#oc-insert

[eyes-of-mischief]

weekly fic recs | 47

prompt: self-insert/OC-insert

fandoms: bnha, knb, mdzs, naruto, svsss

bnha

Causality of Temporal Paradox by MirrorDaltokki

"A tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use." - Washington Irving

In which you are very clearly not having a good time slipping through time and space.

Lucky for you, there's at least one constant. Hawks seems to not mind you showing up in his bed over and over again throughout his life.

But hey, look at the upside. There's pro-heroes, so that's kind of cool.

Cleaning Crew; Teaching Kids to Value their Safety, for Fun and Profit by Reavv

Takenaka Hideo is a thirty-two year old, in mild desperation for money, who has just been hired as a new janitor for UA's support staff. He has a quirk that lets him find lost objects, a liaison with the police because of it, and desperate desire for competent co-workers.

Oh, and he's already lived a previous life, in a world where quirks and heroes didn't even exist.

Not a big deal, though. It's not like you ever see the janitor playing a big part in action movies. He's here to get paid, and that's it.

On the opposite side of the equation, class 1-A has to wonder at the new UA cryptid that always seems to show up when things are on fire, and who keeps trying to convince them to let the adults handle the fire extinguisher.

knb

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades by Vroomian

You don't care about sports, and you didn't ask for this nonsense.

so miracles happen after all. by リリス - riris (arurun)

Paralyzed from the neck down, a former basketball star wished only for one thing.

And like a miracle, he wakes up in a new world, in a new body-- and there's only one thing he wants to do now, so he starts running.

"Wait, is this that basketball anime?"

Ball Is Life, But You Still Need To Pay Rent by vermillion_crown 

Here's the thing. Taiga has a little breakdown (politely, in the cabin restroom at 3:37 AM PST while the other passengers are dead asleep) and gets over it in the span of the eleven hour flight into Tokyo. The leftover memories in his head really help with perspective, let's just say.

He likes basketball. Loves it, even. Sure, maybe another team sport might do the trick in a pinch, but his body and reflexes are optimized for basketball. It'd be a waste of time to change tracks

Ball is life, but you still need to pay rent. Okay, well officially, his dad's paying the rent. But the sentiment still stands, right? There are other things to worry about.

Who the hell peaks in high school?

(SI/OC as Kagami Taiga, who just wants to ball—all the chūnibyō shit be damned.)

mdzs

by foot it's a slow climb by Vroomian

(graphic depictions of violence) (major character death)

So. Let's get this straight - I didn't set out to derail any plot. My plan was to lay low and stay away from canon. It's just...

My plans tend to fail.

Spectacularly.

i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized

(mature)

A modern OC arrives in Yiling before the start of the Sunshot Campaign. She has no friends, no money, and no cultivation. She knows what's coming, but what could she possibly do about it? *** “Well…” I looked down at my fingernails and tried not to squirm. “If there were a way to separate Wei Wuxian from Madam Yu without ruining his relationship with his siblings, I’d encourage it. Like, as an example, marriage.”

Xichen blinked. “To you?”

“No. Absolutely not. What even—?” The thought was so abhorrent I couldn’t hold it in my head. My brain spat it right back out. “To your brother.”

Xichen blinked. Again. “To Wangji?”

“Obviously?”

“This is a concern of yours?”

“I realize it’s not my business at all,” I admitted. “But you asked.”

naruto

Doing the Work by MarbleGlove

There’s more to peace than the absence of war. The work is as hard and uncertain as any Shinobi mission.

AKA: A highly self-indulgent fic in which a civilian woman helps an orphaned Sasuke and winds up saving the world.

Making Lemonade by Meeceisme

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)

Waking up after dying to a whole new life in a brand new body is a little outside his frame of reference. But he'll do his best to make the best of this weird as hell situation. Worse comes to worst he'll grab all his favourite people and run the hell away from this mad place.

Featuring: Konoha's atrocious orphanage system, cynical child soldiers and Kakashi's guilt complex.

wataru, wataru by unolvrs

(mature)

“Kirigakure didn’t need help. They needed salvation.”

No one knows anything about the Mizukage. Only that she’s kind. She likes to smile. She likes seafood like every other Mizu-born. And that there’s something inexplicably wrong with her. There’s something wrong with the Mizukage whom the Kiri-nin call a ‘god’.

