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pigeonpeach · 1 year ago

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Yandere sex shit

Cw: fem reader, pregnancy risk, degradation, dubious consent for some, somnophillia, breeding, women with dicks, might be mildly misogynistic in arlecchino’s but idk if it really counts as that.

Characters included: Diluc, Arlecchino, Neuvillette, Yelan, and Pantalone

“I can’t stop…” his voice was like a growl almost. You raised your head, your body felt sore as you took in the scenery and the position you had been forced in. You were on your side, leg hitched onto his shoulder.Diluc must’ve come home late while you were already asleep. The fact your nightgown had been hitched, your panties pushed aside, and your womb had been filled was enough to incriminate him yes. But it wasn’t like you could leave this olace anyways. As his pace resumed the chains on your hands clanked slightly. You hated how you still had to be chained to this day. You had been so good and yet his staff still doesn’t trust you. Or is it their way of offering you as a sacrifice to him, leaving you defenseless so he can have his way. Although initially you were numb to all pleasure, your mind sleepy snd still processing everything. You suddenly gasped as you felt him knock against your g-spot. Your arms thrashed, the chains clanked and jingled.

“You feel like so good.” He commented,”Haah… fuck If you squeeze me like that… oh… fuck.. shit I’m going to cum.” Your eyes widened as you looked down. Unable to communicate your concerns as you realized you had no form of birth control here. Nor was he wearing a condom. But it felt so good you didn’t want to stop deep down. The previous rounds sloshed inside yourself as you couldn’t help but spread your legs s little more. Your sensibility actively fucked out of you.

You just had to hope you weren’t ovulating

“Please~~~!” You whined. The vibrations of the toy inside had been edging you for so long now. Each time you would get close to release Arlecchino would pull it out making you squirm desperately. You had tried to escape recently, growing a bit paranoid after being here for so long against your will. But after what must’ve been hours of orgasm denial the torture session’ had turned you into what you would later regret. But currently you were dumb and horny and really just wanted to cum already.

“You haven’t earned it. Disobedient wives to be don’t try to escape in the middle of then night now do they? You’re a bad little fiancé and therefore you need be punished until you’re absolutely sorry.” She growled into your ear. You whined as she pulled it out once more.

“N-no no I’ll be good i promise! I promise I’ll be good!” You whined desperately. Your hips chased the toy to no avail. You heard her belt unbuckling. You looked down to see a rather impressive cock. You were to out of it to think about how she wasn’t reaching for a condom or any form of protection.

“You promise? As if that has any value.” She smacked your face with her cock. “Don’t just stare at it, be a good little whore for me and I’ll consider letting you cum.” You gulped but quickly pressed your lips to it as she quickly forced it in. Your sounds of surprise were muffled as she quickly settled her own pace.

“A useless little whore. Am i the first to defile this little mouth? Will I be the first to deflower you?~” she grasped your hair like a leash. Forcing you up and down until suddenly pulling out.

“W-wha-“ you whined as she suddenly flipped you over.

“I need to know how pure my beloved little fiancé is.” She responded with immediately sinking her cock into your pussy. You whined as you felt absolutely heavenly. Squirming as she established a brutal pace. “You’re tight, even after all that foreplay… fuck… i need to defile you, make you my whore and only mine. I’ll turn your body into my little cumdump!” You gagged from the ferocity of her thrusts. You tried to say something but it came out in stutters and mumbles. She seemed to understand it somehow. “You’re going to cum? Good. I want to feel you cum on my cock again and again until I fill your womb with my seed.”

“The Iudex is… currently in heat.. miss please do consider your position on your marital responsibilities!” The maids pleaded with you. The Iudex, the hydro dragon was currently in heat but hadn’t the heart to make you accompany him during it. You turned your head away. You could care less if your captor was suffering, it hardly would be as painful ad you felt just being here. “Please its been absolutely torrential rains!” The maids pleads ment nothing.

“I don’t care. Now where is that tea I ordered?” Normally you would be polite and respectful of service workers. But considering who they were working for and what their intentions were you really couldn’t give s fuck if you made them cry. What you didn’t know was in that tea they begrudgingly brought out was a aphrodisiac.

“My love… they said you weren’t feeling well…” His hands traced over your face. You didn’t really know where he came from just that he emerged from hiding to help you. You were certain those maids had some role in your current predicament, but also you were too horny to care. Your body felt firey and hot and you needed him more than ever. He opened his mouth to lick at your sweat as his hands reached down below your nightgown.

“Just… get it over with..” you whined, trying to maintain some defiance. It was humiliating sure but… oh you couldn’t help but fall apart as his finger entered inside. His cold hands making you clamp onto him tightly.

“So.. warm.. fuck.. you’re fertile too.. i can taste it in your sweat.” He purred. “I won’t be able to control myself. Please pardon me.”

“Ne-neu-neuvillette!” You whined as he slammed every inch of his cock into your sopping wet little cunt. His hands pinning you down as you squirmed mindlessly. All resistance long drawn out as you had been fingered through three orgasms until now. You were practically his little bitch now. Unable to think straight.

“You’re so tight for me… fuck I can’t… i need to breed you my love.” You gasped at his words but couldn’t respond as he started to fuck you at a brutal and unrelenting pace. His cock dragging against your insides only to slam back in. “So good for me. So good…” his whines turned you on more than you would like. But who could blame you when his cock was just so thick and reached all the right places, his voice bordered on a purr as you were held in a mating press unable to stop or resist as his cock bulldozed any thoughts out of your head. The aphrodisiac making you into a fine slut.

“Cum inside! Please!” You begged instinctively. Your body wishing to be fertilized and impregnated beyond your senses. You needed him in this moment more than anything.

“Fuck… can’t.. stop… ugh!” He groaned loudly as he came, his seed flooding your womb as you whined in release. He paused briefly before resuming his pace. “I’m going go knock you up, maybe then you’ll finally be a obedient little slut for me”

“You’re such a bad liar you know. I wonder what your god would think if she saw one of her top soldiers bouncing like this.” Yelan was simply smarter than you, a simple Fatui agent. But you really couldn’t resist. Her charisma was irresistible. Her voice itself was aphrodisiac that made you buck your hips.

Pantalone would no doubt be utterly disgusted if he saw you now. Although he’d likely be more disgusted that you were bottoming than your sexual orientation. But the chances of you ever returning now were low. You had a feeling this encounter would leave you in her grasp forever based on that possessive stare she held. “Fuck… you’re such a good slut. I don’t know how you haven’t been taken by that harbinger yet, although he already doesn’t have good tastes in fashion, he must’ve been blind to your true potential~”

“N-noooo… ah~”

“No? You aren’t a good slut? I beg to differ. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun interrogating any of the other agents before. You certainly are a catch.” She purred. You tensed up at the idea that your colleagues may have similarly found themselves in your position. “Don’t worry, you’re the first I’ve done this too. I just couldn’t resist the way your uniform looked on you. You’re always so well dressed. Maybe I should steal your clothes and send you back to him nude?”

“N-no!” You gasped, blushing more than you should’ve. She winced as you clenched on her.

“I’m only teasing now. I have absolutely no intentions of letting you go back at all.” She grinned like a cat as she suddenly held your hips down, forcing you to feel her deep inside. You flinched and squirmed. Desperately trying to get off or finish. “Look me in my eyes now.” You hesitated before eventually obliging. Your hands bound tightly in some artistic pattern behind, your legs sore and exhausted. You were used to the point of exhaustion, a normal sensation but not in the sexual sense. You thought if you could break your restraints now and gain some freedom you could make a escape now, you would just have to cover your torn tights that left your cunt exposed- “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve already tried to break those restraints and you haven’t succeeded yet. Why would you even want to go back anyways?” Her hands pushed your thighs so you were on your back, legs in the air, you tried to kick at her with what little sense and strength you had. But she grabbed it with amusement.

“I’m not letting you leave. I think of all those nick-knacks I’ve taken from that harbinger you’ve certainly been my favorite. I don’t care what he tries, you are going to be mine. Even if I have to melt your mind myself. I’ll happily train you to be a good little slut~”.

“I-i didn’t mean anything sir I was just trying to be polite to her!” You whined. You were simply his secretary. Used to handling and recieving guest when he was busy. Apparently Signora had a bone to pick with the Regrator, some drama you weren’t aware of and she decided to… make him jealous? You hadn’t even known of his feelings. Despite his smile he is hardly expressive minus when he’s angry. What were you supposed to do other than abide by her advances! She was a harbinger afterall!

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care if that manual didn’t specify or told you what. You are mine.” Pantalone was certainly pissed now. His eyes revealing a unnatural and omitting a possessive aura. You felt like a mouse in the clutches of a cat. You hadn’t even been stripped yet as he had simply thrown you onto his desk. He towered above you as his hand trailed up your skirt, which was now pushed up to expose you. “You are my secretary. And I swear if I have to lock you up in some room in my mansion I will gladly do so. I don’t care if some harbinger catches your fancy or whatever prior commitments you have. You will henceforth be considered mine both in mind and body.”

“I-I didn’t know that you considered me in su-AH!” You squeaked as he tore your tights. Those tights weren’t the fragile type either, special made and lined with thicker fabrics to help insulate in the typical blizzards you would encounter leaving the office.

“It doesn’t matter now…. You’re practically leaking right now. You tremble and shake but your body is as ripe as a peach. I wonder if you’ve dreamed of this scenario before…” his voice grew more assertive. “Or maybe you were thinking of that woman instead. Hoping she’d be the one to see this perhaps?”

“N-no! No sir!” You shivered. Your legs trembled as you were utterly lost on where to go from here. You couldn’t escape and you hadn’t ever fucked your boss before so this was a quite the adjustment. A shiver ran up your spine as you suddenly felt his lips latch onto your dripping cunt. Your hand reached to cover your face from embarrassment. Trying to stay still as if it wasn’t already to late. What made you even more embarrassed was the sounds he was making. The sensations and pleasure you felt was in your veins but the sounds of wet smacks and slurping could be heard potentially out of his office. You knew they hadn’t finished soundproofing it. Anyone passing by would hear it. Your hand suddenly was tugged away.

“Don’t muffle your sounds now. You were oh so chatty just a few seconds ago. So go on, scream, cry, beg I don’t care. The louder you are, then the better other people will hear you.”

“Bu-but that’s p-mmmmm!” You bit your lip as a finger suddenly entered. You didn’t even notice the rings had been removed.

“Go on. Let everyone in this building know your mine!” He growled as he began to finger you more aggressively. The tips of his fingers still clothed by his gloves, reached your g-spot making you yelp and squeal. “I’ll make sure you never go unmarked again. You aren’t going to leave this office or my presence until I’m thoroughly satisfied.”

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #arlechinno genshin #arlecchino x reader #pantalone x reader #yelan x reader #wlw and mlw #fem reader #nsfvv #yandere themed #neuvillette x reader

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cheesencrackersinprison · 11 months ago

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Jotaro pining headcanons

• He still has feelings like any guy, just that when he gets basically harassed by a flock of fangirls he constantly tells to fuck off that borderline stalk him just because he's pretty he kind of developed a wall toward romance because he thinks it'll be superficial.

• Honestly the only actual thing I see him falling with is friends to lovers

• You probably just treated him like an actual human and not just a handsome face, which I feel is important to him.

• He'd grow a friendship with you when seeing you don't want to fuck him and it would eventually slowly grow to something more.

• Slowburn 100%

• He'd be in denial for a long time and when he finally caves in he'd give the most extremely subtle hints even Einstein wouldn't be able to decipher.

• He'd probably just make an effort to be close to you more often.

• Bro is not good at it, ok.

• He'd probably never actually have dated anyone before you so he'd be nervous as hell.

• Would stare at you a lot.

• Would ask Joseph for advice and come back with two hours of teasing and a mental note to never ask a man married in the 1930s love advice.

• Would definetly ask Kakyoin and get mildly better advice he wouldn't use either because he's too much of a pussy to actually act.

• He wrote like over ten letters at 3am and they all ended up crumpled into a ball and on his floor.

• He'd tell himself he'd say it himself and have at least four attempts of 'I gotta tell you something' before actually saying it instead of going dead silent and giving out a random fact to pretend that's what he wanted to say before leaving and considering moving to another country.

• Ended up just blurting out "Date me" went dead silent and suddently tried to walk away before you grabbed his arm like bro WHAT?

• Would 100% walk you home that day even if your house is in the other side of the city (unless you go by car)

• Holds your hand when you go by streets without many people, tipping his hat to cover his increasingly red face.

• He'd probably want to keep it private at school because his fangirls seem fucking scary.

• Would definetly NOT be a PDA person

• If you kissed him that day he would probably become a walking tomato.

