#side note i am not a writer nor is english my first language but i find it fun | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

matryosika · 3 years ago

Text

Untitled #4

pairing — changbin x reader

genre — smut 18+

word count — 6.4 word of pure smut

warnings — bodyguard!changbin, bratty!reader, slight bulging kink, female masturbation, oral (m), squirting, slight voyeurism, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, salirophilia, use of petnames, slight corruption kink, very very mild impact play, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cum eating, body cumshot, breeding kink, creampie.

note — i think this one came out way more filthy than other things i have written, but i am happy with it. it has more smut than actual plot and even though i thought it was going to end up being a timestamp drabble, i got too carried away? anyways, i hope you enjoy! sorry for it being too long. please remember that english is not my first language and if there are any grammar mistakes, i will correct them asap. and on the note, since i am writing about changbin, i have received several asks about shoot me. i should update it soon, i know! i did face a writers block while doing it and, even though i wrote a fairly amount of things, i havent been able to open my drive because i feel like it doesn't meet my expectations lmfao, i am indeed procrastinating. but i do feel sad reading those asks because i want to give you all a closure, so i will work hard.

"come on, let me out" you yelled in exasperation, banging on the door several times to attract changbin's attention, "i'll be back before midnight, i promise".

"your parents gave me strict orders that i must follow" he limited to respond, standing outside of your bedroom door while scrolling through his phone.

"oh, come one" you hissed, throwing your high-heels around the room, "you are so fucking annoying".

changbin smiled to himself, thinking that he was finally going to have a moment of peace. but, out of all the people in the world, he knew well that peace and your name couldn't even be spelled in the same sentence.

he had been working with you and your family for months now, usually while having them around. he would often drop and pick you up at the university campus, he would accompany you to all your weekend hangouts with friends and made sure that you didn't get on trouble nor danger.

as if your parents were not annoying enough, forcing you to have someone behind your back at all times, it was their profession who always had them on alert. being successful lawyers who did all the dirty work no one wanted to do came with consequences that forced them to be prepared with whatever, that being the main reason behind them being uptight.

"you can wait for me outside the party" you mumbled against the door once again, hoping to get changbin's attention for him to unlock it, "i promise i will behave".

"your parents are out of town and they told me you weren't allowed to go out. not even out of your room because of that last time you escaped to go to your friend's house and returned 3 days later." changbin replied with a serious tone, resting his head on the wall behind him while your last words rubbed him in a way that they didn't need to.

i promise i will behave.

"then, can you hang out with me?" you queried from the other side of the door, one of your brows arched eager to hear his response.

however, it wasn't what you expected.

"y/n, please let me do my work".

"god," you groaned in frustration, kicking the mattress of your bed, "it must suck to be 23 and be as bitter and boring as you are".

changbin scoffed at your comment. it wasn't that he was a bitter or boring man, but he understood that that was only the part you knew about him. he strived to be completely responsible and professional at his job so he couldn't go around doing things that could get him in trouble or damage his image in front of his bosses.

having a close relationship with you being one of them.

"changbin, i am hungry" you mumbled once again, waiting for him to open the door so you could storm out of your room before he could catch you.

as far as you were concerned, there were not many of your father's bodyguards that night since they all traveled abroad with him so trying to escape from just one wasn't going to be such a hard task. it wasn't like you hadn't done it before.

"order something and i will pick it up for you, then i will bring it into your room" he responded, again, unbothered.

"can i go to the kitchen?" you inquired, resting your head on the cold surface of the door.

changbin lifted his gaze up from his phonescreen, wondering if he was being too harsh on you. even though your parents did tell him to keep an eye on you, they never mentioned anything about you being around the house as long as he was there with you.

locking his phone and carefully placing it on the pockets of his black pants, one of his hands reached out for the keys to your bedroom and proceeded to unlock the door.

as soon as you heard the noise, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. isn't he so naive?

he opened the door slowly, looking at you to see any kind of impulsive action or weird behavior. however, you just stood there in front of him with your pink tight dress on, your leather purse in one hand and your high-heels on the other.

"wh-"

"i will be back at midnight, alright?" you rushed to say, pushing him away from the door so you could start running downstairs and leave by the kitchen door.

however, you underestimated how qualified changbin was to do the work of a bodyguard. it didn't took him more than 5 seconds to approach you and grab you by the waist, your hands being forced to drop both your purse and your shoes at the start of the staircase.

"didn't you say you were going to behave?" he groaned as you struggled to run away from his grip.

for a minute, as much as you were embarrassed of admitting it, you didn't wanted to stop struggling against him.

feeling his body pressed against yours with such strength was turning you on. his arms around your waist and your arse brushing against his crotch was something that you were most definitely not going to forget. the way his heavy breathing sounded in your ears along with the smell of his cologne was as heavenly as you ever imagined it to be.

"you are just a little brat who doesn't know how to follow orders," he grunted, picking your body up and walking you back to your room.

and, even though your mission failed atrociously, you were not completely upset.

you were still going to have fun that night, although your plans had changed.

"get to sleep," changbin panted while forcing you inside of your room, closing the door as soon as you stepped foot in it, "and stop talking to me".

you rolled your eyes in annoyance, feeling how your whole body burned just by the few seconds you were close to changbin.

saying he was attractive was an understatement, and saying that his only charms were physical traits was a lie. there was so much to him that you couldn't understand, and you realized how difficult it was going to be having him around since the very first day your father introduced him as your personal bodyguard.

his smile, his voice, his hands, his body, the way he dressed, talked, acted and smelled... all of him was an invitation for you to dive into your filthiest and darkest fantasies, ones that you wouldn't even dare to say out loud because of how embarrassing they were.

you had always dreamed about him in between your legs, making you cum while having you begging for more and more. and, even though you had thought about approaching him with such an indecent proposal, it was very rare to be left completely alone with him in an intimate space.

until tonight, of course.

"if you are not letting me go out," you sighed, collapsing in your bed with your back resting on the mattress and your eyes fixed on the ceiling, "can you at least help me?"

"what do you need?" he queried, still outside of your door.

"i was going to meet up with someone," you mumbled, stretching your whole body on top of the bed, "you know..."

"y/n-"

"since you are not giving me permission to go out, it's only fair that you take care of the job" you pouted, your right hand caressing your whole body on top of the thin, pink fabric of the dress you were wearing as you awaited for his reponse.

"get to sleep," he replied, the tone of his voice dropping while closing his eyes, bringing back the memory of your body in that short dress, "read a book, i don't know-"

"i am not in the mood for that," you slightly wined, your nipples getting harder under your underwear begging to be touched, "just come into my room".

"you know i can't do that, y/n" he spoke. this time though, you could feel the torture in his voice. you knew he needed it just as much as you so, with the right amount of pressure, it was going to be easy for him to give in.

"there is no one around," you mumbled, spreading your legs opened while your digits caressed your wetted slit, "and i promise not to tell anyone so, what's stopping you?"

no response from him.

"they gave you strict orders for not letting me out of the house but they never said anything about fucking their daughter, am i right?" you queried once again, your fingers teasing to pull your own panties to the side, "i don't understand why you wouldn't fulfill my plea".

"my job is to take care of you," he hissed, his head slightly banging on the wall behind him as he tried his hardest to maintain his posture, "nothing else."

"then take care of me properly," you replied, feeling a tension growing in your lower back that just needed to be released, "come inside and take care of me".

"y/n..."

"or is it that i am not attractive?," you rushed to say, thinking about how you were going to play your cards this time around. "if you don't want to fuck me because i am not your type, just say so, you don't need to make up excuses about your job".

"get to sleep, yeah?" he repeated again, his eyes closed shut while your words lingered on his mind over and over again.

"is that it? you don't find me attractive?" you insisted, running your fingers along your wet panties. "that's such a pity, because i find you incredibly attractive".

changbin's cock twitched inside of his pants, feeling light-headed because he never thought he would hear those words coming out of your lips.

"you are so, so, so attractive changbin" you whined, sliding your panties to your side while your digits got coated in your own juices, "just now, when you were forcing me back into my room, i got so wet".

changbin swallowed hard at your words, all the blood in his body traveling down to one particular point.

"if you don't want to fuck or see me," you panted, spreading your legs even more, "can you at least hear how i touch myself thinking of you?"

"y/n, please don't tempt me" changbin whispered, but it wasn't loud enough for you to hear it.

"just listen to me," you moaned, pumping two of your fingers inside your cunt, "how bad i need someone to fill up my holes".

changbin's erection was starting to hurt inside of his tight pants and he couldn't ignore the uncomfortable, yet arousing feeling of being hard.

"are you hard already, changbin?" you questioned with a whine, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while the other worked on your cunt.

changbin's hand traveled instinctively to his bulge, palming and teasing himself while he struggled to keep his mind clear.

"come on," your lewd noises were coming out louder than before and he was on the brink of opening that door just to see you. no touching, no fucking, not anything else. he just wanted to admire you and move on, just to stop torturing his mind thinking about how could you possibly look while playing with yourself, "please come and fuck me, my fingers aren't enough".

the mixture of your words, his heavy breathing, fast heartbeats, growing bulge and dizzy mind drove him to take one of the worst decisions he could ever take that night: opening the door.

and there you were, laying with your dress slightly pulled up and your legs spreaded, two of your fingers buried deep into your cunt while your hips bucked mercilessly against nothing.

"see, i know you were smart," you panted, licking your lips without breaking the eye-contact with him, "it is more fun when you get to look, isn't that right?"

changbin's gaze fixed on your glistening cunt that was practically ready to be used, admiring how your digits got lost inside of it wishing it was his big cock instead.

"it feels so good," you moaned, your eyes falling to the pleasant sight of his bulge under his pants, "but i bet you would feel ten times better".

changbin licked his lips with both of his hands inside the pockets of his pants, not caring to hide his growing erection at all. the more he saw you and listened to your whines, the more prominent and uncomfortable it got.

slowly, his hand started to caress his bulge on top of the fabric of his pants, the scene ending up being way more filthy than you could ever imagine.

"i know you want to fuck me," you moaned, moving your hips against the mattress while you fucked yourself, "why do you keep resisting it?"

changbin's serious demeanor wasn't unusual, but still- you couldn't help but feel frightened by the way he was looking at you. he looked even more intimidating than he usually did and, as much as you loved it, you didn't know what to expect from it.

"please changbin-" you cried while bucking your hips against your fingers, increasing the pace of them, "don't you want to fuck me? don't you want to know how it feels to be inside my pussy?"

the thing that had him on edge the most was how wet you were. the lewd noises your fingers made everytime they fuck themselves into you had him seeing stars, thinking about how delicious you would feel while clenching around him.

the only thing stopping him from fucking you was himself. and god, how much he hated himself for that.

"i am so close," you whispered, closing your eyes and letting your head fall down onto the pillow, "fuck, i am going to cum".

it was only after hearing those words that he decided to act on them, slowly walking towards your opened legs and placing one of his hands on your thigh, the tip of his digits barely touching your skin but still managing to send shivers down your spine.

"please make me cum" you begged, still with your eyes closed and your sore fingers sloppily working on your cunt, "i need you to be the one who makes me cum, please".

changbin couldn't control himself any longer. you were on full disposal for him, wet and ready to be used as he pleased. the way your pussy and asshole throbbed at the anticipating orgasm had him on edge, his bulge starting to feel unpleasantly painful while the need of it to be released grew stronger.

"make yourself cum," he mumbled for the first time in a while, "or is that something too hard for you to do on your own?"

your heart sank at his words, the desire of making yourself cum for him growing bigger and bigger by the second.

"go on," he hissed, slapping your thigh softly, "prove to me how much you want to have those holes filled".

you arched your back against the mattress, eyes turning white while they rolled to the back of your head. changbin's soft slaps increased their roughness, making you scream in pain right before cumming for him.

"is this getting you on?" he queried, holding your leg with one hand while the other alternate between your thighs, slapping them, "you filthy slut".

it was those words what made you reach your climax, moaning in pleasure and pain while you tried to close your legs and withdraw your hand from your cunt. nonetheless, he was quick to stop you.

"you were begging just a few seconds ago to be fucked and yet one orgasm is all you can take?" changbin asked, forcing both of your legs open while you were still at the highest point of your climax, "make yourself cum again".

"i can't-" you shyly cried, every single friction becoming overstimulating for your sore cunt. changbin was mad and, as wicked as that was, it only made him ten times hotter to your eyes.

"you made yourself cum once and you can't keep on going," he scoffed, keeping both of your red thighs opened for him, "what makes you think you will be able to take my cock properly?"

your back arched again, feeling the painful pulsations every time you rubbed your digit against your bundle of nerves.

"can you h-help me?" you whispered, realizing that your second orgasm wasn't that far from happening but you were just too sensitive to keep on touching yourself on your own.

he dragged his fingers lazily from your thighs all the way to your drenched core, even the slightest touch of his digits making you buck your hips in anticipation, "i'll only help you if you promise to keep that pretty mouth shut the rest of the night".

"you know i can't do that", you scoffed, the soft laugh getting lost in a painful whine.

"if you are not going to shut up," changbin groaned, two of his fingers sliding inside your throbbing cunt making you let out a faint cry, "then make sure to put on a good show for me".

you rolled your hips against his fingers, voluntarily clenching around them just to tease changbin even more. your digits kept on working on your bundle of nerves, trying to maintain the same steady pace changbin was fucking you with his fingers.

"can i tell you a secret?" you weakly whispered, trying your best to keep both of your eyes open, "can i?"

"tell me" he mumbled, biting his lower lip while the veins on his neck and arms became more prominent.

"no one has ever made me cum before," you panted, rolling your head back while you felt the overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure, "and i mean it".

changbin tilted his head, letting out a smug smile while he curled his fingers inside your walls, automatically hitting that sweet spot that made your hand grab onto the bed sheets.

"my dumb slut," he hissed, leaning towards you without stopping his work on your cunt, "is it that you are hard to satisfy or that the cocks you fucked didn't know how to treat you properly?"

he curled up his fingers one more time, making you close your legs around his arm almost instantly, "i am guessing the second one".

"changbin-" you moaned, wrapping both of your hands against his wrist between your thighs, "fuck, changbin".

"do you want me to stop?" he whispered near your ear, his deep voice making your whole body tremble, "or do you want me to keep on going?"

"slow-" you cried, trying to hold back your orgasm, "fuck, i-"

however, he didn't followed your request. instead of slowing down, his fingers acquired a much faster and deeper pace, brushing against your g-spot every time they reached the deepest spots in your cunt.

"changbin, i am cumming" you cried, trying to push his hand away from you but he was much more stronger, "changbin-"

and before you could say or do anything else, your arousal started dripping out of you like never before. it made a mess everywhere, on your panties, on your bedsheets and on changbin's arm that was now glistening with your arousal.

"oh my fucking god" you moaned, covering your face with both hands while his digits ran along your wetted slit trying to collect the most of your orgasm, "i am sorr-"

his fingers parted your lips and pushed themselves inside your warm mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. "clean them up," changbin commanded, his swollen lips slightly parting at the same times yours did, "all the way down to my knuckles".

with tears in your eyes and trembling body, your tongue collected all of your arousal off of his fingers.

this was another whole side of him, one that you never thought it existed. he had always been a sweet and caring man around your parents, serious when he needed to be and, most importantly, very professional about his job. whenever he wasn't working, he seemed to be a pretty decent man with a pretty decent life.

yet, just like you, he had a filthy side that you never thought you would discover before.

"undress yourself for me" he pleaded, wanting to have you all naked for himself. it didn't took you long to fulfill his request, taking off your panties, dress and bra.

"i bet you can take one more orgasm, can't you?" he groaned while pulling his fingers out of your mouth, his words making you tremble under him almost immediately.

you looked at him with hesitant eyes, wanting to keep on going but afraid that three orgasms a night was about pretty much you could handle. as much as you loved the feeling of his fingers fucking your cunt harshly, you wanted something else.

something he could give you.

"i want you to fill my mouth," you whispered in between gasps, your needy eyes making changbin feel a thousand different sensations in just one moment.

"since you are so good with words to the point that you can't shut up," he hissed, gripping a fistful of your hair and forcing your head to keep the eye contact with him, "why don't you describe me exactly what tou want?"

suddenly, you felt shy. the teasing and bratty y/n disappeared as soon as changbin asserted his dominance on you, making you cum for the first time that night by just slapping your thighs and whispering filthy words.

"word by word, i want to hear those filthy thoughts of you out loud," he commanded, "i want you to realize how pathetic you sound while begging for me".

you licked your lips as tears started to prick in the corners of your eyes due to the embarrassment but, as much as you wanted to deny it, it was turning you on maybe a bit too much.

"i want to be kneeling in front of you," you mumbled with broken words, still feeling your cunt throbbing, "and i want you to force your cock inside my mouth until i am gagging and crying around it".

"keep on going" he ordered, unzipping his pants with his available hand and pulling them down to reveal his hardened erection.

"i want you to fuck my face until i beg for you to stop" you sighed, your eyes fixed on his erection. it was big, bigger than you had anticipated, "i want you to degrade me while you use my mouth over and over again".

"arent you a cute little fucktoy?" he queried, kneeling on the bed while he aligned his length with your mouth, "when was the last time you fucked?"

"a while ago" you admitted, feeling his soft tip parting your lips.

"i can tell," he replied, caressing your hair and pushing it away from your face, "only a slut in heat would touch herself for people to hear".

without giving you a proper warning, he thrusted his cock inside your warm hole, making your whole body squirm on the bed. "be a good fucktoy and take it all in" he groaned, letting out small sighs each time his cock reached a deepest spot in your mouth.

slowly, he pulled out only to slam his hips again with the same intensity and roughness than the first time, making you gag and cough around his length.

"i want to see those pretty eyes filled with tears" he mumbled, "if by the end you are not crying, i will make sure to keep fucking that slutty mouth until you are".

you nodded eagerly against him, taking him all in one more time. one of your hands traveled to his cock, wishing to stroke the parts that couldn't fit in your mouth, but he was quick to stop you.

"use those hands to make yourself cum again," he clicked his tongue, grabbing them by the wrists and pushing him away, "i want to feel every single one of your moans around me".

you didn't think it was physically possible for you to keep going but you were determined to show changbin that you deserved to be fucked by no other than him.

just like the first time, you drove both of your hands to your aching cunt. your helpless fingers collected your previous orgasm as a lubricant and started to fuck your throbbing pussy once again. one hand worked on your cunt while the other paid attention to the clit, wanting to reach your orgasm as fast as possible.