—or, Wataru Wataru was never really a powerhouse, in this life or the last, but she’s resourceful. She knows cults, pyramid schemes, and corrupt politicians like the back of her hand, so of course, she becomes the Mizukage and becomes a god along the way.

svsss

exec_ep=diviega/. by MirrorDaltokki, MULmul

(mature) (major character death)

AKA: Female Protagonist Fights the System Because She Doesn't Want to Live on the Lesbian Peak Just Because She Won't Sleep With Luo Binghe and She Can Write This Piece of Trash Novel Better than The Stupid Author

[lexithequeenofgay]

Ninjago Dragons Rising OC-Insert AU One-Shot: A Meeting of Four

(This story takes place right after The Merge, so the kids are like… I wanna say 10-11? Maybe 12?)

Izumi groaned as she woke up, rubbing her head and checking for any bumps or bruises on her body. She was surprisingly unhurt, just disoriented and dizzy (and her clothes were a little dirty and torn as well). She looked around to figure out where she was, and saw a city in the near distance. She got up and started walking towards it.

Izumi’s Thoughts: *Where in the 16 Realms am I?*

Her mind raced with the possibilities. Was she dead? Did she get transported to another realm? What if she couldn't find her way home? What if she didn't want to go home? What if-

Her thoughts were suddenly cut off by the sight of two people running along the sand towards her. She stopped in her tracks and narrowed her eyes to try to get a better look.

The two people also stopped, staring at her. Confused and a little worried. One of them had pink hair tied in neat space buns, and the other had short, auburn hair.

Izumi: “Hello? Who are you? Where am I?”

She called out to them nervously. They weren't close enough for her to make out distinct facial details, but they must have heard her as they were coming closer.

But neither of them said anything for a while. Clearly they were both a little nervous. The pink-haired girl spoke 1st.

Sora: “I'm An- um… Sora, and this is my friend, Kiara. You're in the deserts of Imperium”

Kiara looked at Sora curiously, but said nothing, just nodding along. Izumi glanced behind them, seeing the large city teaming with energy.

Izumi: “Imperium? Isn't that the realm with incredibly advanced tech? Looks impressive.”

Sora: “Trust me, it's anything but impressive. We left to get away from that awful place. We saw that city behind you. What's it called?”

Izumi looked behind her, seeing the large buildings that she somehow missed. She recognized the place as a place she's heard many stories about. Stories that she'd read over and over.

Izumi: “Oh, that's Ninjago.”

****

Arin stared at the fallen porch swing of his house. He stared At the sky, hoping that his parents would just be there, waiting for him. But nothing. He looked at the Green Ninja's mask in his hands, and his eyes started to sting with the hint of tears. He collapsed onto his knees, the ground beneath him started to soak as the tears fell down his face with a quiet drip. He pulled himself up, sniffling, and sat on the swing, clutching the mask tightly.

He looked up and saw three figures walking towards him in the distance. He suddenly shot up and ran towards them, hoping with all his heart that they would be his parents and the Green Ninja. But unfortunately, when he got closer, that hope vanished.

Izumi: “Woah, hello. Bit eager to meet new people, huh?”

Arin: “Sorry, I… I thought you were someone else.”

Arin turned away, and started walking back towards the porch swing. The curly haired girl put a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly to him.

Izumi: “I know we aren't who you were hoping for, but maybe we could help? I'm Izumi, and this is Sora and Kiara.”

Izumi pointed at the other two girls behind her who both waved and smiled sheepishly. Arin waved back.

Arin: “I don't know if you can help. The Ninja were trying to save my parents when that huge portal exploded and… I haven't seen any of them since.”

Something suddenly flicked on in Izumi's head and suddenly nothing else mattered except…

Izumi: “Wait, you met the Ninja? As in, THE Ninja of Ninjago?”

Izumi's eyes glittered with interest, and Arin was a little thrown off by her reaction, but decided he might as well make conversation.

Arin: “Yeah, I did. They saved me when I got sucked up into that storm.”

Izumi: “Wow… I can't believe you actually got to meet them. They're like, the coolest people ever.”

