#i was supposed to draw something else but i have absolutely no self control

[carrots-acat]

Who will win the staring contest, a guy who looks at screens all day and has only 3 hours of sleep

Or a mf with a short attention span who cant make eye contact without cracking up

Redacted from @14dayswithyou

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I feel like this is a horrible thing to say, but when I'm shown examples of when Marinette is having a hard time, it's hard for me to feel bad for her.

It's not like I think she deserves it and I certainly don't draw any joy from it, but I just don't feel any sympathy for when she's struggling.

My theory is that the show has toted her so much as the all-important one-and-only, all while ignoring everyone else's important moments and struggles, that I'm struggling to feel sympathetic for when Marinette is going through some sort of misfortune. Every single one of her struggles are always highlighted in such a way that it's supposed to be this incredibly-important thing that makes Marinette look so sad, but then she's comforted and validated until eventually, this struggle eventually gets resolved and she's all happy again.

But then there's Adrien. No closure about his mom, his dad, Natalie—nothing. He's slapped with all the responsibility of comforting and validating Marinette, who eventually gets her personal conflicts resolved without lasting impact.

I'm not saying Marinette hasn't done anything to comfort and validate Adrien, but his conflicts just feel largely brushed aside and/or downplayed in comparison to Marinette's, which are highlighted and emphasized as significant events.

I don't know if this makes me a bad person or something, and I do kind of feel bad about it, but I just struggle to sympathize with her when the show tries to make us feel bad for her.

Marinette is a fictional character. It's totally fine if the bad writing has completely turned you off to her and drained you of sympathy because the entire purpose of her existence is to entertain people. She's not some meaningful representation that you should want to connect with and understand to improve your world view or something like that. She's just a poorly written teenager in a bad kids show. As long as you're able to acknowledge that fact and own that this is mainly a writing issue - and it sounds like you are - I wouldn't stress about it. The writers have done a lot to make her unlikable! I totally get why someone would not want to watch a show starring her canon self. I struggle at times and I genuinely like Marinette! Her writing is one of the many reasons I just don't know if I'm going to watch season six.

I don't defend Marinette because she's done nothing wrong. I defend her because her faults are so clearly just bad writing and not some grand plan for the character where she's going to learn something, which makes me feel protective of her because I genuinely love the base character concept and what she could have been. It's annoying to see people treating her like she's the problem and not the writing because she's literally not allowed to learn lessons and change, so of course she keeps coming across worse and worse! Her flaws are genuinely fine for a serialized story, they just have no place in an episodic one where the characters stay largely stagnant.

For example, nothing about the season five conflict and final naturally follows the BS season four conflict where she supposedly learned to trust Chat Noir. As much as I don't agree that with that synopsis of what the conflict was, it is how Ladybug sums it up in the final:

Ladybug: Why don't you just give up on me? I've lost ALL the Miraculous! I'm the worst Guardian EVER! I wanted to control everything, I didn't listen to you, I lied to you, I kept you at a distance! Every time you offered me a helping hand, I never took it! I really made a mess of EVERYTHING! Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again.

And yet none of this seems to impact season five. Chat Noir and Ladybug maintain all their secrets and they do absolutely nothing to track down the missing miraculous because the plot won't let them even though it really doesn't fit Marinette's character. She certainly hasn't given up controlling things because, once again, the show literally will not let her do that. The rare episodes where it happens always see her punished like when Alya handing out miraculous lead to SentiNino which almost lead Gabriel to knowing Ladybug's secret identity. Adrien suffers for similar reasons. So does Alya and so many other characters! I totally get why someone would not be able to look past canon's writing since it's not like the flaws are minor. I have the same problem with both Lila and Nathalie.

I just cannot stand Nathalie even though I know that she's as much of a victim as Marinette and all the other characters. None of Nathalie's flaws are her fault because she doesn't exist. It's just that Nathalie's bad writing hits me in a way that makes me despise her while Marinette's hits in a "protect and defend" way. There's no wider logic here. It's just a matter of what characters I connected with enough to look past the bad writing. The type of fanfics I read probably also helped...

My only real piece of advice on this topic is to watch your mental health and take a Miraculous break or even leave the fandom all together if you notice that your Marinette hate (or hate of anything in canon) is really messing with you. I've mentioned before that I'm debating about watching season six and a big reason why is that I don't know if it's going to be good for my mental health. Lila's writing has consistently got on my nerves, but she was a minor enough character that I was still having a good time. Given that Lila is our new big bad with the added bonus of how shitty season five was and the show may have hit a point where it's just not fun for me anymore.

Previously, I had issues with the overall writing, but genuinely enjoyed watching the show as the writers are pretty good at short form story telling, so canon was a nice mix of genuinely enjoyable moments and writing issues that were fun to talk about. That was not true for season five and I just can't picture how it will be true for season six. The only reason I'm even considering it is because I watch the show with my SO and he has a lot of fun listening to me rant about bad media, so I may still have a good time with season six. It would not be the first time that I suffered through a piece of bad media for the sake of a loved one who really wanted someone to rant about it with.

I'm not the kind of person who will tell people they're not welcome in a fandom unless they like X. That sort of gate keeping is ugly and often straight up bullying, so don't read this as me saying that you have to like Marinette to enjoy the show or that you need to disengage if you don't like X% of canon. As long as you're having fun and not forcing your dislike on others by sending clearly unwelcome asks or engaging with sugar posts in an antagonistic way or anything like that, then I'm going to defend your right to be in fandom even if we personally aren't going to get along and need to stay in our separate fandom bubbles.* All I'm saying is that it's important to know when to disengage from a piece of media. To keep track of when something starts consistently bringing you more sorrow than joy. When that line is crossed? It's time to move on.

The sad fact is that, while you may utterly adore a piece of media, you have no control of what that media will do, so you need to be very careful about trusting your mental health to total strangers. It's part of why I tend to be so critical of media. Analysis and plot pitches like I do on this blog are genuinely fun for me, but they're also a much healthier way to engage with a story than just trusting it to be good and getting burned when it isn't. There's a reason I avoid theory crafting. I've gotten really into that in the past and wound up hurt because I put way too much faith in strangers who ended up sucking at their job.

*Btw, the line about separate fandom bubbles was not aimed at you. It's just a general statement about how fandom works. All are welcome, but all do not need to directly interact. Curating your fandom experience is important self care. Blocking someone isn't some sort of value judgement. It's just sometimes a thing you need to do in order to keep from seething when you accidentally see their asinine hot takes.

[kaurwreck]

I saw your recent headcanon bsd post and honestly you really get the characters (or you get me <3 because i fully agree with them) especially the Atsushi and Dazai one which is practically canon for me. Do you have more Atsushi and Dazai headcanon you can share? I really love it when people talk about those two

I'm so glad the Atsushi and Dazai headcanon resonated with you! I call them headcanons, but they're canon to me; it's my sandbox and I'm building sandcastles.

I don't think I'm articulate enough to adequately express my thoughts about Atsushi and Dazai's relationship, so rather than try, I'm going to share more bulleted snippets of headcanons that hopefully relay the vibes if not the substance.

Atsushi is emotionally brilliant, but has the intellect of an idiot kitten. Dazai is intellectually brilliant, but has the emotional intelligence of an idiot kitten. Nevertheless, Atsushi is NOT self-aware, in the slightest, while Dazai is excruciatingly self-aware. They would devour each other in the wild but are a bonded pair in captivity.

At least once a week, Dazai loses Atsushi at the store and then doesn't listen to the intercom when he's called.

Dazai thrusts himself into the thick of villains and conflicts because the narrative will not let him die, but he can't move it forward from there. Atsushi can and is compelled to, even, because it's the only way he'll survive.

In 55 Minutes, Atsushi indicates that maybe all skills come from elsewhere and are imposed upon us. In that way, he's drawing a parallel between skills and the cultural, societal, temporal, familial influences that construct our understanding of our existence. He's also saying that perhaps what Dazai and Kyouka have going on with their otherness and inability to control their skills is kind of what happens to all of us, just in different ways. This is why he is the protagonist. He does not see separation. He sees people and he sees the constructs and frameworks that people build around themselves, but which they can also deconstruct and rebuild. Dazai isn't convinced he's a person, but Atsushi guilelessly and unwaveringly looks at him and sees a person anyway. He has that effect on others; he did the same thing to Kyouka, and Lucy, and Akutagawa, and even Ango when Ango aimed a gun at Kyouka and Lucy. Worse yet, they see reflections of their personhood in his eyes. It's intoxicating, and enlivening, and frustrating, and terrifyingly vulnerable. Dazai experiences it as absolution. Atsushi experiences it as obvious.

Dazai tries to give Atsushi shaken baby syndrome when Atsushi annoys him, even though Yosano keeps telling him that Atsushi's too old.

Chuuya and Atsushi unabashedly want to love and be loved, it's second nature to them, albeit in different ways. But Akutagawa and Dazai convinced themselves they were perfectly fine not loving and never being loved; up until they met someone who everyone loves, which is so, horribly vexing to them because they're so different and unique and no one understands them and yet here they are, vying for the attention of someone who seems to know something they don't. So, they cope by loving those they love in ways no one else does. Which is to say: like freaks.

Dazai gets involved with Atsushi and Akutagawa not just because they need mentorship or for Atsushi. He's there in solidarity with Akutagawa. Dazai is there because he needs someone who understands the reality of the idiot situation that they got themselves into because they're idiots. Dazai and Akutagawa were both supposed to die young and in abject misery. And yet here they are. Being yanked around by objectively unreasonable people who seem to think they know better. Worse, Dazai knows that he and Akutagawa want to believe them.

Atsushi and Dazai are cat-coded, when the others run it activates their predator instincts.

dazai is so afraid of feeling; he doesn't think you can survive emotion, he thinks emotions exist to trick you or destroy you and that others' expressions of emotions are disingenuous or naive; emotions burn him terribly and he can't imagine it's any different for everyone else. and if it is, then that just further evidences that he's not human after all, that he wasn't built to survive in a world that hurts him so terribly. it's why he's so certain kunikida is going to get swallowed by his ideals. it's why he raised akutagawa in pain and neglect and why he was so disgusted by akutagawa's lack of emotional control. it's why he can't hold onto chuuya for longer than it takes chuuya to fall asleep after corruption. it's why he slapped atsushi and demanded disassociation from him when atsushi started to panic about what he'd done to naomi and haruno. but fyodor is what it looks like when you succumb to that, and chuuya and atsushi and oda are what it looks like when you don't, and as much as dazai thinks he's capable of loving anyone, he loves atsushi and chuuya and oda, all of whom grappled with their own humanity and then elected to be human anyway. and as much as he thinks the others are deluding themselves, and as much as he still believes he's right about humanity's insincerity and insipidity, and since oda asked him just before dying over his own fruitless emotions anyway (although it began before oda asked), dazai has decided he would rather fiercely protect the outcasts who refuse to see their own futility than exert any energy proving himself correct. and if he can bully a reflection of himself in the process thereof, then all the better.

