s stopped doing all the things he does to cope, his condition has magnified to a level I’m concerned is getting to be unmanageable- I can tell, I can tell by the way he looks at me, and I- I was thinking about hospitalizing him, but that’s a worst case for normal depression, and this is- I’m not into purity, Cub, I know he needs outlets. Antipsychotics aren’t going to fix him. I just. I want to do what’s best for him, but I’m.. It just got so bad, so fast. I don’t want him to suffer.” Grian trailed off, and even looking straight ahead, Cub could see him squint against panic, could hear him strangle the quiver in his voice.

Cub knew in some ways what Grian was, what he was here for. Scar was never very concrete in matters of the supernatural, but he’d dropped a few vague remarks in regards to the nature of Grian’s kind, old spirits, victims of the Earth’s scars. Scar framed their meddling as a matter of revenge, simplified to a war of ‘good versus evil,’ when in reality they were sticking their noses in business that didn’t concern them. Corruption’s spawn belonged to their fathers, their nature could not be changed, and trying to do so was an unnecessary cruelty, prolonging a miserable life that could instead be free. Scar dismissed them as spiteful. Selfish. Which was not to say Scar himself was not selfish and cruel, but in his words, he did not pretend to be anything else.

Cub believed him. Before Scar, most all of what he’d ever wanted was to die. At least now he had something to be. Mumbo as he was now was just suspended in a state of endless wanting, having inhuman needs left unfulfilled, stuck because Grian would not let him go.

He did not care about Grian. Cub did not want to help him. His allegiance was to Scar, and despite everything, it would always be to Scar. However, kinship with Mumbo drew a new line of loyalty, almost stronger, bound by the kind of shared agony that not even Scar could ever know. Cub did not want Mumbo to suffer like this, not if he didn’t have to, not if Scar was right there, when Scar could take his pain away, facilitate the violence that would ease Mumbo’s aching heart. Cub wanted Mumbo to feel that relief, that explosive, rushing weightlessness he himself had experienced when he’d curled his hands over his mother’s throat.

So that was that then. This needed to run its course. When Mumbo killed Grian, he would be free. If Mumbo’s state was as dire as Grian seemed to think, it could be a matter of days.

Good. Good..

Cub stared straight ahead, watching the yellow lines of the dark road blur past, Grian similarly fixed to the empty street, eyes glazed. Cub had no allegiance to Grian. His kinship was to Mumbo.

And Mumbo could not go to Scar.

“What’s your endgame.” Cub only breathed the words, yet the silence still shattered, Cub squinting against the discomfort. “What’s your plan with Mumbo? What are your intentions?”

“I don’t understand.” Grian’s voice was just as quiet.

“What do you want. Why are you here when you know he could snap and shred you on a whim? If all of this resolves, if everything goes your way, how does it end?”

For the first time, Grian took his eyes off the road, he looked at Cub for a long time, too long, only for the light of another car to catch his eye, in which he turned his attention back.

“Mumbo gets to grow old. He gets to live.”

Cub’s lips were gently parted, body rigid, but Grian didn’t see. He was too concerned with the road ahead, with his fingers trembling on the steering wheel. Cub might’ve forgotten to breathe, he certainly wasn’t taking in any air, chest taut, constricted. What a simple thing it was, that could bring his whole world crumbling down.

“You think that’s possible? For him?”

Something impossibly sad fell across Grian’s face, tensing his jaw, clouding his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

[samuraionyourmom]

Been thinking about my Android Dazai AU lately. I've been asking myself a couple of questions about it since no one else seems to 😒 /lh (if you have any questions, please send them in, I beg. I yearn to yap). I've been mostly asking myself these questions to help me flesh out this AU better, and I thought I'd share my process.

If you haven't heard about it, you can check out my other posts about it here as well as the fic I made for it!

So, anyway, onto my ramblings. Prepare for an info dump and a half.

I'm sticking with the main question I've been asking myself for this post, and that is:

Why did Mori create Dazai? Why not just stick with Elise? What are his motivations?

This has been one of the toughest questions I've been faced with when I imagine this AU. It stumped me for a long while, so I just ignored it for the time being. But after a deep analysis of Mori's character, I've come to a conclusion.

Right off the bat, I'd like to make it clear that Mori has no creepy or pedophilic reasons for creating Dazai in this AU, so throw that thought away. I don't want to hear about it.

For starters, I'd like to lay out who Mori is as a person. Or how I view him, anyway. Deep down, Mori longs to take care of someone. We see this in Beast when he's free from his duties as Boss and is able to open up an orphanage. He states that he wishes he could have saved Dazai instead of manipulating him like he did.