"you are so good with your tongue," he groaned, his head falling slightly back while his lower lip got caught in between his lips, "who taught you to suck cock that good? you filthy slut".

he continued on pounding his lenght inside you, glancing at the way your fingers got lost inside your cunt while your moans and cries were being drown by his cock.

"i bet you parents are so proud of you," he hissed, pushing your head further onto his lenght, "their good, pure and innocent daughter turned out to be the best slut i have ever used".

you couldn't help but clench around your own fingers while listening to his words, feeling ashamed of how good it felt to be degraded by him.

"i am going to make a mess out of you," he groaned, increasing the pace of his thrusts unside your mouth. "and you are going to enjoy every second of it, understood?"

with teary eyes you nodded against him, feeling that familiar tension on your lower abdomen and back indicating that you were getting closer to your climax.

however, changbin had fantasies in mind that he wanted to fulfill.

his thrusts started to get faster, the movements of his hips against your mouth sloppier and the frequency at which groans and moans escaped his lips only indicated that he was one second away from his sweet release.

"fuck, y/n," he hissed, pulling his cock out of you while he stroke himself. you wanted to cry and protest, thinking about how much you wanted him to fuck you. but still, the minute his sticky arousal landed on your face and chest, you couldn't help but return to be a mindless mess.

nonetheless, he didn't stop there. gripping a fistful of your hair again, and after cumming over your face and neck, he thrusted his cock inside of your mouth one more time to finish cumming down your throat with a loud groan.

"don't you dare to waste it" he groaned, pushing your head to the base of his length to make sure that his cum wasn't going to leak out of you, "swallow all of it and show me your clean mouth afterwards".

you did as you were told, taking his orgasm completely into your mouth and sticking your tongue out to show him that you had heen obedient.

"good slut" he mumbled, pulling himself completely away from you and leaving you laying in your bed, covered in his cum while you still attempted to reach your own orgasm.

"do you want me to fuck you?" he queried, standing on the edge of the bed, admiring how filthy you looked. you nodded eagerly, not bothering to clean up the mess he made on your face and breasts. "then turn me on again," he ordered, his hand working on his half-hardened length.

you touched yourself for him one more time, sticking out your tongue to lick the rest of his arousal that was sitting on your lips.

it didn't took him long for his erection to appear again, dragging his eyes all over your body while you relentlessly bucked your hips against your digits. seeing you all covered in his cum while you continued on fucking yourself just because he ordered you to was such a pleasant scene for him.

every day you acted like a little spoiled brat who had everything she wanted with a snap of a finger and, to be completely honest, you used to get on his nerves constantly because of it. seeing you completely fucked dumb, all dirty and ruined with your cunt exposed for him and the neediness to be filled with his cock felt both like heaven and hell.

he shouldn't be fucking with you, yet here he was.

"changbin, i want to cum" you cried, the sounds of your wetness contributing to his growing erection, "can i cum? please, please, can i cum?"

changbin couldn't help but smile fondly at your words. you were asking for his permission to cum, even when you didn't need to.

"look at me," he demmanded, stroking himself while he watchef you falling apart, "don't close your eyes while you are cumming, i want you to look at me".

you nodded weakly, feeling already your own juiced coating your digits. keeping your eyes opened while orgasming was such a hard task for you, but you were determined to fulfill it only to make him proud.

"i am cumming" you barely whispered, your eyes rolling back slightly while you did your best to look at him.

"how does it feel, y/n?" he questioned, approaching your body that was agressively shaking at the overstimulation of another orgasm, "how does it feel to be covered in my cum while you fuck yourself like a pathetic slut in heat?"

"it feels good" you groaned, both of your eyes closing due to the overwheming sensation of your high, "it feel so good, i feel so good".

changbin smiled at your frustration, admiring how your body twitched every few seconds after overcoming your high. needless to say, you had completed your task sucesfully.

even so, it was inevitable for him not to worry about you. after 3 orgasms, it was expected for you to feel weak and tired and, as much as he wanted to fuck you, he needed to make sure that you wanted it as well.

he had no problem on ending the scene right there, walking towards your bathroom to get a couple of tissues to clean you up.

"changbin?" you sighed, opening your eyes confused as he swept away the rest of his arousal off of your face and breasts.

"tell me, y/n"

"i don't deserve my reward for being an obedient slut?" you queried, a faint smirk appearing on the corners of your lips while changbin looked at you in awe. if he thought he had good resistance when it came to sexual encounters, you were definitely on another level.

"you came 3 times and you still want more?" he questioned, returning back to his previous instance.

"i told you," you mumbled, looking directly at him, "no one has ever been able to make me cum before and i am getting addicted the feeling of it".

changbin scoffed, putting away the rest of the tissues and undressing himself in front of you. and god, was he fine.

"you are such a well-trained slut," he sighed, getting in between your legs while he left kisses all over your abdomen and breasts, "you really have me considering risking my job just to be able to make you mine every fucking day".

you moved your hips in circular motions against him, feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your already abused bundle of nerves.

you let out a deep sigh, clenching around nothing while he leaned on to your body even more. both of your arms locked behind his neck, pulling him even more towards you.

"can you imagine us?" you mumbled, your lips teasing his, "fucking at my college campus, at your car, at a restaurant, at the movie theater or at the fitting room of every shop we visit? after all you are my bodyguard, your job is to follow me around 24/7"

"is that what you need?" he queried, tilting his head and crashing his lips agsinst yours ever so slightly, just to give you a taste of him, "having your holes filled every single day?"

you nodded slightly, your fucked out gaze fixed on his. "i want to be your personal slut" you whispered, dragging your tongue along his lower lip, "i want you to use me as you please, i want you to boss me around and give me orders because i am willing to do anything just to please you".

"you are such an adorable slut," he hissed, burying the tip of his thick cock inside you, earning a gasp out of you, "i bet you are always wet and ready to be used by anyone who sticks their filthy hands in your panties".

you arched your back against him, feeling your walls stretching as he thrusted himself deeper and deeper inside you.

"you are taking my cock so well for a slut that can barely take her own little fingers," he groaned, grinding his teeth while he felt your tight walls welcoming him.

due to the soreness and overstimulation, it took you a while to be able to take his cock properly. giving you forehead kisses and desperately squeezing your hand each time his cock went inside you, you couldn't help but feel even more turned on at this facet of him.

"god you are dripping," he mumbled once his hips were able to start acquiring a steady peace without hurting you, "3 orgasms aren't enough for a needy cockslut like you?

you shook your head while pouting, feeling the need to hold his body against yours because the feeling was way more intense than before.

"don't do that," he groaned after feeling both of your legs locking at his lower back, forcing himself even deeper inside you, "or else i am not pulling out".

"who said i wanted you to pull out?" you moaned, locking your legs around him even harder. a mischievous smile appeared in your face as soon as you saw changbin's countenance changing back to his dominant self.

"you can't get more of a cumslut, can you?" he hissed, the pace of his hips increasing while his words came out more as growls rather than mumbles, "you are practically begging for me to fill you up with my cum".

"fuck yes" you whined, buring yourself in the crook of his neck, "don't act like your perverted mind hasn't think about me that way".

changbin continued on fucking you, the tip of his length reaching that spot inside your walls that had your toes curling up and your hips bucking at a specific angle against him.

"good thing you know," he groaned, the sounds of skin hitting skin along with the lewd noises and words flooding out your whole room, "everytime you wore those cute short dresses out, all i was able to do was jerk off in the car thinking about how much i would love to take you right there and breed you over and over again".

"you pervert," you whined, feeling just the right tension starting to build uo one last time, "instead of doing your job- you spent your time masturbating to the thought of me" you sighed in between broken words and moans.

"you just looked to good," he continued, biting his lower lip and closing both of his eyes while recalling the memory of your pure image being ruined by his filthy thoughts, "all i wanted was to see my cum dripping out of your pussy and making a mess on those short dresses you love to wear".

"fuck, changbin" you moaned, clenching around him while you listened to his dirty words, "just like that, please".

"does my cock fill you up good?" he questioned, resting his weight in his forearms just to be able to see your pretty face all fucked up and your tits bouncing each time he pounded his cock inside you, "get used to it, because from now on i will be fucking you whenever i please".

"yes, fuck yes, yes, yes," you repeated over and over again, having one of your hands against your hardened nipples while the other rubbed against your aching clit, "i am so close".

"cum for me," he ordered, increasing the roughness of his movements, "show me how grateful you are for this cock".

it was almost embarrassing how it didn't took you long to reach your orgasm, painfully moaning against your body while you cursed under your breath over and over again.

"keep on clenching that cunt around me," he ordered, the words barely coming out of his lips by how tensed his jaw was, "prove to me that you deserve my cum inside that pretty hole of yours".

and even though your body was too fucked out and weak to respond on its own, you tried your best to follow his request. moving your hips mercilessly against him, whining his name over and over again begging for his cum and keeping the eye contact with him throughout the whole moment was everything he needed to milk himself inside of you.

"don't. you. dare. to. waste. it" he grunted, pounding his cock inside of you at the end of each word, "be a good slut and keep it all inside that pretty body".

he continued on slamming his cock just a few more times before resting his whole body on too of you, one of his hands caressing your hair. a few minutes were spent of silence, while you and him tried to stabilize your breathes and overcome the overwhelming sensations you just felt.

"i lied" you cooed softly with a smile, interrupting the silence and seeing the strands of his black hair sticked to his forehead due to the sweat, "i wasn't going to hook up with anyone, i just wanted to tease you".

"this was meant to happen," he sighed, his eyes fixing on yours while he caressed your cheeks, "i knew it from the very first time i saw you".

"and you still accepted the job?" you queried weakly, your eyes slightly closing.

"that was the only way to be close to you" he smirked, admiring how beautiful you looked even after the sinful acts you two commited.

"what would you do if my parents find out about what we did?" you asked him.

"about what we did?" he questioned, leaving a kiss on your cheek and then on your jaw, "or about what we will continue on doing?"

#stray kids smut #skz smut #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #kpop smut #stray kids oneshots #skz oneshots

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insertdeeplyrics · 4 years ago

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On the ending of Supernatural

Hi, I’ve never actually posted anything on Tumblr of my own creation (I mostly reblog stuff), but I’ve just seen the ending of Supernatural, and given that this is where I’ve been fed my SPN content, it felt right to share my thoughts here. I’m sure nobody is going to read this, but whatever, I just need to get this out of my chest. Sorry in advance if this is too long, but I have to type this out if I want to move on.

I still need to take some time to process everything that’s happened, because it is a lot. I did have my hopes up for the finale, thinking that Cas would at least show up, but like many of the fans, I was let down.

So I guess that would be the first issue I had with the episode. Regardless of what Dean felt towards Cas, if he reciprocated his feelings or not (which he totally did, I mean, we have all been watching the same show for 12 fucking years, and if you don’t believe me, there are plenty of metas that would support this statement), he still is his best friend and it doesn’t sit right with me the fact that he doesn’t even try to find a way to rescue Cas from the Empty. And okay, maybe he didn’t, make Cas got resurrected by Jack, then why the hell wasn’t he on the final episode? He was a pivotal character for the series, I mean, the proof is in the ratings: Season 7, when he was killed off to apparently never return, the ratings were at their lowest. The show may have started as just Dean and Sam, but over the years it became much bigger than them, and it is so disappointing that the show runners failed to acknowledge it. But I’ll get back to this point later.

Okay, I need to talk about Dean’s death, the only part of the episode that made me cry, because my poor baby had to suffer so much! Like, when he started saying that Sam never put up with John’s crap (which reinforces my headcanon that John was abusive towards the boys) and how much he admired him for it, my heart just shattered. I just love Dean Winchester so freaking much, and they did him so dirty... Don’t get me wrong, Jensen and Jared’s acting was 10/10, like, I thought I had a grip of myself and then Sam started crying and tears came back to my eyes. Nonetheless, I felt that the scene was so freaking long! I mean, Dean was dying, and he had time to make a 10 minutes-long speech! C’mon! Also, I get that Sam and Dean’s relationship is quite deep and strong and whatever, but I felt a bit unconformable watching it: it didn’t feel like a brotherly goodbye, more like a lover’s one. They were too touchy and intimate, and, overall, their relationship from this point on was coded as a romantic one, in my opinion. And Chuck, did I hate it! I have an older brother and I know what it is like to be close to your sibling and to love him more than anything else in the world, but the way they portrayed their relationship on this last episode felt incest-y, which makes me believe that this scene was originally written with another character in mind (cough CAS cough) or the writers don’t know the difference between romantic and brotherly love. To finish off, the way they killed off Dean??? I mean, I did expect Dean to die, but this was such a horrible and ridiculous way to go... I would have accepted it if he died actually fighting, but impaled??? After all he’s been through, after fighting so many demons, angels and deities, that’s how he dies??? That just felt cheap and rushed. Dean did not deserve that ending and I refuse to accept it. In fact, I refuse to acknowledge the existence of this whole fucking mess of an episode. Also, I just can’t believe that no one showed up to Dean’s funeral. I just can’t. I get that maybe it was difficult to bring in a lot of actors due to the pandemic, but they could have added them on post-production...

Next, we have Sam’s ending. He quits hunting and finally obtains his white-picket fence life. I did like the fact that he honored all of his friends and family that he lost along the way, especially Dean. Like, yes, if my brother died, I would like to keep a token (don’t know if that’s the actual word for it, my first language is not English), to have something with me that reminded me of him and to have him with me wherever I go. And I did like that he named his son Dean, in honor of his brother. However, we don’t know how he met his wife, we don’t even know who she is. They set up Sameileen for what?? Like, Sam and Eileen deserved better, tbh. And, again, even with Covid restrictions they could have done something to signal that Sam got married to Eileen, you don’t need the actor there. In fact, we never actually found out what happened to her, and just like I can’t believe that Dean didn’t even try to save Cas from the Empty, I can’t believe that Sam didn’t reach out to Eileen. Furthermore, the montage with his son felt cheap and a way to try to appeal to the audience’s emotions... (Btw, as a side note, the grey wig and the glasses, my god, they did Jared dirty 😂😂). But it wasn’t doing it for me, I didn’t care much for the kid, and while I do believe that was always going to be Sam’s ending, I didn’t like how it was executed.

And the worst part of it all: that suuuuuper long scene with Dean driving in Heaven, waiting for Sam. They could have used that time to show something more meaningful, even to develop a bit more Sam’s new life, how he adjusted to domesticity and fatherhood and all that crap. Or, I don’t know, A TEAM FREE WILL 2.0 REUNION??? And I guess this is my biggest issue with the whole episode. I get it, Sam and Dean are the central characters, the ones that started it all, but family don’t end with blood, and they were not the only ones who deserved a goodbye. They had formed so many bonds and friendships over the years, and to not have them address them on the final episode just feels infuriating. Especially Cas. His arc was not finished, he deserved to be on the finale. We never got Dean’s reaction to his confession, we don’t know how he felt about him, nor did Cas get to say goodbye to any other character. How did he get out of the Empty? What is he doing now? Is he still an angel? Also, he gave his life to save Dean, only for Dean to be killed not long after. My headcanon that is helping me cope with Dean’s death is thinking that he was so quick to accept his death because he was hoping to reunite in Heaven with Castiel. A girl can dream, ok??? But also, what about Jack? He is the new God, but I highly doubt it that he won’t drop by the Bunker from time to time, after all, Sam and Dean (AND CAS, ESPECIALLY CAS) raised him. And Charlie? Did she get back with Stevie? Did she and the boys go for drinks from time to time? And Jody? Donna? Claire? Sorry to be so repetitive, but I just can’t understand why the writers thought that these characters weren’t important enough to deserve a spot on the finale, and not just an off-hand mention (and not even all of them got that). Of course, the brothers are the main characters and their goodbye must be the longest and the most emotional of them all, but like I said before, the show stopped being just about the Winchesters on season 3, when Bobby was first introduced, maybe even 4, with Cas.

Overall, the finale left a lot of questions unanswered, most of them regarding secondary characters (but not less important for that!), completely destroyed Sam and Dean’s character development (Dean never got to be free, like he had been fighting for all season, probably all his life; Sam’s development is non-existing, as he ended up as he would’ve if he never had gotten on that hunting trip with Dean 15 years ago), and completely disregarded all the themes they had been setting up this season, probably on previous ones as well. It is sad knowing that the writers, either don’t know the show good enough to give it a proper goodbye, or they just didn’t care to do so. I don’t know who’s to blame here (definitely not the actors, though, probably someone higher up the chain), but I just know that I am so fucking disappointed. I expected more from the last episode of a 15-season TV show, one that has been part of my life for 7 years. I guess, that despite all of it, I can’t hate Supernatural. Maybe I was not a hardcore fan like some people on this site, but I did care for the characters and what happened to them. This is the show that introduced me to the world of shipping (Destiel will always hold a special place in my heart, it doesn’t matter how badly their relationship was treated, as well as the characters) and I got to discover one of my favorite characters, Dean Winchester. He is just such so complex, one that I relate to on so many levels, and his relationship with Cas has been the source of many short stories that I’ve never posted anywhere, but that have made me take up writing again. That’s the reason why I love the show so much, it has helped me tap into my creativeness and go back to writing, a passion of mine that I seem to have forgotten over the years. Anyways, maybe one day I’ll publish some of those stories, and maybe even write my own fix-it fanfic, but right now, I can’t deal with anything that has to do with the show, I am too hurt. Maybe once the five stages of grief are over, I might give it a try and read all of the amazing codas and fanfics that I’m sure will be posted here or on AO3. But for now, Supernatural is dead and gone, and I don’t want to talk nor think about it anymore. I’m done wasting my time here, because I feel like that’s what I’ve been doing this past 7 years after watching this crap of a finale.

To finish this long rant off, I just want to say thank you to some meta-writers, the true heroes of the fandom. Thanks to them, I carried on watching the show, because they made me have hope that things will get better. They are the ones that have made this experience worth something, and even though I’ve never spoken to any of them, I see you and I love you. Thanks for everything ❤.