Dazai lies and claims Atsushi is his son for Father's Day discounts. It's so obviously untrue and outlandish that store clerks are too distressed by his thick face to call him out and so he gets away with it. Atsushi plays along because he wants the discounts too.

[astrum-aetherium]

just wanna fuck Henry while he's working 😩

oh, absolutely.

it could start out as a harmless study date — sitting across from one another with various books cracked open in front of you, respectively, pens gliding upon paper; pure unassuming academic dedication. until something within you shifts. maybe it’s his consternated, drawn expression, or the way he lets the cigarette idle between his fingers, barely rolling it back and forth, when he ponders over a more suitable translation. his veiled frustration when he needs to consult textbooks and dictionaries, almost undetectable but nevertheless discernible through heavy, deep breaths. there’s only this much you can take.

at first, you tease. you unbutton your blouse with a faux-naïve pretense (“sweltering, isn’t it?”) or roll up your sleeves extra tardily to make sure he notices. he certainly does, but his self-control allows him to redirect his utmost attention back to his studies. unfortunately, the same cannot be said for you. by now, your thoughts have shifted someplace vastly different from latin, or ancient greek, or language itself in general.

you’re restless. you yield to the temptation — much to his concealed, yet utter delight — and get up, stirring ever closer to where he is seated. almost theatrically, he pays your proximity no mind whatsoever; it is only when you wrap your hands around his shoulders that he acknowledges your presence, yet only with a mere hum. without the need for an invitation, you plant yourself into his lap, to which he does not object in the slightest, though remaining focused on his task. starved and intent on toying with his nonchalant self, you wriggle about in your seat — his bodily reaction isn’t long in coming.

still, he keeps his absolute cool. “you seem to be in evident need of something.”

“isn’t it obvious?”

“i suppose it’s quite noticeable that i am busy at the moment, utterly so. thus, i suggest you take what it is you need on your merry own. mmh?”

he’s feigning being distracted so perfectly it almost convinces you, but the way he sharply draws breath and flinches when you pull him out and carefully guide him inside you prompt you otherwise. you stay put, then, for a handful of minutes — letting the stretch of him warm you from within. you only move when it seems as though he’s forgotten he’s inside you in the first place, and even then, you take your sweet time; you glide so slowly his fingers twitch and his handwriting slants over strangely. he endures the torture for a few prolonged moments, breath hitching every now and again, until it ails him to resist you any further — he grabs agitated hold of your hips and drives you into himself, so harshly you yelp. soon enough, most study materials are hastily swept off the table and replaced with your frame, which he fucks into so expertly you practically deify yourself for having initiated this in the first place.

and that’s the precise reason you don’t schedule as many study dates anymore — it seems that whenever you do, you’re much less productive than, say, with anyone else.

[courtofmatchups]

Hello! I’ve just discovered your blog and a TWST matchup sounds so fun!! I write matchups too, and my inbox is always open for trades, so if you’d like to send one my way, feel free to! If you’re too busy, I get that! Regardless, thanks for your time!

Here’s my info:

Personality: I am blunt and humorous. I tend to say and do as I please, though rarely to the detriment of someone else, as I tend to put other's needs above my own. I'll talk for hours about my interests and passions, and I'm always up for a challenge. I also have a very strong moral compass, and I refuse to compromise on it. I try to be kind above all else, especially to those who seem to be in a rough place, as I haven’t always been treated kindly, and I want others to feel loved. Despite that, I can dislike someone immensely for even the smallest mistakes, and I hold on to grudges for a very long time. It’s very easy to notice when I don’t like someone. I have a bad habit of being nosy; I have to know all the gossip and if I’m interested in something I tend to find out all of the information I can about it. In a similar vein, I’m really bad at keeping secrets, as I often forget they’re supposed to be secrets at all. I’m hedonistic, and I tend to overindulge in my loves and passions due to my lack of self controll to the point that it often causes me harm. I’m known for giving great advice and being a good shoulder to cry on, but I don’t let others take advantage of that. I do well in emergency situations, especially when leadership is needed, but I also tend to crumble under mounting stress, and lash out when upset. Overall I'm determined, creative, and compassionate, but also stubborn, judgmental, and fearful.

Likes: I love horror media and anything deemed unsettling, since things that make me uncomfortable fascinate me. I love animals (especially tarantulas and spiders) and nature, and I spend a lot of time drawing and painting the world around me and taking walks on sunny days. On that note, I’m an explorer, and I tend to get into spaces I shouldn’t be if only because my curiosity got the better of me. I enjoy composing, playing, and listening to music, especially instrumentals, rock, and soundtracks. I also play video games, especially RPGs and FPS games. Although I don’t like athletics and sports that much, climbing, running, and adventuring is always fun for me, especially with friends.

Dislikes: Inconsiderate people, especially when they’re not aware of how they’re inconveniencing others. People who can’t enjoy silence and talk to fill it tend to get on my nerves as well. I also dislike those who are arrogant and cruel, and I have a particular distaste for seafood and being touched, although I am definitely a tactile person towards others.

What I look for in a partner: Someone who is kind and understanding of my flaws, and especially someone with a good sense of humor. I feel like I don’t truly connect with people until we laugh about something together. I value honesty and communication as well, so someone who isn’t willing or can’t be open and vulnerable with me is a no go. As pessimistic as I am, I also believe in doing good and making other people’s days a little bit brighter if possible, so I couldn’t be around a cynic or someone intentionally cruel. I love giving gifts and providing words of affirmation, and I love receiving both as well.

Fun Facts: I like to read medical textbooks, and I find visiting cadaver labs and watching medical procedures thrilling. I’m double jointed in almost every one of my fingers and in my wrists, which makes me pretty adept at playing musical instruments that require hand movements.

Thanks again, and have an absolutely lovely day!

It seems to me, you've capture the heart of...

Ace Trappola!

Oh Seven help the poor souls within your vicinity. The two of you as a couple is chaos incarnate. Honestly, he rocks with you though, you can really keep up with him and sometimes even put him in his place. He will not mess around with you, since you don't like to take shit from others, but in the time he does make a mistake, you can be ABSOLUTELY sure he will make up for it. And despite your chaotic nature, he does appreciate your kindness more than he lets on. He'll tease you, yes, but that only comes from a place of affection. He can go a bit overboard sometimes (not that he always means to), so you gotta tell him off. And if your negative qualities threaten to get the better of you, he will tell you also.

Ace is also quite adventurous himself, so he would love to go exploring places with you. He also seems like a movie buff a la his big brother, so he'd love to share any horror movies he thinks you'd like with you. He also likes to lay back and relax in his free time. And even if Ace is good at lying, he can be open and honest with you if something is bothering him. He's willing to hear you out when you're having a bad day also. He'd also rather not be miserable so he supposes you trying to make others' days better is cool (he not-so-secretly adores it)

Ace likes videogames too, so he'd be more than happy to be your player 2. And in the times you play music, please let him listen while you do. And when you get him a cute gift or tell him something nice, he will cherish it. He would do the same for you too. Your interest in medical cadavers might strike him as a little bit odd, but then again, he's met many odd people in Heartslyabul, so it doesn't bother him all that much.

Overall, a happy and chaotic relationship.

[starlingsrps]

no rules in breakable heaven.

the white nights arrive as anna realizes she isn’t just very fond of theo but is in love. she’s never been in love before - fond of peter in a way that she supposes is expected when wearing a man’s ring and with a wedding on the horizon. 

but this is love and it’s wonderful and it’s terrible at the same time. she can’t not look for him in a crowded room or attend his readings, even if there’s something else she should probably attend instead. they find each other in the rare times of the day she has to herself and she feels safe with him. she feels so loved that she feels like she might burst from it.

terrible because she absolutely can’t tell a single soul about this. not even her maid marta and she tells marta absolutely everything. if anyone notices the stars in her eyes and the lightness of her step, let them think it’s for the wedding rapidly approaching in september. let them imagine that she’s slipping out of parties to meet peter in the twilight gardens, never mind that peter is very easily found at the card tables. let them all think whatever they want.

he’s tender with her and it pains her to realize how little of that she’s had. it feels like she’s always being tugged this way and that, that some part of her clothes is always pinching or too heavy for her. she’s asked one thing by someone, something completely contradictory by someone else and she must figure out how to make them both happen. to be alone with theo, who expects nothing from her and simply loves her in return, is a bittersweet balm for bruises she hadn’t realized had been there for so long. 

he writes love poems and though she’s a very excellent courtier and can keep her face schooled, she knows they’re for her and it takes all of her self control to not smile like a loon. he writes beautifully and it’s all for her. after he finishes, there’s a party that spills from the drawing room onto the terrace in a warm summer night with a twilight that will last until dawn. she manages, through a series of choreographed nods and tilts of the head, to suggest a meeting in the english garden with its tall hedges.

she paces while she waits, the gravel crunching under her heels. when he appears around a hedge, the love bursts. she forgets herself with him. the years of training and etiquette and manners vanish. she loops her arms around his neck and kisses him. his arms wrap around her waist and he lifts her, swinging her like a bell.

“you were wonderful,��� she says.

his arms tighten to keep her close and she imagines that she can feel the heat of his hands through layers of silk and whalebone. his smile sinks into her marrow. “i have a most excellent muse,” he says, kissing her again. “you liked it?”

“i loved it. i love you.”

his smile softens. “i love you.”

“will you stay tonight?” she asks hopefully, knowing all too well that he’ll slip away when they go back inside. he doesn’t like the parties that come after they’ve all been sufficiently cultured for the evening. if it’s becoming harder by the day for her to pretend with peter, she can’t imagine how hard it is for him. 

his grasp loosens and she slides back to the ground. he shakes his head. “i can’t tonight.”

anna tries for charming. “you say that every night.”

it doesn’t work. “i can’t read what i wrote about you and then watch you with someone else, anna.”

she feels him draw back and it hurts. she’s never been told before how badly love can hurt and she’s unprepared for it every time it aches. she cups his cheek in her hand and rubs her gloves thumb over his cheekbone. “it doesn’t matter when it’s just us. it can’t. theo. please.”

his head drops for a moment but he presses his lips to her palm. “i’m trying. i know you are too.”