Arin smiled, happy that there was someone else who shared his interest in the Ninja. They've been his heroes for as long as he could remember. Talking with Izumi managed to pull him out of his thoughts for a while.

****

The four of them walked through the streets of what once was Arin's hometown. There were houses missing, cars flipped over, trees uprooted, but the most noticeable part was that it was almost completely abandoned, save for the people that the Ninja managed to save before disappearing.

They noticed some people stuck underneath branches or stuck in their cars, and they decided to help them. It felt good helping the people in need.

Eventually they entered a completely deserted area void of any people, houses, or anything. It was eerily empty. They all looked around to find nothing anywhere.

Izumi: “We should probably go back. Maybe we can make a camp near where you said your house was, Arin.”

Arin: “That seems like a good idea. Let's split up and find supplies.”

They all nodded and separated. Well, except Kiara, she went with Sora. It was odd feeling such a connection to people they just met, but they could all tell they'd become close friends the more they got to know each other. Plus, it's good to have allies in a crisis.

@darkstalker1247

[firebird-inkheart]

Careful, they bite~

+++

Had a lot of fun trying out a more sketchy style. I like to think that the their lines are indicative of their emotional state. So the stronger they feel something, the more their lines "unravel" :)

[Click for quality]

[vodkassassin]

I’d be interested to see what you’ve got for your OC Obi-wan Insert?

Ah, another WIP Wednesday ask! Thank you.

Honestly I should rename it Weekday WIP at this point alfjksjd. Also this ended up being WAY longer than originally anticipated, my bad lmao

__

“You fought well, but you hold much anger within you.”

Obi-wan Kenobi pulls up short, blinking rapidly as they stare at the absolute goliath of a man that looks over them. There’s something about the guy’s presence that almost feels threatening, in a way. The emotions that emanate from him, what little can be sensed past the impressively fortified shields that befit any master, are tinged with something that tastes like judgement and final resolution.

As if this man had taken one look at Obi-wan before they had even stepped out into the tournament ring and had already decided his opinion of them.

Which is exactly what Quigon Jinn had done. In fact, even before setting eyes on Obi-wan, they know that Jinn had already made up his mind. Coming to the tournament to watch them fight had the sole motivation of finding some excuse to reject them as quickly as possible.

Which is fine. Jinn doesn’t want a padawan and Obi-wan knew that from the beginning. In fact, they find the meddling of the council — or perhaps one person on the council — quite insane and manipulative. They had no right to force Jinn to basically adopt another child when he didn’t want one.

And trying to force a child upon someone who doesn’t want one never ends well, so isn’t that sort of like putting Obi-wan themself in danger?

So, in this one thing, Obi-wan is on Jinn’s side.

But nowhere else.

Obi-Wan wants to scowl. They already have the answer to this. They have their entire life here. Quigon Jinn is a nonentity.

Except, here he is. Here to bring the mood of the room plummeting down.

Instead of scowling, though, they keep their face passive. There’s little need to give Jinn even more ammunition. Even if the fact that this grown ass adult man has decided to scorn a child for something out of either of their control absolutely burns.

“Everyone holds anger within them, Master Jinn.” They reply politely, sketching a bow that they already know doesn’t have a single fault. The very perfection of it makes Jinn’s frown even more severe. “It’s the consequence of sentience, to have emotions about the universe around you.”

It makes Obi-wan want to needle the man even more.

“Allowing those emotions to control you is a very different matter than simply having them, Initiate Kenobi.”

Wow, the emphasis on that word, as if this grown ass man is trying to make a clear point. Well, point very much made!

The gall.

Obi-wan takes a slow, steadying breath, passive mask barely flinching. Inside, though —

Maybe Jinn is right. They are filled with rage. Curious, however, that the only time they’ve ever felt like this is when confronted with Jinn himself.

Really makes one think.

Theyre lost in thought, they realize, and flit their eyes upward again just in time to catch Jinn shaking his head firmly.

“I will not take you as my padawan.”

Obi-wan simply blinks.

Feeling uncharitable, they reply, “Master Jinn? Were you looking for one? It’s only; last that I heard, you were against the notion.”

That gets him. The man straightens up, blinking in a somewhat startled fashion before his expression goes purposefully blank.

Obi-wan does not allow any victory to show on their face.