@tinkdw @charlie-minion @dotthings @heliodean @verobatto-angelxhunter @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

#supernatural #spn s15 #spn #carry on #destiel #supernatural finale #personal rant #dean is bi #dean winchester #sam winchester #disappointed #dean winchester deserved better #destiel forever #jack also deserved better #every fucking character deserved better #character development who? don't know her #castiel #spn spoilers #spn 15x20

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heraldofzaun · 3 years ago

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Hi. We’re doing this again. I’ve already spoken a little bit (well, a great bit) about how old lore Viktor wasn’t a stereotypical evil villain, but I keep seeing this interesting trend crop up - especially in the comments of analyses on Viktor’s character - and so I’m going to write about it. That trend is the fact that people seem completely and utterly convinced that only old Viktor “augmented without consent” or “didn’t respect free will” or similar mad-scientist-adjacent claims. This isn't true. The inverse is true, actually.

What follows is the entirety of Viktor’s old lore (I’m using the first - the second variant is the one that snips out his going to the Institute of War, I’m not trying to pull a trick on you or anything), his lines upon release (which are still technically canonical, even if many people believe them to be outdated - whether that is due to Riot still believing that they’re accurate to his character or, more likely, Riot not caring to replace them, I don’t know), and the accompanying blurb to his release comic. I am also including Jayce’s second lore, the one which Riot wrote after Viktor fans pointed out that Jayce’s original lore was contradictory to Viktor’s character. (Which is mentioned in the post I linked above. TL;DR: Viktor fans made such a fuss that Jayce’s lore got changed to paint Viktor as less of a villain, which again points to the fact that old Viktor wasn’t necessarily perceived as villainous by his fans. Of course, fan perceptions can be wrong - but canon was changed, so...)

This screenshot is missing his pick/ban quotes (“Join the Glorious Evolution.”/”Inferior constructs.” - ban quotes were added after his release, so they recycled one of his attack lines) and the quotes for Chaos Storm (“Obliterate!”/”Consume!”/”True power!”/”Behold!”). This is because it didn’t fit on my computer screen nicely.

This was written alongside Viktor’s teaser comic. (I personally really like the teaser comic, even though I’m concerned about Viktor cutting a hole in his laboratory wall.) It is, technically, non-canon material as it was posted on the now-defunct forums rather than anywhere on the client, but as we’ve seen a recent trend of Rioters Word-of-God’ing facts about canon, I may as well include it. There may be more Word-of-God confirmations on those forums as well, but the backup site that they’re currently hosted on doesn’t allow for searches as the original site didn’t either. You can find this on the “Development” tab of Viktor’s wiki page, if you’re curious.

Is there anything in here, besides “Submit to my designs.” and a few other of his voice lines, which should be taken with the context that they were a) written in 2011 and are thus not the highest examples of character-focused writing and b) written under the context of these being things he is saying to opponents on a battlefield, that says “Viktor augments people who are unwilling”? I don’t see it. He isn’t an angel, sure, because he wrecks Jayce’s lab after the man doesn’t want to work with him, but… He’s mostly alright, at least when it comes to the claims I’m investigating. (Also, note that his acolytes are not specified as being under his control or anything like that - they very well may just be people he’s helped, who don’t want a strange man smashing up the lab they were helped in.)

An interesting side-note: Jayce’s first lore does seem to imply that Viktor murdered people, as he “staged a deadly raid on Jayce’s laboratory”. This is concerning. There’s still somewhat of that implication in the second lore, considering the whole “incinerating the lab’s meager security force” line, but I’ve never seen anyone in fandom over the years use that as evidence for Viktor being a murderer, which is interesting. There’s actual textual evidence you can point to to say that Viktor’s a morally awful dude, and yet no one pointed to it when it was canon...I’ve never seen it cited in any character analyses for Viktor, nor have I ever seen anyone make the point that it’s people that Viktor’s incinerating. Food for thought, I guess. Anyways, my personal take is this: it’s security systems, not people. It doesn’t quite make sense, in-universe, for Viktor to murder a bunch of redshirt security guards but only blast Jayce aside - and leave him with no lasting injuries, obviously. Out-of-universe, you can say that it’s because Jayce is a champion, but still… It really doesn’t fit. Of course, I’m an old lore Viktor fan and this is entirely me trying to justify that he’s not a bad guy, so you can definitely take my words as biased. As we’ll see later, even if you take this as proof that old Viktor’s a killer, it doesn’t mean new Viktor is morally spotless.

Also, if you speak a language other than English and want to kill time, feel free to write in with what Jayce’s old lore says he did if you can find a translation of it. (If you go to the League wiki you can find other language versions of it, and from there you can poke around on Jayce’s page to see if it even has his older lore at all.) The Polish version apparently doesn’t imply people, but the Russian version uses “guards”... or so I think, my knowledge of Russian is pretty small so it was me and Wiktionary against the world. I think that League lore translations, especially from 2011, aren’t exactly the best material for textual evidence, but it’s an interesting curiosity. (I’m genuinely fascinated on how this was never a point of argument, and also to the fact that it was made much more ambiguous in Jayce’s post-outcry lore… but not removed.)

Anyways. Of course, you can take his lines and general character to a logical endpoint and say that it is implied that he doesn’t care much about whether or not people consent to the Glorious Evolution, but at that point you’re arguing interpretation and need to say as such. The cases I’ve seen in which people say that old lore Viktor was lopping people’s limbs off without consent or what-have-you just say that, without citing any textual evidence or saying that it is possibly implied by his character and lines. It’s pretty hard to take those claims seriously when there’s much more textual evidence that current-canon Viktor doesn’t seem too keen on respecting autonomy. Let’s begin with his own lore, which is written to favor his perspective.

Please keep in mind that this Viktor got his start selling automative technology to businesses in Zaun. The Zaun that is full of corrupt chem-barons. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he only sold to good businesses. (Also, fascinating that a common complaint about old Viktor is that his status as a pioneer of his field is that he’s “unrealistically accomplished”, and that other people would have figured out the same technology - just as it seems to be the case in current lore, with the Church of the Glorious Evolved existing pre-Viktor (except that it probably didn’t at the time of this lore’s release, as there’s a paragraph later on in his lore that talks about a “quasi-religious cult” that is unnamed but… Who else would it be?) and augmentations being common on the NPCs on the Universe page. Yet someone who’s 19 having their inventions be commonly used in Zaun long enough for the term eventually to be used in reference to the next stage of their life is perfectly acceptable. Anyways…)

What we see from this is clear: even if there is a “good” reason to control the divers, there is no mention of them consenting to the procedure. Considering the previous quotation, Viktor seems to deal more with the bosses than the workers and doesn’t seem to consider the potential job-removing impacts of his work (how many people lost jobs due to being rendered obsolete?), which doesn’t bode well for him caring much about what the workers think. But of course, this aside about dealing with bosses is all interpretation, so you can ignore it if you’d like. There still is, however, actual, textual evidence that new Viktor does not care about consent if he believes his idea is what’s best for you.

Ignoring the writer misusing the term “psychotics” - par for the course in fiction unfortunately - here’s Viktor kidnapping people “for their own good”. Nothing is said in his lore if he’s contracted to do this, or if he’s just Zaun’s version of a Good Samaritan out and about chloroforming people. While I’m not saying that the moral choice is to not intervene, he is drugging people here and performing brain surgery on them. Please note the “in a manner of speaking”. What does that mean? Is it in reference to them having permanent brain damage? Or is it in reference to him being all well-and-ready to transfer their bodies into robots that presumably weren’t designed for them? (Speaking of, if Viktor can transfer the consciousnesses - or at least brains - of people… why is he still in a fleshy mortal body? Yes, it would require a VU to update him to be fully robotic, but none of his written media seems to imply that he’s on his way. His color story has him integrating technology directly into his arm, for example. Why aren’t you getting into the robot, Viktor?)

Anyways, two options here: either the automatons had enough of their former programming to react to Viktor giving a kill command, or the consciousnesses of the people Viktor is “saving” are in these robots and are under his sway enough to commit murder. Either is bad (and negates any moral superiority over old Viktor’s maybe-implied-canonical-murder), but the second is horrifying. And, obviously, non-consensual. (Because the damage is reversing, I don’t believe there’s room for a justification of the second option in which these people are still violent and dangerous.)

Anyways, last bit. It’s pretty bad when your ethics are panned in Zaun, the nation host to rampart corruption and also people like Singed. Let’s now move on to his color story, which is what a lot of fans point to as evidence for new Viktor having a heart or a moral compass.

Yay! Moral win: your cyborg isn’t cutting off the head of a child without his consent. (Also, again, is this proof that Viktor can put brains or consciousnesses in robot bodies? Admittedly, he might be joking since this Viktor is a little softer than he is in his biography.)

Moral… win… your cyborg is augmenting a child… Anyways, joking aside, this is unethical. How’s Naph supposed to consent to something like this? I know that we can’t expect fictional characters in a fantasy setting to abide by modern ethical standards, but I think we can critique them from an out-of-universe context. This is bad. Viktor gives very little context, could very well be lying (he isn’t, hopefully), and sends the kid off with his version of a pat on the back and tells him to come back if he wants more. (The “Oh yes” is also… creepy.) A kid’s decision-making abilities aren’t developed to the extent that they can be reasonably expected to understand or consent to a procedure that removes a pretty crucial emotion. If Naph comes back and wants his fear gone permanently, will Viktor oblige?

Also, fear is something that is very important to survival and judgment calls. Without fear, a kid in Zaun might take dangerous risks that could end up with them dead. I can’t really see how people interpret this as a morally sound decision - Viktor’s pretty much giving mood-altering drugs to a child and telling him to come back if he wants another hit. Just because he got Naph’s okay doesn’t mean that he got informed consent.

Let’s now turn to the black sheep of Viktor content: his Legends of Runeterra lines. There’s two of interest.

Armed Gearhead’s card art is of a man whose only augmentation is his arm, which he says he broke in another line. (I suppose he didn’t want to wait for it to heal?)

Viktor is talking about messing with his head, here, because Armed Gearhead is… too emotive, I’d guess. He is “not yet complete”. A statement which Armed Gearhead seems rather apprehensive about, if you listen to his response.

I know that LoR Viktor is one of the more “comically villainous” depictions of Viktor we’ve seen, so if new Viktor fans would like to ignore his lines I have no issue with that. But these lines certainly seem to imply that what Viktor sees as Armed Gearhead’s end state isn’t necessarily what he sees as his, and should be considered if people want to take them as canonical.

Not necessarily needed, but here’s Jayce’s present lore. One of them is definitely lying - Jayce’s lore says that he doesn’t strike until after Viktor gives the kill order, and Viktor’s says that he gave the kill order in response to Jayce smashing up the lab. Either way, Viktor is ordering automatons (that, in this version, are outright stated to be housing the brains of the people Viktor is trying to keep alive) to kill Jayce. Not a good look.

Viktor’s new lore gives significant textual evidence that he doesn’t care for whether others willingly consent to his ideas, so long as he believes that his ideas are for the greater good. This is in contrast to the vagueness of his original lore, meaning that any individual who speaks about how current Viktor is someone who cares for consent in contrast to the “unethical mad scientist”ness of old Viktor is unfortunately mistaken. I have to imagine that general fandom interpretation, combined with the fact that his bio and color story are very tonally different, have made it so people believe that this version of Viktor is much more ethical than he canonically is.

Interpreting Viktor as sympathetic and actually morally grey is fine, of course! Riot wrote his narrative very poorly when he was updated, which is why I’m still finding bones to pick with it in comparison to his original and more open-to-interpretation lore. The issue is stating that this is canonically the case, which it isn’t, and/or stating that the current iteration of Viktor has the moral high ground over his previous incarnation, which he doesn’t. I think that much more interesting character conversations can happen if people acknowledge that Viktor as he’s currently written is roundly unethical - how can that be improved upon for a more complex character, does that mean that Jayce’s behavior was right, etc. For all my dislike of new Viktor, I’d be genuinely curious to read a take that actively acknowledges his pre-college work in automation and how that affects his standing in Piltover and Zaun. (Is he well-known in industry? What do workers think about him? And so on…) And, well, on a personal note: I think that acknowledging current Viktor’s moral failings would be nice, because it would mean that people would stop using old Viktor as a strawman.

Anyways, I suppose that’s the post. Thank you for reading!

#headcanons | beneath the mask #//back at it.

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adripaulson · 4 years ago

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A Night of fun

Words count : 880

Warnings : smut, fingering, oral sex, brief mention of choking, NSFW, cursing

Writer note : There is my Billie Dean x reader smut ! I never wrote smut before so I hope you will like it as much as I liked writing it 🥰. I apologize in advance for the mistakes, English is not my native language.

Tonight, was your first date with the one and only Billie Dean Howard, and naturally, you wanted to be perfect. You were wearing a burgundy dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and that showed off your bust. Your makeup and hair were on point and your best friends said that you were stunning after you sent them a picture.

You joined Billie directly at the restaurant, she was already sitting at your table and oh boy was she beautiful. Her signature blond curls, her delicate pink lipstick and of course her pearl necklace made you weak and you wanted to have her in your bed naked right now. As she felt someone walking towards her, Billie turned her head in your direction and smiled seeing you.

Dinner was great. Amazing even. The food was great, and Billie and you were flirting more than ever. After, you both went into her car to go to her house. You were already turned on before, but you could feel you were becoming wet when you felt Billie’s fingers on your left thigh while she was driving and looking at the road. Having pure thoughts was hard, your mind was filled with all the things you wanted to do her when you were both at her place. You tried to remain calm and relaxed. You kept your eyes on the other side, so you wouldn’t glance down or at your left to Billie.

You bit your lip as Billie’s fingers grew bolder, her hand going so far up it was almost under your dress and touching your panties( which were ruined obviously). Let’s just say you couldn’t wait to arrive.

Immediately at her place, as soon as the door is closed, she pushed you against it. You moaned with pleasure and pain. She attacked your lips, making your legs shake with excitement. You could faint right now. Her lips were soft, in perfect sync with yours and when her tongue asked for an entrance, you accepted the invitation with great pleasure. Hands were everywhere, at the first on each other hips then going down to your ass. However, you couldn’t take it anymore when she put her hand on your throat, squeezed a little while looking at you with darkened eyes, filled with lust and desire.

“ You are so beautiful sweetheart, but I bet you look even more stunning naked on my bed while moaning my name”, Billie whispered in your ear after kissing your neck.

In the bedroom, you were both already in underwear. You laid down on the bed, Billie devouring your neck and your breast just after taking of your bra. She sucked your left nipple making you moan loudly.

“ Already so loud darling ? Let’s see if I can make you scream but I am sure I will” said Billie amused with you being desperate for her to make you cum. Kissing your lips again and going down your core, she took off your panties and kissed your thighs, teasing you.

“ Fuck me already Howard, I can’t take it anymore, I need you” you said between two moans, painting heavily.

You tilted you head when you felt her tongue on your clit. God, she was a goddess. Her hands went from your thighs to your breast, nails dragging softly across your skin —you knew there would be marks there later. “ Billie god, yes right there”, she kept her tongue on your clit and going even deeper with it. You were bucking your hips and grabbing her hair to pull her face even closer. You wanted to feel her in your whole body. You wanted both of your bodies to combine and to become one, because you knew that now and for the rest of your life, you would be a part of Billie and that she will be a part of you.

You had to bite your lower lips because you were being so loud, moaning and saying her name, begging her to fuck you harder and deeper. Usually you would be embarrassed by how loud you were being, but you were too occupied with the pleasure you were feeling to notice. “ Fuck Billie” you cried when she inserted two fingers inside you while sucking your cunt. You knew you couldn’t control yourself anymore. You could only say her name over and over. Your eyes shut tightly, and fingers grabbing the sheets as your body shake with your orgasm. Billie worked you through it and didn’t remove neither her fingers nor tongue. She kept giving stimulation while catching all the cum coming out of you.

“You’re so exquisite dear, I don’t think I will be able to not touch you anymore” Billie murmured between kisses on your lips. However, you took her by surprise when you gave her a wicked smile and flipped her around to top her. Her bra already on the floor before you started fucking, you kissed roughly her breast and bite her right nipple making her groan and moan at the time while digging her perfect acrylics nails on your shoulders.

It was only fair for you to give her the same amount of pleasure she gave you. It will sure be a night of fun.

#billie dean howard x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson imagine #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #ahs #ahs imagine #murder house #billie dean howard imagine #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocolaypse #ahsfx

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aellynera · 5 years ago

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Don’t Forget the Napkins (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

DON’T FORGET THE NAPKINS

Word count: 2733(ish)

Warnings: Just a little bit of language, really (I mean, it’s Llewyn, so...) Like one sentence about Pappi’s creepy tendencies.

(with prompts: “Call me now, it’s urgent”; “Have you lost your mind”; and “So...can we go eat?”)

Another Saturday night at the Gaslight. There was nothing odd about that, it was where you spent pretty much every Saturday night for the past year and half, working behind the bar and waiting on the tables out by the stage when needed. Sure, it was dark, smoky, and kind of dingy, but it helped make ends meet and you got to listen to music for free.

The music is what you had first come to the Gaslight for, right after you graduated from college and moved to the big city. You loved the music and started coming in every chance you got, no matter who was on stage, just to sit in the room in the moment and experience the music. Pappi had taken a shine to you, said you reminded him of his little sister. You had no idea if he really had a sister, nor did you care, but it was certainly less creepy than Pappi telling you it was because he wanted to fuck you, so you let it slide. You had heard him make the latter suggestion to more performers than you cared to admit, but he was a decent boss and you got on well at the job, so it all worked out.

You had majored in English and wanted to be a famous writer, maybe even write some songs that people would talk about and still sing years from now, so where else would you go other than New York City? That’s where the culture was. That’s where the art scene was. That’s where the nightlife and bright lights and intellectuals were. And that’s also where Llewyn Davis was.

Llewyn. Now there was a riddle wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery.

You had seen him perform quite a few times at the Gaslight, and even bought his record when it came out. You talked to him just about every time he was there, because he always sat at the bar both before and after he performed. He had seemed quiet at first; well, he still did, really, but by now you knew the right combination of idle chit-chat, soft smiles, and whiskey straight up to get him to drop the first line of defense. Once that happened, he would talk to you all night. And if you weren’t busy, you’d let him. At some point, you had told him about your dreams of writing and creating songs that people wanted to sing (there was no way you were going to sing them yourself, at least not in public; your stage fright was too monumental and soul crushing). He had just looked at you thoughtfully for a moment, pushing one of his perfect dark curls off his face, then finished his drink and went up on the stage. When he came back, he ordered another drink and started up random conversation again. Then the night was over.