“then stay. peter and my brothers won’t leave the card room and if we’re careful…” she trails off and sighs, a soft sound that’s the closest she’s ever let herself come to expressing any disappointment. “alright.”

[je-suis-un-fardeau]

.

fuck trying not to be angry. i’m allowed to be angry. you don’t get to sit there and act like i’m being unreasonable for not wanting you to hang out with someone who scares you so much that you keep me on the phone when they come over. you don’t get to act like i’m being unreasonable for being both scared and pissed that you willingly got in a car with them. i’m allowed to be angry that you apparently have no sense of self preservation — demonstrated not only by this, but also by that little impulse trip you took to new york to meet a total fucking stranger after you already promised to come see me that weekend. i’m allowed to be mad about that too. that i’m so low on your list of priorities that you would rather spend one of our only free weekends with someone you’ve never fucking met. i’m allowed to be mad that you spent all of your energy being reckless, and then spending money you don’t have to do a hobby that stresses you out with people you don’t like, and had to cancel on me a second time. i’m allowed to be upset that i was already so on edge in the first place, because we’ve created a relationship where i don’t feel like i’m supposed to share negative things with you, because i’m the one taking care of you, so i end up shouldering both of our emotions in silence. i’m allowed to be upset that everything going on in my “real” life is driving me to feel suicidal again and all i wanted was to see you, and i planned an entire weekend around you twice, and thinking about seeing you was the only thing keeping me from completely losing it, and i was so stressed and so scared and in so much pain and i haven’t been sober in weeks because i can’t stand the way it feels, but all i wanted was to see you. i didn’t want to talk about it or burden you with it or make you feel bad for me… i just wanted to hold you. i would never be angry at you for being tired or for taking care of yourself. you know that. i know you do. but the reason why you were tired made me feel like absolute shit. like i didn’t matter to you anymore. and on top of everything else, i just couldn’t handle it. i split HARD and i needed to disengage before i said or did something i wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for. could i have i expressed this better than i did? yes. but i’m allowed to be angry at you telling me that it “left a bad taste in your mouth” and felt “hostile���, because that was the kindest option i had in that moment. i am trying SO hard not to let my bpd control this relationship, and it may not seem that way to you, but i am so fucking proud of myself for all the times i was tempted to be toxic or impulsive but i didn’t, and you were never the wiser. can you imagine being so proud of yourself for something and thinking you’re doing so good, comparatively speaking, and then the one person whose opinion you actually care about comes around and reduces you not to just any negative stereotype, but to the one you are most afraid of becoming. you then tell me that you need some space, because i’m just “extra tension” that you don’t want right now — once again prioritizing something you don’t even seem to enjoy over me. throwing me aside like i’m a toy you got bored of. i’m allowed to be angry about that too. and i’m sure as hell allowed to be angry about what i saw when i went to check up on you today. it’s funny really. i was just thinking earlier about how i was going to draw this boundary without making it seem like ultimatum… “if **** is in the picture again, then i can’t be.” because this would only become a vicious cycle that wouldn’t benefit anyone. imagine my surprise, though, when i see who you’re talking to on twitter. i’m probably going to deactivate mine now because i do not feel comfortable, or quite frankly safe, having them in that space. it feels violating. i cannot even begin to express how… desperate? anguished? terrified? i am right now, and the part that makes me the saddest is the fact that i’m not sure if this is even affecting you at all.

[w1dowed]

     𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆  𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱  𝗼𝘂𝘁  𝗼𝗳  𝗵𝗶𝘀  𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵  𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲  𝗵��𝗿  𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻  𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘄𝗹,     she  could  barely  look  at  him  for  extended  periods  of  time  without  rage  just  building  inside  of  her  and  it  took  a  level  of  self  control  that  she  wasn't  aware  that  she  even  had  right  now.     the  only  reason  she  had  been  fearful  last  night  was  because  she  couldn't  bear  to  watch  another  person  she  loves  dies,  she  didn't  even  fear  for  her  own  life  in  that  moment.     having  to  watch  the  love  of  her  life  be  murdered  like  that  was  something  she'd     𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿     forget  and  she  wouldn't  stop  until  negan  was  dead  at  her  feet.     maggie  didn't  know  what  was  going  to  happen,  how  rick  or  anyone  else  was  handling  the  situation,  but  she  wasn't  just  going  to  be  able  to  sit  here  in  the  lion's  den  and  play  the  victim.     she  may  have  to  do  it  for  a  while,  to  not  draw  any  more  attention  to  herself  than  she  already  had.     whatever  negan  had  planned,  she  refused  to  allow  him  to  use  her  to  hurt  rick  and  the  others  she  cares  about,  she  also  knew  that  she  had  to  be  careful  because  she  could  quite  easily  get  them  hurt  too.     she  had  to  play  this  right  and  she  refused  to  let  him  think  he  had  more     𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿     over  her  than  he  already  did.

     𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲  𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆  𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝘀  𝘀𝗵𝗲  𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝗺  𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻  𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲,     wishing  she  could  flinch  away  from  his  touch,  hating  herself  for  even  giving  into  his  crazy  idea  of  ' marriage '.     but  she  supposed  if  this  was  the  best  way  to  stay  close  to  him,  to  give  her  the  access  she  wouldn't  get  from  a  cell.     she  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  wipe  that  smug  grin  of  his  face  as  he  looked  at  her,  she  wished  she  could  lash  out,  claw  at  his  face  and  make  him     𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘁     ever  coming  after  them.     but  instead  she  just  looked  at  him,  her  expression  unreadable,  knowing  this  was  her  only  option,  her  only  way  of  finding  out  exactly  what  was  happening  here,     "     i  already  agreed,  you  don't  have  to  keep  trying  to  sell  it,     "     maggie  said  softly,  looking  away  from  him  and  down  at  her  hands.     how  could  this  be  happening?     how  could  they  have  let  it  get  to  this  point?     maggie  almost  regretted  helping  hilltop,  if  she  had  any  idea  that  this  would be  the  result,  she  never  would've  let  rick  talk  her  into  this  at  all.

     𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗷𝗮𝘄  𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝗺  𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗮  𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗵𝘆  𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲,     mainly  because  that  was  exactly  what  she  was     -     his  prize  for  winning  over  alexandria.     she  keeps  her  eyes  trained  down,  she  didn't  trust  herself  to  stay  calm  if  she  looked  at  him  and  she  didn't  know  how  much  longer  she  could  keep  it  together.     like  everything  was  starting  to  catch  up  with  her  and  she  felt  this  close  to  breaking  apart,  which  she  couldn't  do  with  him  looking  at  her.     she  hated  how  amused  he  sounded  by  what  she  said,  she  wasn't  trying  to  be  funny  and  she  absolutely  didn't  know  how  to  keep  handling  this  situation  with  him.     she  just  needed  some  time  to     𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸     about  what  she  was  going  to  do.

     𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗶𝗲  𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝘁  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘆  𝗼𝗳  𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻  𝘂𝗽  𝗮𝘁  𝗵𝗶𝗺  𝗳𝗼𝗿  𝗮  𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁,     she  hated  the  way  he  kept  saying  her  name,  like  he  almost  enjoyed  the  way  it  sounded.     the  temptation  to  throw  the  tray  of  food  back  at  him  again  was  incredibly  strong,  she  couldn't  do  it,  she  had  to  just  play  along,  play  nice  even  though  it  may  very  well  kill her  to  do  so.     tongue  flicks  out  over  dry  lips  for  a  moment,  running  a  hand  through  her  hair  as  she  sighs  softly,     "     got  it,     "     she  said  softly.     play  nice  to  escape.     that  was  all  she  had  to  think  of.     pulling  the  tray  of  food  closer  again,  a  small  sigh  leaving  her  lips,  she  didn't  know  how  far  she  could  push  it,  but  she  had  to  see  if  he  really  meant  about  her  not  being  a  prisoner,     "     can  i  at  least  have  twenty  minutes  to  eat  alone  please?     i  promise  to  eat  it  all,     "     maggie  asked,  it  almost  killed  her  to  be  polite  to  him,  especially  when  all  she  wanted  was  to  claw  his  eyes  out  and  never  look  at  that  smug  smirk  on  his  face  again.

MAGGIE ? MAGGIE RHEE. PRETTY NAME FOR A PRETTY FACE. He watches her closely, intrigued by how she would react to him bringing up her deceased husband. Despite her soft-spoken response, he hears her plea. If it were anyone else, he would keep insulting those close to her without a care in the world. However, he decides that it wouldn't be ENJOYABLE if she wasn't spitting FIRE back at him. He knows that she has the potential to explode the whole place with just her wrath, and this is precisely why he chose her. He could sense that she was in there, even when she looked unwell, there was something in those eyes that could kill a man with just a glance. There's STILL something in those green eyes that sets her apart from Rick, who looks like a walking corpse since Negan tore him a new one.

Perhaps Maggie is even more dangerous than he initially thought. Taking her in as much as he could at the moment, the way her brown hair framed her face perfectly, the way her jade-colored eyes pulse with emotion, her HATRED for him must be boiling.

He moves on from taunting her, for now, and moving forward to the good part ! Oh, happy days indeed ! What can he say ? He's a sucker for marriage ! Especially with the one and only, widow herself. He could fill her up GOOD--- if she's willing that is. She wouldn't have to be empty for long, but Negan knew she wasn't one to lower herself like the other women did. She wouldn't give in to him easily. But hey, he did like a woman who wanted to be chased ! Annnnd he also liked a woman whose ass was willing to get down on her knees and be the dirty girl she was meant to be.

SHE WAS A DAMN FIREBALL, THAT MAGGIE. He knows she's biting her tongue, but she's in there. So he's excited to see what his new trophy wife has to offer. Would she try to slit his throat while he's fast asleep ? Oh, he'd loved to see her try.

WHAT A WOMAN.

MARRIAGE. Wedding bells and all ! " That's right you heard me, darlin' ! " His excitement was palpable. To have caught her attention with this little bomb of his. He should get a camera ! Taking pictures of his finest accomplishments to hang around the Sanctuary. Marrying Maggie being one, the pure look of shock on her face was wall worthy as well ! Oh-- and Rick the Prick looking like shit is a plus.

It's gonna add some personality to this place.

