#anyway it’s longer than expected

[aballadforbarbatos]

lighthouse

a hanahaki piece from mephistopheles’ point of view. i’m using my thought template (? is that what you’d call it?) which can be found here.

if you’d like a more classic piece using the version everyone knows, i can publish something like that too! just let me know!

this was based on a poll; if you’d like spoilers for the type of ending, you can see the results here.

word count: 2.7k+

when he walks into the house of lamentation, he finds it absolutely trashed. dirt looks like it’s piling up in the corners and the few plants you look after are either overgrown or on the brink of death.

there are holes in the walls. he can only assume these are the result of fits of rage, probably from satan, but mephistopheles has no idea what could’ve pushed him over the edge. sobbing echoes from up the stairs. the exact brother that those tears belong to remains a mystery to him.

he’s been on a trip away with nobles. honestly, it was rather boring- and he’d still be on it, were it not for the summoning from diavolo.

goodness. they call you the devilsitter, but you’re not doing a very good job at it. how could you have let the place get into such a state? what, have you gone up to the human world or something? but then he would have been notified. wouldn’t you have… wouldn’t you have told him?

you would’ve told him, right? you wouldn’t have left him in the dark. no, not him. you couldn’t bear not letting him know. as he picks his way through the dirt and trash and debris, he obsesses over this idea for a while, only getting it together when he lies his eyes on diavolo.

“diavolo, you wanted me for something?”

beyond diavolo, he spots lucifer next. the man looks exhausted, and his eyes are red. his movements are sluggish and he has a pile of paperwork in one hand and what looks like coffee in the other, like he’s trying to distract himself from something.

“why is mephisto here?” mammon asks from the couch. “does he even like MC?”

stupid question. he doesn’t grace it with an answer.

thirteen appears next, and mephistopheles suddenly gets a bad feeling. in a wrecked house with similar inhabitants, having a reaper here can only be bad. who is she here to reap?

who…

“i’m sorry, mephistopheles. thirteen thought you might be helpful. i’m sure she’ll fill you in on the way there.”

if not for the fact that death and its subsequent mourning feels like it’s about to engulf the entirety of the house of lamentation, he might’ve turned around and walked out of the house. here at the whim of someone else? really?

he numbly follows thirteen down the hall instead.

she delivers the awful news he expects. it’s you. of course it’s you. human lives are so fleeting, and their bodies aren’t quite as robust as their celestial counterparts. a good chunk of them can’t even use magic. you couldn’t use magic when you arrived!

knowing all this doesn’t stop his heart from cracking when she says your name. doesn’t stop his stomach from twisting. in a most un-noble way, it doesn’t stop him from throwing up in the hall. she looks at him with pity.

no, don’t pity him. he doesn’t need or want that.

with a quick chant, the vomit is gone, and mephistopheles continues on to your room, his stride just a little faster.

she explains to him that it’s hanahaki, a human world disease that stems from unrequited love. this information came from satan rather than solomon, surprisingly. when he asks what that has to do with him, she says that if the person you love confesses to you, the disease will disappear on its own.

she says that everyone has already confessed. everyone except for him.

i don’t have feelings for them. it’s what he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat. he’s always aimed to share the truth; have all those years of denying what he really feels now caught up to him? or maybe it’s because he risks bringing your death faster. you know, if the target of your affections is him.

but also, why would it be him? you don’t see him enough. shouldn’t you have fallen for one of the brothers instead? is there a secret one that hasn’t confessed yet? mammon’s always denying his obvious feelings for you. maybe he’s lied about confessing to you. maybe he hasn’t confessed at all. or, or, there could be a secret eighth brother!

thirteen opens the door to your room and ushers him in.

she explained it all on the way here, but it doesn’t prepare him for the sight. even if he had all the time in the world, mephistopheles doubts that he could ever be prepared for something like this.

your chest heaves, and what follows is a violent cough that grates against his ears. after a few moments of silence, the sound of your breathing returns, shallow and raspy. aside from your breathing and coughing, your body is completely still. it’s like you’re already dead.

“how long do they have left?” he asks. she has access to the candles. she should know.

“that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?” a dark joke that’s obviously an attempt to comfort herself, judging by the tears in her eyes. not long. maybe it’s worse for her, knowing when your time is supposed to come. she could always pour more wax on your candle, extending your life- but also prolonging your suffering. stuck between a rock and a hard place, he doesn’t envy her.

the most noticeable feature you have is the bunch of flowers sprouting from your face. deep purple petals with a green pistil in the middle. he knows that shade of green too well. he sees it whenever he looks in the mirror. his breath hitches.