But as it currently stands in the main timeline, Mori is unable to indulge in this desire. He is a slave to the organization, as he puts it, and he has a duty to go with the most logical solution as its leader. Facts over feelings and all that. Whether that means pushing Yosano to her limit despite his own hatred for using fear as a way to control people or sacrificing Oda, someone who he knows is very dear to Dazai, for the sake of obtaining the permit.

All this to say that Mori is very repressed. Personally, I say that these secret desires manifest themselves in Elise. She has some of Yosano and Dazai’s characteristics, both people Mori wish he could've cared for properly, and he spoils her openly, almost as if he's trying to make up for lost time.

Now, back to the AU. Elise's existence allows Mori to indulge in his fantasies, yes, but he wants something tangible. Elise is a manifestation of his own wants, but she's not real. So Mori decides to make an android. Maybe it's in a moment of weakness, so desperate for something, anything, to care for to make up for the pain he's caused.

Why not just adopt a child? Well, as much as he would like to, having a child in the Port Mafia isn't a wise decision, morally or logically. So he settles for an artificial one. It's different enough from Elise because it's something that can just vanish into thin air like she does. Something physical.

He works tirelessly to design, engineer, and produce an android that can give him as close to what he wants as possible. Not a baby, though. He couldn't bear that. He settles on a young teen for the design (again, not for creepy reasons, you weirdos). Something that he could care for, but isn't entirely helpless.

I imagine the first thing Mori did was create the AI for this thing before working on the body, and suddenly, this AI just starts yapping at him from his computer. The android takes on a life of their own. Starts calling themselves "Osamu Dazai." Orginally, Mori was set on creating a feminine-leaning android (his failures with Yosano are still haunting him at this point), but Dazai's like: uh, hell no. I am Osamu Dazai. I am a boy. Fix my body, u stupid doctor. (I love transzai)

Anyway, Dazai helps Mori design the body he wants. It's more androgynous than before, which Dazai enjoys. He's implemented into it shortly after it's finished, and voila, our favorite little bandage boy, is born.

Sure, Dazai isn't exactly what Mori had envisioned when he first started the project. He had imagined something more docile, easier to project his desires onto. But Dazai is what he is, and he won't be changed now. He's here now, and he's here to stay. Very human, despite how he came into this world or how much he denies it.

I may or may not have been influenced by the recent release of the Stormbringer Manga with that last bit. Anyway, Dad Mori is real. He's just not very good at it.

[moeblob]

[nobodybetterlookatme]

You know what my coworkers might’ve made fun of me for having so much "useless shit" in my go bag, but I guarantee they're never gonna do that again bc they've all used every single thing have in there 😌

[deviousdiesel]

.

[bmpmp3]

speaking of genbu's "serious" sounding tone in his voicebank, i think that might be why he was such a dead ringer for teto pre-synthv-bank-release with just a couple little gender parameter tweaks. wait do my followers know this. sorry i know most of my vocal synthesizer talk is genuinely gibberish to my beloved and loyal long time followers but do you guys know this. for a few years, people had discovered that since utau teto and genbu have this similar strong enunciation and dark sounding tone plus teto can have a bit of a tomboyish edge to her voice anyway -> if u mess with some parameters and phonemes he'll sound close enough to her, so it became a bit of running gag in the community, along with just being a genuine and novel use case for his voicebank. actually recently i found out about someone who made a couple of synthv scripts to set genbus voice to his falsetto pitch and set the tension to drop during each syllable automatically to make him sound like the utau sora amaha. genbu's purpose is to impersonate other vocal synthesizers

[anotheraccountonthisapp]

CW: vent in tags (I'm sorry idk Tumblr etiquette yet-)

unfortunately a lot of the corny self help advice turns out to be true but the thing is you have to come to those conclusions yourself otherwise it just sounds dismissive and dumb

[depresseddepot]

my favorite ear buds broke and I just spent three feverish hours searching the corners of the internet to find them again

[joshuamj]

can college just like, pause for a moment. I wanna catch up on linktober :(

[bowsers-sweaty-asshole]

.

[your-internet-bf]

We hadn't always gotten along. When our parents got married, we could barely stand each other. How could we get along with some brat we barely knew? Luckily, I had an idea. I bought a clicker - you know, the one they use to train dogs? - and got to work.