The expression in her eyes said all he needed to know ! HE MOVED CLOSER to her in a matter of seconds, and a chuckle escaped his lips as he tilted his head to the side, batting his lashes. It was clear that he was relishing this moment. " Here comes the bride, all dressed in white ! " Negan playfully SERENADES THE BRIDE-TO-BE with a teasing tune as he twirls a lock of her silky brown hair around a single finger, finding himself once again in her personal space. With a charming grin, he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, offering her a tempting proposition. He promises to provide her with everything, and anything she needs, ensuring a life of comfort and luxury. " You heard me. You become my wife and you won't have to worry that pretty little head of yours on struggling downstairs with the workers. You'll have everything and anything you need. "

AGREEING WAS LIKE SIGNING a deal with the devil himself. And that's exactly what happened here for Maggie. The devil was her safe place, the devil would keep her from being harmed. Negan's nose crinkles, grinning like a madman while Maggie spoke. He digs her humor... even though it probably isn't humor, but hell ! She's hilarious without even trying !  She's a keeper already, and she doesn't even know it. Would love to see more sides to Maggie fucking Rhee. " Well, aren't you fuckin' cute ? Of course, there is more to this place, darlin'. This ain't your room, you'll be stayin' somewhere else... My people are jus' setting it up the place, makin' it perfect for my trophy wife. But there's one thing... "

Clearing his throat, he gestured to her untouched plate of food with a nod from his head. Arms crossed, body leaned against the wall, one leg over the other. " You're only confined here till you finish your food doll face, and then, you'll be free to roam The Sanctuary as you please- oh but ! You can't leave The Sanctuary, yeah oops, that's off-limits. And har-fucking-har you aren't my prisoner, you are my wife... Maggie... I thought we spoke 'bout this Maggie ? " He said confidently, testing her name on his tongue, his signature smirk gracing his features. " So yeah I'll tell you once more, " He continued to speak, adjusting his leathered glove on the one hand, this time not looking at her for the first time. " You aren't a prisoner. If you were a prisoner you'd be locked up like one. Don't yeh' think ? BUT--- eat first, explore later, got it ? " 

[drxwsyni]

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it���s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you. 

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons. 

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black. 

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

[minsyal]

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Can I request HSP + depression reader (who thinks they are just weak and being crybaby) x Bucky, please? I understand you are super busy right now and I didn’t mean to rush you or anything but I'm just struggling with both HSP and depression and couldn’t help but send it right now. No need to hurry, just when you are free and maybe when you had nothing to write. Thank you and I love you!

Thank you for the request, I’m sorry it’s been a difficult time for you! I’m here if you need me and I hope that this helps!!! 

It’s called empathy

Bucky x reader

Word count: 1981

Warnings: depression, HSP (highly sensitive person), low self worth, negative self talk, swearing (that’s normal for me but this one’s a little extra), angst (more so internal idk if that needs a warning), fluff/comfort

Taglist: @buckys2thicc @babydaddy-buckybarnes @barnesplums @peggycarter-steverogers @mardema @abitgryffindorky @buckys-blue-eyes @strawberrimae @thatfangirl42 @freigeistundanderes @bucks-bunny @broadwaybabe18 @im-sick-of-failing

Taglist     Masterlist

--------------

Breathe in

Breathe out

In 

Out 

...in…

You felt a tear escape your eyes

Goddamn it

You didn’t want to cry, you couldn’t let yourself. It was stupid, it was just some shitty remark from someone when they were in a shitty mood, it wasn’t your fault, all that bullshit you tried to tell yourself. It never worked.

You were trying to control your breathing, looking up at the ceiling trying to will the tears away, biting your lip. You would not cry, not over this. Not over something that wasn’t worth your tears

Not when you didn’t even know what exactly you were crying over. 

Yet here you were, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink with white knuckles, looking up at the ceiling trying to keep the tears at bay. And it wasn’t working.

Weak sensitive piece of shit. 

What good were you to the team if you cry in the bathroom like a baby every time something remotely stressful happens? People usually cry when they're in pain or when they’re grieving - the only excuse you had was you were stressed or sad. 

You felt another few tears escape and you angrily swiped them away, cursing yourself for being so weak. 

You hated this, you hated yourself. You were so numb most of the time, especially when you were alone. You found yourself alone in your room with racing thoughts feeling like you were falling apart. Yet when you were alone you could only stare at the ceiling wondering if it would get any worse. 

The answer was usually yes.

Whenever you would go on missions with the team, you were able to push aside your stress. You had a job to do and you would do it. But when the mission was over and you were walking back through the rubble - seeing all the blood, destruction, fear - then it would start to get to you. You would panic, you would feel tears cloud your vision. Tears for those you were leaving behind, and those who had nowhere to go, those who lost someone. That was understandable. 

It seemed to affect you more than the others though. It was understandable to be moved by so much destruction. But for you everyone felt like someone you had known and loved. 

You could feel the grief in those left behind, feel the sadness and pain that they were going through. 

The same was true when you weren’t on missions. When those who were on them would come back. Whether they were injured or their eyes were saddened - you knew when a mission was rough. You would listen, you would be there for people. It was easy to talk to you, and you were very wise. 

But it still overwhelmed you. You couldn’t say no, you didn’t want to. You wanted to help but it would be so emotionally taxing for you. So behind closed doors, you would break. Be there for others, listen when they need to talk, others come first - you took their emotional pain onto yourself. 

You were grateful that you could help - but in the process it was hurting you. 

You allowed yourself to feel sad when you were alone in your room. No one could see you be weak in the dark of your room. But you never cried much just from the pure exhaustion of your thoughts. Sometimes you wanted to, just feeling so incredibly empty that you just wanted to have an ugly crying session curled up in bed.

But you didn’t get to make that choice.

The crying wouldn’t come until the absolute worst times. If you had messed up on a mission, if Tony said something a little too harshly because to him everything was a joke, seeing something gruesome on a mission- whenever it came to someone else getting involved, the tears would come. Hell sometimes even being overwhelmed in public would be enough to start the waterworks. 

You always felt so fucking weak for it. The slightest environmental stressor could stress you out too much and move you to tears. You had no reason to be upset most of the time. But you would get angry at yourself for being upset, which would make you more upset that you couldn’t control it, making it harder to control.

It was a vicious cycle.

Lately it had been popping up more and more recently. Smaller things were upsetting you more than usual. You were becoming more sensitive to external stimuli and as a result, you spent as much time as you could in your room. You were embarrassed by yourself. Both by your emotions and by your inability to control them. 

This time you were just upset that you were upset. It had been a long night the day prior, just a lot of paperwork to do. There had been a mission earlier this week that you hadn’t been assigned to, but it had been brutal for everyone who had gone. So far today had been a normal day by anyone’s terms, an emotionally exhausting one for you. One of those where you woke up tired and the thoughts of another day were enough to draw you to tears. Nothing had even happened, but apparently nothing needed to happen. 

Your emotions came and went without your consent. 

You knew deep down it was probably some sort of emotional build up - that whole quote about bottling things up until they got to be too much - it happened every time but you still thought you could handle yourself better than that. You didn’t want to vent or be a problem to anyone. But when you are the emotional support for most of the team and you haven’t been able to get enough sleep or take time for yourself - you didn’t have much of a say as to when the bottle overflows.

A few more tears fell and you slammed your hand on the counter, wiping your tears angrily once more. “God fucking damn it why can’t you just stop fucking crying!” you exclaimed, feeling a few more tears falling “Weak piece of shit!” 

There was knocking on the door, pulling you out of your self deprecating thoughts. You gasped lightly, wiping your face again. 

Knock knock

You jumped a little, gasping slightly. No one was supposed to be here, it was the middle of the night. 

“Y/n? What’s going on in there? Are you alright?”

You took a shaky breath. Of course it would be Bucky who heard you. Why would it be anyone else?

“I’m fine Bucky, it’s late, you should go to sleep.”

“Then why are you still awake?” Bucky responded. You heard him sigh a little outside the door. “Come out here and tell me you’re okay.”

“Really Bucky?”

“Unless you want me to come in there, but I don’t think Stark would appreciate me breaking your door.”

You took a small breath and walked over to the door, opening it. You crossed your arms and met Bucky’s concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Bucky.”

Bucky sighed, taking in your appearance. Red eyes, flushed face, your hair was messy - you were definitely crying. He hated when you wouldn’t admit that you weren’t ok. “You know you don’t have to be, right?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep fresh tears from clouding your vision. “What?”

“You say you’re fine, you always say that you’re fine until you break. I heard you crying, I can see that you’re not feeling okay yet still you try to keep a brave face. And I just want you to know that you don’t have to always be okay.”

You let out a breath. “I - i…” you looked down and shook your head, lost for words. 

“Y/n, I’m not here to judge you. Can you try to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you said looking up at him “It’s literally so stupid, Bucky.”

“Y/n, nothing you say right now is going to sound stupid. 

You shrugged your shoulders, still not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t know, I just get so worked up sometimes, but it’s stupid. I tell myself I’m not going to be bothered and then I freak out again. The smallest things bother me and I get stressed out and then I cry like some stupid weak bitch. People have it worse than me, God, you have it worse than me. Everyone here has some sort of traumatic awful thing happen to them and then there’s me and I get sad because I see other people sad,” you were crying again and you wiped at your face, covering your eyes. “God Im so fucking stupid I -”

Bucky pulled you into his chest as you let out a sob. “You’re not stupid, y/n.”

“YES I AM. I get worked up over the smallest shit, I don’t listen when people tell me to take breaks, I take everything too personally and I can’t stop fucking crying when I don’t even know what the fuck is wrong!” you exclaimed, trying to push yourself away, ashamed.

Bucky held you tightly, not letting you go. “That’s not your fault. It’s not up to you how your feelings show up.”

“But I cry at the most stupid shit and I can’t control it.”

“You’re not supposed to know how to control it,” he said, pulling back to look at you. “Emotions can’t be controlled. They just happen and it’s rarely convenient.”

“Then why do I feel so weak? If this,” you gestured to yourself “is so goddamn normal then why isn’t everyone else breaking down every other day?” 

Bucky brushed some hair out of your face. “Your emotions are yours, no one else’s. No one has the right to tell you how to feel. Think of it this way - you can’t expect everyone to have the same amount of strength or stamina - no one has the same emotional response either. And that doesn’t make you weak, it makes you you.”

You shook your head. “I just feel so weak all the time.” 

“And I’m here to remind you that crying isn’t weak. You are not a weak person, you are not a bad person, you’re not any of those things your mind tells you. You’re a kind and thoughtful person. You put your heart into everything you do. You help everyone you can. Mourning someone else’s loss isn’t weakness. It’s called empathy.”

You took a small breath. “Then why does it hurt so goddamn much?”

“”I don’t know. And I can’t say for certain that you won’t always feel that way. But I know I can tell you that you aren’t weak, and I’ll be here every time you feel that you are.” 

You nodded your head slightly. “You don’t think I’m weak?” you asked quietly.