“everyone has confessed,” thirteen whispers. “except for you.”

and with that, she leaves, closing the door behind her.

you start coughing again, and mephistopheles feels tears beginning to prick his own eyes. suddenly feeling quite lost, he drops to his knees and takes your hand. it’s cold. stiff. he’s amazed that you’re still here, even as you roleplay a corpse. is this the indomitable human will…?

“MC,” he begins, but doesn’t quite know where to go from there. another flower blooms. they cover your face completely, a little like a veil. he wonders if your eyes are glassy beneath it, lacking the sparkle that they normally hold. he wonders, if the flowers weren’t there, you’d be able to see anything at all.

he decides to stop wondering.

“MC,” he tries again. “i know we didn’t see each other a lot, but-”

his words fail again and he watches his hands shake. he’s probably just imagining it, but it seems like your fingers tighten just a little around his hand. the indomitable human will. a cliche where love conquers all. he presses your hand against his forehead and quietly breaks into sobs.

it’s not fair.

it’s not fair.

it’s not fair that his noble status means that he’s expected to marry someone of equal “value”, and it’s not fair that he doesn’t get to see you that often, his time taken up by schoolwork and newspaper club duties and noble duties and then someone is always hoarding your time anyway, and it’s not fair that he’s already being pushed away and it’s not fair that diavolo is obviously crushing on you and your love being requited, if it really is him, would just end up with him being pushed away more.

it’s probably more acceptable for you to be with an angel than with him.

he wonders what it was like for the others when it came to falling for you. maybe the realisation was soft. fluffy. like falling onto a bed of feathers, a warm fuzzy feeling flooding their brain. what is it like, being allowed to fall in love with you? is it as beautiful as he imagines it to be?

the realisation hit him when he was taking a photo of you for the school newspaper. though the lighting was terrible and the backdrop was even worse, you still looked gorgeous. ethereal. perfect. if it were anyone else, he never would've entertained the idea- but because it was you, he'd snapped a picture, and showed it to you, saying that he'd like to make it the front page photo. you’d laughed, saying you looked awful and to take a better one. put those centuries of photography expertise to good use!

it was like hitting concrete after a long fall. it felt like being torn apart and set alight and ripped to shreds all at once. he resigned himself to being unhappy forever, because you’d surely take to someone that you see far more often than him, and he’d be stuck on the sidelines watching it all happen. he tried to distance himself, but it didn’t work and how could it when you kept making excuses to see him?

he admires the flowers. limited time has cursed them. your short lifespan, his lack of free hours from duties and responsibilities and extra work, kindly piled on by lucifer, and now the clock is ticking away on him yet again because he can’t spit the fucking words out.

at least if you die, the flowers will stay. an eternal reminder of you, and what he couldn’t have. how ironic.

ah. he should be used to it by now. aside from the money and the title, which are only more chains, he has nothing. his little brother is a small comfort. he can’t keep his childhood friend, he can’t keep his position, he can’t even keep you, and you want to be kept.

mephistopheles sucks in a breath, desperate to gain some semblance of stability, but it doesn’t work. his parents will be disappointed, and everyone else will hate him, with the exception of perhaps luke and his lovely little brother. diavolo won’t ever look at him again, probably completely disgusted, and then he’d be completely lost. tears are streaming down his face.

he’s so pathetic.

that’s not an exaggeration. you’re on death’s door, and he has the power to save you, and he can’t because he’s afraid. he doesn’t deserve someone like you. you, who goes above and beyond when it’s needed. you, who wasn’t immediately turned off by his attitude. you, whom he loves.

he recalls something that you said to him when you were telling him about your plan to massively prank lucifer. he remembers asking you if you’re not afraid of the consequences- you’d laughed at him, but not cruelly.

the only thing to fear is fear itself!

all that time he spent talking down on you and humans. through his heartbreak, he lets out a gentle sigh, resigning himself to the future.

maybe it won’t be as bad as it seems. maybe you’ll make the consequences lighter. maybe with your presence, he can hallucinate his life getting better. maybe, maybe, maybe. maybe he could learn to hope again, instead of uselessly grasping at straws. he chokes out the words, pressing your cold, stiff hand to his forehead. your breathing has slowed. your coughing has stopped.