And that was his mystery - he spoke of many things, but he never really told you anything. You had an easy back and forth, a friendship even, but it felt like he never let on more than the bare minimum.

But the night after you had told him about the songwriting, you had come in to work and there was a note for you behind the bar. Two lines, scribbled on a napkin. You read them a few times and realized it was maybe the beginning of a poem...or lyrics. So you quickly wrote two more lines, and when Llewyn came in that night, you walked up to him and stuck the folded napkin in his pocket. He looked surprised, but you caught the slight upturn of his lips a few minutes later when he took it out, looked at it, and then carefully put it back in his pocket.

The next night, the napkin was back. Two more lines. So you added two more. The same thing the next day. And the next, and the day after that. It kind of became your thing, without anything else ever being said about it. Sometimes there was a whole verse written out and you would start a chorus, and vice versa. Once it was one word at a time and that had honestly gone off the rails pretty quickly, but it was fun.

And it had been going on for just about a year. You saw it as a mental game to keep your writing sharp and your brain engaged and your friend entertained. He certainly did more than his fair share in entertainment from his stool on the stage.

So when you got to work that night, it wasn’t a surprise to find another napkin meticulously folded and placed behind the bar where you normally stowed your pocketbook and keys. The place was more packed than usual, but there was some new guy named Dylan or something that was playing and there was a lot of buzz around him. So that was normal too. Smiling to yourself, you picked up the napkin and read the familiar scrawl.

Call me now, it’s urgent.

That was..not normal. Your face scrunched up in confusion, you quickly looked up and caught the mop of dark curls hunched over at the end of the bar. Grabbing a clean bar towel and the bottle of his favorite whiskey, you made your way over.

“Oh...good, you got my message,” he said, raising his eyes ever so slightly to meet yours over the rim of his tumbler. They were (beautiful and dark and compelling and soft and…) sort of glassy and red around the edges and maybe a little bloodshot? And was that a smirk inching its way onto his lips? You sighed.

“You’re sitting right here, Llewyn,” you said, taking the glass from his hand and refilling it without him asking. You pushed it back to him. “So thank you for saving me the dime.”

He snorted. “Come on, it was...a little funny, right?”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t keep your own small smile off your face. Did he realize the irony that you wouldn’t have been able to call him anyway, since you never really knew where he would be staying? “And you’re a little pissed already, huh? Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“Nah, not really. And I’m not drunk. I am alcoholically reinforced,” he took another sip of his drink.

“...what does that even mean?”

He shook his head, that one particular curl flopping over his forehead and into (those beautiful, soulful, deep, enchanting…) his eyes. He totally ignored your question. “So, uh, look,” he started, suddenly seeming a bit more unsure of himself. “I really wanted to ask you, if…”

“No, you cannot borrow my couch tonight, Llewyn. My sister is in town.” You idly wiped at the bar top with your towel, raising an eyebrow at him.

For a split second he looked offended, but it was so brief you almost missed it. “What? No, no, I don’t need a place to...look, I just needed to tell you...well, ask you really, but also tell you…”

“Hey, Llewyn!” Pappi’s voice suddenly boomed from the other side of the room. “Lay off the help and get your ass up on stage! You’re not gettin’ half the basket just to sit here and drink all my booze!”

Llewyn sighed. “Yeah, yeah, all right,” he yelled back. His attention turned back to you. “So, listen, really though I need to…”

You swatted at him with the towel. “You need to finish that glass and get up there before we both get in trouble, is what you need to do. It looks like it’s gonna be a crazy night, I’ll catch you after, yeah? We’ll go grab a burger at that place down the block, my treat.” You flashed him a grin as you walked away before he could say anything else. And by say anything else, you really meant say no, because that man needed to eat a good, hot meal. As usual.

Llewyn watched you walk off and start tending to other patrons, then threw back the rest of his glass in one gulp. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he walked to the stage. “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…”

As Llewyn picked up his guitar and got himself situated, you filled drink orders and watched him as you did so. It was getting harder to deny that he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, especially when he was up there, under the single spotlight and surrounded by the smoky haze of the crowd and his own cigarette smoke. There was just something about him. But the puzzle and mystery and enigma hung over everything and you were fairly certain you’d never crack the actual code, so you just let your crush be a crush. It was part of what made the Gaslight worth it, after all.

The night went on, busy and loud and musical. This particular crowd was really getting into his set and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him. He deserved the attention, and you knew he wanted it, even if he liked to pretend he didn’t. After a few songs, you took a pint glass of water up to the stage. It was something you always did for performers, but especially for Llewyn (since he tended to drink more than his fair share of whiskey in the meantime). You were about halfway to the stage when he strummed a few notes and started to introduce his next song.

“So, uh...well, this is a new song for me,” he started, noticing you coming his way. “And I didn’t really plan on doing this until maybe about an hour or so ago, but well...I dunno, sometimes when something just feels right, it’s right, you know?” His eyes meet yours as you set the glass on the small table next to him on the stage, and he momentarily seems to search for the next words.

“Y’know I usually work alone, but, uh, I wrote this next song with a friend. A good friend. Someone who is really talented and good with words, better with words than I am. And...and she doesn’t know I’m doing this but I’ll ask for forgiveness later.” He chuckled and the crowd did too in response.

Llewyn cleared his throat. “So, yeah. This is a song I wrote with the help of a lovely lady you probably all know. If you do, ask her to make you a drink, and if you don’t, well, go back to the bar and introduce yourself.”

You were almost to the back of the room, back to said bar, when your eyes shot wide and you spun on your heel to face the stage. Oh no, he did not just...did he? It’s kind of hard to clearly see his face from back here with the light and the glare in the smoke but you could swear that jerk is grinning, like full on guilty smiling, and in that instant you swore if you weren’t working and there weren’t so many people shoved into this space you might go up there and actually punch him. Your face was on fire and your stomach felt like it was going to drop out the bottoms of your feet. Your mouth dropped open before you could stop it.

Every pair of eyes in the room suddenly turned on you. There were maybe a hundred people there? Around that many. A hundred people times two and that’s how many eyes were suddenly staring right at you. There was only one pair of eyes you really cared about, though.

You managed to catch Llewyn’s eyes for a moment and you mouthed at him - Have you lost your mind? He shrugged slightly, closed his eyes, and started playing his...your...song.

It was beautiful. From the second line you recognized the napkin it had come from, one that got passed back and forth about four months ago, during a particularly cold week when it didn’t quite snow but the rain was still frozen. It was a back and forth about two people realizing they were in love but being too afraid and preoccupied and aloof to do or say anything about it. Typical unrequited love stuff. But oh, suddenly, oh now it had much more meaning. You listened, and watched, from the corner behind the bar, transfixed and unable to look away as every emotion you knew and some you never knew existed washed over you in time with the notes from the guitar and Llewyn’s gorgeous voice.

Once the song ended, you somewhat got your bearings and turned back to the bar. People were already coming over to tell you how beautiful the song was, ask if you really wrote it with Llewyn Davis, tell you how much they enjoyed it, ask if you had written any others...you were only vaguely aware of most of it and managed to pour some drinks and answered things as best you could, until finally one voice broke through all the others.

“So. Um. Did you like it?”

You closed your eyes for a minute, biting your lip. “Llewyn...I...what just happened?”

He looked down for a second, then reached over and took the glass you were holding and the bar towel out of your hands. He gently wrapped his fingers around yours, giving you a light squeeze. He didn’t say anything for a few more seconds, but when you didn’t pull away, he continued, “I tried to tell you...shit, I kept every single one of those napkins since we started doing that, and I turned some of ‘em into a song and wanted to play it tonight. I tried, but...well...fuck, you’re not mad at me are you?”

You weren’t mad. God, you were anything but mad at this man. Stunned, and surprised, yes, but definitely not mad. He kept all those napkins? You’d always half-wondered what happened to them, but never really gave it much thought, but you hadn’t really expected that to be the answer. Your brain still couldn’t quite process your own words correctly, so you just shook your head no and squeezed his hands in return.

Llewyn let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank fuck. For a few minutes there I thought I really fucked things up.”

You finally got your head back straight and laughed. “No, you didn’t,” you smiled. You cocked your head to the side and studied his face for a moment. “I still can’t quite figure you out, but you definitely did not fuck anything up.”

“Good,” he nodded. He lifted your fingers to his lips and brushed his lips along your knuckles, suddenly pulling away when Pappi snorted from his corner of the bar. You both turned to him, scowls on your faces, and Llewyn whipped the bar towel at Pappi’s head.

“So...can we go eat?” Llewyn asked, turning his attention back to you and ignoring Pappi’s continued string of bemused and somewhat lewd sounds.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Eat. Y’know, burgers? At that joint down the street? You said something earlier about buying me dinner?” Llewyn asked dryly.

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? You sing me a song that I helped you write, and then you expect me to buy you dinner.”

“Well, you did offer.”

You bit your lip again as your smile grew wider and a blush crept further up your face. “Okay. But make sure you don’t lose these, we’re going to need them.” You grabbed a few pens from underneath the bar before coming around to his side and shoving them in Llewyn’s coat pocket.

“Okay, sure? But what are those for?” he asked, slipping and arm around your waist and leading you to the door.

“Because,” you replied, your tone implying that he should already know, “there are a lot of napkins floating around that place.”

Llewyn pulled you a little closer and you smiled into his embrace. “Ohhhhh.”

“And Llewyn?”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t kidding about the couch, my sister really is in town. But I’ve got a much more comfortable place you can stay tonight.”

~end~

#oscar isaac #inside llewyn davis #llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #llewyn davis x you #prompt fic #fluff

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crewman-penelope · 4 years ago

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The Green-eyed Monster

Fandom: James Bond / Rami Malek

Chapters : 17 of 27

Characters : Lyutsifer Safin, Tatjana Safin ofc, Luc Dupont omc, Marie Dupont ofc, Camille ofc, James Bond, Moneypenny, Q, Mr. Hinx, Frau Dr. Vogel, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, M, Nomi, Mr. Moreau

Relationship : Lyutsifer Safin / OFC Character, Ernst Stavro Blofeld /OFC Character

Warning : Lemon, Hostage, dub-con, non-con, blood, gruel dead scene

Rating : MA

Gene: Crime / Drama /Romance

Summary : SPECTRE is back, but was that really what Safin wanted? Bond gives no shit at first...

Note : The rights for the Bond Books and the movies lays by Eon production!

This fanfic is for entertaining purpose only and to read for free.

English is not the writer's first language!

Still thirsty for some Safin content, so I have to write it myself. :-D

———

17. Prison

In the next few days the offshoot of a storm didn't allow Tatjana and her twins to be outside. The ice cold wind and the wild snow fall were dangerous for anyone who would be so stupid as to go outside.

Which, sadly, also meant that no one from the valley side could crawl up the mountain, as Tatjana had hoped and prayed for.

A month as a gallow period seemed long, but Tatjana wanted, of course, to be out of here as soon as possible.

Blofeld has been so cowardly as to drug her, and even though it had not worked in his favour, Tatjana was afraid of his next tactic. What would happen if she did not answer his wooing? Would he threaten the twins?

To her sorrow, she could see him doing exactly that...

She couldn't speak to Mr. Hinx nor to Luc, afraid that they were being tapped. She missed having a word of encouragement from them. Now she had to be brave and wait for better weather. She had to wait for Safin and a plan that would rescue her and the twins. And Luc. And Marie..

Thinking of the people surrounding her, who were dependent on her safety, she felt guilty. Even though the real fault was on Blofeld.

After lunch Tatjana went into the living room. Marie would lay the twins down for a nap and Tatjana had time to herself. She switched on the music system for a bit of Purcell and stretched out on the couch on her belly. While listening, she slipped out of her ballerinas and threw them unceremoniously on the ground.

She heard the door, expecting the coffee, and turned the volume down.

"Please just set it on the table, I will help myself.", she said into the air and turned the volume on again.

Her hands under her chin, bracing herself on her elbows, she listened to the first Rondeau of Purcells 'Fairy Queen'.

Closing her eyes she bobbed up and down with her feet, until she felt a hand resting on her lower calf.

Shrieking, she jumped up to check, bewildered that someone would dare to touch her. Of course, she should have known the answer.

"I am SO sorry, my dear.", Blofeld stepped back, wringing his hands. "I called your name, but.."

".. the music was too loud..", Tatjana shook her head and lowered the volume.

"I'm sorry, Ernst. I should not take everything for granted. That was really noisy of me, wasn't it?"

She gave Blofeld space on the couch and poured him some coffee. "Black?", she asked.

"With a bit of cream.", he answered, with an amused expression.

"I should know that, yes? After all, I lived here for 10 months before."

Blofeld waved the objection away. "With a very different mind set and very busy with your pregnancy." Blofeld took the coffee cup and had a sip before he went on: "I remember it like it was yesterday, how you looked highly pregnant." He smiled softly. "Carrying suited you, Tatjana."

She felt her face burning and poured herself a cup so she didn't have to look at Ernst. When she felt she had her face under control again she leaned back on the sofa, one leg crossed under her.

"You like operetta?", she tried to change the subject.

"Mhmm.. I am a friend of deeper Opera's. But not everyone likes baroque. I can surely live with it, especially when you listen to the Fairy Queen. It is fitting for you, Tatjana.

She gazed bashfully into her coffee cup. "How clever you are, Ernst. Sometimes I think you are in a competition to keep my face as red as possible.", she chuckled.

Blofeld used his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I told you before how gorgeous you look when you are blushing."

She smirked and looked up at him. "You know us women. We need to hear such things more often."

"Tatjana, if you allow me, I shall speak of 'such things' to you all the time."

Tatjana could not help but smile at his charming offensiveness. "Ernst.. I feel I really need time to get used to your sweet words. I look at you and see the businessman. The Boss."

"Allow me to be more..", Blofeld whispered and caught her hand to lead it to his mouth. With a serious face he kissed the back of her hand and leaned in then to press his lips shortly but firmly on her mouth.

She sucked in her breath and swallowed, hoping her face did not show disgust. Watching his face, she seemed to not have revealed herself. The coffee cup clicked softly in her hand.

With her free hand she pointed to her forehead. "Here, please.", she whispered. "This is the spot I need your lips on."

He smiled paternally and set his cup on the table, picking her cup from her hand then to set it aside on the coffee table. With his free hands he held her head and pressed his lips on her forehead.

"Like this?"

"Yes", Tatjana sobbed. "Like this.", and cuddled automatically into his arms.

Like she had hoped, he did not try more, just held her while listening to the semi-opera.

Eventually, the door opened and Dr. Vogel entered. She stopped abruptly when she saw Blofeld holding Tatjana. Her face growing hard and pale.

Tatjana, who had startled at the entrance, glanced at Dr. Vogel and jumped out of Blofeld's embrace.

"Tatjana...", Blofeld whispered calmly but she shook her head. Quickly collecting her ballerinas, she walked out of the living room without another word, ignoring Dr. Vogel.

She prayed that Blofeld would be angry with the latter and send her away. One less person to worry about.

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senboago · 5 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK.

Are they underrated? YES / NO

Were they relevant to the main story? YES / NO

Were they relevant to the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. ( more like mixed but eh )

How strictly do you follow canon? — I may not roleplay him as much as I like, but I do try to stick to as canon as possible. However, Mizuiro is a very side character, with very little screen time, so much of it is also left to my own interpretation of his whole character. We’re at least lucky Kubo included a chapter about him, Keigo, Chad, and Ichigo when they first became friends, and the little snippet of his personal life in that chapter. So that’s at least something to give more depth into him rather just one of Ichigo’s school pals.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals. — Look I’m not gonna try to oversell my boy. But understand that he is absolutely precious and must be protected at all cost. In what is known, he’s had a rough childhood and be hooking up with older ladies like a gigolo, and that’s at least been since he was in middle school. He’s also a tactical person, very smart even if isn’t academically but street-wise, and so fucking brave. He was literally the calmest of the group when Aizen came to the real Karakura Town. The guy literally threw a fucking bottle at one of the biggest baddies in the Bleach universe and deadpans at the results-- like bitch what? And let’s not even mention how he chucked a homemade bomb at him too. Like, I wouldn’t be shocked if Aizen saw Mizuiro again and got petty af at this lowly human that gave zero shits in that little scuff. My boy was probably scared af, but took charge like it was no one’s business in order to save his friends.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?). — He’s such a side character. Him and Keigo are introduced at the beginning of the series, and then left to have nothing to do with the main story. Sure there were some scenes in which they interacted with Kisuke or Shunsui, or that little fight between them and Aizen. But there wasn’t anything major. Nor did Mizuiro get his own moments, like Keigo did with his sister and Ikkaku. The most he got was one single chapter that took a single glimpse into his home life. And it’s really sad and tragic, even if most of it was implied.

What inspired you to rp your muse? — Well... I have thing for unpopular side characters. Mizuiro happened to be one of them, especially since the scene between him and Aizen. He appears as such an interesting character, yet is left on the sidelines so much. There’s so much unknowns with him, things left to be implied and speculated outside of Ichigo’s and the other main character’s pov. Like when did he start seeing ghost? Why were he, Keigo, and Tatsuki in Kisuke’s basement when Ichigo and the gang left for Soul Society the first time? When did Kisuke even approach them? What exactly prompted Shunsui to approach them, offering them a ticket to the Soul Society if things went south in the war? There’s a lot more that runs through my head with Mizuiro, and this includes Keigo and sometimes Tatsuki, since they’re together so much. I want know, understand him, get an idea of what’s been going on while Ichigo and the gang are playing hero in the Soul Society.

What keeps your inspiration going? — Honestly... I’m not entirely sure. I don’t play him often, and part of that is the lack of Keigo and Tatsuki. But I love him too much to abandon him again. His character is so underrated, and I just wanna do him justice. Bring a light to an untold story.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO. ( at least I hope)

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO. ( i want to, but i never know how )

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO. ( again i want to, but... )

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO.

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO. ( maybe if i gave him more spotlight )

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO. ( i’m always concerned about my descriptions and grammar )

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? — Constructive criticism, of course. Sometimes I may get defensive, but that’s just a human instinct. I do take it to heart, making note of it for later.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character? — Yes! Always! Even if it means making me think on the spot or just actually putting into thought on the subject. Development is always great in a character, because it brings more depth into them, and I’m always into that!