• Silly ocean man

#jjba jotaro #jotaro x reader #jotaro x y/n #jotaro headcanons #jjba x reader #jjba #stardust crusaders #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo

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stuckinmymind22 · 4 months ago

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zoro x gn! reader

wc: 663

this is the first part of a series "you're in love with me" where you realize that they are in love with you can call them out on it

thanks for voting on this one, i had fun with it, sorry it took so long, i got busy with the holidays, but it’s here now 💕

ace's is done and will be up probably tomorrow and i'm gonna start on sanjis, but lmk if you are interested in any other characters

mildly proof read lol

this goes one of two ways, in both you're being called stupid, both included

it's a chose your own adventure babe!

zoro has been acting strange recently- he was almost too quick to come to your aid, even if it was something you both knew you could handle alone. he’s also been making sure that you eat. recently he brought up a plate for you when you were on duty in the crow’s nest. sure, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks were tinted pink, but that was easy to write off as a consequence of the alcohol that was surely in his veins. but he didn’t leave right away like you thought he would, he stood on the ladder without moving until he saw you take your first bite. on the last island there had been a miscalculation in your provisions and the ship was running dangerously low on alcohol. there was no doubt that the crew was going to run dry shy of meeting their next destination, which was a bigger deal to some of the straw hats than others. it all brings you to the moment he offers you a sip of the last bottle of sake. you’re speechless. you always thought that hell sure would freeze over before he shared his booze and here he is willingly offering you some. you’re trying to figure out what was going on in his head, why he has been acting so strange, then it hits you. “you’re in love with me.”

denial is a river in egypt

“did you hit your head or sum?” he asks, trying to remain as impartial as possible, but you didn’t miss how he nearly choked at your words. “no, zo, this makes sense,” you say connecting the dots, "you've been acting real weird about me recently, this explains it." you aren’t about to back down from this, not after you wanted this for so long, not until he admits it to himself. “you’re being an idiot,” he rolls his eyes, “do you want some or not?” with a smile you grab the bottle out of his hand and take a swig, sitting down next to him. “i don’t mind you know,” you say taking another sip, “that you love me that is” zoro is confused why he is so drawn to the dangerous smile that plays on your lips. he shakes himself out of it snatching back the bottle and taking a long gulp. you get pulled away by luffy wanting something, but he still feels your presence. little do you know how those words haunt him for the rest of the night. fuck, you might be right

he's down bad and he knows it

“n-no I’m not,” zoro sputters, his face alight, “are you stupid or something?” “no, no, this is why you’ve been acting strange,” you say, the weight of your revelation still sinking in. “that’s why you haven’t let me out of your sight for the past week, right?” you don’t give him time to respond (not that he would be able to formulate a coherent response anyway). you continue listing all of his abnormal behaviors and fail to notice how his face grows redder with your every word. poor zoro is sinking into his seat hoping to disappear he’s so uncomfortable. he’s certain that he messed everything up and has no idea what to do now. he knows that you’re right of course, it’s kept him up at night, kept him from his precious naps. it took him a while to realize why you never left his mind, and the determining factor came from the fucking cook spewing some bullshit to a pretty woman on the last island. just when he is certain that he ruined whatever relationship you could ever have you turn to him with a big smile. “it’s a good thing you are though, or else this would be awkward,” you tell him, before he can even think to question what you mean your lips are on his and his brain malfunctions. maybe it’ll be alright.

masterlist

#gn reader #one piece headcanons #zoro headcanons #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #canon post

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starlightshadowsworld · 26 days ago

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Crack Concept: Atsushi doesn’t believe he’s the tiger.

His ability is completely nullified by Dazai’s ability during the full moon so there’s no proof of it afterwards.

And Atsushi straight up doesn’t believe Dazai when he explains what happened. Just stares at Dazai and asks if he hit his head when he jumped in the river.

Atsushi’s just in full denial about him ever being the tiger.

He is still employed by the Agency because of tou kniw clearly the tigers still out there and hunting you. And he’d be better protected with them.

Atsushi does feel bad about taking a job in an organisation that primarily employs ability users. But it’s not like he can be picky right now.

The Agency still try to convince him he’s the tiger to no avail. It’s really frustrating and Atsushi gets closer to Ranpo because he’s the only one who doesn’t try to convince him of such things.

He wonders if Ranpo pretends he has an ability just to keep them all at bay and sympathises with the guy.

No wonder he’s like this.

Akutagawa is the next person to get completely and utterly frustrated by his lack of acknowledgement about his ability.

Atsushi’s starting to seriously wonder if people know what a tiger looks like. Maybe he should start carrying around a picture?

It doesn’t help that the only times Atsushi’s able to use his ability are during intense moments where it’s basically life or death. And when he does it’s a full transformation.

Where he can’t recall a thing that happens during it.

There’s definitely some kind of mental block, something keeping him from accepting the truth and keeping it from him.

Perhaps it’s the tiger itself…and probably also trauma.

But for now Atsushi is non the wiser and thinks everyone around him is mildly insane.

“You are the weretiger! You insufferable idiot!”

“Weretiger? What are you 5? Next you’re gonna say vampires are walking among us.”

#crack but also not?#idk #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima

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thewertsearch · 8 months ago

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I guess everyone is reacting to their parents' deaths in this arc. Dave's relationship with Bro has always been a little... complicated, so this should be a very interesting conversation.

TG: oh my fucking god […] TG: we just got done talking and agreed it would be awesome if you didnt bother me for a while […] GC: OH GC: TH4TS R1GHT GC: 1 FORGOT! TG: it was five seconds ago

Girl, get your damn timelines in order!

GC: D1D YOU LOV3 H1M D4V3? TG: no

I believe you.

There's something about the Strider brothers which I noticed a while ago, but haven't had the opportunity to talk about. This is the perfect moment to discuss it, though, because it explains a lot about why Dave is the way he is.

So - let's talk about the Strife fights.

When John first attacked his father with a hammer, I decided to roll with the assumption that this fight was symbolic, rather than literal. John loves his dad, and it can be safely assumed that he doesn't want to kill the guy.

Instead, this scene serves as a stand in for the familial strife between father and son. John finds his father's parenting style to be mildly frustrating, and their interactions sometimes feel like a fight to him.

Likewise, Rose (probably) isn’t actually going for Mom with those needles. Instead, their fight represents Mom’s 'ironic' negligence, and the gifts that Rose refuses to believe are from the heart. The Lalonde relationship is clearly more fraught than the Egbert one, but I don't think Rose actually wants to skewer Ms Lalonde.

Jade doesn't really fight her Grandpa, but their Strife clearly demonstrated how deeply in-denial she is - not about his death, but about the fact that her life isn't normal. She's desperately trying to have the same childhood that John and Rose are describing, but she can't, because she doesn't have a parent to bicker with.

Now, I'm sure you've guessed where I'm going with this. What, exactly, did Dave's Strife scenes represent?

Well...

...first of all, it's worth noting that Dave is the only Player to explicitly describe the events of his Strife to a third party. We've never heard John reminiscing about bludgeoning Dad, but Dave's constantly complaining about getting beaten up by puppets.

And - rather more worryingly - Dave is the only Player to retain his Strife injuries, even after this ostensibly 'metaphorical' fight is over.

In fact, one of those Strife injuries still marks him to this day.

The point I am obviously dancing around is that I don't think Dave's Strife was a metaphor at all. Unlike his friends, there's no pretense to these fights. They're literal. Dave's brother routinely attacked him.

Odds are, this was Bro's way of 'preparing' Dave for the game he surely knew was coming - but you don't need me to tell you that he took it way too far. The guy might have been Dave's assigned Guardian, but he really shouldn't have been raising anyone.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s148 #3697 #plus (as demonstrated above) Bro was pulling shit like this outside of strife as well. that baby scene was from terezi's POV

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omnium-gatherums · 1 year ago

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Finding Your Identities: Figuring Out Your Alters When Your Alters Aren't "Distinct" "People"

I have been wanting to make this post for a very long time now.

I have talked countless times on this blog about how a lot of the "how to figure out your alters" lists do not and cannot apply to me, or systems who may be like me, for a variety of reasons.

We do not have distinct senses of selves, we don't feel like our own distinct individuals, in any way whatsoever. There is no specific, unique, distinct "cue" or feeling or anything that tells me I've switched, or tells me that a specific, distinct alter is fronting who is different from any other alters. There is no specific, distinct THING that tells me "okay yeah that was very obviously and specifically and undeniably a different alter."

It's easy to deny you have alters when your alters are not distinct individuals who know they are their own unique, separate selves. It's easy to deny you have alters when it always feels like "you."

If you don't experience your alters as distinct 'entities' where you can obviously and distinctly refer to them as "that is (that specific alter) and that is not (these other alters)", it can be nearly impossible to figure out your alters at all.

This has been a horrible aspect of my denial since essentially the beginning. I mean, when everything online tells you that DID involves a distinct sense of "not me" to it, how can you know if you have it if it doesn't feel that way to you?

Now obviously I DO have that feeling of "not me"... It's just not described using those specific words. I was taking it all way too literally (thanks, autism NFKDSFDKJ).

It's more like "I don't really feel that way anymore" or "yeah I felt that way, but not anymore."

Or "I don't really relate to that anymore" or "I don't really like this as my identity anymore" or "I don't like this name anymore."

Or "this feels like someone else's life" (but more of a feeling, it's not like I just suddenly don't know anything in my life anymore. I know my girlfriend and love her still and I know I live in this house, etc.)

I'll feel like I am attending therapy because I have to, or I'll feel like I'm relaying information that I know factually, as if I was told a story of things that happened and I have to relay that information to someone else.

Or just generally a weird feeling that something is off.

And that's the thing - dissociation (for me personally) is less like "things aren't real" and "I'm not real" and more like just a vague feeling that something is OFF, and you don't know what, and you can't explain it.

I remember as a kid feeling like I'm the "only conscious being" or "feeling like I'm in an anime" or "acting out a dramatic scene in a movie." Now all three of those descriptions still fall under "feeling like things aren't real/etc." but I never interpreted it that way, because of how literally I take things, I didn't make the connection, because I never used the SPECIFIC wording of "feeling like I'm not real/feeling like the world isn't real/etc."

I straight-up told one of the first therapists I saw for a DID diagnosis that I "don't really dissociate at all" because I don't really experience the "nothing is real/I'm not real/etc."

This, too, brought me a lot of denial, because people only describe dissociation as "things don't feel real", "you don't feel real", "you feel like you're floating", "you're watching yourself", "you're watching the world through fog/glass", etc. And because I never really used those specific words to explain my feelings and experiences, I figured I wasn't really experiencing any dissociation, or at least just very rarely and mildly so.

That's a key thing here - the WORD CHOICES being used to describe alters, systems, CDD experiences, etc. don't really match up with my experiences at all. I take things extremely, extremely literally, and when everybody describes their alters and refers to them as distinct, different people, it's hard to feel like your experiences are the more common experience, especially when people around you might continue to reinforce that denial, by assuming you must not have alters, or you have a different disorder, etc., because you are "always awake and present no matter what alter is fronting", etc.

Your personal interpretation of your experiences matters a LOT when it comes to CDDs, figuring out if you have a CDD, and it also plays a large role into how your system might present/feel/look/what alters you have/etc.

For example, many people interpreted their alter experiences and switches as creating characters. That, then, might become a huge aspect of figuring out your alters - you might realize that many of the characters you've made (or all of them) through the years were actually alters. With that lens, you might, then, be able to have a lot of knowledge about your alters based off of that alone - those "characters" might have specific characteristics, lore, designs, etc. that you then realize were all a part of that alter.

You might also, then, find that each time you find yourself making a "new" "character", it's actually just a new alter forming/splitting (or perhaps them just finding out their own identity).

The way you personally interpret your experiences, your feelings, your life, memories, etc. all impact your alters and your system - the way your alters identify, the way it FEELS when alters front, the way your system presents, etc.

I grew up believing I was making things up and lying for seemingly no reason, for attention, because I liked being cool and special. Or that I was purposely acting out a fake, dramatic movie, just to add more drama.

In reality, I was experiencing alter switches and dissociation, but because I interpreted it in those ways, we now have a very difficult time trying to accept and believe that these are real feelings, real experiences, outside of my control, instead of me just saying things for attention and acting dramatic just because.

I also very much grew up feeling like "nothing ever sticks, so why bother taking anything seriously." Now, pretty much all of us still have this attitude, this feeling of "why bother coming up with a name, why bother taking (my feelings, etc.) seriously when it's just gonna go away and not come back."

I would feel confident in a decision or an identity or a name change and so on, only for me to change it the next day, or the next week, and so on.

This made things like questioning my gender identity and wanting to change my name extremely difficult and impossible because I could never be sure if it was going to actually STICK or just be a temporary, fleeting "phase." I became upset (and still become upset and distressed) every time everything turned out to just be a "phase" instead of a real, actual thing. I still have trouble with this. If I want to cut my hair or dye my hair or get new clothes, I will never be able to know for sure if I'll still like it in a different state. If I want a name change, I don't know if it'll be long-term or if I will change my mind the next day.

DID is more like this, and less like "I'm a totally different person with a distinctly different personality and a different name and I am not ("host")."

And if this is relatable to you, this post may very much help you figure out who your alters are.

A lot of things online that try to give suggestions and ideas for figuring out your alters in a way of "ask (your alters) these questions."

For me, I can't really do that, for a variety of different reasons - our dissociative barriers are too high, there's no inner world, and there's no kind of "distinct voices" that I "hear" speaking to me that are coming from a distinctly different "person." And since we as alters do not experience ourselves as distinct individuals where we just know who we are and know we are our own distinct individuals, it's less like asking my alters these questions, and more like asking MYSELF these questions. I want you keep that in mind going into this post.