like it could ever be that easy.

maybe…

maybe he’s too late.

mephistopheles feels like he's watching what’s probably the last of your candle burn out, his heart threatening to shatter. your chest heaves again, and he prepares himself, ready for the horrible hacking noise that’ll follow.

but it never comes.

instead, he feels your grip on his fingers tighten. it’s only a little, but it’s there. he didn’t imagine it. that was real. he’s too young and it’s too early to be hallucinating you doing things, so that was definitely absolutely real.

right?

there’s a soft exhale that he barely hears, and he watches the flowers begin to wither and decay. his heartbroken and absolutely pitiful tears turn into happier ones as warmth returns to your hand and life begins to flood back into your body.

he doesn’t move from your side, amazed at how quickly you’re recovering. it’s your breathing that he finds he’s most excited about, the hoarseness quickly disappearing.

you turn your head to him. even with the flowers gone, you look absolutely exhausted. perhaps that’s to be expected.

“say that again.”

it comes a lot easier the second time.

“i love you, MC. to the moon and back.”

a smile tugs at your lips. “i love you too.”

it takes him a while to come out of the room. you want to come with him, and are too stubborn to stay on your bed, complaining that it’s boring and you’ve already been there for days. unfortunately, you’re too weak to stand on your own (not that he’s particularly surprised), so you end up leaning quite heavily on him instead.

very slowly, you make it out of the room. thirteen’s outside, probably waiting for the bad news.

“finished?”

“sorry, thirteen.” you grin weakly. “i’m still alive.”

still alive and walking, which he’ll probably get told off for letting you do. he thinks about it briefly and instead lifts you up so that he can walk faster he’s supporting your legs with one arm and your back with the other. the reaper purses her lips as her tears finally spill over.

“this makes it quite difficult to hug them, you realise.”

“they’re too weak for hugging.”

“i could probably manage a little hug-”

“you’re too weak for hugging.”

you huff out a laugh. “whatever you say...”

you don’t comment on the state of the house as he carries you to the common room, thirteen animatedly talking beside him. mephistopheles tries hard not to look down; he knows you’ll be staring at him adoringly, finally free to.

the only people still in the common room are mammon, diavolo, and barbatos. lucifer must’ve gone to his office to drown himself in paperwork. thankfully, mammon’s scream (thirteen held her hands over your ears, but he’s not sure it did much) alerts everyone in the house. one after the other, people appear in the doorway, their eyes wide and red.

levi looks like he’s cried so much that he can’t cry anymore, and yet he still manages to summon some tears as he sees you flowerless.

“you can all go back to school now. isn’t that exciting?” you laugh, and belphie looks at you dryly, obviously unimpressed by the idea.

“ha. you’re so funny, MC.”

mephisto looks down to see a weak smile gracing your face. then something shifts in you and you start complaining.

“i feel like a newborn baby, being stared at like this.”

“i can set you down, if you like,” he offers, and you shake your head, snuggling further into his chest. he wonders if you can hear his heart pounding.

“no thank you. i like being in your arms. by the way, this hold is called the bridal style carry in the human world.”

mephistopheles very nearly drops you at that.

and much later on, after many games of rock paper scissors and many ties between thirteen and satan when it came to feeding you (you probably could’ve done it yourself), diavolo pulls him aside for a walk.

here it comes. the rejection.

mephisto braces himself.

“you know, i think they’ll be good for you.”

…?

“diavolo?”

he laughs. “what, did you think i was going to punish you, or something? it’s not like it’s something you can control, falling in love.” there’s a pause. “i hope you didn’t beat yourself up too badly before you confessed.”

ah. so he went through something similar. perhaps there’s a shared understanding between demons of higher rank that he’d previously overlooked.

“also-” the prince musters up a grin. “they’d be pretty damn annoyed to know if you did.”

bonus:

as he returns from his walk, he sees you leaning on satan, waiting for his return. except you only look at him once, mouth “watch this”, and focus your gaze entirely on diavolo.

mephistopheles wonders if he should be worried.

given that it’s you, the answer is probably a resounding yes.

“diavolo,” you begin, fidgeting. “i was wondering if i could maybe get a present? you know, since i nearly died.”

diavolo’s eyes light up. “absolutely! anything you want, it’s yours!”

“anything?”