He pulled you back into a hug. “Not in the slightest, y/n.”

[rainswept]

thank u so much for this!! i genuinely got so excited when i saw i got tagged. this got suuuper long i’m so sorry

✦ what is your blog’s goal/intent? (what made you start one?)

— honestly i just wanted a place to draft, and maybe share, my writing. i also chose tumblr specifically for the amount of interaction you have with others; something not present on most entirely writing-oriented platforms.

i have more of a creative mind than a logical one; most of my emotions manifest in art and writing. it’s self-indulgent, something i can’t share to those i really know, but has always been easier to write for me than an actual book — which i have tried to start many times, and failed.

i am a more character-oriented person than a world building one. i often struggle with coming up with base plots and worlds; so writing fanfiction comes much more naturally to me.

i love placing my true thoughts and feelings onto a page, digital or not, writing or painting/drawing — especially if hidden behind metaphors and flowery words. in every line i write, every brushstroke, my heart guides blood. every single thing i put out into the world is a manifestation of my worst emotions, the ones i simply cannot explain. it’s a kind of catharsis i can’t get from anything else.

✦ what is your story? (what made you get to this point? any memorable experiences you want to share?)

— that’s. a big question.

really, i’ve always been both a writer and an artist. i’ve been expressing myself in such a way since i could hold a pen. it’s been the one hobby that has stuck with me my entire life. honestly, everything in my life has shaped me and lead up to how i live my life now. i couldn’t place something specifically.

in my writing nowadays, i often find a way to weave in my own experiences, especially metaphorically. i’ve struggled with a lot of stuff recently, namely ocd-like symptoms (which i am currently in the process of evaluating for diagnosis), and memory loss due to the anxiety that comes with it. i often portray these as a loss of control, or a feeling of being unable to tear yourself away from someone or something, in my works. most of the past year is entirely blank for me when i try to remember what’s happened, so in a way, my writing is a way for me to look back on how i lived.

ocd is not just about being organized or cleanly. i implore anyone reading this who thinks it may be to research into it more deeply before saying “omg, i’m so ocd, i like being organized.” it is extremely distressing and i would not wish anyone to go through what i’ve had to due to it. it has resulted in a complete loss of feeling in control, and in the past, sobbing breakdowns at least three times a day. not a single thought felt like my own anymore, and i was completely at its beck and call. it was an absolutely awful time of my life which i am still struggling with to this day.

aside from that, i often find myself writing all the things that i would absolutely hate to see in a piece of media because it would hurt me. perhaps it gives me that sense of control i lack, because writing it myself means i could change the narrative. or maybe i just like sharing my pain with others. commiserating.

i have had a lot of strife, which shows itself in what i write. there’s a lot of unresolved feelings and issues that i express in my works. namely, what i find i end up conveying the most is longing, nostalgia, tender loss. something so profound and delicate, something that needs to be held gently or it could break, and yet something that you can’t help but want to tighten your grip on.

i find ambiguity hurts the most.

even after all this, i feel as if i am unable to do this question justice. really, everything has shaped me. none of my writing would be possible with only the instances i mentioned above as fuel. they’ve just been the most dramatic influence recently, i suppose.

✦ what is your biggest dream?

— truly? to be alright. not to be happy or filled with excitement. just to be content.

career wise? i hope to be able to write my own books and illustrate for them as well. singing would be an interesting path as well, but i’d rather not be so far into the public eye if it were to go “right” (or wrong, from some’s perspective).

right now? i just hope to make some sort of difference in someone’s life. i hope that, with my works, one person might look at one of them and think; wow, this has changed me forever.

✦ if you had to use one song to describe yourself, what would it be?

another hard one. right now, i’ve gotta say;

middle distance runner — sea wolf

✦ what mythical creature would you be and why?

i think i’d be a black shuck. i’ve done a lot of research on mythical beings in the past, and i think these fit a certain part of me.

✦ share with me your favorite fic on tumblr!

it’s gotta be shadow under the illusory moon by @/dulcesiabits. i swear it genuinely changed me somehow

let me learn about you!

with all my new mutuals + old ones, i'd love to know more about you guys (aside from ask games because we all love those), so reblog with your answers ପ (๑´ ˘ ` ๑) ଓ ♡

✦ what is your blog's goal/intent? (what made you start one?)

✦ what is your story? (what made you get to this point? any memorable experiences you want to share?)

✦ what is your biggest dream?

✦ if you had to use one song to describe yourself, what would it be?

✦ what mythical creature would you be and why?

✦ share with me your favorite fic on tumblr!

i'm going to be tagging my mutuals but anyone can reblog or tag their friends! no pressure obviously!! only answer what ur comfortable with

@maehemthemisfit @https-furina @soleillunne @june-again @sinhasfluffyheadfur @amaiaqt @katsudooooon @kazumist @ayamago @papiliotao @kissxcore @blue-b3rries @rainswept @xhiune @flowerie-lumi @naenaex0xx ♡♡♡

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

This may be a minor gripe but something that has kind of bothered me about discussions and depictions of Dan is how often people seem to forget that Dan isn't just an older evil Danny, he's a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost sides. Like people always talk about him like Danny threw away his humanity and turned evil but that's not even true. Sure, we can say that Dan is the result of Danny's action but that's a little unfair. (1/2)

(2/2) Him cheating on a test, coincidentally putting his loved one's in a position where they could be killed, is absolutely not his fault. Letting Vlad take away his ghost powers with a strange contraption might not have been the smartest move, but we are talking about a grieving CHILD here, of course he isn't going to make the best decisions. If anything Vlad's the one to blame here, and even then, it's not like he could predict what happened

---

you aren't wrong, my friend. it really isn't entirely danny's fault and the whole 'if you cheat on a test, you'll loose everything you love' moral is confused at best. i think as fandom we find it more interesting to look at danny's potential evil and moral struggle with himself. so simplifying it to be dan is a worse case scenario of danny makes the conflict less abstract.

particularly because when it comes to self blame danny isn't going to go easy on himself just because it was excusable mistakes.

i think another talking point should be how danny is the target of the time assassination more than vlad is, even though vlad is part of the evil whole. you could argue that danny is the catalyst of his friends death and vlad inventing the claw things. but vlad invented the claw things. maybe because his human side survived and acted relatively harmless from then on? or maybe it's because the observants based on the available evidence recognized danny as more of a threat. i think that fits actually, for all vlad tried to be an evil mastermind, his achievements outside of terrorizing a teenager and theft isn't particularly impressive. danny was the one who got shit done. all his fights he finished one way or another and i could see how that would bleed into dan defeating everyone.

the real question is how to we fix this. ideally we could shape this idea so it's less confused, though i do honestly find the dynamic of half danny, half vlad interesting. if for not other reason. than two half ghosts make a whole. actually that's something else to be said about dan. his self-loathing is what led him to killing his human half, another negative aspect coming from danny.

i wonder if we could frame it like fusion, from su. obviously dan isn't stable or healthy, or based on love. he's most comparable to malichite. but with less internal debate. dan took the best and worst of both of them. danny's determination, danny's fighting ability, danny's anger, danny's sarcasm, vlad's anger, vlads lack of morals, vlads schemes, vlad's control. heck, vlads desire to rule the world. i don't think we ever got that from danny.

maybe if vlad was more involved in the fight with dan it could have been used as an opportunity to compare and contrast their characters. to go we're not so different you and i. danny gets to recognize that he has that dark potential. vlad gets to be humbled by the fact that what he wants isn't good for anyone, especially himself. and to be fair, we do see some of that humbling with future vlad, but none of that character growth is given to present vlad, so, really it's just another vehicle for danny angst. it also depends on what you want to do with vlad though. he's a fascinating character and could be given redemption under the right circumstances or be a character who has the opportunity for redemption but chooses not to be redeemed every time.

that fits him and makes him both a more pathetic and despicable villain. it's hard to pity someone who ignores the opportunities to heal and grow.

as for danny, he becomes far more aware of the consequences his actions, especially his selfish and cruel ones can have. because that potential was always there. he has a history of abusing his powers. perhaps for this specific incident him abusing his powers can be something less understandable than almost cheating on a test that he couldn't study for through no fault of his own. (maybe i just have flexible morals?). maybe it could be something more character relevant, like he did something particularly vlad like, maybe he set up a prank at the nasty burger to get dash but it set off the explosion that killed his family. or maybe he did something particularly cruel and manipulative. there are better catalysts than a test. either way he recognized that he should never go that far again and strive to avoid being actively cruel.

he also has the opportunity to recognize that vlad does have a human half, even the one he's fighting everyday. he can face some conflict in it's not entirely clear what trait belongs to vlad and what trait belongs to him. he can empathize with vlad and he can recognize that situations aren't always in black in white. those who fly the highest, fall the hardest, after all.

it can be a growing experience. and while making it solely a danny goes bad and learns not to do evil kind of story. maybe we could cut vlad from the equation and just have danny face himself, full evil refection. i think exploring both vlad and danny through this fusion is far more interesting. especially because we can build on what's revealed about vlad in these episodes, in later ones. danny sees a future where vlad chills and that maybe his vlad could get their. later he see vlads past and what he lost to become who he is.

and then there's vlads turning point episodes. i don't know when motherly instinct took place but maddie fully recognizing he's a bastard and rejection him, was a turning point for his sanity, and danny helped it along. then we have danny rejecting him repeatedly, then we the clone episode, which we can all agree was a desperate move on his part, that danny once again thwarted. and we can all agree that this was the cannon turning point for his character where he stopped fighting for a family and started trying to be danny's villain. in that episode, i think danny could potentially pity vlad enough to try and reach out. he's not going to justify what vlad did and he's not going to apologize for stopping him. he went too far. he hurt danny and dani, he crossed a moral line that can't be justified even with his desperation. but if he changes...

he lost this time but if he changes, maybe they'll reach the point where they're ready to accept him.

i think the same thing could be said about his relationship with jack and maddie. if he changes, if he reaches out. if acts like less of a crazy fruitloop, his friends would be there for him. jack is still trying to be there for him, even if he's being oblivious about vlad's faults. vlads the one driving wedges into his relationships and pushing everyone away.

and that's so freaking human and understandable.it would be such a cool thing to explore with his character.

i could also see a potential arc where after valerie finds out vlad and masters are the same person she tries to get close to him, both to sus out how evil he is and to understand him as a halfa. afterall danny got her to acknowledge dani as human enough, the same would apply to vlad/plasmius, right? only he's a bad person and the more she uncovers about vlad masters the man, the more she realizes it's not the ghost half that's evil. but this is a double edged sword because, vlad is getting attached to her and encouraging her to be more evil. he's encouraging her to go darker and darker in her fight against ghosts and her fight specifically against phantom. to the point where she finally draws the line and says, i'm not doing that! boom exploring the moral ambiguity of her character and getting her to take a hard stance on her morals, because there's a line too far for her.