When it comes to figuring out alters, what helps me is trying to keep track of patterns of changes in my behaviors, likes, dislikes, hobbies/interests, and more.

The following is a TEMPLATE of things you can ask yourself at different times, during different moods, modes, self-states - whatever you wanna call it.

I tried to make them as general as possible in order to hopefully make the questions apply to a general audience/a wide variety of people, instead of being too specific where they might not apply to most people.

You do not have to ask yourself all of these questions! If you don't know the answer to a question, and/or you don't want to answer a question, it can be important to write that down too! You can skip any questions or change them in any way you like.

If a question feels unhelpful to you, feel free to change it into something that might feel more helpful to you personally, and/or just remove it altogether.

Feel free to expand upon these questions! For example, if a question seems helpful to you, you might have further ideas to expand upon that question into further, more specific questions. I actually totally encourage other people to expand upon these questions and come up with more questions that could help others! Definitely share your thoughts in reblogs if you want.

I want to make it clear, first, that this post is NOT trying to make people OBSESS over this!!!! These questions are meant to help figure out alters, but don't obsess over it!

The purpose of these questions is to simply try and keep track of possible patterns of behaviors, etc., not to obsess over figuring out your alters, not to obsess over figuring out what alter you are, not to obsess over making sure your alters are "consistent all the time" or something. It doesn't matter about knowing "who" you are so much as it matters to let yourself exist as you are, at any given moment. It's to allow yourself to exist and see if there is a pattern of emotions, opinions, preferences, likes, dislikes, interests/hobbies, behaviors, and more that crop of every so often - this is what alters are for a lot of people. Like I said, it's less like "distinct, separate person" and more like a recurring pattern of the same/similar emotions/behaviors/traits/etc. that crop up every so often, oftentimes in response to things, such as topics that you may find triggering (for example: feeling like an angry wolf every time the topic of physical abuse comes up, or feeling like a scared child when you feel like someone said something upsetting), or even positive topics, such as feeling like you become a girl whenever the topic of fashion gets brought up, or feeling like you're 13 when the topic of a childhood beloved TV show comes up.

While "feeling like (xyz) in response to (xyz)" does not necessarily mean you have a CDD, this post is specifically about those experiences under the context of having a CDD. If you relate to anything I wrote in this post, it does not necessarily mean you have a CDD! Similarly, if you DON'T relate to anything in this post, it also doesn't mean you DON'T have a CDD! I am sharing this post with the assumption that the people reading it already know they have a CDD, and/or strongly suspect it.

Questions to ask myself for figuring out alters:

Month day, year. Time (or whatever way you want to write down the month/day/year/time).

What name(s) do I like?:

This doesn't have to be names of specific alters (by that I mean, you don't have to go through your list of alters with specific names to figure out if you like one of them). You can write a vague idea of what name/names you might like (such as "a name related to plants" or "a name that reminds me of the ocean"). You can write down multiple names. You can write down no name. You can write down that you're indifferent. Anything!

What pronouns do I like?:

Again, you can write down anything. If multiple sets of pronouns vibe, write that down! If nothing vibes, write it down! If you don't have any strong feelings/if you're indifferent, write that down too! If you don't know, write that down!

Are there any particular labels I feel drawn to/feel I identify with?:

It can be an LGBTQ+ label (bisexual, demiboy, aromantic, lesbian, etc.), or a label related to something else

What kind of color(s) am I drawn to?:

Darker colors? Pastel colors? Neon colors? Light colors? Etc.

What do I want to do? What would I do if I had the resources (time, money, 'skill', motivation, energy, etc.) (for example, maybe you wish you could play guitar, but you can’t play guitar, don’t have a guitar, etc.)?:

Similarly, is there anything that I might normally be interested in that I find myself no longer wanting to do?:

-- Listening to music: What songs? Am I singing along? What are the songs about? How do I feel about the music? Are there any songs I dislike? Any particular common genre/theme with the music I find myself liking right now?

-- Art: - What kind of art (Digital art? Doing makeup? Sculpting? Knitting? Painting? Woodworking? Photography? Any art counts.) - What is my art style like/what tools am I using? (If digital art, what program am I using? What brushes am I using? Etc. (Different alters might prefer to use different art programs and different art brushes!)) - What does the artwork depict? (Vent art? Are there themes of trauma? Dissociation? Fanart? Something else?)

-- Playing a game: - What game? - What am I doing in the game? Are there different game modes? If so, what mode am I playing? Is my character customizable, and if so, how does my character look? (Some alters might prefer to change the way the character looks to match how they might feel inside!) - Are there any games I don't currently care for?

-- Watching YouTube: - What is the topic of the video? (Is it about a hobby I like? A TV series? A video essay? Something else?)

-- Playing an instrument: - What instrument? - Am I trying to learn a specific song/songs? - Am I making my own music? Are there lyrics to go along with it? - If it’s a specific song (either writing your own, or trying to learn how to play a certain song on an instrument), what is it about? Any specific themes that stick out?

-- Writing: Poetry? Working on a book/short story? What is it about? What genre? (Romance? Non-fiction? Etc.) Is it fanfiction?

-- Reading: What am I reading? What is it about? What genre? (Romance? Non-fiction? Etc.) Is it fanfiction?

-- Something else…

What am I thinking about?

What am I talking about?

How am I feeling?

Did something trigger me to feel this certain way?

If something triggered me to feel a certain way, do I know the reason(s) why? (For example, if you encountered something that brings up trauma-related feelings, etc.)

You might describe your feelings in ways other than a simple “sad”, “mad”, or “happy.” You might be more specific, such as “I feel like white noise” or “I feel like a dog” or “I feel like an ocean.” This is completely valid and an important thing to keep note of as well. You can even write down that you feel tall, or you feel a different age, or you feel like a certain character.

There are many more questions that you could ask 'yourself' to get to know 'yourselves.' This list is not exhaustive, and like I said, you can simply you this template to bounce off ideas of what questions you, personally, would find most helpful!

I'd love to hear anybody's input, and I hope this post helps anyone. :] If not, feel free to share around anyway, if you want!

#my posts #actuallyDID #actuallyosdd #osdd system #did system

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

hi jade! :) i wanted to potentially request anything with poly!marauders x reader? maybe winter themed since its december now?

you write remus, james, & sirius x reader so well that i started reading fanfic for them because of you! i love your style, keep it up lovely! <3 sending you all my love

thank you, ily!! ♡ fem!reader

James’ car idles outside of your work.

You rush down the frosted steps despite the danger, and open the passenger door with a, “Hello,” that can't be dimmed. You could not be happier to see him in his dark-haired, light-eyed glory. Your hands shake at the sight of him alone.

“Hello,” he says keenly.

You climb across the handbrake to kiss him. He takes your face into two big hands, expectant, waiting for you and twice as eager. “Oh, shit, I missed you,” you say, smashed into his lips and leaning further still, “Did you have a good time? Did–”

James rubs your cheek with his thumb, silently asking for you to slow down, and kisses you again. His lips are soft as anything, his hands a little less so, rough of his palms sliding up your cheeks to just behind your ears. He's quick and rather aggressive about it considering you're only a couple of yards from your place of work, but you don't care.

Clearly, he missed you too.

James breaks the kiss to hug you to him, nosing at the side of your head as he says, “I missed you too. And I had a great time. Next year, you'll come with me.”

Your heart skips at the thought. Going home with James to visit his parents would be a dream, if only so you don't have to miss him for three weeks at a time.

He gives you a last quick kiss and drives you home. With his suitcase still in the car and his rucksack in the footwell, you realise he's picked you up before going home, and you rub it in Sirius’ face as soon as you can.

“He picked me,” you say, climbing out of the car, cheeks flush with the heat of having James’ hand on your thighs the entire way home.

Sirius doesn't seem too bothered. Remus worms around him, doesn't even wait for James to get out of the car, ducking in for an awkwardly skewed but achingly affectionate hug. It's not like Remus to show his emotions in any way that could be held against him, but it's clear he trusts the three of you to never do such a thing. You wouldn't.

“You okay?” James asks him quietly. You nearly miss it, apprehended and forced into a headlock by Sirius Black and his bad attitude.

“No more holidays,” Remus says.

“You look handsome anyways,” James says, “what's that about? Thriving in my absence or something?”

Remus flushes at the suggestion —you can see it, having breathlessly escaped Sirius' cruel grasp to stand watching their reunion. He mumbles a denial and burrows deeper into James’ arms.

Sirius is much less emotional than you or Remus, but he's in a good mood. You can tell, tucked under his happy touch. (You weren't rubbing it in that James picked you up first to be cruel, the opposite —you and Sirius love to argue. And the cool, mildly intimidating stare down thing he does gives you chills, so that's a bonus.)

“Alright!” James says, hand on Remus’ shoulder, rucksack on his arm as he shuts and locks the driver's side door. “Let's see how you idiots have done with the decorations.”

“Not nice,” you say.

“But accurate,” Sirius says.

The truth is that without James’ direction, the Christmas decorations have barely been put up. You had the common sense to erect the Christmas tree and it’s adorned with carefully draped tinsel and polished baubles, but the rest of the home is lacklustre, to say the least. You've no stockings for the electric fire, no banners, no foiled hangings or silver trappings.

“Jesus,” James says, dropping his rucksack on the sofa. “This is sad. Where's the wooden bits? My white wooden Christmas tree? Absolutely minimal effort. I'm appalled.”

You and Remus look at one another and shrug. “We searched. Pulled out the airing cupboard and everything, it took ages, and we still didn't find them.”

“That's because it's up in the attic,” James says, chuckling to himself. “Idiots. Where's the stepladder?”

And this is where Sirius’ love rears its head, his arms wrapped around James’ legs as he climbs the ladder positioned dangerously on the landing by the open stairwell. “You can't be real,” James says, swaying dangerously as he pokes around up there with a torch. “You're worried about me? You were on the roof of the shed a month ago—”

“To get a fucking football for next door–”

“Oh, fuck this,” James says with a sigh. Before any of you can stop him, he's leveraging himself into the attic using his upper body strength.

You cross your arms over your chest with a smile. “That was fit.”

“Right?” Remus murmurs.

“Where's the fucking– Ah-hah! Alright, sweethearts, one of you come and grab this from me.”

Sirius looks up at the creaking attic above, frowning, his eyes narrowed. “I don't trust the floor.”

“Siri, just come and get them.”

You build a procession line and slowly unearth the three boxes of Christmas decorations, and a box of festive linens. Sirius helps James safely down onto stable footing, while you and Remus ferry the decorations downstairs. James is the Christmas nut of the lot of you, but Remus likes what James likes, especially now he's been missing him, and so they set about decorating your home while you and Sirius argue over who's making what for dinner. James’ favourite, since he's been away so long, you argue. Pizza, Sirius decides. “Look at the state of him. You know he goes home and Euphemia spoils him half to death.”

“Fully to death,” James says, dotting a kiss into your cheek as he passes with a sheet of snowflake window stickers. “But I was revived.”

Sirius kisses your other cheek, and Remus shouts for you to come and see the lights, lovely!

It's nice to have everyone home.

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sixeyesonathiel · 1 month ago

Text

a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

CH04 – case study: identifying gojo satoru's type

pairing - nerd!gojo x baddie!reader

summary : gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten. you invited him to play during recess? he chose studying instead. you tried to give him chocolates? he rejected them for the sake of your dental health. you called him boring and never looked back.

years later, you’re a party girl with daddy issues, and he's the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university. when you're paired up for a project worth 60% of your final grade, you think you can slack off—except gojo keeps finding you at every exclusive club, dragging you back to work like the menace he is.

you flirt to distract him, he humors you. you push, he pulls. you seduce, he tucks your hair behind your ear and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

oh no.

tags -> modern au, university au, tooth rooting fluff with a side of light angst, unresolved romantic tension, suggestive themes, gojo satoru is a green flag menace, reader has issues, power struggles but gojo is unaware he's in one, forced proximity via group project, reader tries to ditch gojo satoru and fails spectacularly, pining disguised as irritation, rich kids and their rich kid problems, the art of denial, humor (i hope), eventual happy ending

previous | series masterlist | playlist | next

chapter summary : step four in ditching the world's most persistent nerd: do not let him steal your food, do not let him drink from your straw like he owns it, and absolutely do not let him flip your own trap back on you until you're suddenly the one planning a date.

monday morning, and the world remembers exactly who you are.

the moment your heels click against the pavement, heads turn, conversations stall, and admiration thickens in the air like expensive perfume. they watch—of course they do. how could they not? in a city of polished legacies and wealth-drenched surnames, you are a spectacle, a masterpiece in motion. black silk drapes over your body, dipping scandalously at the back, every step deliberate, every glance stolen in your wake a testament to your control. the gold chain of your bag glints under the morning sun, nails skimming over the cool metal as you exhale—bored, detached, untouchable.

and yet, a hand—too rough, too desperate—for your own liking, ruins the perfection.

“please, baby—just one more night, i swear—”

a grip on your wrist. tight, pleading. naoya zenin, heir to an empire that means nothing to you. his breath is uneven, his jaw tight, that arrogance you once found mildly entertaining now crumbling into something pathetic. you barely remember him—was it months ago? weeks? a forgettable night, an indulgence with an expiration date. but naoya, poor fool, still thinks your attention is something he can buy back.