“anything.”

your eyes gleam with cunning. he wonders if maybe he should stop you from taking advantage of the literal ruler of devildom, but you did just come back from playing a dead body, so…

“then, could you make mephisto the president of the newspaper club again?”

the temperature of the room gets several degrees colder as lucifer glowers from the corner. diavolo only laughs before granting your request and whispering to him:

“see? good for you.”

mephistopheles watches you smile triumphantly.

maybe everything really will be okay after all.

[damianito]

Collective meow

[nerdy-hyperfixations]

“Pain is hilarious!”

C’mon guys he had to learn that his eye regenerates somehow!

So fun fact! You know that thing people, perhaps parents tell you? That if you smile it tricks your brain into being happy? Well don’t do that in traumatic moments! Because if you do, your brain mixes wires on how to process shit and when you’re under mental turmoil you might start laughing maniacally! I may or may not know from experience!!! 😃

[xxplastic-cubexx]

[right to left]

finally finished This Wip from Ever ago and so now i ask you ever look into another dudes eyes and suddenly want to do whatever he wants

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

[tempo-takoyaki]

Happy (belated) New Year 2024!

[crybaby-bkg]

“I’m terrified of trying those hitachi wands,” you offhandedly mention one night in a quiet laugh, while laying in bed beside Bakugou. you’re both on your phones, one last scroll before bed, even though he’s actually playing one of those old people games. he looks over, hair pushed back by a clip he stole from you.

“Why would you be scared?” he asks you, completes the last two moves of the game before he closes his phone and sets it on the table beside the bed. he turns all of his attention on you then, rolling over to his side to face you, and you do the same.

“Because those things are damn near weapons with how they render people useless for like, twenty minutes after they cum.” you snicker, thinking back on the video you had seen earlier in the day. the lady damn near ruined her phone with the wetness, and could hardly move for a good minute after.

Bakugou only stares at you, doesn’t say anything for a long while, but he has this look on his face. he’s thinking about something, but doesn’t open his mouth until he’s whispering,

“That’s crazy,” he kisses your forehead and mumbles an I love you before he rolls over and pulls the covers to his head. you only blink in confusion before you chalk it up to him being the shy little prude he’s always been, and lay down yourself.

the conversation goes forgotten as the weeks pass on, something you don’t dwell on much afterwards. but obviously, it hasn’t passed Bakugou’s mind at all.

“I got it in pink.” he tells you one night after he’s wined and dined you. that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him, but what was weird was how jittery he had been the entire time. this was why, surely, when he leads you to the bedroom and opens a neat little box with one of those wands you had completely forgotten about sitting prettily in front of you.

“Katsuki!” you laugh, hands covering your mouth before they cover your eyes in a mix of shame and shyness. “Why do you wanna see me laid out and twitching after using that thing?” you softly punch his shoulder, looking between his reddened cheeks and the wand he holds in front of you like an engagement ring.

“It’ll be hot.” he shrugs, mouth twisting this way and that in uncertainty, before he looks at you from under his lashes. “Wanna try it out?”

“Of course I do.” you answer back just as quickly, stripping from your clothes even quicker. it makes Bakugou laugh, taking his shirt off and his pants too, just to be safe in case you become a slash zone.

he tries it first with him sitting between your legs, just holding the wand there. he looks between your legs and then to your eyes, starting on a low setting and watches how you twist and thrive in the silken sheets. and when you cum, he thinks he can push you a little further.

he ups the vibrations, adds two of his fingers inside of you, crooking them until he finds that soft spot inside of you that makes you absolutely sob. you squirt all over him and he wonders if he should take his boxers off too (he doesn’t though; the thought of finding them tomorrow stained in you makes him damn near burst in his pants).

the next position is in front of your mirror on the closet, with your legs spread over his. Bakugou hooks his chin over your shoulder, holds your twitching thighs open as he keeps turning the vibrations up to the highest settings. you’re squirming and whining and whimpering for mercy, even though you cry even more whenever he stops.

the next time and the next time and the next, he’s got more fingers inside of you, his cock, another one of your favorite toys. he sets you in doggy style, even though he doesn’t fuck you, but keeps the wand between your legs. he likes the way your entire body shakes beneath him, collapsing, trapped between his weight and the strong vibrations that send you into another dimension.

the next day, you can barely feel between your legs, shaky and unstable for the whole day. but Bakugou makes up for it; he always does.

[abyssalzones]

the REAL reason why bill wants to leave the nightmare realm: pollution

okay I know I said I wasn't going to upload full chapters here often but LISTEN these first ones are short. and I love being inconsistent. but do check out these pages on Ad Astra Per Aspera's neocities page if you want to see these formatted the way I intended!