and boom a further breakdown of vlads character because he finally had someone outside the fentons to redeem him. she could have helped pull him out of the hole he'd been digging himself into. she wanted to help him. he got attached to her, but he and his bad decisions decided to dig himself deeper instead. so once again he's 'abandoned and betrayed'.

from that point, i think it'd be time for him to finally face jack head on. not through manipulative schemes. not through veiled threats and insults. but the full confrontation of 'i always hated you. you ruined my life. you're the reason i lost everything'. which is really just his own self loathing speaking. and jack... empathetic jack can see that vlad desperately wants help. and jack would offer it to him. jack would try to hug it out and apologize and give vlad the love and friendship vlad's been fighting to steal this whole time.

and vlad would reject it.

he'd probably lash out a jack and go into a full breakdown/world destroying attack. could finally put the stolen crown to use and try declaring himself king and embracing his megalomaniac thing and actually be a threat this time. and THAT would be our series finally. everyone teaming up to fight 'king vlad'. danny probably finding out that he's technically king because he beat pariah dark but the matter being a bit confused because he had help. val and danny trying to find the ring of rage or at least find someone who can make one. secrets are out. i imagine vlad, upon revealing himself to jack would out danny to make danny as sad and alone as him. except nope, his family still loves him and val has had the character development to come around to him. (she's still gonna punch danny for lying for so long.) the ghosts will come and help because no one wants another tyrannical kind and vlads obviously off his rocker.

ah, the could have beens

anyway, i didn't mean for this to become a full vlad character analysis and rewrite when we were supposed to be talking about dan, but hey, i'm a simple creature. i like good writing, and i have to rewrite things myself, so be it. - Hestia

[seijorhi]

Acts of Devotion

👀 i um 👉 👈 i hope this is okay...

Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

TW blood, gore, violence, murder, dub con, nsfw

Akaashi loves you.

He’s known that for a long time now, probably from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, back when you were both just wide eyed first year uni students, wildly out of your depths.

A lot’s changed since then. For one, he now gets to call you his, and it’s his arms that you return to at the end of a long day, his house that you both live in. It’d be a lie to say that it doesn’t bother him that he wasn’t your first love, but he’s contented himself with the knowledge that he’ll be your last. Your only great love.

The only one that matters.

But it hasn’t been without its challenges. He’s learned a lot about love since those early days, about what it means to truly devote yourself to somebody, to give everything you have for them.

Love essentially boils down to two things, Akaashi’s come to realise - sacrifice, and forgiveness. 

You always look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. Of course, Akaashi thinks you’re beautiful all the time; when you’re smiling and laughing, when your face is screwed up in petulant anger, when those pretty eyes of yours well with tears and they glimmer and shine - but there’s something about the peaceful expression, so soft and unguarded when you’re asleep that inexplicably draws him in. 

There’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to stay, to reach out and brush away the hair that’s fallen across your face, pull you closer and let sleep drag him under, but he can’t. 

Not tonight.

Instead he cranes his neck to press a kiss against your lips, a small smile tugging at his lips when you let out a quiet mewl in response. He loves you so, so much… that’s why he has to do this.

He’d forgive you anything. You know that, don’t you?

Sure, it hurt him when he found the messages. Scrolling back through your text history, it was like somebody had grabbed him by the throat and plunged a knife into his gut, twisting it for good measure.

Kaito i don’t know what to do

i love him but lately it feels like idk he’s being a little controlling i guess? 

… but maybe i’m just being paranoid?

He knows it’s not entirely your fault. For all the amazing qualities you possess, you are remarkably naive and so very, very impressionable - which worked to his favour in the beginning, he’ll be the first to admit, but now…

Now it’s becoming a problem.

You haven’t realised yet that everything Akaashi’s doing - it’s all for your own good. 

Your family wanted you under their thumb. They always asked too much of you, guilt tripped you whenever you tried to stand up for yourself or set boundaries. They’d never be happy for you, not truly. It hurts, he knows that, but some people don’t deserve to be in your life, especially when they treat you like that. 

Your job was causing you stress, and your boss was an arrogant, nasty piece of work. His salary is more than enough to support you both, why put yourself through that if you don’t need to? Aren’t you happier now that you don’t have to trudge into that office every day and pretend that it isn’t making you miserable?

Your friends were bad influences. Jealous of your relationship for one, but they were also petty, self absorbed and vapid, always trying to drag you down to their level so you wouldn’t ever outshine them. You’re better off without them, why can’t you see that?

Akaashi’s the only one you’ll ever need.

And he really thought that he’d solved that little problem, but apparently not. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that out of all of them, Kaito’s the one who’s been the hardest to shake. An old friend of yours from high school, Akaashi had known within five minutes of meeting him that he was head over heels in love with you and had been for a long, long time. 

He can’t blame him for that. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Entirely his. It’s painfully obvious that even before he came into the picture to sweep you off your feet, you’d never so much as looked twice at the guy. So Akaashi was more or less content to let his somewhat pitiful one sided crush on you slide. Considering that he had absolutely no intentions of letting him or any of your other friends remain part of your life for much longer, it was hardly worth wasting energy thinking about.

Until, that is, he read the messages that Kaito’s been sending you.

Leave him

I’m serious. 

My sister had a friend who was with a guy like that. She had to get a restraining order because he wouldn’t let her go - it got scary… You can come stay with me. I don’t want you getting hurt :(

It’s that last one that bothers him. Not the attempts to lure you away from him under the guise of being a safe haven from your ‘dangerous’ boyfriend, painting himself as your knight in shining armour - mildly irritating if not a little amusing - but for putting the idea in your head that Akaashi would ever hurt you.

That he can’t forgive.

He won’t have you look at him with fear in your eyes. 

Akaashi’s never tried to deny that side of himself, but he’s kept it from you, locked it away and buried it deep. The things he does… you’re too pure for that. He loves you, loves the way that your eyes still soften when you catch sight of him, the warm, trusting naivety that bleeds out of your every pore. If you knew what the hands that caressed you so gently had done, would you still beg for his touch?

You wouldn’t, he knows that just as he knows that even if you were to uncover the truth, he wouldn’t let you go. He can’t, you’re his.

Is it really so selfish of him to want to preserve that innocent naivety? 

But it seems like now he’ll have to indulge once again, and Akaashi, really, truly can’t say that it bothers him. Killing other people has always thrilled him, made the blood in his veins race… Killing other people for you, oh, that’s going to be a whole other level of pleasure he can’t wait to explore. 

The pads of his fingers trace the curve of your jaw for just a moment. “Back soon,” he whispers, gracing your cheek with a feather light kiss.

You’ve never asked why the door to the basement locks from both sides, he doesn’t even think you realise that the walls are soundproofed. Tonight he’s grateful. You won’t wake up, he’s almost positive of that, but Akaashi has no desire to be gone from your side for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He usually prefers to take his time. 

His first kill was more of an accident than anything else, there was too much blood, he panicked and it was over in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t time to savour it, to really enjoy the sight of the light leaving their eyes, the weak, desperate struggles and whimpers, the tantalising fear that inevitably bleeds into the air, growing more potent by the second - even the strongest break eventually. He’s learned since then how to draw it out, how to have fun with his work.

But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight, and, as he keeps having to remind himself, this isn’t about his pleasure.

Guns are quick. Messy. Akaashi’s never really taken a liking to the crude, graceless weapon. He prefers his knives. 

Waving a gun in somebody’s face gives them the idea that they’re going to die, and there are only so many times that you can shoot somebody before they just… bleed out. It’s not nearly as satisfying a death. A knife, on the other hand, brings with it more opportunities. It isn’t death that his victim becomes worried about, at least not initially, but pain. And as his hand glides over his collection, Akaashi decides that Kaito is due for a little pain.

I love him, you’d texted. I love him. I love him. I love him.

That’s what he’s trying to protect. 

Long, pale fingers wrap around the handle of his chef’s knife, (eight inches, sharp - a familiar, comforting weight in his hand) and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

Kaito’s mouth is taped shut. Akaashi doesn’t want to hear a filthy word out of those lips. His hands are bound behind his back, his ankles tied to the old, wooden chair. He’s good with his knots, the more Kaito struggles, the tighter they pull. And judging from the ugly, purpling shade of his hands and the tears leaking from bloodshot eyes, he’s been struggling for a while.

Good.

Akaashi smiles as he strolls towards his captive audience, fingering the straight edge of the knife. Kaito doesn’t try to speak, but the muffled whines and sobs grow louder with every step closed between them. The fear and tension in the air is palpable. 

His breath is little more than a frantic wheezing by the time Akaashi stops in front of him and drops into a crouch. Cool, gunmetal blue eyes meet Kaito’s deep brown ones, blown wide with terror.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he admits quietly. 

Looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, a faint smile on his lips, Akaashi could almost pass for an angel if not for the gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. Kaito pales, his entire body going taut as his gaze slides from Akaashi’s face to the gleaming blade in his hand. He shakes his head in desperation, another muffled scream escaping his gag-

Akaashi strikes fast, like a viper. The blade plunges into the meat of Kaito’s thigh and without an ounce of mercy, Akaashi yanks it back towards his knee.

The scream that rips through the air sends a pleasurable shiver of warmth down his spine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he feels the muscles beneath him convulse. The gash isn’t too long, maybe a few inches, but it’s deep and Akaashi’s smirk only grows as warm blood gushes from the wound, coating his hand in slick vermilion. 

He tugs the knife free, rewarded with another choked howl from his captive as more blood sprays. Bound to the chair, there’s not a whole lot of room for Kaito to move, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch him try to thrash, escape the white hot agony radiating from his thigh through his entire body. It’s hard for the human body to comprehend that level of pain, and from experience, Akaashi’s well aware that it won’t take long for his body to go into shock and simply shut down from the blood loss, and once that happens, he won’t be of much use to anyone. 

Kaito’s trembling, face pale, his skin clammy. Impossibly black pupils swallow his irises whole, erratically tracking his captor’s every movement as Akaashi pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to study him. Tears and bubbles of snot leak in a disgusting mix down his jaw, dripping onto his lap as he sobs against his bindings. It’s pitiful, seeing a man reduced to a whimpering, terrified wreck, but as the hand still holding his knife grips at his chin and yanks his face closer, Akaashi can’t help but gleefully drink it all in. 