“don’t do this,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower as if he has the right to be intimate. “tell me what i did wrong. i can fix it.”

your sigh is soft, practiced. slow enough to be cutting. with an elegant tilt of your head, you look down at him, gaze laced with something almost pitying. naoya zen’in, who has never been denied, never been left wanting, now stands before you as nothing more than another name to forget.

“naoya.” his name falls from your lips like an afterthought, like you are already done with him. “stand up. you’re embarrassing yourself.”

but he doesn’t.

instead—he drops to his knees.

gasps ripple through the crowd, scandal blooming like wildfire in hushed voices. a zen’in heir, kneeling? in public? unheard of. his peers—other heirs, legacies wrapped in old money and colder expectations—watch with thinly veiled amusement, a few pulling out their phones, eager to immortalize his disgrace. but naoya doesn’t care, doesn’t see the way his reputation fractures with every second he lingers on the ground.

“please,” he tries again, his voice raw with something close to desperation.

and you—oh, you laugh.

a soft thing, delicate yet cruel, wrapping around him like silk before tightening into a noose.

“oh, sweetheart…” your voice dips, low and syrupy, cutting through the stunned silence like the clean edge of a knife. “you can’t fix being forgettable.”

the air shifts.

someone chokes on their drink. others whisper, murmur, revel in the spectacle of naoya zen’in being reduced to nothing in the span of a breath. he flinches, something ugly flashing behind his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. your wrist slips effortlessly from his grasp, heels clicking as you turn away, leaving him kneeling in his disgrace.

this is where you belong—wanted, envied, feared.

the crowd still hums with the aftermath of naoya’s disgrace, whispers laced with admiration and well-hidden fear. you don’t need to look back to know the scene you’ve left behind—naoya, still kneeling, his pride shattered in broad daylight. you don’t spare him another thought. this is your domain, your world, where attention bends at your will, where men crumble with a glance, a word, a perfectly timed smirk. your victory is absolute.

except one person, the only person who should be reacting, doesn’t even look up from his phone.

gojo satoru sits on the bench a few feet away, posture relaxed, scrolling through whatever holds his interest more than you. his glasses catch the light as he idly taps at the screen, face unreadable, completely disengaged from the spectacle. no flinch, no barely concealed admiration, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. he doesn’t glance up. he doesn’t care.

and that?

that makes your teeth grind, your jaw tighten, something hot curling in your stomach. because for all the eyes on you, for all the reverence in the air, he remains unmoved, unaffected, untouched. and somehow, that pisses you off more than anything.

lunch is exactly how it should be.

your table is a constellation of the university’s elite—wealth, beauty, and power seated in effortless poise, as if this gathering were inevitable. the girls at your side embody perfection in different flavors, each a masterpiece of influence. shoko lounges, long fingers idly stirring an untouched kale salad, amusement curling at the edges of her lips as she absorbs the latest gossip. heir to a medical empire, a legacy carved in scalpels and sterile white halls, yet she prefers her nights drowned in neon lights and laughter thick with alcohol. mei mei, the quiet storm, never glances up from her phone, her world a battlefield of investments and acquisitions, real power plays that make her father’s advisors shift in their seats. utahime, delicate and deadly, chews exactly one cherry tomato and a single plain almond with the calculated grace of someone who can slip past any barrier, velvet rope or otherwise, without so much as a second glance.

and the men? they hover.

their attention drapes over your table like expensive silk, their gazes flickering between you and the girls beside you, waiting—hoping—for something as simple as a look, a word, a fleeting acknowledgment. every laugh you let slip makes them lean closer, every shift of your wrist brushing against your glass sends ripples through their restraint. they hang on to the edges of your presence like moths circling the glow of a flame, waiting for the inevitable moment they get too close. this is control. this is power. and you let it linger, basking in the unspoken reverence, the silent competition for a moment of your favor.

until gojo satoru stands up from his table.

you don’t need to look. you feel it.

a ripple in the air, subtle yet undeniable, as the world around you shifts focus. because it’s never just you watching him—it’s everyone else. conversations falter, stolen glances turn to blatant stares, admirers pause mid-breath as the inevitability of his presence overtakes the room. he doesn’t need to command attention; it bends toward him naturally, effortlessly, as if even gravity itself is subject to his whims. and the worst part? he doesn’t care. doesn’t chase it, doesn’t acknowledge it—just exists in it, a force of nature too accustomed to its own magnitude to be impressed.

but what’s worse? he’s walking toward you.

a breath of tension hovers over the cafeteria, unspoken yet deafening. the men around your table stiffen, pride twisting into something wary, something reluctant. the girls exchange glances, subtle but pointed, as if calculating the implications of this approach. gojo satoru does not come to you. he does not seek, he does not chase, he does not follow. and yet, here he is, weaving through the crowd with infuriating ease, steps unhurried, gaze sharp behind the glint of his glasses.

why is he here?

before you can even question him—he swaps the trays.

no hesitation, no explanation. just takes yours, sets his own down in front of you, and steals your croissant like it was never yours to begin with. the motion is so fluid, so casual, that for a second, you almost think you imagined it. but then he has the audacity to inspect it, like he’s judging the nutritional value of your choices, and something tight coils in your chest. around you, the air shifts—utahime’s fork pauses midair, shoko lowers her coffee like she’s bracing for impact, and mei mei hums, mildly entertained. the men around your table stiffen, their expressions flickering between confusion and outrage, because they don’t understand what just happened.

but you do.

“eat real food.” satoru says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the edge of his tray.

he doesn’t sit. instead, he leans against the table, weight shifted onto one foot, perfectly composed. like he’s just passing through. like he hasn’t just disrupted the delicate balance of power at your table. your world operates on control, on effortless admiration and quiet desperation, on men who trip over themselves for a single moment of your time. but satoru? satoru doesn’t just take—he decides. and this time, he’s decided that your daily diet of a croissant and iced coffee is unacceptable.

you blink. “did you just steal my croissant?”

“i traded it.” he corrects, lifting your iced latte and taking a sip—like it’s his.

pause.

your iced latte. your straw.

utahime’s eyes widen, shoko’s brows shoot up, and mei mei exhales an amused chuckle. someone further down the table chokes, and from the corner of your eye, you catch a girl whispering a scandalized, “indirect kiss?!” the men around you bristle, their thinly veiled adoration now edged with frustration, because not only did gojo satoru approached your table uninvited—he just touched something that was yours. the fact that you let him—or rather, haven’t ripped his throat out yet—only fuels their disbelief.

but you? you are seething.

not because it means anything. because it doesn’t. not because you care. because you don’t. but because of the pure, unfiltered audacity.

your fingers tighten around the fork, nails pressing into your palm, but your expression remains pristine, carefully schooled into something neutral. your gaze flicks over him, assessing, cataloging every infuriating detail—the smug curve of his lips, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the absolute nerve of him to act like this is normal. “that’s not what trading means.”

satoru, completely unbothered, takes another slow sip, like he’s savoring it. finally, he slides into the seat beside you, effortless, natural, like this was inevitable. his presence shifts the air again, disrupts the ecosystem of your table, sends a ripple of tension through the men still hovering. you know it. he knows it. but his gaze—sharp, assessing, cutting through the layers of performance—lingers just a second too long on you before he finally speaks.

“it is now.”

you exhale, slow and measured, fingers flexing against the table, resisting the very real urge to stab him with your fork. this is fine. totally fine. except—the cafeteria is still buzzing, the weight of too many stares pressing against your skin. naoya looks like he’s about to combust, the men around you are barely restraining their irritation, and the balance of power has tilted so effortlessly in satoru’s favor that you don’t even know how it happened.

satoru just smirks, fingers still tapping against your latte, fully aware that he’s just put himself at the center of your world—and isn’t planning to leave.

and while you’re still processing the sheer audacity of what just happened. satoru, completely unaffected began to speak.

“by the way, we got feedback from our professor about our introduction. we need to go over it later. you have no classes after lunch, right?” his tone is infuriatingly casual, as if this is a normal conversation, as if he didn’t just hijack your meal, steal your drink, and make himself comfortable at your table. he taps his fingers against your latte like he has every right to it, sipping lazily, his entire demeanor oozing ease. you barely hear him, too focused on the way his lips press against the straw, the way your name is still written neatly on the cup—small details that shouldn’t matter, that don’t matter, except they do. because no one does this to you. no one dares.

but satoru gojo is not just anyone.

your friends are watching.

because they have seen you work miracles. they have watched you break men with a smile, unravel them with the tilt of your head, reduce them to nervous, stammering fools with a single touch. they have witnessed ceos, heirs, trust fund babies practically trip over themselves for a shred of your attention, for the privilege of being acknowledged by you. and yet—satoru is still standing. still smirking. still entirely composed.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, as she exhales through her nose. utahime crosses her arms, frowning, unimpressed with the way this situation is unfolding. mei mei takes a slow sip of her drink, not looking up, but you know her well enough to recognize the calculated amusement in her stillness. the men at your table are watching too, stiff, visibly unsettled, because for the first time, you are not the one in control. and the worst part? satoru knows it.

“…gojo,” you deadpan, expression unreadable. “do you even like coffee?”

he hums, unfazed, taking another sip—mocking, infuriating. “i like messing with you.”

yor nails dig into your palm, but your expression does not waver. you cannot—will not—spend another few hours being academically held hostage at his condo, forced to endure his insufferable presence under the guise of productivity. you need an out, a way to tilt the power back in your favor, to make it clear that he does not get to do this. but your friends? they need a win.

so, you do what you do best. you deflect.

lean in. tilt your head. let your voice slip into something smooth, teasing, dangerous. a distraction, a trap—one you’ve set a hundred times before, one that always works. but beneath it, a thread of unease coils tight in your chest, a what if you refuse to acknowledge. because satoru is not like the others. he doesn’t stutter, doesn’t falter, doesn’t trip over himself to impress you. and after the way he’s effortlessly brushed off your advances before—gliding past them with practiced ease, like he’s untouchable—you know you need something bigger, something that will finally make him react.

so you go for the last resort.

“gojo,” you purr, voice light, teasing, perfectly crafted. “why do you always have time for me? shouldn’t a man like you be busy with… oh, i don’t know… a girlfriend?”

there. checkmate.

because for all his effortless charm, for all the attention he gets, gojo satoru has never publicly dated anyone. no rumors, no scandals, no fleeting relationships for the gossip circles to tear apart. which means, logically, this should throw him off. this should make him hesitate. this should, finally, be the moment where you have the upper hand.

your girls relax, smug, expectant. because this is it. this is where he’ll fold. where he’ll stammer, avert his eyes, get thrown off his game—like every other man before him. shoko takes a slow sip of coffee, already anticipating his fumble. utahime leans back in her seat, satisfied. mei mei, ever unreadable, watches with mild interest. the men at your table straighten, subtly hopeful, waiting for satoru’s inevitable failure.

but his lips simply quirk.

not flustered. interested. amused. a slow, deliberate shift, the corners of his mouth tilting upward like he’s savoring this, like he’s already decided how this is going to play out. the movement is lazy, almost imperceptible, but you catch the flicker of something sharp behind the glint of his glasses. pale blue eyes, keen and calculating, linger on you for a second too long—watching. waiting. you know that look. the same one he wears when he’s two moves ahead, when he knows he’s already won but wants to drag it out just to see you squirm.

“what, are you applying?” his voice is smooth, effortless, like the answer genuinely doesn’t matter to him. like this is just fun.

your breath hitches. so, so small, a sharp inhale barely masked by the background hum of the cafeteria—so subtle that no one else catches it. no one except him.

his head tilts slightly, gaze dipping lower, amused. his fingers, still wrapped around your stolen latte, tap against the cup in a slow, rhythmic pattern, as if counting down the exact number of seconds it will take for you to recover. you feel the weight of his attention pressing against your skin, feel the way the air between you shifts, charged and dangerous.

he’s waiting. for you to slip first.

your table freezes.

shoko actually chokes, coughing into her hand. utahime’s fork clatters against her plate. mei mei hesitates mid-sip, something flickering behind her sharp gaze. the men surrounding you look betrayed. because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. satoru isn’t supposed to keep up. he’s supposed to stumble. he’s supposed to break.

but instead, he wins.

still, you don’t miss a beat. your expression remains perfectly schooled, your lips curling like you expected this, like you aren’t mildly panicking beneath the surface. “that depends,” you counter smoothly, voice light, playful. “are you hiring?”

there. you’re back in control.

your girls exhale, tension dissolving, the balance tipping in your favor once more. you’ve realigned the narrative, settled back into your element. a beat passes. satoru hums, adjusting his glasses, pale blue eyes flickering behind the lenses—assessing. considering.

“sure.”

you freeze.

your fingers curl against your lap, nails digging into your palm as you keep your expression pristine. not even a flicker of hesitation. but inside? your thoughts are a blur of static.