I started with "thank you". Every time you said it, maybe at dinner, in the car, at a restaurant, I pressed the clicker. You couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, and nobody else seemed to know what you were talking about. But soon, I started helping you with chores around the house and when we finished, *click*. And without really thinking about it, you'd say "thank you."

A few months passed, and you'd started to notice things about me. I took care of myself. I was clean, and I exercised regularly. You'd hang around when you knew I'd be back from the gym just to catch a whiff of the sweat and metal on me when I returned - our eyes caught once when you got a little too close, and for the first time you saw something primal, a little dark, in my gaze. But it passed in an instant.

We started getting along better, now. So one day, when you were lying on the couch with a snack bowl, I snatched it up and motioned to throw it into your mouth. Well, innocent enough, right? And it wasn't like I was eating much, so it's fine, right? Every time you open your mouth to catch, *click*, *click*, *click*.

Then, I invited you to come work out with me. Every time you did a squat, *click*. I told you it was a metronome to keep your intensity up, but you noticed the bulge in my sweatpants was bigger than usual. Wait, when did you start noticing my bulge, especially enough to know that...?

Finally, it was time. I'd been listening outside your bedroom door for weeks now, and I knew when you'd be asleep. I quietly opened your door and stepped into your room, locking it behind me. You stirred at the sound of the lock clicking, but I wasn't afraid.

I gingerly pulled down the covers and just... stared for a while. I'd never taken the time to really look at how beautiful you are, how gorgeous those curves were. I could hardly stand it. As you lay on your side, I took out the clicker, and *click* it once. Laying on your side, like you were on the couch with the snacks, you obediently open your mouth.

I pull down my pants, my long, thick cock swinging between my thighs. I brush the back of my hand over your cheek, then set it firmly against the back of your head, and push into your mouth.

You wake up almost immediately, but my hand stops you from pulling back as I force inch after throbbing inch down your throat. The more you struggle, the tighter you feel, the harder I push, until you felt your nose press into my hips. You push as hard as you can against me, but I'm so much bigger and stronger than you it doesn't do anything. I don't even budge.

I start to grind into your skull, making you swallow the thick, heavy head of my cock again and again, as I groan in pleasure. I start thrusting harder and harder, making your eyes water as I slam my hips into your face again and again, until finally, mercifully, I release inside you, deep inside your throat. You feel me pulse with your whole mouth, and you struggle to swallow each load of thick, hot, sticky cum while I'm still inside you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull out, letting you breathe properly for the first time in minutes. I watch while you cough and catch your breath, and then I ask, "what do you say?"

You breathe in intending to scream, but then you hear it, just one soft *click*, and all you can say is "thank you".

You stare at me, confused. I wipe my cum off your chin with my thumb, and *click* again. "Thank you", you say.

"I knew it. You're such a good girl, aren't you? Now," I push you onto your back, "spread for me."

*click*

You raise your legs to either side, exactly like you're doing a squat.

"I don't - I don't understand," you whimper, legs still in the air.

"You don't have to," I reply, reaching one hand between your legs to feel how wet you are.

"You're soaking, little girl," as I bring my hand up for you to see... Then make you taste it. I reach back down and slip in two of my thick, strong fingers, and cover your mouth with my other hand as you moan. I press up in just the right spot, rubbing in tight, quick circles so deliciously that you can't help but arch your back and grind into me. You feel the pleasure build and all thought leaves your mind; the only thing that matters is my fingers inside you, the scent of my hand over your mouth, and the lingering taste of me.

But before you can finish I pull my fingers out, pressing up and out, leaving you twitching and gasping. "Not yet," I mutter, and I move myself down between your legs. I line up my cock, slapping it down on your tummy first. It reaches your navel, and you feel a wave of fear that only makes you wetter. I pull back, then start pushing in.

It's thick, thick, thick, and heavy. I stretch you out wider than you thought possible, pressuring you in every direction, spreading your aching cunt and making you feel full inside for the first time in your life. Long, deep strokes, moving your whole body with every thrust, reaching inside you, my breath coming fast and hard.

And you hear it again.

*click*

"Thank you," you choke out between sobs.

*click*

"Thank you," you moan.

*click*

"Thank you," you plead, tears in your eyes.

My strokes come faster now, slamming inside you like an animal as you continue to thank me for raping you. Finally, finally, finally, you feel me tense up and slam deep, deep, deep inside you, pressing your whole body into the bed, as I cum again. Huge, hot, sticky white loads of my cum shoot inside you, filling you, as my breath comes in gasps, and as I do you feel it too, now, the wave of pleasure cresting, and you cum, your legs squeezing together, your face screwed tight, moaning with the release of months of tension. And as you cum, you hear a new sound, a familiar sound, but it's deeper than the others...