Your would be knight in shining armour doesn’t look quite so strong and capable now, does he?

Akaashi doesn’t have much time left to make him suffer, but he can’t seem to resist trailing his fingers along Kaito’s injured leg, digging them deep into the ruined muscle - grinning wildly when he convulses and screams, arching up off the chair. 

There’s still so much that he’d like to do. He toys with the idea of taking his tongue, of carving his knife deep into his skin just to watch him whimper and bleed… but no. This isn’t about indulgence. This is about you. He has to have more discipline than that.

Dangling on the edge of consciousness, Kaito meets his gaze one last time. Maybe he senses that his death is close, or maybe he’s just searching for a last minute reprieve, mercy from the cold blooded killer before him. Terrified, agonised, delirious from the blood loss, he tries to speak - a plea, he thinks, or maybe just incomprehensible babbling, but his eyes burn into Akaashi’s, desperate and hollow.

Akaashi’s never been one for theatrics. He won’t waste more time monologuing while your friend clings to the last vestiges of life. If Kaito hasn’t guessed by now the reasons he’s ended up here, at Akaashi’s mercy, he’s far less intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he supposes that he owes him something, at least. 

“I love her,” he says with a small shrug, as if it explains everything.

And maybe it does. 

It hardly matters though, as Akaashi decides to finally end it with a vicious slice across his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain, splattering across the room and drenching him, Kaito’s body slumps in his seat, the last flicker of life slowly snuffing out, and Akaashi revels in the pure, sweet euphoria that floods his system.

He’s never killed anybody while you were home with him before. Normally he’s methodical, quick to clean up whatever mess is left behind. Tonight though, Akaashi doesn’t have the patience for all that.

He should at least take a shower, rid himself of the blood that soaked him to the skin, but the call of your arms, the sweet, soft floral scent he longs to drown himself in beckoning is too hard to resist. He sheds his clothes, casting them aside haphazardly along with the bloody knife as he stalks down the hallway to the bedroom. His heart is still racing, excitement drumming through his veins as he crawls onto the bed and slides the covers off of you.

Dimly, he registers that this is a monumentally bad idea, but all he can think about is the vivid memory of the light leaving Kaito’s eyes and you. Tonight, he killed for you, and it was exhilarating.

He doesn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to?

You’re perfect, beautiful - his. Nothing and nobody will ever be able to separate the two of you, he’ll kill anybody who tries. 

You stir a little as Akaashi’s lips graze along your skin, his fingers sliding the silk of your nightgown up over your hips.

“‘Kaashi?” you sleepily murmur, trying to blink heavy eyelids open.

He wonders if you can feel the way his bloodstained hands are trembling as they ease your supple thighs apart. “Shh, baby,” he presses a kiss against your leg as he manoeuvres himself between them, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Let me take care of you. 

He needs this.

[misfits-of-zaun]

By Jin- Powder's expression, he'd already made another blunder simply by showing his surprise. Apparently this was not supposed to be a surprising gesture - so, what, was this some sort of routine thing, or something?

The concept of having regular lunch dates with her, of all people, was absolutely insane - it was about the fifteenth insane concept he'd been walloped over the head with today so far, though, so the magnitude of it didn't quite hit the same now.

Or maybe that was just the shock talking.

Was this what going crazy felt like?

“Uh, yeah dummy, it’s 12 ‘o clock already.”

Powder still seemed to be taking his behaviour in stride. Ekko didn't quite know whether to be relieved by all the free passes he was getting for his struggles to adjust, or to be insulted and concerned that freaking out over random shit in the lead-up to some science competition was apparently not deemed to be that unusual for him in this universe.

One of those days, huh? That was what Benzo had said yesterday.

Maybe he was going crazy.

"...Oh."

Ekko rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling almost dazed by the potent blend of bewildered disbelief and acute self-consciousness. He glanced over at the grandfather clock. Sure enough, it was two minutes past 12. Noon. Had it really been that long?

 “Gotta make sure you have energy to think and overthink, don’t I?”

The girl with his enemy's face reached out with bold familiarity to jostle his shoulder - Ekko reflexively stiffened at the contact, eyes flying to her hand like it was an enormous spider that had just dropped onto him from above, but the moment was over before he could fully process what had just happened.

"It's not overthinking if I get a solution out of it," He muttered a peevish retort, and bit back the next blundersome question on the tip of his tongue.

Why do you care, anyway?

Unfortunately, his freshly excavated sense of impulse control was too little too late. Now it was Powder's turn to stare at him like he was some sort of alien.

“...Boy Saviour? Why wouldn’t I? You’re the only one in this place that gets me. Aaaand keeps me outta trouble.”

Ekko felt his brows furrow into something patently skeptical, shooting her a distrustful look even as he picked up his dropped sandwich (and discreetly tried to wipe the cover of a sandwiched book clean with his thumb, without drawing attention.)

It was difficult to believe she hadn’t dropped that particular nickname as some sort of mocking taunt - that in this universe, it could be a genuine term of endearment from a girl who claimed he understood her better than anyone else. It was really, deeply ironic.

"Yeah, right - like anyone could ever talk you out of something you'd already decided to do," He remarked back wryly, with a jaded and faintly embittered conviction threaded through the words.

 “Do you need the list?”

...The what?

Okay, he officially had no idea what she was talking about.

Ekko floundered for a moment, trying to figure out what to say in response to that impromptu and concerningly vague question.

The lack of sleep and mild concussion were really not helping him out here.

"Uhhh... which list?"

@f1shbonez

"Okay, no, I'm not laughing. Not laughing. Are you okay? That must've hurt."((@F1shbonez))

Shit, was he just gonna keep getting jump-scared by this girl every time she showed up? This was the second time in a row now.

Eyes stinging with a blend of mortification and pain, Ekko gingerly sat up and pushed a stack of books off himself, rubbing at his head. Well, great, his startle reflex had taken out a whole-ass shelf. That was even worse than panic-chucking a random item at the wall; Benzo was going to kick him out of the shop on more mandated leave, at this rate, if he didn't pull his shit together.

Jin- Powder at least had the common sense to stifle her schadenfreude at the sight of his watering eyes.

"Okay, no, I'm not laughing. Not laughing. Are you okay? That must've hurt."

A caustic retort rose up in his throat on defensive reflex, only to turn to ash on his tongue at the jarring sight of genuine concern on her features. A second ticked by, and then another, drawing them steadily further into the acceptable response time window.

Say something, you idiot!

They're all gonna think you're crazy if you keep freaking out like this!

"...Well, I'm better off than the shelf," He managed to mutter out in the direction of the floor, before the pause took them into truly awkward territory. On autopilot, Ekko pushed himself back up to his feet, grimacing down at the mess he'd made, and tried to clean it up. His head was throbbing where he'd cracked it against the underside of the shelf.

"I just - didn't hear you come in."

Yeah, because it was perfectly normal to have such a strong panic response to someone you supposedly had been hanging out with almost every day for years sneaking up on you while you were distracted with work. Not weird at all. Ekko wanted to wince.

You are really blowing this right now - can you just act normal around this girl for five minutes?!

Considering how hard his heart was still hammering, his odds admittedly weren't looking great.

"What did you want?"

@f1shbonez

[mellowswriting]

Mando N*S*F*W Alphabet

**I had to delete and reupload this because tumblr hates me lmao

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Mando is exhausted. Sex is always drains every bit of energy from the both of you because Mando is intense. Whether he’s giving it to you slow and deep or he’s fucking you hard over any available surface, every bit of strength is sapped from his usually strong and capable body. 

That doesn’t mean he skimps on the aftercare, though. He likes to rub his palms over your heated skin - your arms, your thighs, your belly. Doesn’t matter to him, he just wants to touch. 

He whispers his thanks into the air like he’s in confession, his words hushed as he tells you how good you are for him, how lucky he feels. How much he loves you. 

Din loves to fall asleep with his cock still buried in you, overstimulated and twitching every now and then, even if he knows he’ll likely wake up with a sore back from the awkward position. 

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Din didn’t really think about his own body that much, positively or negatively - until he met you of course. His body was just that. His body. But when you told him little things you loved about him, he couldn’t help but start to take notice. 

His hands are his favorite, he supposes. They’re strong, capable. Watching his fingers disappear into your mouth or twitch over your neck where he holds you in place as he fucks you fast and hard… it really gets him going. He can’t help but love his hands with the way you talk about them, too. The first time you told him it turned you on to watch how expertly he could disassemble his blaster to clean it made him look at them in a new light, and now he can never turn back. 

Din loves every single part of your body, but he’s partial to those hips. He can settle his hand on your hip while you’re standing next to him and easily stake his claim that way. Everyone around knows who you belong to like that. They’re his favorite place to grab while he fucks you, with your neck in a close second place. Whether you’re riding him, on your hands and knees, or laid out on your back, your hips sport bruises constantly from how hard his grip is when he uses them to hold you firm for him. 

Din also loves your mouth, but we’ll talk about that soon...

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Holy shit does Din love seeing his cum on you, in you, anyway possible. It’s a primal thing that makes his spent cock twitch every time he sees it. It feels like he’s marking you, claiming you as his in the most base way possible. 

His absolute favorite place to finish is inside of you, obviously. The idea of it taking hold and watching your belly swell with his child? Fuck. His brain short circuits at the very thought. He shoves his cum back into you when it dares leak out, his fingers slick with both of your cum. He loves the feeling of your exhausted cunt spasming around his thick fingers. 

Din will cum all over your face if you assure him that you want it. It feels degrading in the most delicious way, and he would never want to make you feel like he genuinely sees you that way. Both those wide, pretty eyes staring up at him from where you’re kneeling on the floor, his cum all over your face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He scoops it all up with his fingers and lets you suck them clean, and fuck, he’s hard again.

If you let him finish anywhere else, on your thighs or belly or ass, he’s rubbing it into your skin. Yet another way for him to lay his claim to you. 

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Din wants to try consensual non-consent - specifically hunting you down like you’re some bounty. He wants to fuck you like he hates you, like you’re just a hole he paid to fuck in some sleezey brothel, not like you’re his precious, sweet little thing. Of course he would treat you like an angel afterwards, but in the moment? He wants to tie you up, haul you over his shoulder, and smack your ass when you beg him not to fuck you. 

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Specifically with sex? Din is experienced. It’s canon that he fucks, okay. It was a utilitarian act, the periodical release of stress so he wouldn’t explode with pressure. Din makes sure his partner gets theirs and he gets his, and then he goes on his way.