“…wait, what?” you blurt out, incredulous.

he tilts his head, completely unbothered, lifting your latte to his lips once more. “you wanted an out,” he says, as if this is the simplest thing in the world. another sip, another stolen moment of control. “so now you have a date. hope you pick a good place.”

your stomach drops.

this was not the plan.

shoko stares at you like you’ve personally wronged her. utahime’s mouth is actually open. mei mei is already calculating the implications of this disaster. the men around your table are reeling, the balance of power shifted so violently that they don’t know how to recover.

satoru simply turns to leave—far too satisfied with himself.

his stride is slow, unhurried, completely at ease as if he hadn’t just shattered the natural order of your world with a few simple words. he doesn’t even glance back, doesn’t check to see the damage he’s left behind, because he knows. he knows the cafeteria is still buzzing, voices hushed yet urgent, disbelief thick in the air.

“did she just—”

“—with gojo satoru?”

“—what just happened??”

your admirers? devastated.

naoya, still licking his wounds from earlier, looks like he wants to throw something. his jaw tightens, fingers curling into a fist, tension radiating off him in waves, but even he doesn’t dare speak. the men who once hung onto your every word are stiff, their carefully maintained composure cracking under the weight of what they just witnessed. because it wasn’t just that gojo satoru didn’t fall for you—it’s that he played you. and worst of all? he won.

your girls, however? silent.

calculating. reeling. this is wrong. this is not how this was supposed to go. they have seen you reduce men to nothing with a smile, leave them speechless, fumbling, desperate. you should be the one walking away victorious, leaving him dazed and ruined in your wake. but satoru? satoru strolled in, stole your drink, stole your time, stole a whole damn date—and left completely unscathed.

your fingers curl into your lap, nails pressing against your palm as you glare at his retreating figure. his glasses catch the light as he raises your latte to his lips, taking one final slow sip, knowing damn well you’re watching. your jaw clenches, blood simmering beneath your skin, irritation winding tight in your chest. this is not over. not by a long shot.

and so, with pure, unfiltered spite, you take an aggressive bite of the lunch he forced onto you. and the moment satoru exits the door, your girls close in like a board of directors preparing for crisis control.

they move fast—shoko nudging her coffee aside, utahime crossing her legs, mei mei setting her phone down with a deliberate click against the table. their attention is singular, sharp, trained on you as if you’re the breaking news headline of the hour. the air tightens, charged with a purpose too serious for something as ridiculous as gojo satoru just agreed to a date. they gather like a corporate crisis team—efficient, ruthless, ready to dissect every second of the disaster that just unfolded. but before the debrief can begin, before the first strike can be made, a more pressing matter demands their attention.

shoko straightens, lashes lowering, voice syrupy sweet. “gentlemen.”

every man within a five-meter radius stiffens.

the shift is immediate—conversations falter, movements still, a collective tension settling over the table like a held breath. you don’t have to look to know what’s coming. shoko only ever uses that tone when she’s about to drop a guillotine, and right now, her smile is all sharp edges and impending doom.

“we need you to leave.”

a pause. then—mutters, exchanged glances. confusion. indignation. hesitation.

“excuse me?” naoya scoffs first, ever the entitled one. his shoulders square, head tilting as if that might make him any less disposable. “i was here first—”

“cute,” utahime cuts in, tone sharp as the gleam of her manicured nails, casually popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “but irrelevant.”

mei mei leans back, swirling her sugar-free oat latte, gaze barely flicking up. “it’s a ladies-only meeting. private.”

naoya glares. “we’re literally having lunch—”

“not anymore,” shoko chirps, lashes fluttering, voice light, effortless. “you can relocate. for her sake, of course.”

and at that—all eyes flicker to you.

the tension shifts. the resistance falters. because of course it does.

these men—heirs to empires, sons of political giants—wield more power than most people could dream of. but you? you are a different kind of untouchable. your presence alone shifts dynamics, commands rooms without effort, without force, without needing to demand anything at all. and when your chin tilts just slightly, when your eyes lower in disinterest, when your fingers tap idly against the table—they listen.

begrudgingly. bitterly. but they listen.

“fine.” one mutters, pushing back his chair.

“whatever.” another sighs, grabbing his untouched drink.

one by one, they leave. chairs scrape against the floor, conversations shift, the last remnants of male indignation hanging in the air like a bitter aftertaste. naoya lingers for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s considering some final act of defiance, but even he knows when he’s outnumbered. with a sharp exhale and a glare that could curdle milk, he turns on his heel and stalks off, tension rolling off him in waves. the cafeteria hums around you, but at your table? silence—heavy, expectant.

shoko clasps her hands together, satisfied. “excellent.”

she turns back, eyes gleaming, posture shifting as she slides effortlessly into the seat beside you. her gaze is sharp, cutting straight through your carefully maintained composure. “now—” she leans in, elbows resting against the table, voice a conspiratorial hush. “what the hell was that?”

utahime follows, practically vibrating with barely contained energy. “you have been keeping secrets. start talking.”

you sigh—long, dramatic, exhausted, like this entire conversation is beneath you. your fingers trail idly against the rim of your tray, gaze lowering just enough to feign disinterest. “it’s nothing.”

chaos. disbelief. outright rejection of your statement.

“NOTHING??” utahime gapes, gripping her fork like she’s about to stab something. “he just drank from your straw. in front of everyone.”

“naoya looked like he was going to cry,” shoko adds, deeply amused.

mei mei, ever the voice of calm devastation, swirls her latte, voice dripping with indulgent amusement. “sweetheart,” she muses, watching you over the rim of her cup, “do you understand what just happened? men would literally commit fraud for a chance to buy you a drink, and gojo just—”

you cut her off with a sharp flick of your wrist. “enough.”

a beat of silence. they all lean in further.

you exhale, slow and measured, like you’re about to gift them the rarest of treasures—your honesty. fingers tapping idly against the table, gaze flicking toward the exit where satoru disappeared moments ago.

finally, you meet their expectant stares, shoulders rolling back.

“fine.” you exhale, exasperated. “i’ll tell you.”

the entire table is locked in.

they lean forward as one, like sharks scenting blood in the water, their gazes sharp, expectant, ravenous for information. tension thrums between you, an unspoken understanding that whatever you say next will change everything. and so, with great reluctance, with an exhale meant to feign nonchalance but edged with something far too weighted—you finally tell them about your history with gojo satoru.

shoko is losing her mind.

“you mean to tell me—” she inhales sharply, hands slamming onto the table, rattling plates and silverware as she glares daggers at you “—that you have been fighting for your life against that man for years and you NEVER mentioned it?!”

utahime gasps, hands flying to her mouth as the realization clicks all at once. “you two have history?”

and then, chaos.

“this makes so much sense—”

“oh my god, that explains the way he looked at you like he knows—”

“wait, wait, wait—why does it feel like he’s been winning?”

you bristle. “he is not winning.”

the silence that follows is too long. too heavy.

mei mei squints, utterly unreadable, but her voice is smooth, calm—calculated. “are you sure?”

because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

satoru has been slipping through your fingers for years. since kindergarten, when he chose a math book over playing with you. since high school, when he sat at the top of the class, untouched, while you spiraled through the mess of your family, your reputation, your life. and now—now, at university, he still walks through your world like he owns it, like he belongs there, like you were the one who had to catch up.

he doesn’t fall. he doesn’t trip. he doesn’t crumble beneath the weight of your charm like every other man does.

and today?

he stole your drink.

he stole your time.

he stole a whole damn date.

and he walked away completely unscathed.

your jaw tightens, lips pressing into a thin line. you know what they’re thinking. you know the weight of their stares, the way your friends—your witnesses—are trying to figure out if you have been losing this entire time. you straighten, shoulders rolling back, chin tilting higher as you meet their gazes with an expression pristine enough to rival polished glass.

“he is not winning,” you repeat, slower this time, voice smooth, unwavering. the words land, heavy, thick with certainty. but beneath the table, your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, grip just a little too tight.

shoko’s nails tap against the table, slow and deliberate, each click a metronome to the quiet tension curling between the four of you. her expression is thoughtful, the kind of slow-burning intrigue that means nothing good. finally, after what feels like an eternity, she exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly before delivering her next words with the weight of a courtroom ruling. “okay. important question.”

your eyes narrow. “what.”

shoko leans in, deadly serious, as if she’s about to discuss classified information, voice dipping into a conspiratorial hush. “do you think he might be into vanilla girls?”

the table goes silent.

even utahime stops pretending to be full off one cherry tomato.

you blink, caught between exasperation and the slow horror of realizing exactly where this conversation is going. your fork stills against your plate, the air thick with anticipation as three pairs of eyes zero in on you. “...yeah, actually,” you say after a beat, flipping the utensil between your fingers before spearing a piece of grilled chicken. “that would make sense.”

a collective gasp.

shoko physically recoils like you’ve committed some great betrayal. “you’re just going to agree?”

“i mean, think about it.” you gesture vaguely, the glint of your bracelet catching in the light as you settle back against your chair. “he’s rich. disgustingly smart. irritatingly responsible. maybe he does like his women a little… soft.”

mei mei hums, finally acknowledging the conversation, swirling her spoon in the same small pool of yogurt she’s been nursing for the past thirty minutes. “subtle.”

utahime, deadpan, chews her almond with the weight of someone chewing through a revelation. “you mean boring?”

your frown is immediate. “i didn’t say boring.”

shoko raises a brow. “what did you say, then?”

your mouth opens, but the words stick, because the truth is, you don’t actually have a good answer. you stab at your plate again, suddenly annoyed with the way their collective amusement lingers between you like a loaded gun. “i said… non-threatening.”

they all exchange glances.

“so, boring.” utahime concludes.

you exhale, pushing a grilled tomato across your plate with the edge of your fork. “okay, but like,” you start, irritation curling at the back of your throat, “am i wrong?”

the silence that follows is too long.

utahime, after a painstaking moment of slicing her cucumber into even smaller pieces, exhales sharply. “...no,” she admits, her voice tinged with reluctant horror.

“unfortunately, no,” shoko echoes, sipping her black coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to life.

“probably not,” mei mei adds, frowning at her yogurt like it personally offended her.

you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, resisting the urge to click your tongue again. “see?” your fork twirls idly between your fingers before tapping against your plate. “i knew something was off. my usual strategy should’ve worked by now.” the words come out sharper than intended, irritation settling deep in your chest. “but if he’s immune, it’s because i’m not his type.”

and for some reason? that pisses you off.

shoko hums, contemplative, her nails drumming lazily against her coffee cup. “it also means—” she pauses, then tilts her head. “you’re not a threat.”

you blink.

“excuse me??”

shoko shrugs. “think about it. men like him? powerful, old-money, from some ridiculous bloodline? they don’t go for girls like us.”

there’s something so casual about the way she says it, but it sends something unpleasant curling at the base of your spine.

“girls like us?” you laugh, but there’s an edge to it, sharp enough to draw blood.

shoko, unbothered, lifts a shoulder in a loose shrug. “relax, i’m not saying we’re undateable. i’m saying they marry vanilla girls.” her voice lilts, mocking, as she counts off on her fingers. “the perfect, soft-spoken, high-society wives. the ones who smile and wave at charity galas. the ones who bake cookies and apologize for existing.”

“the ones who will never cause a scandal,” mei mei adds, swirling her spoon in her yogurt like she’s mixing something far more bitter.

utahime gestures dramatically with her fork. “the ones who know how to be a trophy wife.”

you scoff, flicking your hair back, an automatic response. “my last name is just as heavy as his.”

the table pauses.

“okay, true,” utahime concedes, wiping condensation off her untouched green juice, her tone begrudging. “but you act like you don’t give a fuck about it.”

you don’t. or—you want to believe you don’t. you’ve spent years rolling your eyes at your parents’ business dinners, at the delicate, soft-spoken women with their perfectly practiced smiles, at the unspoken rules of the elite social scene. but you know them. you understand them, the way chess players understand the board, the way predators understand prey. your indifference isn’t ignorance—it’s strategy.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t know how to play the game,” you say smoothly, twirling your fork between your fingers before spearing a stray cherry tomato.

shoko sighs, finally abandoning her coffee with a resigned shake of her head. “yeah, but do the gojos know that?”

your jaw locks. irritation flares in your chest, curling tight at the edges, because—okay. fine. maybe you aren’t the type to whisper apologies at business dinners, to bat your lashes and smile politely while some old-money heir with fragile masculinity talks down to you about investments. but that doesn’t mean you’re less. it doesn’t mean you don’t belong in the same rooms, the same circles, the same league.

but there is no way that gojo satoru, as impish as he could be, would be the type to marry a girl simply because she is conveniently meek.

...right?

before the thought can settle, utahime snaps her fingers, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a declaration.

“i got it.”

all eyes shift to her, curiosity piqued, waiting. she doesn’t make them wait long, smirking as she pulls out her phone with the ease of someone holding a loaded gun. “if you’re gonna test it, you need the right setting,” she announces, thumbs flying over the screen. “and i know just the place.”

the phone slides across the table with a quiet clink, the screen glowing with an image of a cozy, quiet café.

neutral tones, warm lighting, private rooms meant for undisturbed concentration—exactly the kind of place a certain nerd would gravitate toward. utahime rests her chin on her palm, grinning like she’s just handed over a winning lottery ticket. “perfect for studying,” she says innocently. “or, in your case, proving your theory.”

your eyes narrow. “why does this sound suspiciously like you’ve used it before?”

utahime shrugs, all nonchalance, all carefully curated innocence. “just saying,” she drawls, inspecting her nails, “brought the nerd i was sucking up to in there—folded in fifteen minutes. let me suck him off, let me cheat off him. i passed prelims with high scores, remember??”

mei mei chokes on her plain yogurt, slapping a hand against her chest like she’s been personally betrayed. the reaction is so visceral, so immediate, that it sends a ripple effect across the table. shoko gasps, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, her coffee cup freezing midway to her lips as if the sheer audacity of utahime’s words has momentarily suspended time itself. the moment could be framed in slow motion, complete with dramatic background music. you don’t even blink.