“I’m sorry if you were disappointed in my tournament exhibition. Now that the topic is brought up, though, I must say that I have to agree with you. As a practitioner of the Living Force, you’re absolutely correct to pass over me as a student. Our paths in the Force are far too different to work well together.” Obi-wan shrugs lightly, glancing across the room to watch impassive masters and knights pass by on the catwalk below the viewing room that they’re in.

He turns back to find Jinn staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“It’s unwise to claim that you have little to learn from me. Arrogant, even.”

It’s not like he even wants to be their teacher anyway! Why is he so offended at the hint that Obi-wan might reject him?

Fucking adults and their superiority complexes. Fucking men and their egos.

Also! Putting words into their mouth! That’s one of their fucking pet peeves.

Obi-wan smiles politely, as serene as can be.

Maybe going Sith isn’t such a bad idea…

No. If they did that then maybe the council would send Jinn after them. The consequences were not worth the freedom of being able to do whatever the hell they wanted (and look hot while doing it. Fuck you Palpatine, you did it all wrong).

They let their smile drop. Jinn is a grown man, and he’s right here purposefully antagonizing a child.

They are a child. Just a little twelve year old.

Obi-wan blinks rapidly and breathes in through their nose a little too sharply. They turn slightly to look away, but watch from the corner of their eye as a grimace takes over Jinn’s face.

Eat the consequences of your actions, you sorry excuse of an adult.

“Now, I know that you are close to aging out…” the man begins, likely about to say something along the lines of ‘maybe another master will chose you in the next few weeks’ in an attempt to placate them and stop the floodgates, but Obi-Wan interrupts before he can.

“It’s okay, Master Jinn.” They say, gently. They give the pathetic man standing before them a small, somewhat watery smile. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better. I have to experience feelings for myself or I’ll never be able to understand them and let them go properly. I…”

They swallow, blinking a lot — maybe more than they really need to, their eyes are feeling quite dry despite the tearful quality they’ve achieved — and take a small step back.

“My crechemate, Bruck — my opponent for the exhibition, in fact — taught me that. I’m grateful that he did, because it ensured I knew not to hope for the impossible.”

There’s an uncomfortable expression on Jinn’s face. Obi-wan’s smile widens just barely, and they hope the sharpness of it is still on the inside.

They sketch a light bow, one much stiffer than the one they’d given in greeting initially. Show discomfort, hesitance.

“I have some bags to pack, so I’m afraid I’ll be leaving you first, Master Jinn.” They say. “Please do have a wonderful evening.”

They turn on their heel and book it out of there. Ideally, it looks like they’re barely holding back tears and don’t want the esteemed master to see them vulnerable, but mostly they just need to get out of that goddamn room.

Here’s to hoping that they never have to be in the same space as Jinn ever again.

Unfortunately for them, nothing is ever that fucking easy.

[skenisasleb]

OH GOD OH NO

I JUST FOUND OLD SOUTH PARK ART

WHERE I SHIPPED MY OC, TED, WITH KYLE

IM GONNA EXPLODE

At least I realized it was cringy eventually and made Oliver so that Ted and Oliver could be gay instead of OC-inserting children LMFAOO

(not dropping the art, who do you think I am, making me relive art trauma 🤨)

(also not dropping the art cause i made whole comics of the ship and i hate them cause THEYRE ACTUALLY REALLY GOOD COMICS LIKE WTF WHY MUST IT TAUNT ME SO, MAKING ME WANT TO SHIP TED AND KYLE AGAIN)

[frozenkirby93]

A new update! Finishing up Sun-Speckled Terrace 🌼

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[nenoname]

the duality between six shooter and lil stanley still makes me lose it

even stan's drawings of himself being badass are adorable which contrasts with ford's dramatic as hell ones

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Yandere!Vampire that was once royalty, living in a dilapidated castle, alone and depressed. As a human, he was surrounded by people. Everyone adored him, his golden curls and warm brown eyes charming the hearts of every noble that set eyes on him.

That was until his family was slaughtered by a coven of vampires, leaving him the only survivor. Now with no family, he was turned away from the nobles that once gathered at his side, calling him beautiful and intelligent. Now he was a beast, and was only left alive because no one dared to touch him.