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — It would depend. I would love to discuss it. However, if it’s something that completely diverts him from canon, goes against the universe, etc. then I’m not so sure I’m interested. And with my shinigami au, I’m much more hesitant. But I am open to their take of the au, such as his possible rank and division from where I have him at now.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — I mean... There’ll always be different opinions about a character. And again, it would depend on what it is they disagree with. I’m a hesitant person on this, as I try to keep my muses as canon as possible. And while Mizuiro doesn’t get a lot of backstory or scenes, there are some canon things I prefer to keep in my portrayal and I will defend it no matter what.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — Honestly I don’t understand why they would. He’s never really been shown with a negative lens in the series, except when dealing with his home life in one chapter. But, if someone really does hate Mizuiro, then that’s on them. I won’t waste the energy to change their mind, nor be stressed about. I’ll still be confused, but that’s about it.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — Please! Do this!! You’d think since I’m a native English speaker, I’d know how to properly write in my own damn language. But truth is, I’m really bad at it! Most my writing I feel turns more poetic because of this-- or some details are often missed because I didn’t write it properly.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun? — I try to be, and for the most part am. I’m one of those writers willing to dive into more sensitive topics, if for the sake of character development and exploration. Not to mention, I have a very thick line drawn between the writer/mun and their characters/muses. At least in the case of myself. Also, good reminder that I’m extremely shy, so more than likely I’m being anxious about whether I should pm you or if sending this or that ask from one of my muses is okay or not, even if you say otherwise.

That’s about it, congrats for filling out!

Tagged by: no one. i stoleth off of @ryusxnka Tagging: you wanna steal it? do it. i dare you.

#;whispers and rambles [ ooc ]#;you're a womanizer [ mizuiro kojima ]

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nickmuch · 5 years ago

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e.j.h. - teo

NOTE: am i a writer? No. Did i have nothing to do at work bc i finished all my stuff 3 hours too early and wrote an imagine out of boredom? Yes.

Also: I seriously wrote this as a joke, but oof 3 pages long?? Just for it to stay locked up on my laptop?? No, ma’am. So I decided to post it here. It’s obviously not bomb and english is not my first language, so don’t roast me pls :(

„Hey…“ he said after entering her room. It was so soft that it could barely be heard at first. However, his presence was felt in the house the moment he had opened the gate. The walls were too thin for her liking and she felt like she had been eavesdropping even though all he did was take off his shoes, put them neatly behind the front door and slowly climb up the stairs to the master’s bed room. He was cautious. Way too cautious, she thought. That made her stomach churn again.

“Talk to me”. His hand touched her forearm lighty, making his way up to her shoulders, then across her collar bone, to her jaw and lastly holding onto her cheeks with both his hands softly but firm enough for her to know that this was real. That he was real. They were real.

Life felt like a simulation these days. She couldn’t feel anything besides her tiredness. Ironically, everything seemed as if she was in a dream world. She was the eyes to a video game character but couldn’t feel what its shallow body felt. Like an illusion.

“I … I-“. She tried to talk to him. After all he didn’t do anything wrong, he wasn’t the reason for her horrible mind-state. Hell, she didn’t even know why she felt so unsure, so irritated and aloof, keeping him at a distance she didn’t feel comfortable with because he was her safe place. Edwin was her safe place.

Her mouth was dry, making her voice raspy when she finally found the words to speak. “I am scared of losing you”. Six words. Six words that held so much more meaning to them than it seemed. Because it didn’t just mean that she was scared of losing him. It meant that she loved him. That she couldn’t imagine a life without him in the picture. That there was this big possibility she could lose her best friend any moment now and that drove her wild.

His eyebrows furrowed. A slight frown visible on his delicate face and his mouth pouty from thinking of what could have possibly happened that she even thought for a second he would ever leave her alone like that. “Whatchu mean?”.

She pulled away. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t know because for the past week she had been ignoring him mercilessly. It was the fear that kept her from telling him, talking to him, seeing him. The way he would react? Only god knew. But it’s been a week and sooner or later she did have to face him. With or without fear of losing him.

Suddenly her head felt dizzy and before Edwin could process what was going on, she was already on her feet running and hunched over the toilet to empty her stomach. Not that she had eaten anything and even if she did, it didn’t stay for long anyways. “Mi amor” he murmured. He didn’t know what was going on but he for sure wasn’t going to leave her on her own while she felt this miserable. “What did you eat? Did that upset your stomach or something?”. Before he could receive an answer to his question, she was throwing up again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to her, she turned her body towards him. As if on cue, his arms were wrapped around her securely, holding her fragile self like a safety blanket, ready to protect her from everything evil in this world.

It was only a look, but enough for him to see what she was trying to tell him all this time. Now it all made sense: her avoiding him, the nausea, the tears she shed the last time they saw each other. She was talking to Zion in the PM backyard then. Hushed whispers mixed with frantic worried looks. Soft touches. An unwary smile from Z. Not gonna lie, Ed did feel jealous when he saw them together like that. Who could blame him, though? Last time he checked she was his official-but-not-so-official-girlfriend, promoted from best friend to lover after their last wild party weeks ago. The party itself wasn’t so wild, but what happened between her and Ed after was. So, naturally he felt annoyed that she would go to Zion with her problem instead of him.

Now she was in his embrace on the cold floor while they seemed to be waiting for her next nauseous moment. “You are, aren’t you?” he asked. It was more like a statement. In his mind he had already pieces two and two together. Edwin knew that she was, it was a feeling deep down. A shaky breath left her lips, followed by a short nod of her head. “Are you mad? Are you going to leave? I- I don’t know what to do, you always keep a cool head when things blow up. I am not good with this. How are we supposed to tell the others? Will we even- “. He didn’t let her finish. Too many thoughts clouded her mind and Edwin knew the only way to make it stop was to answer her questions. And so he did by kissing her passionately like never before. The kiss was supposed to tell her that everything was going to be alright, that he wouldn’t leave their side even if the world would end tomorrow. “You talk too much. Let your heart speak for once, mi amor”.

A smile crept up her face. It felt so foreign, she couldn’t remember the last time she had a smile on. Probably two weeks ago before her life was turned upside down in just a matter of 5 minutes. “You sure?”. Her voice seemed stronger now. Edwin took his time before answering. “All I know is that I wanna spend my life with you. Forever. We’ve been best friends for years now and ever since … ever since-“. She nodded quickly, signaling for him that it was okay he felt so nervous and to just continue whenever. “We weren’t supposed to sleep with each other because we’re best friends. Always been”. This made her heart beat faster and scared that this whole conversation was close to taking a different turn than expected. “But maybe” he began. “Maybe we were supposed to be lovers and not best friends all along”. Suddenly Edwin fell backwards a bit. She couldn’t help herself and hug him with so much force and passion. This needed to be true. This needed to be real and not just a simulation of her weird twisted fantasy. That’s why she engulfed him as tight as her weak body allowed.

“So, I’m willing to try and not only be there for you, but also for them. No matter the decision. I want this to work out. I want us to work out. And it will”. The look in his eyes was determined. He was more than sure that this was what he wanted, what was always truly in his heart but couldn’t be said out loud in fear of ruining everything they had built in their friendship. It was too precious for that. But right now was the perfect time and so he did. He told her what was going on in his mind for what felt like years, but really it had only been a couple weeks since he knew what he felt for her and yet, they both believed this love would never end.

Edwin seemed to have an imaginary bullet-list in his head. The way he concentrated and stared into the distance while trying to think and say all the things he loved about her. The way she would make sure to call him at least twice a day – as a good morning and good night -, whether it was on a bad day or good day, busy day or lazy day. Didn’t matter. Or how she would laugh at anything he said, even if the other boys didn’t find the joke very funny. How her lips were so goddamn pouty and soft after a nap. Even back then he had the urge to just kiss them. Silly of him to not realize any sooner how madly in love he was with this girl. “Okay!” she laughed. “I get it. I am awesome or whatever”. It was said more as a joke but honestly? He did think she was awesome. “Oh and, Ed?”. Now it was his turn to look at her quizzically. “I love you, too. And we will conquer this whole love thing. Together. You, me and … and them”. Tears were rushing out of his eyes uncontrollably as she spoke her words. She finished with a short silence, followed by a single word. “Teo”. At first, Edwin didn’t catch on but after repeating what she said in his head a couple of times, it finally clicked. “Yes, it’s definitely gonna be Teo”. This was truly a dream come true and neither her nor him wanted to ever wake up from it.

ANOTHER NOTE: ok so yes, she’s preggo and Teo is short for Mateo and that’s one of my favorite names, so I had to add it in here somehow. Anyways, if you actually read the whole thing: I love you.

- Cami

#edwin honoret #brandon arreaga #zion kuwonu #austin porter #nick mara #fanfic #prettymuch #edwin honoret imagine #prettymuch imagines #pm #ejh #love #blurbs #zion kuwonu imagines #austin porter imagines #nick mara imagines #brandon arreaga imagines #pm blurbs #writing

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matryosika · 2 years ago

Text

𝗖𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱 𝟵

Pairing — Changbin and Reader

Wordcount — 4,930 words.

Includes — Angst and themes of infidelity. Recreational use of weed, mentions of buying/selling illicit substances, sex under the influence (at the beginning). Love/hate dynamic. Brief humiliation and degradation, unprotected sex, creampie.

Author's Note — I am not one to read nor write anything with infidelities but this came out of the blue while I was listening to an instrumental song and I stuck with it because with this writer's block who am I to deny me some inspiration?. This is, I think, my first angst-smut in all the sense of the world, so it is new to me! To be honest this is not focused on the drugs nor stoner!mc but I felt like adding that for plot. I hope you enjoy, and if you like it you can always reblog it, like it and leaving me a positive message on my asks! Please remember english is not my first language.

If you enjoy this and wish to support my work further, please buy me a ko-fi.

The cold, winter breeze is nothing compared to the warmth you and Changbin created in his room. The smoke that has already vanished, the remains of the smell of weed and the heavy breathing of both create the perfect environment —you want to stay like this forever.

You get the feeling that you are melting into the silky sheets on his bed, the fabric sticking to your body covered in sweat while you can no longer recognize what is your skin and what is his.

“Are you here with me?” Changbin queries with a soft, delicate whisper. His hand wanders along the sides of your body with the sole intention of finding yours. “Or am I dreaming again?”

“How many times have you dreamt of me?” you ask, intertwining your hands with his while you let him guide the next movement. He then buries them into the silky sheets, gently, above your head.

“Too many, I lost count” he breathes, pressing a wet peck on your jaw that transitions to a path of kisses through the crook of your neck and into your chest. “It was driving me insane”.

The touch isn't much, yet it is enough to earn a soft whimper from you. Changbin squeezes your hands firmly when he hears you, and continues on kissing your skin.

“You are too much,” he purrs, dragging his lips against your skin. “Nothing makes me feel the way you do anymore”.

“It's hard to believe you when we are both high,” you chuckle, closing your eyes to intensify the feeling of his lips and tongue all over your body. “It's just the heat of the moment”.

“Perhaps that is for you,” Changbin murmurs, latching his tongue around your hardened nipple. You squeeze his hand when you feel his teeth softly nibbling your bud, moaning and arching your back just for him. “But I know it’s true”.

“How do you know?”

He lets go of your hands and that allows you to latch your fingers in his dark hair, an action that makes him sigh against your breast. His hair feels extremely soft and fluffy, especially tonight, that all your senses are enhanced.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he breathes, dragging one of his hands along the side of your body. He then focuses on your other nipple, leaving behind a wet, messy trail of kisses between each of your breasts. “All that you want and all that you need, I desire to give it to you”.

“You are definitely out of your mind,” you quietly chuckle, a soft laugh that is quickly replaced with a whimper when he sucks on your nipple.

“It’s all your fault,” Changbin blames you, his heavy gaze lifting and focusing on the faint grimaces of pleasure imprinted on your face. “Ever since I met you, you haven't left my mind”.

“And how is that my fault, Changbin?” you ask.

He loves it when you call him by his name. Other than the one of your soft whimpers and moans, Changbin's favorite sound is his name slipping out of your lips at any time. It repeats on loop, second after second, even when you are not there, and he is happy he can hear it more often these days.

“You are the embodiment of all that I've ever desired,” he whispers, his half-lidded, red eyes hypnotizing you. “And all I can’t call mine”.

“I told you not to fall in love with me,” you murmur with a strangled breath, unable to think straight while his eyes are still fixed on yours.

Of all the gazes that exist in the world, Changbin's is your favorite.

His eyes hold just enough of filth, desire, and love. They represent the most primal part of him, the selfish one, the one that reaffirms he would do anything for you.

When Changbin looks at you, not only you feel safe. You are sure you are.

“It's easy to say,” he mumbles, with just enough bitterness and anger. He drags his kisses from your breast to your neck, and then to your jaw. Finally, his lips are close enough to yours once again and you can feel his breathing mixing up with yours. “But it’s not my fault I fell in love”.

“Then who is to blame?”

Changbin wants to say it’s you. After all, that’s what he strongly believes.

He didn’t fall in love at first sight. Nor did he fall in love on a whim. He wasn't shot by cupid the first time you two met, nor did he get completely intoxicated with the sound of your voice the very first time you called him by his name.

In the beginning, everything was going as it was supposed to. You were looking to buy and he sold; the money transitioned from your hands to the pocket of his pants, and the plastic bag with herbs went from his possession to yours. Perhaps the first mistake was selling to someone who seemed more dangerous than the drug itself.

Perhaps, the second one was moving the deliveries from Sinseol-dong station to his own apartment —a benefit that only close friends and frequent customers have.

Or perhaps, the final mistake was answering the door of his apartment the time you knocked on it past midnight.

All those mistakes, though, could only be attributed to you. You, who coquettishly insisted that he give you one more gram than you had bought. You, who were the one who asked him for his address with the excuse that, perhaps, his apartment was closer to yours than the agreed station. And you, who showed up crying in the middle of the night with the need to feel loved.

That night, after he fucked you for hours on end, you discovered that no one could make you feel as loved as Changbin does.

And when you came back to him, just a few nights later, he realized it.

The way your arms wrapped around his neck every time he eased himself inside you; the way you locked your legs around his waist, instinctively begging for him to stay like that forever; the time you confessed to him his name almost slipped out of your lips while you were with your boyfriend. Then, Changbin realized that he was intoxicated with you just as much as you were with him. Every time you were with someone else, it was him on your mind; every time you moaned, and begged, and cried, it wasn’t for the man between your legs but for him.

Him, who every other night you crawled back to.

Him, who has heard from your lips say more than once that you belong to him, but can’t prove it to the world.

Him, who can’t even prove it to himself. Because when you say you are all his, a pair of hands have already touched over your body and some lips have already kissed you.

“You know the answer,” Changbin murmurs against your lower lip, brushing his ever so slightly against yours.

You lean onto him to capture his lips on a kiss, but that level of desperation it’s not enough for him to give you what you want. “But you can't admit it because, the moment you do, you will hate yourself just as much as I hate you for it”.

“This is all quite the opposite,” you purr, digging your nails into his biceps. You dig them hard, that even he hisses at the pain. “You don’t hate me. When you fuck me, I can tell you don’t hate me”.

It is a very ironic thing, the one that fell from your lips.

Changbin does fuck you like he hates you, sometimes. He calls you all sorts of names, inflicts you pain when you ask him to and degrades you when you beg for it. He slaps you at times, when you allow him, and pulls your hair harshly too, when you are on all fours.

Sometimes, it's cathartic for both of you.

There is this thing you never talk about outside of bed, and that Changbin is too uncomfortable to address. This thing, this giant elephant in a room that infidelity is, brings the best and worst out of you both when the sun fades down. When you two are fucking, neither of you can stop thinking about, precisely, that. You ask Changbin to fuck you like you deserve it, and he vents in your body everything that cannot be said with words.

But even then, when he spanks you, degrades you and humiliates you, even then, you feel loved the most.

“Sometimes I wish I did,” he confesses, pressing his erection against your core. You open your legs more for him, instinctively, and he swallows thickly when he feels how soaked and warm you are for him.

Your inner thighs are glistening with your fluids, and there is already a dark, wet patch on his silky sheets.

He hasn’t even touched you, but he knows you need it badly.

“This would be a lot easier,” he continues, the tip of his cock grazing against your fold as he fully positions between your legs. A sweet moan escapes through your mouth and he gets lost in it, losing the thread of whatever it was that he was saying.

“Fucking me would be a lot easier?” you ask him, reminding him of his last words.

“Being the other one,” Changbin murmurs, “It would be a lot easier if I wasn’t this in love with you”.

“If you weren't in love with me, you wouldn't be the other,” you sigh, feeling the tip of his cock pressing against your clit. “But I guess I now believe you when you say there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me”.

He presses his lips against yours one more time before guiding his hand to your mouth, indirectly asking you to spit on it.

When you do, he then smears it all over the tip of his hardened cock. Changbin doesn’t know if it’s you, the weed, the fact that this is the first time he sees you in weeks, or how bad he needs his release, but he feels he is nearly about to explode.

“I always mean what I say,” he hisses, dragging his cock along your slit. You clench around thin air and, although he can’t feel it, he knows it —your eyebrows are furrowed and your bottom lip is caught between your lips. “I mean it when I say that you are nothing but a filthy slut, and I mean it when I say that there’s no one as beautiful as you are”.

“So you mean it when you say you love me?” you ask, eyes fixed on him.

“I do,” Changbin whispers, with no intention of breaking eye contact.

“And when you say you hate me?” you ask again, placing both of your hands on each side of his face. “Do you mean that too?”

“I do”.

“Are you sure?” you sigh, slowly grinding your hips against his. Changbin closes his eyes and, for a split second, the feeling of defeat washes over his body: how can someone as divine as you make him descend to hell? Every time, Changbin swears it’s going to be the last.

Every time, Changbin tells himself that it’s the last time he will give in.

Every time, Changbin fucks you as if it’s the last time he ever will.

But the cycle always repeats itself, and not all the self-control within his body is enough to reject you.

One of his hands holds your hips still, preventing you from grinding against his cock. You try to release yourself from his grip, but it’s useless.

“Do you really want to know?” Changbin asks, the sound of his voice dropping a few tones.

Up until then, you and Changbin were just fooling around, naked in his bed.