“utahime.”

utahime, utterly shameless, only grins wider, the picture of unrepentant mischief. “relax. i’m just saying—it’s tested. proven to work on nerds.”

you exhale, long and slow, tapping your nails against your plate before crossing one leg over the other. the weight of the situation settles, thick and undeniable, pressing against the edges of your mind. you don’t like to lose. you don’t like unanswered questions. and most of all, you don’t like the fact that this ridiculous theory is starting to sound a little too plausible.

“fine.”

mei mei perks up immediately, leaning forward with a newfound, almost predatory curiosity. “test it how?”

a slow, dangerous smirk curves on your lips, the kind that sends a quiet shiver down the table. “on our date, of course.”

the reaction is instantaneous.

shoko recoils as if you’ve committed a crime against her very soul. “you’re going to act vanilla???”

you shrug, twirling your fork between your fingers, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “just for the night. just to see if he reacts. if he does, even if just a small tic, we’ll know.”

before anyone can say another word, your phone vibrates, the quiet buzz slicing through the tension like a finishing move. with a smug little tilt of her head, utahime turns the screen toward you, the message is already typed out, the address neatly displayed, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

you click your tongue, equal parts annoyed and resigned, copy the address, and paste it into a message for satoru.

six pm. don’t be late.

utahime leans back, victorious, arms crossed, satisfaction practically radiating off her. “and now we wait.”

a few seconds later—read.

the pit of your stomach tightens, but you ignore it. this is a terrible idea. this is also the only possible course of actionable.

tag list : @s4ikooo1 @gojoswaterbottle

comment to be added on the tag list! xx

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fairy-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I saw that your requests are open, would you be down to write any Edward Elric fluff? I just love him and I really like your writing <33

DENIAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Fullmetal Alchemist

Pairing(s): Edward Elric x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): FLUFF, Female!Reader, Alchemist!Reader, mildly sexist behavior from Ed in the beginning (but he gets better)

Notes: This was going to be a songfic but instead is based on the song “Despair” by leo. But now it’s not. Mostly because I couldn’t find a website to copy and paste the lyrics from.

__________________________________________________________________________

Edward met you when he was twelve years old. You looked around his age and, sadly, was a few inches taller than him. You were both in Central Command and waiting for the State Alchemist Exam to start among all the other candidates. You were sat on a chair in the corner, pouring over a small pocket notebook with scribbles and writing that looked worse than his own chicken scratch.

Of course, he only knew this because he happened to be doing the same thing.

Not because he thought you were pretty. No no. That would be preposterous!

He wished Alphonse could be there. But after they found out there was a physical evaluation, he dropped out and left the prospect of being a State Alchemist up to Edward.

The exam proctor for the written portion of the exam came out and called everyone inside the exam room. You stood, pocketed your notebook, and went inside. Your eyes caught his, and you offered a friendly smile. Edward just scowled back.

He wasn’t here to make friends.

However, you didn’t let that annoy you, and you took your seat where you were assigned. Coincidentally, it was right in front of Edward. It was obvious that you were both the youngest two at the exam. Everyone else was middle-aged or, at the very least, in their twenties at best.

The exam proctor clapped his hands together,

“You have two hours. Good luck!”

Edward flew through the exam. It was reasonably straightforward, with only a few questions mildly stumping him. Most of the questions were multiple-choice, with a handful of essay questions.

Ha. This written exam was all bullshit if the military thought this would stop him.

Soon enough, he finished the last question in his best handwriting and turned it in to the proctor at the front of the room. He was the first one done at approximately an hour and eleven minutes. He could feel the glares as he exited the exam hall and found you sitting on a bench, pouring over your notes yet again.

“You!” He jabbed an accusatory finger. How were you here? He didn’t see you leave! And you had been sitting right in front of him! You look up, startled like a deer in the headlights, but soon, your face smooths to that irritating friendly smile.

“It’s you again! How did you do on the exam?” You say conversationally, and his brain stalls.

Something about your voice makes his heart stutter.

“Uh… what?” Edward fumbles, and you shut your book and slip it into the back pocket of your overalls, stretching your arms above your head.

“Man, I thought it was hard! Those field questions were tricky!” You forge onward with your rather one-sided conversation, adjusting your shirt under your overalls. You wore dirty overalls, a dirty black long-sleeved shirt, and dirty rubber-soled sneakers. The left one was untied. Overall, you looked… not… very well put together. He was pretty sure you had mud smeared above your eyebrow. Hell, even Edward wore his best clothes, a button-down and some slacks, at Granny’s insistence.

“The test was easy.” Edward eventually says, and you huff playfully,

“‘Course it was for you. But I still finished first, didn't I?” You tease, and he feels his cheeks flush.

“This isn’t a competition!” At that, you stare with your eyebrows raised,

“Not everyone becomes a State Alchemist, y’know. So it kind of is a competition.” You say, and he throws his hands up and storms away. He didn’t have time for you. He had to go back to his hotel room and prepare for the practical phase.

Edward met you next in Colonel Roy Mustang’s office.

He had just received his certification as the Fullmetal Alchemist when there was a knock on the door. Alphonse turned, his armor clanking slightly as he moved to open the door.

“Come in,” Mustang called, a grin on his face that Edward did not like. “It seems like your partner is here, Fullmetal,” he said as the door opened, and you peeked your head in.

“You!” He jumps up and points yet again. You cringe but recognize him easily enough and jab a finger at him.

“You made it through the exam!” You shriek, and he flinches himself at your volume.

Mustang quirks an eyebrow,

“You already seem acquainted.” He comments almost dumbly, and Edward grits his teeth.

“She finished the exam before me.” He grinds out, and Mustang’s eyebrow raises even higher. He leans his chin on his clasped hands.

“So this is the one who got a perfect score. You don’t look like much,” He muses, and Edward bites back a snippy retort. The fact that he hadn’t gotten a perfect score was a touchy subject. After all, he had missed one question—one!

You give a mock bow and straighten,

“Well, you don’t look like much yourself, sir.” You quip, and Alphonse stifles a laugh. Mustang sighs and mutters under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like, “Great, now there’s two of you.” He then claps his hands together softly and looks at both of you, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Now, Fullmetal, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. This is the Ink Alchemist. Ink, this is the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric.” He said, and immediately, Edward spotted a problem.

“Partner? No way! I’m not working with some girl!” He snaps and sees you roll your eyes out of the corner of his vision.

“So you’re one of those people?” You sneer, and he bares his teeth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Before you two can start bickering, Mustang interjects.

“It’s under orders of the Führer himself that you two work together. So I suggest you both put aside your differences and get along.” He says, and you almost snap to attention like a dog looking at its master. Which Edward supposed, in a way, you were.

Just like he was.

Dogs of the military.

“So… what kind of alchemy do you do?” Alphonse said awkwardly as you and Edward scowled at each other. You three are on a train, heading toward Resembool to give Granny and Winry the fantastic news of Edward becoming a State Alchemist. But, of course, you had to tag along to “as his partner.”

Edward was partially tempted to ditch you at a random train station.

But he had tried that already, and it hadn’t worked.

You perked up at the question and reached for your long sleeves. Your shirt was at least clean this time.

“Oh wow! That’s beautiful!” Alphonse gasped, and you grinned.

Even Edward has to admit your transmutation circles are indeed beautiful.

Extra lines swirl out from the circles themselves, decorating your arms like vines of flowers. He even spies a few doodled flowers in the bare spaces between circles. They dot your arm in varying sizes and intricacy, with the largest being the size of your palm and the smallest being almost the size of Edward’s thumb. Even the tiny ones had an insane amount of detail.

You preen under the attention but soon work your sleeves back down your arms and sit back in your seat next to Edward.

“I designed ‘em myself! That’s where I got the name the Ink Alchemist!” you say, and when Alphonse asks more questions, you are happy to launch into a lecture worthy of his old school teacher.

Edward has to admit… you looked really pretty when you were excitedly talking about alchemy with his younger brother.

Admittedly, Edward’s little “crush” (though he refused to say it was one) grew bigger and bigger each day. Days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. And that meant it grew harder and harder to hide from your keen eyes. You were brilliant—one of the smarter alchemists he knew—and pretty. Even though you were taller than him, he could look past that.

Alphonse picked up on it, Winry picked up on it, and even Colonel Mustang picked up on it! And truthfully? Mustang was the absolute worst about it. He always watched you and Edward interact with a smug smile as if this was all his doing.

And Edward had the inkling that it was that you two were paired together. Because why would the Führer pair two prepubescent teens together?

But as the two of you hit eighteen and Edward finally grew past you in height, things changed.

It was the week before you confronted Father and his plans.

Edward meandered away from the dying campfire and found you under the stars in a meadow. Darius, Heinkel, and Greed were all presumably fast asleep in their sleeping bags, and it was his turn to keep watch.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Edward could spare a few minutes from night watch to talk to you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, and you jump, nearly spilling your pot of ink that was balanced precariously on your knee. You hold a paintbrush in hand and are retracing the many transmutation circles that litter your arms.

He could never get over how pretty they were.

“Not really. I wanted to get these redone before… y’know… everything.” You say, and he takes a seat next to you, his automail leg creaking as he does so. He hadn’t maintained it in forever, it was stiffening up.

“We still have a whole week before the eclipse.” He reminds you, and you look up at the stars, tracing the constellations with your eyes.

“I know, but I can’t sit here and do nothing.” You reply, and he hums, thinking back to when he first met you.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts into the night sky and sees you frown and look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“For what?” You ask, and he shrugs, feeling his cheeks heat up. It wasn’t like him to be so sentimental! What was wrong with him?!

He only got like this when you were around.

“For how I acted when we first met… Ditching you at the station… refusing to work with you… And—”

“Woah, woah, woah, where’s this coming from?! We aren’t going to die next week, are we?!” You cut him off, panicked, and nearly spilled your ink again. He caught it with his left hand right as you grabbed it, and your fingers brushed.

“I don’t plan on it… But all these years have had me thinking how awful I was to you. And for no reason other than my pride.” The words come tumbling out, and he gets more and more heated until you kneel in front of him and cup his face.

That gets him to shut up real quick.

“You were twelve, Ed.” You say gently and he huffs, opening his mouth to speak some more when you put a finger to his lips. Your skin is soft against his mouth, and he can smell the ink staining your fingertips.

You continue to talk unabashed,

“You were twelve, and I forgave you a long time ago. I care for you a lot. We’ve been working together for what, six years? I know I didn’t make it easy to work with me either.” You finish, and he sighs, ducking his head in embarrassment. Then, before he can stop himself, he pulls you into a tight hug. You return it immediately.

“I have something to tell you after all this is over.” He mumbles and hears you chuckle. His heart, as it always does, skips a beat at the sound.

Maybe when they defeat Father, he can tell you how he really feels.

Instead of living in denial.

#edward elric x reader #ed elric x reader #edward elric x you #edward elric x y/n #fullmetal alchemist x reader #fullmetal x reader #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fairy writes

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writingoddess1125 · 7 months ago

Text

Deadpool Headcanon

Dad!Deadpool and GN Reader

Fluffy Weirdness

Kinda just came to me so enjoy? 🤷🏼

Masterlist <<

Kofi <<

• Deadpool, finds out that he has a teenage kid, (Y/N) by total accident.

• A relative of a old fling of his telling him they had his kid before disappearing themselves.

• His reaction is a delightful mix of shock, denial, and inappropriate jokes.

"Wait, I'm someone's dad? Damn- They must be fucked up!"

• But underneath all the sarcasm and one-liners, the idea begins to settle into his brain.

• A tinge of fear eats at his brain and itches under his skin..

• When Wade first digs into (Y/N)’s background—using his "very legal" skills—it’s mostly to make sure they’re not a mini supervillain in training.

• But what he finds instead knocks the wind out of him: (Y/N) has been in and out of the foster system for years.

• That hits him harder than he'd like to admit- making him pace a bit back and forth in thought.

• At first, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

• His own past was screwed up, but seeing his kid going through the same kind of instability?

• It messes with him. Wade cracks a joke to numb the ache.

“Of course, my kid’s in the system… couldn’t have inherited my charm or good looks, huh?”

• Deadpool starts paying more attention, following (Y/N) closely.

• He watches them move from one foster home to another, each one more temporary than the last.

• Sometimes (Y/N) would get picked up by a social worker right after school, with nothing more than a worn-out backpack slung over their shoulder.

• Wade stays out of sight, gripping his weapons tighter than he should, resisting the urge to intervene... for now.

• Seeing (Y/N) trying to stay strong, dealing with bullies, shifting from home to home, makes something snap inside Wade.