[woozification]

the art of staying calm (until you're not)

[14dayswithyou]

no way you dropped the biggest river lore in the tags and moved on like it was nothing 😭 can i ask if this is still your intentions with him? bc it sounds like you changed your mind halfway 🤔

im ngl though i really enjoy how ren and river are similar and different to each other, but does that mean river would hurt his angel but leave our friends alone the same way ren would never hurt his angel but would unalive all of our friends? since they're suppose to be each other opposites. i really hope this makes sense 😬 my final question is what is ren doing on thursday? i want to go on a cute pier date again 🩷🌸

@secretkoa asked: and can i hear more about what unsent memory is suppose to be about or is that off limits? idk if i asked this in my previous question so ignore me if i did! thank yuo and remember to drink lots of water 🐸🌱

⌞♥⌝ For those who haven't seen the original post, I want to quickly clarify once more that while River was originally my OC, he's since been picked up and revamped by my friend Jesse/@unsentmemory!!

However, now that Jesse has stepped away from the yandere community, River's fate (and da fate of Unsent Memories) has kinda been put on the sidelines for the foreseeable future.

‼️ Massive Unsent Memories and River spoilers under the cut ‼️ CW for: mentions of gore, torture, mutilation, self-harm, etc.

With all of that being said, yes, Jesse's original intention for River was for him to be your standard "serial killer-turned-yandere once he accidentally catches feelings for his latest victim (Bunny)". The only main difference is that I originally planned for River to be a generic murderer first, whereas Jesse had him become a yandere right off the bat.

You also asked to know more about Unsent Memories, and I think giving a general synopsis(?) would be fine?? ^^ But basically... After getting involved in a car accident, Bunny wakes up with amnesia and gets tricked into thinking that this random guy — whom they've never met before — is their loving, supportive boyfriend named River. In turn, he convinces Bunny that staying in their shared home would be more beneficial than staying in the hospital as it might rekindle some old memories, he'd be able to take care of them, and it would be easier for them to recover at their own pace. But surprise!! River is actually a frequent patron at the Murderer Motel™ and now has trapped Bunny in his Torture Basement®!!! <3 He also maaaay or may not've been the one who hit them with Ren's car as well... ^^ Oopsie daisy hehe

And yeah!! Similar to what you've said, River was also supposed to share (somewhat of) a narrative foil with Ren!! I personally wanted them both to have similar, complimenting vibes with each other — all while having completely different/separate motives and incentives when it comes to the object of their affection. I'm glad to see it was conveyed well enough; even after Jesse's additions to River's characterisation :3 I know I already shared some examples in the previous tags, but I can share a few more:

Where Ren puts Angel's feelings and opinions above his own, River purposefully ignores Bunny's and does everything for his own personal benefit. Essentially, "I'm doing this for you" vs "I'm doing this for me".

While Ren would never dream about harming Angel in any capacity, he's perfectly happy to kidnap, extort, torture, and kill everyone else... In contrast to River, who's accustomed to torturing and brutalising others for his own twisted enjoyment and sees it as a way to show his interest in Bunny.

Kinda silly how Ren claims to be a freelance programmer (but is actually a hacker) and how River claims to work at a music shop (it's a coverup for his second torture chamber lmaoooo).

[CW: implications of SH] Ren is willing to go as far as mentally and physically hurting himself if Angel asks him to, whereas River is willing to physically mutilate Bunny if it means keeping them by his side. [end CW]

With that being said, you can assume that Ren is easily swayed by Angel's words, opinions, and emotions, whereas River can easily sway and manipulate Bunny due to his own feelings and emotions.

This is something I've actually mentioned before, but Ren always prefers things to be tidy, so he often cleans himself up after disposing of his victims. Compared to River, who casually wears the bloodstains with pride and blames it on getting a bit rough with someone else during a boxing match.

It's no secret that Ren is willing to change every aspect of himself to earn Angel's love, and River is willing to change his serial killer ways to return Bunny's love. Da power of friendship and repressed childhood memories gksdgjh T_T /silly

Ren pretends to be a Normal Guy© with tons of empathy to spare, whereas River pretends to be a Regular Person℗ with the heart of a himbo.