After a stressful night at work, one of many, you called him with the excuse that you wanted to buy some from him. But the purchase turned into a self-invitation to smoke in his apartment, which Changbin agreed to without question —now that the awkward conversation suddenly arose, Changbin thinks it would’ve been good to question his decision before agreeing.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer and, instead, rushes to maneuver your body so that you are lying on your stomach, with your knees bent against the mattress. He is still on top of you, with his cock brushing against your arse and both of his arms supporting his weight. He kisses your shoulder and your upper back, the way he presses his lips gently against your skin makes you think that his latter confession it’s nowhere near the truth. But when he suddenly grips a fistful of your hair and forces your head back, making you wince in pain, you are reminded that there are lingering sentiments in these kinds of actions.

Everything feels ten times more intense; both the good things and the bad things. Your scalp stings when he continues forcing your head back, but it feels nice. The pain reminds you where and who you are with.

It reminds you that it’s the least someone like you deserves. And when it’s Changbin who inflicts it, it feels even better.

“This is why you came here after all, right?” he asks when he feels you moving your hips towards him. “You need to be with the one who actually gives you what you deserve”.

You nod pathetically fast for your own liking. At least, when you are in his bed, you no longer lie to anyone —not even yourself.

“Tell me what I want to hear,” Changbin whispers against your shoulder, looking down on you with both vengeful yet loving eyes. “Say it, even when I can’t believe it coming from a filthy liar mouth like yours”.

You keep quiet for a second, burying your face against his pillow and inhaling his scent.

Truth is, everything you say, like Changbin, you mean it.

“I love you,” you weakly whisper, the sensation of his wet lips against your skin and his erect cock pressing on your arse making the task rather difficult. “I love you so much”.

Changbin doesn’t believe you, but that is enough for him to give in one more time.

He leans into your body and stretches his arm towards the night stand. Whether it's the habit he has acquired from the women he fucks or the need to listen to you beg for him to fuck you raw, Changbin always puts you through the same exact situation.

“You know you don’t need that,” you murmur, feeling your pussy clenching in anticipation. “I want to feel all of you”.

From the moment you and Changbin fucked from the first time, you started exploring other contraceptives. After much consideration, and a thorough reflection, you went for the pill.

With your boyfriend, you never let him fuck bareback. You always made him use a condom, or else you wouldn't fuck. When he discovered the pill box in one of your drawers, he couldn’t hide his excitement. “Can I fuck you raw now, then?” he had asked you, with the most immature and self-centered look one could give you.

Apart from being inconsiderate, thinking that your world revolved around his dick, it was totally nefarious. That’s just one of the reasons why you're unfaithful to him —perhaps, the only one you need.

You lied to him and told him they were prescribed by your gynecologist to regulate some problems with your period that you did not have. He didn’t even care about the latter, although a lie, and just had to ask one more time: “So we are still using condoms?”

You couldn’t tell him, but that privilege wasn’t for him but for the man you are under tonight.

“You’ve been good to me?” Changbin asks, aligning the tip of his cock against your slit. The slightest feeling of pressure from his length is enough to have you whimpering for him.

“Always,” you purr, burying your head on his pillow, “It’s all yours. My cunt is all yours”.

“You are still so tight,” he groans, slowly guiding his hips into yours while your warm walls clench around his cock as it enters you. You let out a painful moan, one that is muffled by your silly attempt to bite on his pillow, “he hasn’t been using you enough lately?”

You shake your head and allow a few moans to slip out of your lips, melting with the lewd noises coming from the way his cock slips easily in your soaked pussy. “I don’t- I no longer want to fuck him”.

“Then who do you want to fuck?” Changbin asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer already.

It takes you a while to adjust to his cock, a cock that has been inside you for more nights than you can remember but not as often as you would like. Every time he fucks you after weeks of not doing so, your body resents it.

“Just you,” you sob in pain, “I just want you to touch me”.

Changbin can’t help but smirk and, for a fraction of second, he believes you. His heart skips a beat when he sees your cheeks stained with tears, wondering if it’s from the way his cock feels inside you, from guilt or a combination of both. For a reason beyond him, he feels satisfied with each answer.

“Right now, it’s just me,” he reassures you, dragging his touch on your skin and pushing himself just a little bit deeper inside you. “But it is always up to you who you come home to”.

He bottoms out, and then pulls his cock back only to repeat the same action over and over again. It doesn’t take Changbin long to hit the right spot and, helped with the position you are in and the angle he has you bent at, he has you squirming in seconds.

“F-fuck, Changb-bin,”, every time he sinks into you, and shakes your body with every thrust, it makes it difficult for you to talk straight. “Changbin”.

You can hardly speak, yet his name insists on escaping your lips.

He pushes your torso further into the bed, only leaving your hips and arse up in the air supported by your knees. “Hands behind your back,” he orders and you comply.

You cross them right at your lower back and he grips both your wrists for support. Then, his movements become faster and rougher, pounding his cock in and out of you harshly.

“You are so good,” Changbin purrs through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, hips slamming against yours. “Allowing me to use you like this, to fuck your tight pussy like this”.

You close your eyes and wince in both pleasure and pain, feeling your painfully hardened nipples against the cold bed sheets. You want to beg for him to turn you around, to have you laying on your back again; you want to see him, feel his breathing against yours, fix your eyes on his.

You want him to make love to you like he hates you.

“Bin,” you weakly whimper, your voice halting with each thrust. “Let me see you”.

The grimaces on his face are unknown to you but, judged by the soft scoff that fills your ears, you can only assume he isn’t about to fulfill your request.

“Take this as a favor,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, his cock still inside you and hitting the deepest spots of you. “I'm training you so that when you fuck with him, my image will not come to your mind”.

You sob at his response, desperate to kiss and touch him again. “Please,” you whimper, your body jerking once more as he pushes back into you, “I n-eed to see you, p-please”.

Changbin feels weak at your plea.

He loves fucking you and watching you while he does so. He loves how your eyes stare at him, completely lost in pleasure and pain; he loves to see how your lips part just when you're about to come, how your tongue plays with the air and, indirectly, asks to be kissed. All that it’s Changbin’s favorite view.

He loves it but, from time to time, he chooses not to see you when he fucks you. For some, it may be a sign of weakness, but not for him. When Changbin holds enough self-control and fucks you from behind, it is well known it takes him a lot of courage. When he fucks you while you are on all fours, he is reminded he is nothing to you but an object of pleasure, and that you are the same for him. When he fucks you without being able to see you, Changbin remembers the filthy secret you both share, the infidelity and how low he has fallen. When Changbin fucks you without allowing you to see him, he is not punishing you —he is punishing himself.

Because when he does see you, when your eyes meet while he thrusts his hips against yours, you are no longer fucking —you are making love. When he sees you, it’s easier for him to give in to temptation, to tell you all sorts of things he wishes he had repressed. When Changbin sees you, he can’t help but fall in love with you more, and more than he already is.

“Please,” you painfully groan, feeling your orgasm approaching but refusing to let go until he is holding you like you want to be held. “Changbin, please”.

He doesn’t think it through, and he should have. But when he finally has you in the initial position, with your legs spread for him and your arms extending to wrap around his neck, Changbin can’t regret it.

“You don’t deserve it,” he murmurs while a few drops of sweat make their way through the sides of your face.

He means it, but he is not sure if the words refer to him fulfilling your plea, or making love to you. Either one of them, he believes you don’t deserve any.

“I know I don’t,” you cry, expecting him to enter you yet again. “But please”.

He aligns the tip of his cock against you one more time before pounding it inside you with no warning. You arch your back and lock your arms around his neck, feeling relief with the touch of his skin against yours.

Your hardened nipples brush against his chest, and the friction provided is more than enough to have you whimpering underneath his body.

“I hate how beautiful you look,” he groans while hiding his face on the crook of your neck. “I hate how desperately I want to take care of you”.

His pubic bone grinds against your clit every time his cock enters you deep, and you can’t believe how perfectly your bodies match —he pleases you naturally, without doing anything specifically. You wrap your legs around him tightly, and that lets him know you are close.

“Faster,” you beg, trying to keep your eyes on him but failing almost immediately when his cock hit that sweet spot of yours. “F-fuck”.

“You come undone so quick for me,” Changbin mumbles with halted voice, “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t fuck you at all these days”.

“I don’t- want him to,” you whine, “I don’t let him”.

Because of the heat of the moment, overthinking doesn’t get the best of him this time —he doesn’t stop to think if you are lying or not, so he believes you.

“Only me?” he asks, offering your neck a trail of kisses bound for your lips. “Am I the only one you desire to be fucked by?”

It’s a dangerous game but, by believing you, he is a default player.

“Y-yes,” you moan, arching your back against his body. Changbin holds you, almost as if he is hugging you, and increases the pace of his thrusts.

“Only me, yeah?” he queries again.

“Just you, Changbin,” you cry, euphoric. Your orgasm is closer than you anticipate, and the sound of his voice only speeds it up more. “I only want you”.

“I know you do,” he finally gives in to your game, allowing himself to believe every word that is leaving your lips.

“I love you,” Changbin holds you tight against him, and even tighter when your orgasm hits you. You can’t move, nor tremble, nor turn away from him; as you ride your high, Changbin holds you still in place. “I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you”.

A couple of tears stream down your face and you slowly open your eyes in pure bliss, even when Changbin is still ruthlessly pounding his cock inside you while the remains of your climax wreak havoc inside your body.

Orgasms are not nearly as liberating as moaning truths out loud.

“I’m sure you do,” he pants with a pinch of cold sarcasm, his abdomen contracting and his muscles tensing up as he chases his high too.

You hug him firmly and wrap your legs tightly around his waist, limiting his movements and forcing him to stay as close to you as possible.

“I mean it,” you coo, hissing in pain every time the overstimulation hits you.

“You always mean it when you are in my bed, with my cock inside that pretty cunt of yours,” he groans bitterly. His heart is racing at a thousand miles per hour and he knows he is just a few seconds away from his release.

Perhaps he has a hard time believing your your words, but he knows your body can’t lie; the way your walls clench around him every time you say you love him sells you out, the way your heart beats, the way your lips desperately try to find his, all that tells him that you desire him as much as he desires you.

But it is not enough. Nothing is ever enough if he can’t have you fully —when the sun rises and when the sun sets.

“But what happens when you are out of here? When I am no longer inside you?” Changbin asks, finding your half-lidded eyes under the dim light of his room.

“I always come back,” you murmur with shortness of breath, feeling intimidated when his dark gaze makes contact with yours. “It doesn’t matter what happens when I leave, what matters is that I always come crawling back to you again”.

You both stare at each other with heavy breathing.

Changbin stares at you and he swears he has never been more in love.

You stare at him, and you swear you have never hated yourself more than you do when you are with him.

But even at your worst moments, when you can't disappoint yourself anymore for the decisions you've made, Changbin’s love makes it up for the both of you.

You can’t dwell too much in your own thoughts when he starts moving inside you again, a bit slower than before. He does it gently, but he is too close to release himself that even the slightest stimulation has him on edge.

“I know you will come back to me again,” he hisses while his hips grind against yours. “And the worst part is that I will give in every fucking time”.

Your eyes met his yet again, and that's all it takes for him to come. He doesn’t pull out and asks where you want it, like he would do with anyone who isn’t you, but he knows he doesn’t need to —he has the privilege to come inside you, to fill you up with all of him as the only proof he is the one who owns you.

“I love you,” he groans one last time, a confession that gets lost in between the fuzziness of feeling his hot arousal filling you to the brim, until it is leaking out of you. The words repeat on a loop inside your head.

I love you. And unlike him, you don’t doubt it.

He pushes his cum back inside you with his cock, staying like that for more time than he usually would allow himself. He stays there, with his dick half-hard and the messiness of his fluids between the both of you.

He stays there, and you hug him. Feel him. Love him.

He stays there, and wonders about the nonsense of you. Of all of this.

You wonder that too; when you stay there, with him, you wonder about all the things that could change, but they don't.

When you two are together, you both think about a future together.

An apartment of your own, with kids of your own and love of your own.

When you two are together, you both think about how you would do anything for each other.

But clearly, one of you is lying.

Now that you are resting naked underneath him, with your arms hugging his body tightly and your face is buried inside the crook of his neck, Changbin knows this is the last time he is going to have you like this.

When he glances over to your phone, resting on top of his night stand, and sees all the missed calls from your boyfriend, he wishes you had been the one to tell him.

After all, Changbin has never liked to deliver the bad news.

#kpop smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin smut #seo changbin smut

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sapphirelass · 4 years ago

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I’ll be by your side - Remus LupinxDaughter

Hi!! Wooow I’m a slow writer XD To be fair though, I am graduating in June, so there’s...quite a lot to do. Anyhow, this is part 3 of my imagine deal? so I’d recommend reading that one and part two first. Remus is my favourite HP character, so this mainly focuses on the relationship between him and his daughter, but I guess it’s slight HarryxOC as well ;)

Deal? (Part 1) | Oh, darling... (Part 2) | I’ll be by your side (Part 3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: ≈ 2200

Warnings: Battle of Hogwarts, Angst, Blood, Death :(

Enjoy! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“But, dad! You can’t go yourself and then expect me not to come along!”

“Yes, Bree, I can, and I will!”

He was desperate to go join the rest of the Order, and searched frantically for his old coat.

“Bu-”

“Darling, listen, this is not your fight, okay? You’re staying with Tonks and Teddy this time, and I’ll-”

She had grabbed his coat and was holding it behind her back, out of her father’s reach.

“DAD!!”

Remus stopped for a moment and took a proper look at his daughter for the first time since receiving the message about the upcoming battle.

“Look, I’m seventeen years old. I’m an adult now, and most of my younger friends are fighting. There’s literally no reason for me not to!”

“There is a perfectly good reason and you know that! Besides, your age is completely irrelevant! It wouldn’t matter if you were fifteen or seventeen, twenty or thirty, I don’t want you fighting!”

His voice was stern, which admittedly wasn’t too uncommon, but it lacked the normal comedic undertone and not even a ghost of a smile could be seen on his face. This did make Breanna feel quite uncomfortable, but she was not giving up. She couldn’t leave everyone else and just sit quietly on the sidelines. Surely he understood that, right?

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not your choice to make. I know you don’t like it, but I’m going.”

She gave her father his coat and picked a jumper for herself, but stopped abruptly when approaching the front door. Remus had stepped in front of her, and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Please, darling… I can’t have you injured again - or worse! Stay.”

“Dad, I promised you two years ago that I would pick my fights more wisely. We made a deal. And I am choosing this one.”

“Breanna, it’s not the same! Seeing you hurt back then caused me more pain than you could possibly imagine, but this will be worse. Far worse. An-”

“Don’t you think I know that?” It wasn’t her intention to snap at him, but they didn’t have time for this argument. People were waiting. “I know it’s for real this time, it most definitely was two weeks ago, but I honestly thought you would have more faith in me. I’m not five, okay?!”

“Bree, don-”

She pulled out of his embrace, tied her shoes and apparated. Leaving him in the middle of an argument like that broke her heart. She knew the chances of them both making it out alive were low, unharmed close to none. They did, however, not have a choice. There was no time to waste. Voldemort could be attacking the castle this very moment, and Harry, Dumbledore’s army and the rest of the Order would need all the help they could get…

~~~

Breanna ran down the stairs, desperately searching for any familiar faces, and eventually spotted one she had really longed to see.

“Harry!!”

He turned at the sound of his name and smiled - really smiled - when their eyes met. They weren’t more than a few feet away from each other, and it didn’t take long before they met in the middle.

“Bree! You alright?” They hugged each other tightly and enjoyed the feeling of safety, if only for a few seconds. “What happened to your arm?”

She followed his gaze and found her sleeve torn and shoulder covered in blood. It wasn’t too bad though, she hadn’t even noticed it before Harry pointed it out.

“I-I don’t know, it’s fine. How are you feeling?”

He looked down at her and used a bloodied and scarred hand to push some of her hair behind her ear. He wanted to say “fine”, but it would have been a lie.

“Scared”, he admitted, “But also ready. Let’s finish this, once and for all?”

She nodded. “You’re right! How can I help?”

“Well, some people are trying to evacuate all the younger students through the room of requirement, think you could lend them a hand?”

“Sure! Good luck Harold, see you!”

He shook his head at the nickname, but smiled nonetheless.

“Right, good luck. And Bree?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay alive, will you?”

“I’ll do my best on one condition.”

“Hmm?”

“You do the same”

He gave her a nod before continuing up the stairs.

“And Harry, we don’t have time for the full story, but if you run into my dad, let him know I’m sorry, will you?”

~~~

Sure, Breanna loved Hogwarts, it was her second home, but this was proper chaos! Most of the younger kids were finally safe, but the battle was far from won. There were death eaters everywhere. She stumbled behind suit of armor, narrowly avoiding a flash of red light, and suddenly remembered something her dad had said the other night:

“It is the quality of one's convictions that determines success, not the number of followers”

She knew it was meant to work as motivation, but thinking about it now just made her feel sad. How could she be so stupid? She fought her way through the corridors, but after turning a corner, she found herself facing an empty hallway. A chill went down her spine as the booming voice of Lord Voldemort could be heard all throughout the grounds. He was ordering his followers to back down, hoping to get Harry to come directly to him. Great! Now she had two people to find before it was too late...

Entering the great hall this time felt nothing like it had almost seven years ago. There were people everywhere. Students, teachers, children, former graduates and parents - all in this together, mourning, comforting and healing.

Breanna would have noticed Fred Weasley surrounded by the rest of his family. Neville and Oliver Wood carefully moving Colin Creevey out of the way. She would have seen all of them, had it not been for a certain old, brown coat in her peripheral vision.

Her world fell apart, she found herself unable to breathe and didn’t realize she had sprinted towards her father before she felt two, strong arms wrap around her. Breanna struggled and tried to push them away, but didn’t have enough strength to do so. She crumpled to the ground and was pulled into a tight embrace.

“Bree…”, a soft voice mumbled. “I’m so sorry. Can you try to breathe slower, please? Deep and easy, alright.”

She realized that someone was speaking to her, but she didn’t recognize the words. They held no meaning, almost as if he spoke a different language, or stood very far away. Breanna eventually stopped hyperventilating and tried to ease the shaking as she slowly turned to check who it was, sitting with his arms around her. Her eyes met a pair of emerald green ones.

“Harry.”, she whispered, still crying but trying to keep her focus on him. There was so much more she would have wanted to say, but she was unable to find the right words. “Please tell me.... Tell me he’s no-...”