*click*

And you cum harder, knowing I'm training you like a bitch in heat.

I climb up next to you, and just gaze into your eyes for a moment. Then I smile. "Let's go again."

*click*

[webism]

pornstar!shiu who started out as your agent. he’d book your gigs, stand and watch with cigarette in hand as you were fucked on film for a fat check that he’d take a cut of.

pornstar!shiu who would take you out for celebratory drinks after landing larger acts—be it a shoot for a dirty magazine or a collaboration with the current biggest name in adult film. shiu is good at getting you in—and he doesn’t much mind watching your artwork either.

pornstar!shiu who helps you set up a secondary source of income: an onlyfans. he helps you garner an audience, set your prices and start looking for guest stars. he lines a few up, lets you pick from them and even pours them a drink when they come over to film. shiu lets you have privacy with these shoots, but insists on staying in the house just in case anything goes sideways: they never do, though. most of the guys you film with are put off by the look shiu gives them when they first walk in. mean.

pornstar!shiu who slowly starts to get sick of accommodating the men you film with. it's just work, sure, but he doesn't get jealous like this of the girls that his other client Toji works with. he doesn't watch their videos back on repeat to make sure their hands don't wander where they aren't welcome. he doesn't fuck his fist at night thinking about him. it's just a you thing.

pornstar!shiu who gets an email one day from a well known pornstars agent practically begging to hitch up a collab between you and him. satoru gojo is a name shiu has heard plenty times before, be it through the business side of being your agent or through his computer speaker when he's edging himself to mindless porn in the dead of night. he knows he fucks good, seen it first hand.

pornstar!shiu who knows you're excited for this shoot, to finally get to try out the guy known for giving real orgasms in hopes of a more raw shoot. shiu almost feels bad when he tells you, twenty minutes before your shoot, that gojo can't make it. that he's sick with something nasty and you'll have to reschedule if his calendar opens up for you.

pornstar!shiu who listens to you whine about how you promised your online audience something good tonight. nods as you beg for him to find someone else on such short notice. he pretends to scroll through his phone and send a few texts as you stress your pretty mind over leaving your followers hanging. shiu can't help but smile at your desperate pout when he tells you that no one can make it on such short notice... but that he does have another idea, albeit an unconventional one.

pornstar!shiu who, within twenty minutes, has your face pressed into your pillows and his hand forcing your arch so he can fuck you just that little bit deeper. the moans you let out, even though they're muffled by your satin pillow, are nothing short of pornographic. it's fitting, and pulls a smile onto shiu's face because he's hearing better moans from you than he thinks gojo could ever pull. and god you feel better than he'd ever imagined: he wonders how he'll ever lay down for another person again know that he's felt you wrapped around his cock.

pornstar!shiu who insists it's just a favour: just work. he's given you five orgasms and a dirty movie to show for it too. you two fuck for an hour and he showers at your place before helping you edit and post it over dinner. it's casual, nothing awkward, but when the comments start rolling in about this new man that makes you cum like none other has, you swear he blushes.

pornstar!shiu who quickly becomes a regular on your page. goes from being your agent to somewhat of a partner in film. over the course of a few weeks, you have more money than you know what to do with: people keep subscribing to watch you cum on his cock in the mindless way it seems only he can pull from you. your library grows daily, with videos of him fucking you on the kitchen counter, whipped cream eaten straight from your chest, to videos from his perspective as he takes drags of a cigarette while you get your fix from your lips wrapped around his thick cock. he's somewhat of a pornstar himself now.

pornstar!shiu who, for someone who insisted this was just work, gets into the habit of kissing you through your orgasms. or conveniently forgetting to press record so that your marathon sex session on his couch stays for his eyes only. or starts leaving things at your house on the off chance to have someone else over to film with, so they'll see his hair gel or large shoes by the front door and realise you're spoken for, even if he doesn't have the right to speak for you.

pornstar!shiu who's asleep in your bed one night, his cock still nestled deep inside of you after making love to you for the first time. you're littered with lovebites and your mind is hazy with feelings you never thought you'd have for your agent of all people. the night is dark, and as you're cockwarming the man who is much more than just a co-star to you, your phone dings. he stirs, and you check it to find a message from Satoru Gojo, who is asking after you. he says he's upset you didn't get to film together the other week but he hopes you're feeling better. your sickness seemed pretty nasty, from what your agent said when he cancelled on your behalf.

what a shame!