As the years passed by, all that knew of his existence died out, meaning no one remembered or cared for him. In the past, he had at least been grateful he had been in someone’s thoughts, even if it was in a negative light. Now, no one even hated him. He was just nonexistent to the world outside his castle.

Centuries passed by, every day slowly picking at the last bits of his sanity. Days of past grandeur and the current day mixed together, leaving him in a state where he couldn’t tell whether he was back in the living arms of his family, or wandering the dark, crumbling hallways of his childhood home.

It was only when a soft, warm light flooded one of the abandoned rooms he had been standing in that the fog in his brain began to fade, allowing him to see what was in front of him for the first time in decades.

It was you, a young woman in a hoodie and jeans, holding a flashlight. You lived only a mile away, and had been exploring when you came upon ruins of what seemed like an ancient castle.

You had heard rumors of a person that wandered the ruins from the townsfolk, and old tales of vampires that had been passed down by tongue for centuries. Not believing them, you decided to see for yourself…

Your light shone upon what you first thought was an ethereal ghost or some kind of beautiful spirit. A man with a mop of blonde curls, porcelain skin, and the most beautiful pair of ruby red eyes you’ve ever seen stared back at you.

The person attempted to speak, but clutched his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long, his vocal cords had forgotten how.

“H-hello?”

The man perked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes clearing up. It seemed just hearing another human speak made his undead heart leap, and he couldn’t help but stumble towards you.

You yelped when he crossed the room within seconds and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

The smell of another person, of sweat and perfume mixing together to make your own unique scent made him want to sob.

Of course you were freaked out, but the man holding onto you wasn’t hurting you, and you could feel warm tears soaking through your shirt. How could you turn away someone that was obviously in distress?

Unsurprisingly, the man followed you home. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t human. He was as pale as a sheet of paper, with no pulse or any color to his cheeks. His eyes were scarlet, a shade you had never seen a human have before.

Despite knowing this, you couldn’t help but care for him. He was thin, malnourished, with clothing that was so old and dirty that it nearly crumbled when he took them off.

“Are you hungry?”

You had taken to asking only yes or no questions, since he couldn’t speak. The man frowned, his eyes getting foggy for a second. You decided to ask again.

“Hello? Are you-“

He suddenly snapped back into reality, leaning forward to gently place his lips on your neck. You squeaked out in surprise when you felt his teeth sink into your neck… but it didn’t hurt. Instead, you only felt an uncomfortable pressure and draining sensation, and before long he was pulling back.

“Mmph…” he panted softly, blood running down his chin. “Was… so… thirsty…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and small.

He cupped your cheek, holding your face in his hands and looking down at you with what could only be described as utter adoration.

“My love…”

From that point on, he was attached to your hip, following you everywhere you went like a lovesick puppy. Any time you were separated, he had severe anxiety, going back and forth from his dreamworld and reality. It was his coping mechanism, but it caused him to never understand what was real and what wasn’t.

You grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Oh how he adored you. You had saved him from his lonely existence and taken him into your home as if he were a stray dog, and he was loyal like one. His loyalty came at a price, however, and that price was your freedom to do as you pleased.

Late nights out with friends became next to nonexistent, especially if he knew there would be any males there.

“I just want to protect you, my beloved. It’s a dangerous, cruel world. People will act as if they love you when they do not…”

And as you slowly became more and more isolated, his affections only grew. Kisses to your hand began to trail up your arm and to your neck. Snuggles turned into grinding and heavy petting, and even the most innocent of caresses became lewd in nature.

It didn’t take long for him to fuck you for the first time. After all, he had been pent up and alone for centuries, resisting taking you on the spot was excruciating.

The second he sunk into your pussy, he came. You were just so warm and your scent made his head fuzzy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you like a wild animal, feeding from your pretty neck as he filled you up over and over.

After the first time, a day didn’t pass by when he didn’t crave your intimate touch. Some days he was satisfied with heavy petting and kisses, others he couldn’t be satiated until his face was between your legs, lapping at your cunt for hours.

You were his, his mate, his lover. He couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore, so could you really blame him when he clung to you so tightly?

He just loved you, and he did such a good job at keeping you satisfied, just enough to where you didn’t look into the missing cases of your old lovers and male friends.

Why would you need to pay attention to any of that when your loving, attentive boyfriend was right there, ready to worship you from head to toe?