“‘m sorry”

They sat for a few minutes before Harry picked a small vial from his pocket and asked if she’d be okay.

“Bree, I’m sorry, but I have to go. It’s not over yet.”

She took a deep breath.

“It’s fine, I get it. Go. I’d love a moment alone anyways.”

~~~

She sat by her father’s side for a while, but felt unable to look at him, not wanting to fully accept the reality of the situation. It was when the fifth person came up to her to give their condolences that she got up and left the great hall. She couldn’t take it, and besides, it should be fine. The death eaters had left.

She walked the familiar path towards the Gryffindor common room, but nothing seemed... real. It felt like a nightmare, only this time she couldn’t talk it through with her dad over a cup of tea. This time, nobody would be there to convince her it was just a bad dream.

This time, no one would wake her up…

The very moment that thought crossed her mind, a dark chuckle shattered the otherwise eerie silence.

“Avada kedavra”

She barely had time to register Antonin Dolohov with his wand pointed in her direction before an intense flash of green light caused her world to go dark.

This time, she wouldn’t wake up.

~~~

*Darkness*

*A flicker of light*

*A flicker of... hope*

*Warmth?*

~~~

It was a weird feeling. She didn’t feel happy, but rather… at peace. She sat up slowly and let her eyes adjust to the brightness as two voices simultaneously asked:

“Bree?!”

She turned around and found herself face to face with a rather tall, red haired wizard, and a slightly older man with longer brown hair.

“Fred? Sirius?”

Fred skipped over and held out his hand, helping his younger friend to her feet. He immediately noticed her dried tears and pulled her into a tight embrace. Sirius remained a few feet away with a pained expression on his face, but was unable to stay quiet for long.

“What happened?”

Breanna pulled away and met her godfather’s worried gaze.

“I… It’s my fault. I thought all the Death Eaters had left the castle. They were waiting for Harry in the forbidden forest and I just needed some air...”

“Did Harry go?”

A couple Breanna had only seen in pictures, but knew to be James and Lily Potter, had appeared behind Sirius.

“I’m not sure. He left for Dumbledore’s office about fifteen minutes earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t even try to stop him but, with all due respect, he would have gone anyways. It’s impossible to change his mind once he decides on something.”

To her surprise, none of Harry’s parents looked very worried, but shared a smile instead.

“Don’t worry, Breanna.”, said Lily gently, “He’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“You’ve both come so far”, added James, “Things will be fine in the end, and if they’re not fine, then it’s not the end.”

“I hope you’re both right…”, she mumbled quietly, “sorry, but is dad…?”

James smiled sadly and nodded before turning to call his old friend over, however Sirius got there first.

“Oi! Moony! Get over ‘ere.”

Remus had been discussing something not too far away, and Sirius’ comment made him chuckle as he approached the other marauders.

“Easy, Pads, you make it sound li-”

That was all he had time for, as two arms wrapped themselves tightly around his torso. He would have known who it was even without looking. He’d recognize that hug anywhere. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry, but all it took was one word.

one. single. word.

“Dad!”

A single word before hot, salty tears filled his eyes. It wasn’t possible!? He was completely lost for words. Didn’t know how to react, what to say or what to do. He just stood there, his arms wrapped around his only daughter, unable to process the fact that she was… dead. They both were.

“Dad, I’m so so so sorry! I shouldn’t have shouted, I shouldn’t have taken my anger or fear out on you and above all I shouldn’t have left!?! I… I..”

“Bree”

“And now Teddy won’t have his father-”

“Bree!!”

“And I swear I tried to find you, but I couldn’t and then it was too late and it’s all my fault a-”

“Breanna Lupin!!!”

She fell silent but didn’t let go.

“I’m s-”

“Darling, calm down! What’s done is done, alright. I still wish you hadn’t gone, especially given the apparent outcome, but I understand. Are you okay? Nothing broken?”

“No, I’m good, actually… Nothing hurts at all, but-”

“Good!” He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders. “Would you mind letting me in on what happened?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, not really wanting to talk about the last few hours, yet knowing she owed her father that much.

“I… I entered the great hall and saw… you. I don’t quite know what happened, I just… broke. Then Harry showed up and we just hugged, I guess?”

Lily and James looked at each other and smiled.

“Then we both left and Dolohov appeared out of nowhere and… well that’s that.”

Remus shook his head sadly, immediately understanding the true meaning of his daughter’s words. HE was duelling Dolohov earlier that night. HE lost that duel. Had he won then maybe, possibly, she would still be alive too. His fault... as always

“Remus? Rem?”, James mumbled, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulders, “It’s not your fault. You tried, and that’s the best either of us can do.”

~~~

Things didn’t go according to plan, but perhaps they were the way they were always meant to be.

Her body next to her fathers, as they rested peacefully in the great hall. Her soul next to her father, as they wandered through the deep valleys of Nangijala, awaiting the day lost friends and lovers would come join them. No matter in this life or in the next;

I’ll be by your side

~ L

Masterlist

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hellsparadiseessays · 5 years ago

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Aza Brothers Week - Day 2

To keep celebrating the existence of our beloved bandit brothers, I thought it’d be funny to check some stuff I had written about them back in April/May with the current hindsight we have! It’s an essay in three parts, initially posted on r/Jigokuraku. This essay may also be very useful to those of you who’re waiting for my Criminality essay, btw. More under the cut!

Aza bros, an analysis – Part I : an essay on the traditional family model in Japanese culture, and how society’s expectations impact the siblings

As a disclaimer, three things need to be mentioned. First, thy enter spoiler territory; flee while thy can, new reader! Second, I am not Japanese nor raised in Japan, so my take is solely based on the academic documents I read, what I know and what I understand. If there’s a mistake in my understanding, please, feel free to address it. Third, English is not my native language, so while I’m fluent in it, I don’t promise a 100% quality and may make some grammar mistakes here and there. On this note, let’s start a needlessly academic write up. I hope you’ll deem it an enjoyable or educative read.

Writers tend to find inspiration in reality, and manga authors aren’t dispensed from that. It is visible in Jigokuraku, notably with the Aza siblings, Toma and Chôbe. These two characters, through their backstory, find themselves both in and out of society, influenced by it, yet rejecting it. In this first part of the full analysis of our good brothers, we’ll study the family model that was historically prevalent during the Edo period, the roles of the elder and younger brothers in the family, and what we can infer on the siblings’ respective personality based on those informations.

1. Definition of the Ie family model

Based on the historical references given by the characters, it is possible not only to pinpoint the period during which the story takes place (Edo period), but it is also possible to estimate a general time period based on the references to 47 rônin and the Kaitai Shinshou. Based on these informations, we can roughly establish the time of the story as between late 1710 and early 1730.

This time period generally tends to provide us with prime examples of the Ie family model, which is the family model that follows the Uji model (household/clan) that developed during the Heian period. The Ie model is initially found in the samurai cast, but later spread to the lower cast of Japanese society (merchants, craftsmen and farmers) to organise it according to both a symbolic and corporate perspective through the roles of its members (“Ie and Dôzoku - Family and descent in Japan” by Shimizu Akitoshi, 1987). The Ie model is based on a patriarchal system in which the head of the family has power not only over his wife and children, but over his younger siblings as well. It means, for example, that a younger sister couldn’t marry without her older brother’s consent, and a younger brother couldn’t quit the household without his older brother’s consent either – else it’d be perceived as desertion, which isn’t the best of things in the samurai cast.

A specificity of this family model is the use of titles rather than names (with the appropriate suffix attached to it). These titles serve to put an emphasis on the role of the family member over his or her persona. In “Socialisation for Achievement: Essays on the cultural psychology of the Japanese” (pages 44-45), George A. De Vos explains that titles such as Ototo (“little brother”, how Chôbe calls Toma) are such titles and put it as follows: “there is a sense of security attached to the role in that the individual knows he can maintain himself within the protective armor of his role position”.

The Ie model is seen with the Aza siblings, described in chapter 9 as being the sons of a samurai operating as a vassal to the Lord of Akô. We’ll see how it applies to them in-story, based on what we know of their past and mostly chapter 9, as it is the chapter in which both brothers are introduced along their past.

2. Chôbe and social expectations: a bitter tale

The first thing we learn about Chôbe is how strong he is. Not just physically, but mentally as well. External points of view paints him as a dangerously capable man, able to become the head of a group of bandits despite his youth, able to send a man flying up to six meters with a kick... And his adaptability, as his little brother mentions more than once throughout the manga – because Chôbe isn’t the one doing the talking in their story. “Every single time, he instantly digested goings-on, adapted to them, and in the end came out on top, to conquer it all”, says Toma in chapter 9. And it’s true, the narration showed us how resourceful Chôbe is – borderline crazy at times, even (as per chapter 30, it’s a human arm Chôbe, please stahp).

Then we get Chôbe’s direct point of view in chapters 9 and 49, and it tells us so much more about him, in more than one way. The thing that struck me most is the way we get his own flashbacks. It’s not explained, it’s showed with a handful of panels.What can we take from that? Well, the obvious would be how action-oriented he is, a show, don’t tell type of person. The less obvious would be the lack of actual words relating to his past. Both times, the flashbacks immediately lead to an extremely negative reaction, Chôbe is furious and let us know by going on a rampage. Even worse, it’s words that trigger his fury, words such as “murder is a sin” that sound way too much like “the crimes of a lord are the crimes of his vassals, his sins their sins” (chapter 9). Even worse, as of chapter 49, we see that the simple thought of samurai is enough to have him completely lose his mind out of sheer anger (“It’s making me mad. Eyesore. In my way. Kill.”), to the point he accidentally hurt his own beloved brother. These flashbacks allow us an interesting reading of Chôbe: he is strong, but still clearly damaged by what happened to him, to the point it becomes one of his Berserk Buttons and the one on the receiving hand doesn’t get out of it unscathered. To the point he still doesn’t put many words on it. To the point he rejects society’s rules and gleefully becomes what society claimed he was during his childhood, because this very society let him and his family down, indirectly led to his parents’ death, got him and his little brother in a terrible situation despite their innocence. This failing is also the reason why he despises his father so much: dad fought for revenge, sure, but still followed the rules in place and failed to stay alive afterwards. With everything we know, of course Chôbe will see him as a fool with no ambition, as opposed to himself, his survival instinct and adaptability. Why would he even act like the proper son of a samurai, when it only leads to a lot of trouble?

Funnily enough, there’s still a bit of society’s rules left in his behaviour, and it’s visible in the way the dynamic with his brother is shown.

3. Toma: the younger brother must follow

We had quick shots of Toma early in the story, but he’s been truly introduced in chapter 9, in a truly interesting manner. The very first thing we see is his skill with the blade and the praises he receives, a prodigy who rose in the ranks of the apprentices in only a month, a feat never seen before. Yet, his first thought sounds like a philosophy of life: “The meaning of strength... Is change”. As soon as he shares this thought with the reader, we’re lead to the actual goal: getting his brother out of jail by infiltrating the Asaemon. Immediately, Toma proceeds to share more of his thought on change: “and what is ‘change’? Change is shifting one’s outward form as the situation demands”. Well, it does seem to be precisely what he did with his successful infiltration and is shown having a nice little chat with Chôbe as he keeps explaining his definition of change, because Toma is quite the chatty one. “It’s the speedy comprehension, and acceptance, of the situation at hand. Even if there may be times that are awfully difficult to understand...” At this point, we’re switching from the flashback in prison to the current situation our brothers are in, which involves a group of Soshin as the welcoming committee on the island. At this point, Toma stutters and seems at loss, while Chôbe is asking a practical question regarding the creatures they are facing, before immediately taking action. And here, Toma’s monologue suddenly focuses on Chôbe: “he always instantly takes it in, that is what makes my brother strong”. But is it really a sudden focus? Wasn’t it all about Chôbe from the start, even though it felt like Toma sharing his personal view on life rather than the way he perceives his brother? These pages, which are only the start of chapter 9, already tell us a lot about Toma: his brother comes first, and Toma himself takes a step back even when he accomplishes spectacular feats all by himself: he does it all for the sake of his brother, his own will doesn’t matter as much.

And this admiration and respect he has for his brother is further justified with yet another flashback, during which Toma keeps telling us how skilled Chôbe is at adapting and dealing with all the misfortunes they had to face since childhood. Condemned for the mistakes of their lord? Toma is shaken and seems too young to fully understand the situation, Chôbe doesn’t show any specific emotion. Their mother passes away due to illness? Toma cries, like any kid losing their mother would, but Chôbe remains fairly composed. Same story with the execution of their father, the brothers being reduced to begging on the side of the road and getting caught by a group of bandits. Again, Toma keeps expressing his admiration towards his brother and his adaptability, how it keeps helping him come out on top. And everytime, Toma puts himself as the one who follows big brother, because big brother is the best and always knows what to do. Because if he can’t follow with the change, he becomes unnecessary to his brother. After all, Chôbe himself told him so, back when they were living with the bandits: “Quit yer cryin’, Toma! If you show weakness like that, you’re only begging to die! If you don’t know what’s right or wrong, then just believe in me! I’m your big bro, and a big bro is his little brother’s guidepost, I’m always right! Always and everytime!”

Funnily enough, as soon as Toma reminisces those words, we’re back to present again with Chôbe stating his new awesome revised plan: taking the elixir of life for themselves. He grins as he utters thee words, and right at the next panel, Toma shows us the exact same grin as he agrees yet expresses his thought concerning the difficulties they may encounter as they keep going, and how it may get worse the longer they stay on the island.

4. Orderly outsiders

Based on what has already been said about the Ie family model typical of the Edo period and especially prevalent in samurai families, as well as what has been inferred about the Aza brothers based on the informations given to us by chapters 9 and 49, we can draw some conclusion about the way they perceive themselves, their past, each other, and how their rejection of the social order that abandoned them despite their innocence doesn’t stop them from following certain social codes – the very codes that make them a real family according to the rules of society.

First thing first, their self-awareness. It seems Chôbe is better at it than Toma, as he knows what he can do and what he can improve, while Toma consistently put himself in the background, even when he could legitimately pat himself on the back a bit. Second, Toma seems to be better at putting words on their past than Chôbe. Way better at it, even, since he pushes the reflection as far as justifying his brother’s strength by the way he handled everything until now. Chôbe, on the other hand, barely puts any words on the few memories we see – memories we probably wouldn’t be able to comprehend without Toma’s point of view and explanations -, and the little words he expresses about it immediately lead to rage and brutality, the physical expression of a pain that runs deep and seems to never be properly addressed. This is where things become interesting: by becoming the big brother and the unofficial head of the family through unfortunate circumstances, Chôbe clearly seems to have repressed his own feelings in order to take the lead and move forward. Toma perceives himself as the little brother who must follow, as is the role of the proper little brother in the Ie family model. This perception goes as far as Toma describing himself as merely an extension of his brother, and not his own person. And it’s sad, really sad, because we’ve seen what Toma is capable of on his own, we’ve seen how much trust Chôbe himself puts in him. Which is why I think both of them being separated as of chapter 50 can lead to a lot of good for Toma, who’ll have to rely solely on himself and so will have to change his perception of himself. Considering his abilities, I personally believe it can only lead to a positive outcome for him [ETA: bless be chapter 54 IT’S HAPPENING I’m so proud of you Toma]. As for Chôbe, the situation may be more difficult for him – and no, I’m not just talking about his encounter with Rien. Accidentally injuring his brother is the one thing that made him get a hold of himself again in chapter 49 and 50, and generally speaking, he does what he does for the sake of protecting his little brother – he even sacrificed his right eye as a kid for his sake. In my opinion, Toma acts like the hoops that keep Chôbe together. Remove the hoops, and things may go horribly wrong. However, I do trust his survival instinct to be strong enough for him to figure a way out. I just hope he won’t lose it again, because this time it may be difficult for him to get control of the situation again.

And with that, I conclude the first part, which is longer than expected! However, I wanted to explain various things that’ll be mentioned in the next part, so we’re all clear. The next part should also be shorter, since it’ll be less focused on canon information and more of an opinion-based (and less academic) piece according to what we know for now. Again, I hope you found this write up enjoyable or informative. I certainly did enjoy working on it, and it led to my newfound appreciation of Toma. Please, love this guy, he deserves it.

Sources

Ie and Dôzoku - Family and Descent in Japan

Socialization for Achievement: Essays on the Cultural Psychology of the Japanese

#jigokuraku #hell's paradise #chôbe #tôma #essay #my stuff

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

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Eight black women — including Michelle Obama — on Toni Morrison’s life and legacy

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/08/09/eight-black-women-including-michelle-obama-toni-morrisons-life-legacy/

Eight black women — including Michelle Obama — on Toni Morrison’s life and legacy

By Michelle Obama, Esi Edugyan, Sherrilyn Ifill, Sarah Ladipo Manyika, Tayari Jones, Jacqueline Woodson, Michele L. Norris and Leah Wright Rigueur | Published August 09 at 1:30 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 11, 2019 11:47 PM ET |

MICHELLE OBAMA

“We belong, she showed us, not just in paperback books but in textbooks, not just in a publishing house but in the White House.”

The summer after my senior year of high school was a slow one for me. I’d had a cyst removed from my wrist, and a heavy white cast cocooned my forearm up to my elbow. There wasn’t a lot I could do. Sidelined on my parents’ couch in the South Side heat, I picked up a paperback copy of “Song of Solomon.” I hadn’t heard of Toni Morrison yet, so I can’t say I did it because I was curious about her writing, or that I was being purposeful about supporting African American women authors. The truth was, I didn’t know anything about the book. It was simply there in the living room, just like me.

I like to think that this is the way that she would have liked it; that she’d have wanted the tidiness of her prose, the interiority of her characters, the complexity of the stories to stand on their own, away from her growing legend. Toni Morrison understood, you see, that people gravitate to what’s real. And in her writing, the truth was always right there on the dog-eared pages.

For me and for so many others, Toni Morrison was that first crack in the levee — the one who freed the truth about black lives, sending it rushing out into the world. She showed us the beauty in being our full selves, the necessity of embracing our complications and contradictions. And she didn’t just give us permission to share our own stories; she underlined our responsibility to do so. She showed how incomplete the world’s narrative was without ours in it.