Until you. Suddenly there’s this option to explore, broaden his horizons and try new things. Din discovers he loves missionary. He can grip your jaw and angle your face however he wants to get a good look at those kiss-swollen lips and glazed eyes. 

Intimacy during and after is the new part that he’s inexperienced with, and it takes him a minute to get used to it. The first time you tangle your fingers with his and just… hold his hand while he’s viciously railing you, Din’s pace stutters because… wow, this is somehow so soft and loving while he’s rearranging your guts and yeah, he loves it. And you. 

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Din has a few, he can’t pick just one. 

Missionary is one of the top ones. He loves being able to look into your eyes and watch your face as you slowly lose your mind with pleasure. Watching your breasts bounce with each thrust is a plus, too. 

Face down, ass up, and you’ve got one very happy Mandalorian on your hands. It feels filthy, primal even, to fuck you like this. Like he’s got ownership of your body as he lords over you, gathers your hair in one hand, and pulls to get that beautiful arch to your spine. 

If you’re both exhausted but still needy, he’ll pull your back against his chest, tuck your leg over his hip, and slide into you nice and slow. It’s intimate and slow, the way he rocks into your body until you’re both sated. 

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Din is a serious guy and that definitely includes during sex. 

I mean, he’ll chuckle if you knock heads, but that’s about it. 

He takes your pleasure seriously. He doesn’t just want you to feel good, he fucking needs it like he needs air. 

H - Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Din has a curly thatch of dark hair above his cock. He doesn’t let it grow out of control, but he doesn’t like shaving himself completely bare. The man already has to deal with layer upon layer of cloth and armor, he doesn't need the added discomfort of ingrown hairs and itchiness. So he keeps it neatly trimmed. 

Plus he has a small happy trail, just a thin wispy bit of hair reaching towards his belly button. 

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Din murmurs how much he loves you, how lucky he is that he has you. In the moment when he’s so close to breaking, so close to filling you with his cum, his words are choked off and barely understandable. 

It becomes clearer once he’s come down from his high and his heart rate has gone back to normal. He murmurs between kisses to your face, shoulders, chest, anywhere he can reach. 

After so many years of impersonal sex, Din relishes in the intimacy he experiences with you. Just holding your body close to his gives him such a rush, he feels like a lovesick teenager. Somehow the way you gently run your fingers down his sternum makes him blush harder than the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth. 

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He used to masturbate regularly. It’s an easy way to ease some of his tension and help clear his mind. It doesn’t happen as often now - when he gets the urge, he goes to you for that release. 

If you aren’t around or busy or otherwise not in the mood, he has no problem taking care of himself if the ache is too much to ignore. 

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise, giving and receiving. He loves the way you shiver underneath him when he calls you his good girl, tells you how pretty you look underneath him. He loves the desperate glint in your eyes because he just knows you want more of that addictive praise and that you’d do practically anything for it. But it’s the tremble in your voice when you tell him how fucking big he is, how amazing he feels splitting you open, how good he makes you feel that makes him lose his absolute mind. Din feels powerful and godly in the way that he can make you tremble beneath him, but beyond that - he feels loved. Appreciated. 

Degradation. A bit contrary to the praise kink, but hey. Din will growl out that you’re his cockdrunk little slut and shudder at your response of drawing his fingers into your mouth to suck on while he fucks you even harder. 

Breeding & Lactation kink. His entire culture is based upon raising and caring for children, so of course Din wants to see you swollen with his child. Even if it’s just a fantasy and you don’t want kids or can’t have them, he loves filling you with his seed and imagining. The very idea of wrapping his lips around your perky nipple and drinking the milk your body made to feed his child makes Din work a thousand times harder to breed you. 

Overstimulation. Those big, begging eyes you give him as he circles your clit, after already making you cum a few times lights something dark and primal inside Din. 

Primal play. Again, the idea of hunting you down and fucking you wherever he finds you has him harder than his beskar in a second flat.

Cockwarming. It’s intimate and teasing at the same damn time. What is there not to love about that?  

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place is his bunk. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him. He can strip completely bare, feel your skin against his own, listen to your cry out his name when he buries his teeth in your neck. 

That doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into a dark alleyway to fuck you against the bricks. He makes sure to cover your mouth with his gloved hand so no one hears you moaning on his cock like a desperate little slut. 

The cockpit. Holy shit, the cockpit. Din loves having you on his dick while he pilots. He doesn’t even have to be actively fucking you. If he’s got you in his lap with his dick buried in your cunt, then he’s rubbing your thighs and ass with those huge, warm hands while you curl up against his chest. If he’s got you on your knees for him with your mouth around his cock, you can expect him to settle his hand at the crown of your head to hold you close. Plus he even got you a little pillow after the first time you rose to your feet with sore and bruised knees

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Watching you change clothes. There’s just something about the way you pause and smile so brightly when you see him looking at you, half dressed and offering him a kiss. It’s intimate, almost domestic. He’s got you tossed onto the bed so he can rip the rest of your clothes off before you can blink. 

Din loves when you beg. Your voice gets so desperate, so needy for him. 

Seeing you reject someone. Weird, I know, but hear me out. You’re fucking hot, so it’s bound to happen that someone will hit on you while you’re out and about, especially in cantinas and especially if Din has stepped away to take care of business. Without that imposing wall of beskar hovering behind you, some people are bold enough to approach and flirt with you. Most have no issue bowing out at your rejection, but there’s always the inevitable asshole who decides that you just need some more convincing. Din loves the way you eye them and then laugh in their face. It just cements the fact that you’re his. 

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

No actual breathplay. Din will let his hands clamp over the sides of your neck to restrict your blood flow and give you that heady, hazy feeling, but refuses to actually press down on your windpipe. It’s too fucking dangerous. 

Nothing that would cause you actual harm or scar you. Knife play is a solid maybe, but he isn’t going to cut you or anything like that. The idea of causing you pain that isn’t also pleasurable makes his stomach turn. 

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Din has a thing for your mouth, okay. He fucking loves everything about it, those soft lips, your talented tongue, the sharp bite of your teeth. You use it so well; your words are vivid and at times, poetic. Your kisses are all-encompassing. Din could lose himself in the flow of your lips against his. The marks you leave on his neck and chest make him shiver. 

So the image of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth??? HELLO, this man is hard and ready to go. He feels like you’re going to suck his entire soul out of him, and he’s totally okay with that too. 

Din never actually gave anyone else oral until you because of his Creed. He was too in his head about whoever he was with not respecting his religion and its importance, so he never gave in to the curiosity of pleasuring someone with his tongue. But don’t worry, Din is a fast learner. He listens to your instruction on what you like and pays rapt attention to the different ways your body responds to his touch, to what motions draws out those pretty little gasps and makes your hips jerk to grind against his face. 

Din learns that he doesn’t just love receiving oral, but giving as well. He would spend hours between your thighs if you’d let him

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Both? Both. Both are good. 

It always ends with Din going fast and rough. More often than not, it starts with slow and soft grinding and gasping against each other. The more that tension builds, though? Din’s hands grow rougher as he wraps a hand in your hair to hold you steady in whatever position he wants to keep you in. His kisses become more teeth than tongue, his gasps and moans become harsh groans and growls that make tingles dance along your skin. 

After you both get yours though? He’s right back to being slow and soft and sensual. Such a precious man. 

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hey, sometimes you just gotta fuck and there’s not enough time to draw it out and completely exhaust your bodies. Din understands that better than anyone. So he has no problem bending you over the console in the cockpit when you grin at him with that sly fucking look on your face and say, “Ten minutes or less?” 

Honestly, I see Din as the type to have a quickie a day. No lie, he loves the fast and desperate rush of it all. Besides, it’s just the preface to the way he’ll break you down to an unintelligible, fucked out mess later before going to sleep. 

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

God, yes. Please. Please experiment with this man. 

Din wants to learn. He’s certain there are things he likes that he just has never thought about before. So Din will 100% sit you down and have a long talk about your hard and soft limits, what you want to try and what he wants to try. Is his dick hard the entire time he listens to you stutter out your fantasies? Absolutely. 

Din jumps at the chance to try new things, but again - he won’t risk genuinely harming you. Ever. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Din can go for hours. What better is there to do in the endless, boring hours of flying through hyperspace? In the time it takes for him to get hard again, Din is between your thighs and pulling those heavenly sounds from you, stringing you along in the tortuous space between pleasure and overstimulation. 

Din can and will edge himself just to see how many times he can make you cum on his cock. So he can last hours, if he really applies his long-honed self control. 

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

When you bring up toys for the first time, Din is immediately worried that he isn’t pleasing you enough, but once you reassure him that that isn’t the case at all, he’s game to try. And the first time he sees you trembling with a vibe against your clit, he’s hooked. 

Din doesn’t really care for toys he would use on himself. He’d much rather bury himself in you than some silicone. 

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

King of Mandalore? More like the King of Teasing. 

Din loves edging you, over and over again, until you’ve flown past begging and landed directly on frustrated and demanding. He loves seeing the hard edge of annoyance fall from your face into absolute bliss when he finally, finally lets you cum. 

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Din mostly gives these low grunts and groans. They’re all rumbly and have molten pleasure pooling in your belly. 

The closer he gets to finishing, the more Din is gasping against your skin. Every sound he makes becomes breathier, lighter. Din cums with a strangled gasp, usually right in your ear because he knows how much you love it. 

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Din is an absolutely cocky little shit. He loves showing you off. He leaves marks in highly visible places just so that everyone knows you’re his. Honestly, he can’t help it. You’re just so pretty, he doesn’t want anyone who looks at you to think they have a chance. 

He sits in booths in cantinas with his thighs spread like the drama king he is and pats his thigh for you to sit on. You always roll your eyes, but indulge him anyway. 

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Din’s dick is a work of art and I refuse to believe otherwise. Uncut, eight inches long, and thick. Slightly curved upwards, perfect for grinding against your g-spot as he fucks the life out of you. 

His shoulders are broad, his chest strong and toned. There’s a slight pudge to his belly that he used to be kind of insecure about until he saw how much you love it. 

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Din is a once a day at least kinda guy. Usually before bed because it helps both of you sleep and he loves the feeling of you cuddling up to him and slowly drifting off into a blissed out, peaceful sleep.

His max is three, though. He isn’t twenty anymore, his dick doesn’t get hard at the slightest change in the wind like it used to. But he will use his mouth and fingers on you literally whenever you want.  

Z - Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Within fifteen minutes, Din is out. He gives you all of his attention for as long as he can, even when his eyes are drooping and he’s snuggling into you. 

Unless you need him of course. If you need to talk about something, anything, he’s sitting up so he can be entirely sure he’s awake and listening.