[rxmye]

" 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐂𝐊 — a confident athlete who turns into pathetic putty at the thought of you . . .

nsfw / sixteen + content / smut / gender neutral reader / yandere content / sub!yandere / masturbation / pervert yandere (he literally breaks into the locker room for your shit) / olfactophilia/osmolagnia (scent/smell kink) / dacryphilia (kink for crying) / breath play / yandere oc x reader

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: haven't wrote smut in awhile, so im a bit rusty . . .

Lucas dangled the keys in his hands, a grin playing on his face as he walked towards the locker room—using the key to unlock the door—it was pretty easy grabbing the keys from the janitor's room, not that this school was particularly secure with their locks. It would be pretty easy breaking in, if he tried hard enough . . 

Lucas scanned the area, looking through each locker trying to find which one was yours . . he had your lock combination memorized, though he did get a little help from a friend in order to figure it out.

His hands reached for the clothes that you had left in your locker, lifting it up to his face, eyes going half lidded as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, he felt his face growing warm and his body growing weak. Lucas leaned down onto the lockers for support, almost losing balance as he slid down onto the floor.

Lucas pressed the flimsy piece of clothing further onto his face, engulfing himself in your smell—so much so that he could almost taste you—all the while his other hand travelled downwards, clumsily unbuckling his pants in a hurry . . hasty movements contradicted his rational mind, not bothering to care if he'd get caught.

He slid his pants down, just enough to reveal his semi-hard cock—a soft whine escaped him at the feeling of the cold air—his free hand now teasing his tip, as he relaxed his body, closing his eyes shut . .—imagining how disgusted you'd be seeing him in this pitiful state— . . that really turned him on, he cussed under his breath at how pitiful and pathetic his thoughts were . .

Lucas wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, slowly moving his hand up and down—his vision growing hazy—as he let out breathy sighs of pleasure—whines growing louder when he moved his hand faster.

Lucas stuffed the clothing he took, and pushed it into his mouth—drool escaped the corners of his mouth—blocking his ability make a sound, as he moved his hand faster around his cock—little tear droplets stinging his eyes, as he felt his legs shake slightly at the sheer pleasure—he used his now free hand to pinch his nose, closing his only source of air . . .

All he could taste was you, the clothing taking away all the moisture in his mouth, as tears begin to escape his eyes, saliva escaping the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his clothing—his legs began to convulse—his back arching slightly, as he finally came, all over the floor . . .

Lucas spat out the fabric, "fuck", the bell rang . . How is he gonna clean up this mess fast enough? . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Sugar Daddy

Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's very nouveau riche. Who has the wealth of the elites but none of their good breeding.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's awfully young for someone so wealthy. Barely out of college when his tech startup went public and the cash started pouring in.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is still painfully awkward around women.

Being a rich man in a big city means there's no shortage of models and influencers vying for his attention. And Yandere! Sugar Daddy never fails to get flustered when they're introduced to him.

Long legs, perfect skin, tiny ski slope noses... They're the kind of girls who wouldn't give him the time of day back in college and suddenly they're running their hands up his chest and whispering that he's just so clever, so accomplished. What guy wouldn't fall for it?

But he can never keep them around for long.

Their interest slowly dies out when he starts rambling about software development and production scale and AI integration. Money is a great motivator but all his girlfriends seem to leave for greener pastures. For millionaires with better social skills and better taste.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ran into you entirely on accident. The club was too loud, the girls too pretty, the alcohol too rich. He slipped out of VIP and into the street, pressing his forehead against the cool brick and trying not to spew on the new designer shoes his ex persuaded him to get.

And that was when you came into his life. Cool hands on his shoulder and a voice telling him to take a deep breath and drink some of your water.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks up at you through his lashes, his face flushed from too much booze and being too near you. He can't fathom it. A girl helping him not because of his cash or connections, but because they're actually a kind person.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your hand when you turn to go. Your friends are calling to you to stop messing around with random drunks and he manages to slip you his business card, begging you to call him so he can thank you properly.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wakes up with a killer hangover and your face burned into his eyelids. Who feels his heart jump when he opens his phone and sees a text from you.