It’s a thread running through “Beloved” and “Sula” and “The Bluest Eye” and all of her work — that black stories, particularly the stories of black women and black girls, are worthy of examination and celebration. Again and again, she was unapologetic about that fact, deliberate in proving that our stories are rich and deep and largely unexplored. We belong, she showed us, not just in paperback books but in textbooks, not just in a publishing house but in the White House. And on their own, our stories are more than enough to inspire a Nobel laureate.

In the years since that slow, scorching summer on the couch, I’ve read “Song of Solomon” twice more, cover to cover — once as a young professional and once more as a young mother. Each reading has revealed new lessons that accompany my own changing perspective as I’ve grown and evolved. Each reading also serves as a reminder of the patience and rigor she demands. I often find myself reading and rereading passages multiple times in order to uncover her secrets. But that work is part of what makes the act of reading her so special; that at times, you have to earn her wisdom.

I’m sure that someday I’ll pick up “Song of Solomon” again and see what new lessons it has for me at this new stage in my life, now that my own girls are off writing their own songs. That’s perhaps the best thing about Toni Morrison. It will never really matter how many years have passed since her novels were first published. The words may have been new when she wrote them, but the truth behind them wasn’t. She was simply uncovering the beauty that was always there.

Michelle Obama is the former first lady of the United States and the author of “Becoming.”

ESI EDUGYAN

“In the unexpected slide of her sentences, she was our foremost poet, our foremost truth-teller.”

In 1998, when I was an undergraduate at the University of Victoria, my father sent me a parcel. I’d gone there to study writing, and I was still reeling at the impossibility of it — still feeling myself an imposter, astonished that someone like me could even begin to think of herself as a writer. A parcel was an unusual gesture on my father’s part — we weren’t particularly close, and the weight of the package suggested more than a short letter. I opened the slender manila envelope to discover a copy of Time magazine bearing Toni Morrison’s portrait, a sticky note hastily pasted over it. My father’s scrawl read, simply, “Thought you might enjoy this.”

I could not have expected how much this simple, thoughtful gesture would change my whole sense of myself.

I had, of course, heard of Toni Morrison; when she won the Nobel Prize in 1993, I remember attempting to read “Tar Baby,” but I was young and unpracticed, 15 years old, and it was not a book for my immature sensibility. My father’s parcel sent me back to her work as a young woman — and, more important, as a budding writer — and what I found there shook me.

It seems we all have these stories — when we first discovered her work, how profoundly it marked us. For a generation of black female writers in particular, she was crucial, the one without whom nothing would have been possible. Her work spoke of our lives and directly to us, and it was also universal. She gave us the permission of visibility; she said, as much with the fact of her body as with her stirring prose, that lives that had rarely been acknowledged in serious literature without ridicule or censure not only mattered but also were a central part of the Western story. She looked directly and sometimes mercilessly at the choices of the vulnerable and at the powerful who profited off that vulnerability, and she allowed the inevitability of their tragedies to play out in ways that sometimes left us outraged or wounded, but never indifferent.

She wrote of black life in all its complexity, quarreling with the notion that the “black experience” was a single monolithic thing. She spoke as honestly about the marginalization of black people within the larger fabric of American society as about the ways black communities can fracture and sometimes turn against themselves. No one, it seemed to me, had written as soberly about the pain of colorism, about how absent fathers can derail a life, about the ways that class and gender complicate race. She dragged into the light issues plaguing lives that until then had rarely been discussed in the mainstream.

But her concerns were universal, and Morrison spoke about how thwarted desires, both grand and small, can utterly destroy a life. She was never instructive, nor was she relentlessly dark — there was always lightness, both in her touch and in her insistence on an essential human goodness. She was deeply moral without being moralizing.

And all this was written in a prose as exacting and exquisite as anything that has ever been set to paper. To read Morrison aloud is to revel in the astonishing musicality of the English language (which in these days of Twitter and Facebook is easy to forget). Her phrases were touched by the cadences of black dialects, but also by Homer and the King James Bible. I remember hearing her described as a “black Faulkner.” And yes, she did share William Faulkner’s almost alien reach with language, but she was sui generis, entirely her own creation. In the unexpected slide of her sentences, she was our foremost poet, our foremost truth teller.

Esi Edugyan is the author of “Half-Blood Blues” and “Washington Black.”

SHERRILYN IFILL

“The ‘word’ she brought forth was one of life, of dignity, of survival, of integrity.”

I always marvel when I see people reading Toni Morrison on the subway or on planes. When I read her, I am conscious that at any moment, her writing can, without warning, bring me to my knees, and provoke an embarrassing, emotional response I’d rather not have witnessed by strangers. This happened to me while reading “Home,” Morrison’s 2012 novel about a young man who returns to his hometown to save his sister Cee Money and reconcile them both to long-held family secrets.

As Cee recovers from abuse she suffered at the hands of a sadistic doctor, she is forced to address the profound issues of abandonment that made her vulnerable to abuse. Cee explains to one of the older women taking care of her that she was unloved by her mother and raised instead by a disapproving grandmother. Cee’s belief that she is unworthy of love has left her unable to protect herself. She gets no platitudes or sympathy in response. Her caretaker tells Cee that her emotionally impoverished childhood reflects her mother’s deficiency, not her own. Cee realizes that her mother should have cherished her and told her, “You my child. I dote on you. ... You born into my arms. Come on over here and let me give you a hug.”

Reading those words I unexpectedly burst into tears and wept for 20 minutes. Not tears of grief for Cee, but tears of gratitude for my own mother who, it suddenly and earth-shatteringly occurred to me, had done precisely this for me in the five short years we had together. Dying of cancer, and with nine other children who needed her love and attention, she managed to give her youngest the experience of unconditional, doting love that gave me an unshakable sense of my own worth, which I carry to this day. This is essential armor, Morrison tells us, that women need to meet the inevitable challenges to our self-esteem that we will confront in our lives.

I am also a huge fan of Morrison’s nonfiction work. Her 1992 volume about the issues of race and gender in the Clarence Thomas Supreme Court confirmation hearings was literally a bible for those who were shattered by that weeklong televised drama. She understood that to process what was for so many of us a kind of traumatic national event, we needed, as she wrote in her introduction, “perspective, not attitudes; context not anecdotes; analyses not postures.” She was there to help, assembling a “who’s who” of African American scholars who could situate this dramatic and devastating event into the framework of our historical and contemporary race and gender struggles.

And we cannot forget that Morrison’s voice was its own body of work. She was a kind of a preacher. Her interviews and speeches are mesmerizing. And the “word” she brought forth was one of life, of dignity, of survival, of integrity. When you listened to her, you believed that these were unmovable, nonnegotiable truths to which each one of us is entitled, because she so effortlessly embodied them.

Toni Morrison — who, it seemed, was always there — is gone. In her tribute to James Baldwin, Morrison wrote, “You gave us ourselves to think about, to cherish.”

This was also the gift she gave to us. Rest in power.

Sherrilyn Ifill is the president and director-counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund.

SARAH LADIPO MANYIKA

“I remember how we laughed.”

When I heard that Toni Morrison had died, I walked to a church in Peckham, South London, and sat on an empty bench outside. I wanted quiet, but I also yearned for the church bells to ring out in celebration of a mighty writer whose voice rang clearly in my head.

I remember that Easter Saturday, in 2017, when I spent an afternoon in Toni’s home — and she said to call her Toni. She told us about the novel she was working on. She planned to call it “Justice.” I remember how she sat straight-backed and magnificent in black trousers, caftan and woolen cap, waiting for the interview to begin.

She said in “Justice,” there was a slave owner named Goodmaster who made his slaves call themselves Goodmaster. The slaves kept the detested surname to make it easier to find each other in later generations. Three of the descendants would be her characters. She’d named them Courage, Freedom and Justice. I remember thinking we have not yet emerged from this struggle and wondering whether she completed “Justice” and whether justice can ever be complete.

When, in the course of our interview, I mentioned James Baldwin, she sighed lovingly and called him “Jimmy.” I remember what she wrote of him in the wake of his death — of his gifts to her of tenderness, courage and language. She, too, gave us these gifts, especially the courage to write our stories without a care for anyone’s gaze.

I remember her Nobel Lecture and the lines I had committed to memory: “Language can never ‘pin down’ slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to be able to do so. Its force, its felicity, is in its reach toward the ineffable.” In that lecture, she told the parable of an old woman, and I remember the intensity of the questions the woman is asked. “Tell us what it is to be a woman so that we may know what it is to be a man. What moves at the margin. What it is to have no home in this place. To be set adrift from the one you knew. What it is to live at the edge of towns that cannot bear your company.” Toni wrote that in 1993 — it could have been written in 2019.

I visited her guest bathroom that Easter Saturday and found it filled with photographs of writers I had long admired — Wole Soyinka, Gabriel García Márquez, Baldwin — and a letter from the Nobel Committee announcing its decision to award Morrison its highest honor. There was also a “Publication Denial Notification” outlining why Morrison’s novel “Paradise” was banned from Texas correctional facilities for fear of “inmate disruption such as strikes or riots.”

I remember just how much she made us laugh that day. I asked her what President Barack Obama had whispered to her after presenting her with the Presidential Medal of Freedom and being surprised when she said she didn’t remember. I realized later that she, the master storyteller, was simply explaining that when one is in awe of someone, what stays in the memory is not what is said but how it is said. It was her son who later asked Obama what he had whispered into his mother’s ear. “I love you,” Obama answered.

I remember at the end, telling her that my son wanted to know her secret to writing so well. “Tell him I’m a genius,” she smiled. I remember how we laughed.

Sarah Ladipo Manyika is a British-Nigerian novelist and author of “Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to The Sun.”

TAYARI JONES

“She wasn’t one to search for common ground; she was looking for the true path forward.”

People often ask me what Toni Morrison has meant to me as a writer. No novelist has influenced me more. I tip my hat to her in some way in each of my novels. In my latest, my hero is from the town of Eloe, the fictional hometown of Son, the troubled hero of “Tar Baby.” I make these gestures as an homage to the greatest writer of our time but also as a gesture of gratitude to the woman whose wisdom helped me understand my real life, the one I live in private, off the page.

Morrison wrote novels that gave us cautionary tales on life and love, but she also modeled the way forward. These stories nudge us away from respectability in favor of true respect for ourselves, and each other. She wasn’t one to search for common ground; she was looking for the true path. Her moral compass was impeccable and her intellect peerless. Her ear for the poetry, beauty and brilliance of African American language lifted us, reminding us that we are marvelous — anytime we open our mouths to speak.

Tayari Jones is a professor of creative writing at Emory University and the author of four novels, including “Leaving Atlanta” and “An American Marriage.”

JACQUELINE WOODSON

“Morrison had provided, through her characters, some of my earliest mirrors.”

I’m in Morocco and the emails, texts and WhatApps come at me: Toni Morrison has moved on to the next place. Weeks before, I’d spoken to some friends who’d told me that she was close to this transition, but a part of me thought, Aren’t we all? Isn’t each one of us living in this moment with all its madness, beauty and despair, knowing that at the end of this is death? Death and whatever we believe of what comes after.

And still …

What I know now — and have known for some time — is how fortunate I am to be walking through the world at this particular moment in time.

When I first read “The Bluest Eye,” I was a fifth- or sixth-grader. It was one of very few books on the shelves of our Brooklyn apartment. We could not afford shelves lined with books and depended on the neighborhood library for our weekly dose of new narratives. But the cover of my mother’s book had caught my eye — a photograph of a black woman dressed as a child and holding a white doll.

I despised this cover. And I was fascinated by it. A slow reader, I read through “The Bluest Eye” with my finger moving beneath the words. I remember being captivated by the story — so many people walking through it were like people walking through my own life. When I picked up the book again in high school, I would remember it as having a happy ending. I remembered Pecola Breedlove’s wish for blue eyes had come true and everyone lived happily ever after.

And for many months after reading “The Bluest Eye” for the second, third, fourth time, I was certain that Morrison had written two versions of the novel — one for children and one for adults. The adult version was stunningly heartbreaking. The children’s version — what was that? Something I could grasp parts of. Hold on to.

“The Bluest Eye” was an awakening for me. Already, I wanted to write. Already, I wanted to show and see representations of the people I loved on the page. Decades later, as an adult when I heard Rudine Sims Bishop talk about the importance of books being mirrors and windows for the reader, I’d realize that Morrison had provided, through her characters, some of my earliest mirrors. And windows. In the lives of the people she brought to the page, I began to see parts of myself in the world — reflected, legitimized, loved.

And so here I am now. Here we all are. Toni Morrison as light, as way, as ancestor. And the many writers she has left in her wake, and the many writers coming after, and those after them, will hopefully always know this: that because of her, we are.

Jacqueline Woodson, the author of “Harbor Me” and “Brown Girl Dreaming,” lives in Brooklyn.

MICHELE L. NORRIS

“I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to swim in her laughter and lean into her deliberate silence.”

My heart went to her words, but my mind went straight to her voice.

Perhaps because I worked so long in radio, it was her voice that washed over me when the news flash rolled in announcing that Toni Morrison had joined the ancestors. Her voice was as measured and magisterial as the words she put on the page. It had the quality of music, in the way that an artist can take a single note from a single instrument and make it hang in the air like tendrils of cigar smoke, move it back and forth like an old porch swing or send it drifting toward the moon like an owl in flight.

I imagine that many people reached for her books in their moment of grief. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to swim in her laughter and lean into her deliberate silence — because she used silence as a kind of punctuation, pausing when she spoke to let her words sink in, long pauses to give you a moment to sop up her wisdom or perhaps in her own mind to say, “Mmm, that sounded good.”

Morrison’s speaking voice was low and feathery and playful, which is a bit of a conundrum because her writing voice cut like a knife — straight to the bone — examining the physical, spiritual and soul-crushing wounds of race and racial hatred.

I’ve interviewed Morrison several times and, though the books we discussed were always drenched in pain and heartbreak, the interviews felt like a visit to a juke joint. At a 2015 event, I asked her to begin our chat with a reading from a section of what was then her latest release, “God Help the Child.” She chose a passage that described her character Bride — a statuesque, dark-skinned woman dismissed as ugly by her parents and teachers and just about everyone else — as she discovers that she possesses a kind of magnetic power over men. A young Morrison had studied theater and you could hear the training as she danced through her prose. I looked out over the audience and several hundred people had their eyes closed in a trance. You could hear in Morrison’s voice how much she valued her own words. You could hear how much she valued black life.

I loved her voice, but I am most grateful for how she used it. She changed the publishing industry in the United States. That is not hyperbole. She was known as the “black editor” at Random House, and she wore the title like a badge of honor, using her perch to knock down doors previously closed to black writers. She edited Angela Davis, Chinua Achebe, Gayl Jones and Toni Cade Bambara.

She used that voice to encourage young writers and she challenged booksellers to stop placing even best-selling black authors in the black book section that was always — always — in some hard-to-find back corner of the store. And when she herself became a best-selling author, she used her voice to reject the notion that being a black writer was a subgenre of high literature. “Reject” is almost too soft a word. She was asked time and time again if she chafed at the term “black writer” or whether she would ever consider centering white characters in her work — and with a smile on her face, she flicked that off her shoulder, flung it to the floor and stomped on it with an elegant grace. “The inquiry comes from a position of being in the center and being used to being in the center and saying is it ever possible that you will enter the mainstream,” she once said.

She shot past the mainstream and elevated the highest levels of literature with her own language on her own terms. “I stood at the edge and claimed it as central,” she said. “Claimed it as central. And let the rest of the world move over to where I was.”

Michele L. Norris is a former host of NPR’s “All Things Considered” and the founding director of the Race Card Project.

LEAH WRIGHT RIGUEUR

“Once you’ve read her work, you cannot unread it or leave it behind.”

When I was 10 years old, I borrowed my mother’s copy of “The Bluest Eye.” I was a gluttonous reader, consuming every book I could get my hands on. But that’s not why I chose Toni Morrison’s book.

I had seen my mother, my aunts and their friends reading Morrison’s work. I listened silently, watching as they praised, argued and even gossiped over the layers and textures of Morrison’s words and stories. I wanted to be a part of that — not simply as a witness, but as part of their congregation, offering up my own testimony.

Reading Morrison’s words for the first time made my chest and my throat ache. It took me months to finish as I struggled to process the story. It was so different from anything I’d read. It was rawer, more precise and more cutting, but it was also so much freer. I couldn’t articulate it then (and even now, I struggle to do so), but I certainly could feel Morrison’s words. Her prose made me feel seen, visible. I could feel Morrison writing to me, about me, as she documented the rhythms of black girlhood and the fullness of black community in America, in all its joy and trauma. She loved black people so thickly that it pulsated through her prose.

Once you’ve read her work, you cannot unread it or leave it behind. The ideas and lessons linger — sometimes as a caress, other times as a slap. I have birthed two children in my life, and each time, Morrison’s words from “Beloved” emerged instinctively to haunt and comfort me: “Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t no love at all.”

When I was a graduate student at Princeton University in the early 2000s, one of my most potent memories is of sitting in on Cornel West and Eddie Glaude’s class on the black intellectual tradition; on this day, our guests were Morrison, the actress Phylicia Rashad and Jay-Z (Shawn Carter). Turning to Carter, West asked the rapper to comment on his musical catalogue, his lyrics and race in America. Jay-Z vigorously shook his head, laughed and responded: “Why should I talk when Toni Morrison is here? She’s the one who taught me. I need to learn from her.” The room broke out in laughter born from a shared understanding that Morrison was our translator, our teacher, our literary great, our canon.

Long before I became a professional historian, Morrison put me through a masterclass in doing history imaginatively, reassuring me that the careful excavation of stories that unapologetically center black life and community was, and still is, a revolutionary act, especially for a black woman in America. “I write what I have recently begun to call village literature,” she once noted. “Fiction that is really for the village, for the tribe. … I think long and carefully about what my novels ought to do. They should clarify the roles that have become obscured; they ought to identify those things in the past that are useful and those things that are not; and they ought to give nourishment.” Morrison told us to explore that which is foreign, and to wrestle with both the beautiful and the horrifying parts of blackness, and to do it with clarity, love and empathy. She constantly reminded us that writing us “whole,” in all our intricacies and silences, was a necessary part of freedom. She leaves a legacy of limitless possibility, for our community, our liberation and for us: “The vitality of language lies in its ability to limn the actual, imagined and possible lives of its speakers, readers, writers.”

Leah Wright Rigueur teaches 20th-century American history and politics at Harvard University.

Diana Ejaita is an illustrator and textile designer based in Berlin.

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