I could go on but you get da point lol

So, yeah!! This is essentially the vibes we had planned for River (and Unsent Memories) before Jesse stepped down /pos ^^ I feel like talking vaguely about UM is fine since River only has a small cameo in 14DWY — and I'm sure that if Jesse ever returns from war (/silly), they'll give River muuuuch more justice than I possibly can :3c

[clownsuu]

Hey I'm Panic, and it's time to Gay!

Biblically accurate gay people jumpscare

[l1-b1]

This song and lloyd… ourgh my heart hurts

[deoidesign]

Ray of sunshine

(pre-launch page for their comic)

[dropthedemiurge]

Love for Love's Sake: Bоnus Stаge (spoilers!!)

Love For Love's Sake (Love Supremacy Zone): bonus stagе is a short spin-off story from the author of the original novel, released in June 2024 (after the drama series). It's about 19yo Tae Myungha (from Game World) being transferred into the future and him slowly realizing how 29yo Myungha has been living happy 10 years with Cha Yeowoon and friends.

I promised to keep talking about it and thank you, guys, for enabling me xD Before translating bits from chapters, here's the full summary of everything that happened in this story – for those of you who are not that patient and don't fear spoilers :] I'll put them under more anyway so those who don't want to read the summary won't read them accidentally!

Warnings: suicidal intentions

Let me know your thoughts about this spinoff *д*

Love for Love's Sake: Bonus Stage (summary)

"If your life was a book, what would you want it be about?" "How would the first chapter begin and what sentence would be the last one?" "I wish it was about love."

19yo Myungha (so before canon timeline) is playing games in PC cafe. He doesn't really have money but wants to spend time so he wouldn't have to live it

On the crossroad, he sees a child running before the signal changes, and he jumps to save them but instead of getting hit, he feels like falling. He sees sunbae who pushes him. Message [World has been changed] appears.

Myungha finds himself in the arms of a handsome man who knows him - but he doesn't know this man. Myungha runs away but the man is faster.

[Mission: Make Tae Myungha happy.] [Reward: Memory] [Clear until (0%) ♥♥♥♥♥] [Penalty: Can't return to the original timeline]

Myungha is diagnosed with amnesia. He should be 29yo now, so he just goes along. Yeowoon decides to start over again and introduces himself.

Yeowoon and Myungha have been living together for 6 years and dating for 10 years. 19-Myungha is shocked to know this.

Ahn Sia, Kyunghoon and Sangwon immediately run to check whether Myungha is okay, 19-Myungha is shocked that people worry about him and they've been friends for 10 years.

Yeowoon asked if Myungha would hypothetically date him - just to make sure - but he still wouldn't let Sangwon in before others come (he's sooo jealous)

Sangwon finds younger Myungha a lot of fun, Yeowoon wants to fight with him. Others come, so they try to figure out what's happening.

29yo Myungha is a teacher respected by kids. The girl in his class wanted to kill herself so she went to the rooftop, Myungha ran after her but ended up falling down, and Yeowoon caught him (19-Myungha)

Sia is a shopping mall CEO and a popular influencer now, Kyunghoon does photography/filming professionally, Sangwon introduces himself as 'the one who Myungha rejected when he was 18yo'.

Everyone wants to have chicken and beer but 19-Myungha is a minor so they have chicken and cola and a group sleepover at Myungha/Yeowoon's house :]

Yeowoon tried to sleep with Myungha in one bed but eventually ran away to the living room, flustered.

They all decide to do a trip down the memory lane, since Myungha is "having amnesia".

Yeowoon is a gold medalist now, and many kids go to Shinyeop school now because he made it prestigious.

They visit old Yeowoon's house, and Yeowoon quietly tells him they had kissed here for the first time (on the stairs) 19-Myungha is flustered because he feels feelings that he doesn't know the source of. But he never had his first kiss, never thought about ideal type or love so he's can't stop thinking about it. He tried to take Yeowoon's hand but ran out of time.

After this trip, in the car Myungha clears 20% of his mission and sees flashbacks from the 10 passed years: how they were grilling meat at the rooftop, how they played at the sea.

Yeowoon went to the store to get ice cream, while Myungha and Sangwon were left alone waiting. Sangwon told 19-Myungha about precious memories with him (dogs!), how he was his first love and he kept regretting what if he made a different first impression on Myungha – and now he can.

So he asks for one more chance to start over but gets rejected because Yeowoon was faster once again. Sangwon accepts that his first love is finally over and walks away.