• He realizes he’s angry, really angry. No kid, especially not ***his kid*** , should have to feel so lost and abandoned.

• He remembers what it was like to feel that way, and no amount of sex, drugs, or killing can take the edge off that pain.

• Wade starts leaving more than just quirky gifts. In (Y/N)’s locker, there’s a new hoodie with a note, “To make you feel less invisible. You’re worth more than these idiots know. ~ D.”

• Another time, a stuffed unicorn with a note, "Even the toughest need a cuddle buddy." One day, Wade overhears (Y/N) talking to a friend about how they’ll probably get moved again soon

"Yeah, these fosters are.. assholes to put it mildly" (Y/N) jest to one of the few friends they have. Not knowing the hoodie that had mysteriously appeared had a wire hidden in it.

• That night, a hefty envelope shows up in their locker, stuffed with cash and a note that says, “You ever need a place to crash? You’ve got options. Let me know when you’re ready. P.S. This is totally not a bribe. ~D”

"I'm probably gonna get moved again-"

• Deadpool even starts anonymously dropping hints to social workers that (Y/N) should stay in one stable placement, using his "subtle" methods to make sure they’re treated better. He also might’ve scared a foster parent or two into straightening up.

• It doesn't take long for (Y/N) to get to notice all the changes- The social workers treating them better, and now getting to stay with an actually nice family.

• He watches (Y/N) cope with it all, still from a distance hkwever, but now more protective than ever. He knows he can’t change the past, but he can sure as hell make sure (Y/N) doesn’t feel abandoned anymore.

Mini Shot

(Y/N) sat on the roof of the foster home, the cool breeze brushing against their face as they stared out into the dimly lit neighborhood wrapping their read hoodie tighter around themselves. As they sat something caught their eye—a shadowy figure across the way from them perfectly out of view, watching them from a distance. Their heart skipped a beat at first in fear, However after a moment a wash of a unknown familiarity seemed to hit.

Before they could stop themselves, (Y/N) called out softly, "Thank you."

The figure stepped into the light just enough for (Y/N) to catch a glimpse of their hand as they gave them a casual thumbs up.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, vanishing into the night as (Y/N) watched. A sense of pride in Wade's step as he headed off. He'd done it—he'd helped his kid in some way.

And that was enough..

For now

#x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool x reader #deadpool 3 #wade wilson #deadpool movie #Dad!Deadpool

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adventuringblind · 1 year ago

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The Wolf, The Bunny, and the Muppet

Carlando X Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Carlos makes plans, Lando doesn't follow them, and punishment ensues. She's just trying to look cute, is that really so hard?

Warnings: Mildly dark Carlos, Denial, Overstimulation, Bondage, Degradation, Praise, PinV, Marking, Heavy subspace, Lando being a pain, BDSM, unprotected sex (not condoned), crying, anal with mild prep,

Notes: So... this is a thing. I fell in love with this towards the end. Dark Carlos is my new favorite thing. Hope the requester appreciates my effort because this was A LOT. Jk, kinda, but I do hope you like it!!

Side note: feeding my praise kink fuels my motivation to write. I am lacking that currently.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not often Carlos makes a pre-planned effort to put a scene together. He's calculated, sure, but he can also go with whatever the situation calls for.

This weekend is different. He has something he wants to try and has made his partners aware of the plan. It's not often he gets to delve into non-sexual domination. The kind that builds up into something more.

He'd been very clear about the rules after getting them off on Thursday. Hopefully enough to satisfy them (Lando) until Sunday night where he would tear them apart and put them back together.

Lando has always been the trickier of the two. She does whatever Carlos says. Lando can but chooses not to.

Needless to say, that if Lando breaks any of the rule's things will become significantly more difficult for everyone involved. Mostly for himself, but Carlos also doesn't really want to put that much effort into doing something different.

Friday is easy. Lando isn't pent up, both are dressed in outfits he'd picked out, and haven't complained about it. Not that he's expecting it. He's not going to put them in something they aren't comfortable with.

Friday practice goes well. Enough for Carlos to have the energy to tease the pair. He leaves them wanting more, for obvious reasons. There is something so satisfying about having to people who love and trust you, begging for anything you give them. Carlos loves this feeling; addicted to it like a drug.

The climate they are racing in is warm enough that Carlos can comfortably have the female wear a dress that barely brushes the tops of her thighs. It's skimpy, and he loves it. He loves the attention she's getting and how people are gawking at her. There is a primal satisfaction deep down because he knows full well she's his.

On the other hand, he had to wrestle Lando's hoodie away from him. The risk of overheating left Carlos is a predicament. The result being a grumpy Brit who wants to die of a heat stroke but complied regardless.

He manages through qualifying fine. Knowing he's going to find his girl in the garage waiting for him. Carlos gets through media with a PR approved smile. Still eyeing Lando and the fact that he is back in his sweatshirt.

Carlos edges him for hours when they get back to the hotel. His precious girl sits right at his feet, waiting patiently for direction. Eyes glazed over at simply being made to watch and wait.

Lando is sweating horrifically. Carlos left him in the sweatshirt, making him regret his earlier misdemeanors. The Brit is slobbering on the sheets, begging for some reprieve. Carlos helps him take a cold shower when he thinks Lando has learned his lesson.

He makes the podium on Sunday. He's elated, walking on cloud nine. Satisfied with his adrenaline-fueled kisses to his lovers in a back corner before he heads to do media.

It's back in the garage when Charles starts laughing at an Instagram post. It draws Carlos' attention. He looks over to see what's on the screen, only to clench his jaw in utter disbelief.

Lando, is openly flirting with Oscar. His smug look says he knows exactly what he's doing. Of everyone, it had to be Oscar. It could've been Max for all he cared. Oscar just grates on his nerves with the way he looks at Lando.

He ends up having to stay later than expected. Lando had said he was heading back to the hotel to order dinner for them since he was done. Maybe try to make amends for his earlier stunt.

Carlos takes his girl with him. He watches her shudder as he praises her for being all weekend. Not like he expected anything different. Carlos broke her a long time ago. He's still breaking Lando.

He keys the room open, expecting to see food on the table and Lando sitting patiently. What he hears instead is Lando moaning. The sheets shifted around underneath his writhing body.

Carlos just stands and watches for a minute. Lando is clearly aware he's is but making no attempt to stop. The sounds he's letting out are exaggerated and whiny. Terribly desperate for something Carlos won't give him.

"Mmm - Oscah..."

And Carlos snaps. Any semblance of self-restraint disappears. The stoic facade he was trying to keep dissolves into a fiery anger. Red hot and boiling in his stomach.

Carlos storms over to Lando and flips him without any difficulty. He pins him with one hand and undoes his belt with the other. "What a fucking brat. You can't be a slut for one second can you?"

Lando is whining underneath him. It's a pathetic noise, and Carlos soaks up every bit of it. "Desperate little thing." He wraps Lando's wrists in his bet and tightens it. The Brit lay bare and vulnerable at the mercy of Carlos' decisions.

Carlos spares a glance at the female. She has stripped her own clothes and is kneeling by the bed. He wants to drown in the sight and ravish her until neither of them can breathe. "Must you ruin my plans, Landito?"

"Just wanted to feel you."

"Yeah, you're going to feel me for weeks after I'm done with you."

Carlos motions for the girls to come to him on the bed. She crawls to him, big eyes clouded with want. "You're so perfect, amour. I'm going to reward you for being so good this weekend. Lando will watch and take notes."

Lando whines as Carlos rolls him onto his back. Rough and calloused fingers grip at Lando's hips. They tease the sensitive areas where Lando needs him most. Cock achingly hard and dripping.

"Stay put and I might let you cum tonight."

Carlos moves closer to the angelic female, looking at him like he is the only thing in the world. He strips off his own clothes and pulls her body closer to his. The skin on skin alone has her eyes rolling back.

He pushes her head lower. Her mouth opens to receive his cock with no hesitation. She wraps her lips around him with such skill that Carlos can only get lost in it. Hand buried in her hair if only to worship her. There is no need to guide or hold as he bucks his hips up and hits the back of her throat.

It's impossible for him not to take advantage of her mouth. It is harder to stay away from the edge of ecstasy. But he manages, he pulls her off him and slams his lips onto hers.

His fingers slips into her cunt with ease. Wet from the weekend of waiting. The anticipation of feeling him finally comes to fruition.

"Sir, please - I need you." The brg falls from her lips like it's her first language. All she knows is him; drowning in the way his fingers rub against her g-spot. "Need to be filled by you."

Carlos can't deny the girl anything. He burries himself in her. Eye's burning holes into Lando's as he snaps his hips at a relentless pace. "How does it feel knowing this could've been you?"

Lando whines and pouts, hips bucking towards the spainard to find the friction he needs. Carlos grants him nothing but a handprint on his ass. Tears spring into his eyes at the sting. It grants Carlos a sick kind of satisfaction.

His girl pants his name. Her tongue sticks out of her mouth in search of him. The only satisfaction she gains is from being good for Carlos.

He feels her tighten around him, alerting him that she's on the edge. "Wait for me, I'm almost there." He whispers against her skin. She scratches at his back as he picks up the pace. Her own way of claiming him, it sends Carlos' head spinning.

She's begging for it but waiting so patiently. The control he has over her is intoxicating. He could keep her like this forever, but she's been good and deserves a reward.

"Cum for me, you've been so good princessa." She tightens around him, walls refusing to let up. Her body jolts in the pleasurable waves of dopamine and serotonin.

Carlos finishes with a few sloppy thrusts, painting the inside of her white. The only thing left is their heavy breathes as they bask in the high.

Carlos praises her as he pulls out. She whines at the loss of him, so he places a hand on her hip to ensure she knows he's present while in a vulnerable headspace. It's endearing how she needs him.

"See that Lando? Do you think you can be good? Can you listen to my words like the good boy I know you are?"

Lando is sobbing. Putty in the hands of Carlos. Broken and beautiful. Just the way he should be.

Carlos takes pity on him. Places Lando in-between the girls' legs. He waits, unmoving inside of his perfect girl.

He drips lube all over his fingers and takes care in opening up the Brit, but leaves him right enough to ensure a bit if a sting still.

Lando is keening. He's trying so hard not to move; to be good for Carlos.

Carlos takes his time sinking into the Brit. Each movement sends him further into the warmth of his Carlos' perfect girl. Lando is sobbing now, begging for anything Carlos is willing to give.

Carlos finally gives in. He show the two of them to mercy. Teeth clamping onto Lando's neck to mark him and fingers pinching the girls nipples causing her to shreik.

Perfect for him.

His.

All his.

Carlos fucks them into overstimulation. He's relentless and refuses to let the moment go to waste. Not when they are sobbing in pure ecstacy.

They chant his name, and he feeds off it. He could live in this place. Only hearing them worship him for the rest of his life.

Finally, he slows. He pulls out gently and whispers words of encouragement and praise. He kisses up and down their bodies and worships them because they are completely his.

He cleans them up with gentle hands, let's them know how much he loves and adores them.

Carlos cuddles them to sleep. The feeling of their hearts beating on either side of him only sends him further into the chasm of adoration for the two.

Hearts that are beating with his in tadem.

Hearts that beat for him.

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 8 months ago

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The Triceratons Experiment: part 2 (Angst) (18+)

2003!Turtles, Donatello x reader

Intro Part 1 (18+) / Part 3 (18+)

A/N: Finally! Finally I’ve been able to write part 2! I know some of you have been waiting for this for quite some time, and it’s finally here! Hope it was worth the wait💜💚

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Loooong (but we do like that), lust drug?, mildly forced?, forced injection, fingering, being watched, orale - female receiving, orgasm denial?

What Mikey had told Donatello and his brothers, had the purple clad turtle on edge. As a man of science, the unethical ways the triceratons went around their so called experiments, left a bad taste in Donnie’s mouth. He did not like what Mikey just had told him, and furthermore, Donnie had a feeling that this wasn’t the last they would see of the triceraton “professor”. But Donnie would have no idea how quickly his suspicions would come to pass.

The next day started like the day before. The turtles were woken up along with the rest of the prisoners, and told to head for the cantina for food. However, as the turtles made their way down the hallway, they were stopped by the guards, stretching their hands out and blocking their way.

“Halt here”, the nearest guard grumbled, scowling at the turtles.

“Why?”, Raph asked, already feeling agitated. He was hungry, even if it was for a plate full of horrible alien beige goop.

But the guard did not answer him. Instead they intensely stared at each other. Raph waiting for the guard to answer, and the guard expecting Raph to stand down. But neither of them did, standing strong in their silent power struggle. But finally the guard gave in with an agitated look.

“Crowd control. We can’t let all prisoners in at once”, the guard grumbled.

“Since when?”, Donnie asked, confused yet slightly annoyed. It made no sense to him. But the guard did not answer, instead he turned with his side facing the turtles, making it clear that he wasn’t interested in talking, leaving the turtles in silence for some time.

None of the turtles had any way of knowing how long they stood in that hall, waiting for the time they were allowed to go into the cantine. And as the time went on, their already present hunger had started growing, their stomach growling loudly. Raph’s anger and frustration grew as well, to the point where his brothers had to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, in order to calm him down.