Hope your night got better - y/n

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who immediately zooms in on your profile picture. A candid shot but it still makes him blush. Before the morning is over, he's already tracked down your social media.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who pores over every inch of your life. Your job, your studies, your friends...

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who retypes his message at least a dozen times before he finally responds to you. Who invites you to the most exclusive restaurant in the city as a thank you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who picks you up in the most expensive car he owns. Who smiles a little at the careful way you close the door and buckle your seat belt. You're just as uncomfortable around luxury as he was.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn't expect much from the date. He's learned not to go on tangents about technology and work, but without it he feels lost.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you're more than capable of carrying a conversation. You're energetic and funny and interested in what he has to say. He feels himself opening up to you and before long, he's deep into a rant about data safety and you actually listen to him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you compliment him. Like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ends the night with a lipstick stain on his cheek and a big, goofy grin on his face.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who calls you the second he wakes up and invites you to spend the afternoon learning to horse ride.

And when you tell him you have work, he just laughs and tells you he'll triple whatever you're getting paid for the day. You nearly faint when he keeps his word and sends you a deposit worth more than your monthly cheque.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wants to call you his girlfriend more than anything. His girl. He loves the way it sounds.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who tags along when you go grocery shopping and whips out his card to pay for it all when your back is turned.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who sends you a huge bouquet every week because you once mentioned liking lillies.

And the closer you get, the more time you spend kissing him and curling up in his bed, the more he spends on you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who uses spring break to take you on a tour of the Mediterranean. Who rents out entire villas and chateaus to impress you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who has your birthday dress custom made by an actual high fashion house. Who zips you up and kisses your neck and says he's never met a more beautiful girl.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who spends shareholder meetings daydreaming about you. Who has to pinch himself to stay focused.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's helpless to stop himself falling for you. You're so real, so empty of pretence and greed.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who showers you with all the wealth he has and is blind to how uncomfortable it makes you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks at you with a vacant smile when you try and break things off. Who pulls out his phone and sends you a deposit with so many zeros you have to rub your eyes to make sure you're seeing it right. Who asks if that's enough for more of your time or if he should double it.

Do you want a new car? An apartment? He'll give you anything, anything in the world.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks like a kicked dog when you say you don't want any of it. You hate feeling indebted to him. You hate feeling like some vapid trophy wife. You hate living off his charity.

He can't understand it. You could work for decades and not afford even a quarter of what he can give you. Is he so unpleasant, so unlovable, that you're wiling to turn your back of a life of luxury?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who comes up behind you and slams the door shut when you try to leave.

You've always seen him as a nice guy, someone awkward and gentle. But the look in his eyes now makes you question all of it.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy whose voice is a low, broken rasp. He sounds on the verge of tears and on the verge of fury all at once.

You think you can just leave after everything you've been through together? After the fortune he spent trying to make you happy?

No way baby.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your wrist and yanks you up against him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who laughs when you threaten to scream. Luxury penthouse, remember? Totally sound proofed. Totally private. No one gets in or out without his permission.

It's just you and him, like it should have been from the beginning.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who squeezes your wrist hard enough to hurt. Who kisses you so rough you cut your lips on your teeth.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who yanks at the pretty dress that he bought you. You want to be an ungrateful bitch? You want to throw his kindness back in his face? Oh, he's going to teach you a lesson.

You fucking owe him.

And he's going to use your body until that debt is paid.

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[alana-reid-2005]

we all joke about and objectify this man, but do we stop to think how sad his story is? he grew up friendless and ruthlessly bullied for being a literal genius. constantly picked on by his coworkers, and he’s never in on the joke. he’s always being laughed at, never laughed with because no one understands his existentialist humor. he never has plans or places to go on the weekend after work. he goes to work then goes to his lonely home with all his books to keep him company. on occasion, he haunts the chess table at the park or meets with an old professor. no one takes the time to appreciate his weird little quirks. no one took the time to ask him if he was okay after the several traumatic incidents he endured. no one takes care of him because everyone’s too busy leaving. he could be a male model, yet he’s never thought of himself as attractive. when he does find love, he’s brutally stripped of it before he can blink. spencer reid, the lonely genius who learned of love too late and loss too soon.

[demaparbat-hp]

*pats Zuko's head* This bad boy can fit so many near-death experiences.

.

Read For the Spirits Chapter VIII here!