Yeowoon says he likes Myungha more anyway, but 19-Myungha doesn't know it so Yeowoon says he'll teach him. They go to amusement park (closed again) by the sea.

Myungha insists on going to the popular cafe, Yeowoon is hesitant but doesn't reveal the truth until Myungha meets his mom there. Yeowoon takes him away in a hurry as 19-Myungha wants to talk to her in anger. Myungha cries. He thinks if he didn't have Yeowoon next to him now, his mom's reaction would be his last straw.

Mission is cleared to 40%. 19-Myungha sees 18yo Yeowoon crying and being comforted by "him".

19-Myungha thinks the person Yeowoon fell in love with is nothing like him, so he runs away. Yeowoon catches up with him.

Suddenly, they meet his fans. 19-Myungha is confused to learn he's quite popular and has 100k followers on his YT channel where he's been posting vlogs for 10 years (Yeowoon made him do it). He's used to being widely hated as a Crazy Dog, and not widely loved.

19-Myungha doesn't want to restore memories because he doesn't want to return to his original timeline. But he also feels acutely that 29-Myungha is a very different person from him. So he openly tells Yeowoon about the game mission, and Yeowoon believes him.

They return home, and 19-Myungha notices that Yeowoon still cherishes him like they were new lovers and not 10yo couple that usually feels like a family. Yeowoon was testing his reaction to skinship. Myungha calls him to sleep and teases him for having dirty thoughts.

19-Myungha is scared to sleep because he fears to wake up from a good dream. Yeowoon comforts him, while Myungha teases again and asks whether he's going to kiss. Yeowoon responds he'll wait until Myungha does it himself, like the first time (I guess, it's a bit different from drama?)

In the morning, Myungha learns that his grandma is still alive in this timeline and is in the hospital with injured leg. He rushes there and cries a little seeing her alive. He pleads her to come live with them but the grandma is like 'wtf this kid gone insane'.

His memories are cleared until 60% and he remembers time spent with his grandma.

19-Myungha watches videos on "his" Youtube channel and he sees what kind of life 29-Myungha lived and what kind of person he was. He finds they weren't actually that different and he could become him. He sees how liked he was and what kind of person younger Yeowoon was too.

They go to get groceries, and suddenly 19-Myungha is surrounded by kids that claim he's their homeroom teacher. Yeowoon saves him from awkwardness, it seems like they don't know Yeowoon and Myungha are dating. The kids say that their entire class will always love their teacher Myungha, and 19-Myungha understands why he chose this job.

Mission is cleared until 80%. He sees flashbacks from teaching kids, he still keeps in touch with the ones that left. 19-Myungha starts to smile.

But he still doesn't want to go home, he's also scared that original Myungha comes back and he will disappear. He doesn't want to leave.

Yeowoon tells him he'll be waiting for him even if he goes back to his time. He tells him to return and find 18yo Yeowoon, because he exists there and he will definitely like and choose Myungha.

Myungha is overwhelmed with feelings and goes to kiss Yeowoon. This time he's the inexperienced one.

The timeline written down by Myungha: "First meeting at 19, first fight at 20, living together at 23, passing teacher's exam, Yeowoon breaking the world record, Myungha becoming homeroom teacher, having 5 anniversary trip".

Last 20% are still missing. He's waiting for Yeowoon to come home, he returns with the cake and flowers. It's their 10th anniversary today, so Yeowoon insists he still has to celebrate, despite the situation. Myungha feels bad that he always forgets about anniversaries.

Yeowoon proposes to Myungha. He gives him his wedding plan and prepared funds.

Myungha laughs (while Yeowoon is annoyed :D) and gets positive buff, as he falls in love. [Mission is cleared until 99.9%]. He witnesses more happy flashbacks.

Because it's legally difficult, Yeowoon still wants to get married. Myungha tells him if he proposes again in 10 years, he'll accept. And teases him for being in such a rush to speedrun the relationship.

He remembers all memories from 10 years of their life and love together, he tells Yeowoon 'of course' and finally decides to return home and meet Yeowoon in his own timeline.

But Myungha is scared because there's still 0.1% to fail. He remembers the sunbae who pushed him before the world has changed. He wonders who that was.

He sees himself talking with sunbae, who asks him what is happy life to Myungha and if his life was a book, what would it be about.

"If your life was a book, what would you want it be about?" Someone is asking next to me. "...love. I wish it was about love." I wished that this thing, which was so common that I could hear about it everywhere but have never really felt it, could exist in my life too. The sunbae smiled quietly. "I just decided on a title".

Sunbae tells Myungha that humans are made of stars and apologizes that he was so late. He asks him to live the way he wants to.

He pushes him again. Message [The world has been changed] appears.

29yo Myungha wakes up next to Yeowoon and immediately goes to hug him. He finally feels like his soul and body are perfectly aligned, and he remembers how lonely he was when he was 19.

He tells Yeowoon they'll go see stars on their honeymoon trip. But first, they want to take a trip to Taiwan and the grandma is bitter they're not taking her with them because she's convinced they're gonna secretly get married there. But Myungha and Yeowoon want to get married in Korea.

[Mission: Make Tae Myungha happy is completed with 100%]

29-Myungha goes to meet the girl in his class who he saved on the rooftop. They both talk about how they don't want to die anymore and they should never give up. The girl also says Yeowoon suits him well, and Myungha promises to invite her to their wedding.

[END OF THE GAME.]

[LOADING]

19yo Myungha gets back to his conscience on the street, as someone asks him if he's okay. He is surprised to see Yeowoon, while Yeowoon is displeased that Myungha knows his name since they never met before.

Yeowoon walks away, but Myungha starts running after him.

[ENTERING THE LOVE SUPREMACY ZONE]

That's it 🥺 Of course, there are many amazing and touching moments in the story itself but I wrote down the main points. Aren't they precious?!

Tag list: @pickletrip @bunni-bun @illuminutiae @kaleidoskuls @delesaria-blog @maybe-boys-do-love

[quentinfiletmignon]

DAVID TENNANT as CROWLEY, a demon who deserved better an angel who did not so much fall as saunter vaguely downwards

A4 • STABILO point 88 liners

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ok, I think I have a pretty good idea of why a lot of Akechi's dialogue is... like that.

So, even before his confidant truly started, I noticed that he has a real knack for directing the flow of a conversation. This is very fitting for someone who is both a detective and skilled at interviews - when there is a topic and a goal, Akechi is in his element.

All this to say, he's actually kind of controlling when it comes to conversational flow. He probes for information, or turns the conversation around to a particular topic, usually the Phantom Thieves. He manages to take a few of Joker's dialogue options and spin them so they sound mildly incriminating in the context he's placed them in - the only way to truly get around this is to pick answers that feign indifference, and even then, that's more than a bit telling. He's clearly very good at this kind of thing.

But then, we get conversations where either Joker does something he didn't expect, or else he doesn't have a particular goal in mind - and the conversation stutters. In the first instance, Joker does something (a particularly egregious example is putting his glasses on him and fluffing his hair in rank 3) which both leaves him wrong-footed and no longer in perfect control of the situation. He just kind of... freezes, for awhile. It's hilarious. He has no idea how to respond.

He picks up control again in the phone call afterwards, having chosen to play into it, turning this "fooling the crowds" into a kind of game or secret between them. Nice save.

But in instances where there isn't an obvious topic and the goal is somewhat nebulous, for instance, that one Leblanc scene, it becomes pretty apparent that Akechi doesn't have the right "script" to go off of. Again, it's particularly notable in that scene, because I'm fairly sure he didn't have any specific reason to be at Leblanc, other than him looking for a quiet spot now that public opinion has turned on him. And because there isn't anything specific he's digging for, he kind of just ends up throwing things at the wall to see what will stick. Probing for any kind of recognizable reaction that he can jump on and work with, and that just doesn't really happen in this scene.

He references Sae, a woman in a respectable position, to Sojiro, but instead of that netting a welcome, it earns his ire, given Sae's recent actions against him. He then tries to greet Joker, his... rival? friend? enemy? person who at least seems to somewhat enjoy spending time with him? But Joker's responses are somewhat short, and Akechi practically wilts. He tries to commiserate by oversharing. He tries to involve Futaba and reaches out for the only topic of interest he can think of around "young people". He compliments the coffee. He compliments Joker. He tries to invoke that connection between them. None of it is really sticking, nor does it serve as a jumping off point for him to steer the conversation, or even really start one.

So, he basically just ends up having a one-sided chat with himself and then leaves. Hilarious. Also a little sad, if I'm being honest. It's really giving "guy with no friends who only knows how to speak to adults" energy. If there's no specific purpose to the exchange, or he is not in control of its direction, he seems to be kind of out of his depth. He succeeds only in being a little awkward and confusing, more than anything.