Then, finally. Finally the turtles were allowed to go down the hall, making their way to the cantine. Mikey and Raph practically sprinted, not caring what kind of horrible food was left. They just wanted something. But as soon as the two of them came to the cantine, just ahead of their brothers, they were sad and horrified to learn that there was no more food.

Mikey kept pulling on the handle, hoping that a little bit of that beige goop would come out into his bowl, but nothing came. There was no more food.

“They did that on purpose!”, Raph spat, throwing his bowl and spoon on the table in distaine, before sitting down with his brothers. “Fucking triceratons! If I could get my hand on them I would-”.

“Raph!”, Leo exclaimed, cutting his brother off with a stern voice, his face matching his tone.

“What?!”, the red turtle asked, still fuming his anger.

Leo didn’t say a word, but with the same stern look, be pointed to level above them. Raph turned to look up, and found what Leo was talking about. On the floor above, professor Exzor stood with his clipboard, surrounded by guards, looking down at them, taking notes on his board.

“They’re doing it on purpose”, Donnie mumbled, not taking his eyes from the professor in his white lab coat. “It’s probably his idea. A way to force us into giving in to what he wants”.

“You’re telling me that that piece of shit doesn’t think he’s done after yesterday?!”, Raph boomed, fighting not to jump at the nearest guard.

“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you”, Donnie calmly said. “Now, sit down before you give them a reason to go at us”.

With a scowl Raph finally sat down, staring angrily at the table, his knee bouncing under him.

“Aw man!”, Mikey whined, laying down on the table. “I was looking forward to food!”

Donnie and Leo exchanged looks before side eyeing the triceraton on the balcony above. Both had a feeling there soon would be an offer of food coming their way…

—

Once back in their cell, all four stomachs were growling like never before. Raph was getting angry, walking in circles, mumbling and growling. Mikey was once again sitting on the bench, talking about the human girl from yesterday. Though he had been surprised and shaken by the events, he nonetheless had found you very attractive. So attractive he would still mention you out of nowhere before rambling on. Both Leo and Donnie found themselves in deep silence, trying to figure out what was going on.

Suddenly the door slid open, once again revealing six triceraton guards with their weapons ready at hand.

“Face against the walls!”, they roared, marching into the small room. For a moment, Raph looked like he was ready to attack, but with a sharp look from Leo, he let out a small grumble before turning around to face the wall.

With every turtle turned and facing the walls with a guard behind them, professor Exzor made an entrance. For a moment, just a brief moment, Mikey hoped he came to pick him out once more. Though yesterday had been quite a shocker, he wouldn’t mind seeing you again. And if he actually would be allowed to have his time with you this time, he would have absolutely nothing against it. But Exzor didn’t go for Mikey this time around. Instead he went directly over to the guard that stood with Donnie.

“This one”.

“What makes ya think he wants to go?”, Raph suddenly perked up. “After what ya did to my brother, ya be having some nerve coming in here-!”

“Raph!”, Leo yelled out in a stern voice, causing his brother to shut his mouth instantly. “Shut it”. Raph tensened his jaw, letting out a strained sigh. He hated this so much.

Donnie didn’t really say a word as the guards escorted him out. And for some reason, he wasn’t too scared. No, he was thinking. He was too busy throwing glances towards professor Exzor to be fearful, his mind working trying to figure out what was going on.

They guided Donnie down one long hall after another, until they finally came to what Donnie assumed was professor Exzor’s laboratory. Under any other circumstances, Donnie might have been fascinated by it, wanting to get a closer look at the different machinery all around. But not today. Right now, he stood out in the middle of the room, all six guards standing by the walls, while professor Exzor went around the room, getting things ready.

“You’re probably wondering why I chose you today, aren’t you?”, Exzor asked, still not looking at Donnie.

“Because you want a different test subject than yesterday?”, Donnie asked innocently, acting as if he didn’t already knew.

This time professor Exzor finally looked up at him. He stared at him for a moment, before putting his hands behind his back, slowly wandering over to Donnie, slowly walking around him, taking a look at him, before stopping right in front of him, his horn up in the air as he did so.

“You seem like the smarter one of you four”, Exzor said, looking at Donnie down the bridge of his horn. “Am I right to assume that?”

“I like to think so”, Donnie calmly answered.

Exzor nodded a few times before stepping back, moving over to a strap table, setting things up for whatever he had planned for.

“Are you a scientist yourself?”, he asked with his back turned to Donnie, hands busy on the side table.

“I am”.

“I had a feeling you were”, Exzor said. “That’s why I picked you for today”.

“What do you have planned for today?”, Donnie asked, studying the way Exzor moved, along with what he was getting ready by the table.

Exzor stood for a moment, thinking his words through before he spoke. “Do you know a lot about humans?”

Donnie frowned his brows. “A thing or two”.

“What about human biology?"

“A few things as well”, Donnie said, feeling his hands getting clammy. “Some of my friends are human. I know enough in case they need medical attention”. Donnie wanted to ask why, but he had a feeling he would know soon. All day he had had a feeling he would learn something today.

“Have you ever gotten hands on with a human?”

This question took Donnie a little aback. He had never been asked such a question. He had never even allowed himself to think of such a thing. Him, a mutant turtle getting hands on with a human? No way.

“No, never”.

Exzor turned back towards Donnie, this time with a small self satisfied smile. He was finally going to explain. “Your brother has probably already told you about the human girl we have, right? I thought so. She’s an interesting specimen. We found her in an unknown spaceship, cruising around at the edge of the galaxy. We believed she was a spy from the Federation, but she kept saying she was from a planet named Earth. She wasn’t very convincing so we didn’t believe her. Yet she’s the only human we’ve ever had in captivity. It would be idiotic to get rid of her, when she could provide useful information about the mental and physical workings of our enemy. Yet there was only so much we could learn about with only one specimen. But then you and your brothers showed up, stating you were from planet Earth. That suddenly provided us with a whole new opportunity”, professor Exzor said, taking a hold of what he had been working with on the side table. Gloves… High tech gloves… “Though you and your brothers may not be the same species as her, you are from the same planet. That can be just as useful as well”. Exzor took a hold of Donnie’s hands, forcing the three fingered gloves on his hands. “These gloves are made to scan and read the subject. What we want you to do is touch the subject in specific areas, so that we can have our readings”.

“And why exactly do I have to do it?”, Donnie asked, somewhat fascinated by the gloves.

“Because no triceraton is so low as to touch a human in that manner. Disgusting!”, Exzor said sternly, almost offended that Donnie could even ask such a question. “Bring in the subject for testing!”

Another set of doors slides open, revealing two more guards, dragging in a woman wearing what looked like what Donnie could only describe as a hospital gown. Suddenly Donnie understood why Mikey kept talking about you - you were beautiful. A very attractive woman. You made him freeze on the spot and stare with wide eyes as they strapped you onto the table, hands and arms restrained, legs open wide in front of Donnie. He instinctively avoided his eyes, trying to be gentlemanly. But given the whole situation, it was kind of hard for him to do. That was when the two of you made eye contact, and Donnie felt a strange feeling in his stomach, remembering all the things Mikey had told him. Why did Mikey have to tell him all those things? And why did he have to remember them right now.

Professor Exzor told the guards to stand clear, before moving to a computer screen, pressing a few buttons on the keyboard before suddenly turning back towards the guards.

“Give them the shots”.

Before Donnie was able to react, he was grabbed by two guards, one holding his arm out, ready and exposed. He tried to put up a struggle, but realized it was no use. They had him in a lab. Resisting would only cause him, and maybe even you, more problems.

You and Donnie watched the guards with wide observant eyes, as they came in closer, two syringes at the ready. One for you and one for Donnie, filled with a violet substance. You immediately began struggling against your restraints when you saw it. Donnie immediately knew what it was. Whatever gas they had used on you and Mikey yesterday, it was that in liquid form.

“What is that?”, Donnie asked, keeping his voice calm, trying to sound curious, hoping it would make Exzor talk. But the triceraton didn’t budge so easily.

“You’ll figure it out”, was all he said, not looking up from his computer screen once.

Grabbing a hold of your arms, the guards injected you and Donnie with the pinkish, violet liquid, before quickly taking a few steps back from the two of you.

“Now”, professor Exzor said with a stern voice directed at Donnie. “Before the effects set in, put your hands on her angels”.

Donnie gave you an apologetic look before doing as he was told, closing his eyes for a moment when he felt your leg under his gloves. He would lie if he said he didn’t already feel the effects slowly kick in. His senses was already getting heightened, the scent of you slowly getting stronger and stronger. Along with another scent from you… oh no. It was kicking in for you as well. Donnie could understand what Mikey was talking about now. You already smelled so good. Why did you have to smell so good?

“Move your hands further up”, the professor said, still not looking up, somehow sounding even less interested than before.

Donnie already wanted to shoot him a death stare. Somehow the sound of Exzor’s voice made him feel like he was being ripped straight out of a pleasant state of peace. He did as he was told and moved his hands further up, noticing how your legs tensed up and your scent getting stronger. How easy it would be for Donnie to just slide his hands further up, lifting your hospital gown just a little…

“Don’t hold yourself back”, Exzor’s voice sounded once again, reading whatever came up on his screen. “The more you explore, the more information I get”.

Donnie looked back at your eyes, only to find you pupils blown wide already. From the sweat he was feeling forming on his own body, he was sure he looked the same. He sheared your eyes for permission, and to his surprise, you gave it to him. Giving him a small nod. Remembering what Mikey had told him from yesterday, you probably still had a lot of pent up emotions from yesterday. And with that, Donnie gave in, sliding your gown up so that he had a full view of you, the scent of your arousal smacking him in the face.

Donnie stood and stared for a moment, just the sight of your most private area making him go dizzy. Never had he seen a woman up close, nor been able to smell a woman like this. He couldn’t tell if it was because of your scent or the dose running through his veins at the moment, but it was making him feel like he was a week away from his mating season.

Donnie’s hands settled on where your thighs met your hips, pushing your legs further apart for him, his thumbs subconsciously making small circles against your skin, making small whimpers escape you. It didn’t take much to figure out that you were already feeling the effects, and that they were already hitting you strong. Just the feeling of Donnie’s hands on you making you tense with neediness under him.

You laid there before him, your eyes closed and your hands holding onto the restraints. Donnie caught the sight of your tongue wetting your lips, the stuff in his blood already creating images of what that tongue would be capable of doing to him…

“Please”, you whimpered, bringing Donnie back to reality, his abdomen tightening at the sound of your voice. The first time he had heard your voice, leaving him stunned. You sounded just as beautiful as you looked. Your legs quivered, trying to close so that you could create some friction yourself. “Please do something”.

Donnie’s brain went into reboot. He had never thought he would get to hear a woman beg for him to touch her - to do something to her. Yet here he was, with your legs spread wide open for him, though under rather dubious circumstances.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of staring, Donnie finally dared to touch your most intimate zone, letting his thumb grace over your clit. The slight touch made your hip buckle and a small sound of pleasure leaving your mouth. Donnie took a deep breath, taking in the strong scent of your arousal, totally forgetting about the triceraton guards standing around by the walls. Frozen like statues, not even looking at the two of you. It was as if your doings weren’t interesting to them at all.

Pressing this thumb a little firmer against your bundle of nerves, Donnie watched your reaction. You opened your eyes, trying to look down at his hand on you, heavy breathing and hands shaking. You needed more, your eyes silently begging him to do more. And so, Donnie started moving his glove covered thumb in small circles on your clit, causing you to cry out under him.

“Shit!”, you cursed, buckling your hips against him once more. Donnie couldn’t stop himself from churring lowly in his chest at the sound, the hand on your thigh tightening, pushing you even further open with a small increase of force, your head falling back. “Don’t stop”.

Donnie ignored the sound of the triceraton professor pressing the keys on the computer keyboard, focusing on your sounds, your smell and the expression on your face, pressing his thumb firmer against you. You slammed your foot against the table, moving your hips, forcing Donnie to use his other hand, placing it on the side of your hip and keeping you down against the table.

With his thumb still moving against you, he moved one other finger to your folds, gliding his finger through them. How he wished he could be doing this without gloves, so that he could feel your wetness against his skin…

Donnie’s finger glided through your folds until he found your entrance. He did not ask for your permission, feeling both you and his need growing with every second, instead pushing his finger into you, sliding into you with ease. You let out a loud moan that took both you and Donnie by surprise. Yet it fuelled something within him that he didn’t even know was there.

“Is that what you needed?”, Donnie asked as he started to move his finger inside of you, causing you to squirm underneath him.

“Yes”, you whimpered, your restrained hands moving to hold onto the table. Donnie could only imagine how pent up you had been yesterday, finally gaining some sort of release. “Faster, please”.

Donnie hummed at your words, doing just as you told him to, speeding up the movement of his finger, curling it up inside of you. Your reaction was better than he had expected, one moan falling from your parted lip after another. He felt that pressure against the inside of his cloaca, which he grown familiar with throughout his many mating seasons. How he just wanted to drop on the spot a slam into you, as if there was no one around the two of you. But he restrained himself, growling at the strong pressure within him, instead adding a second finger into your clenching hole, watching as your juices gathered up around his digits.

Your legs started kicking against your restraints, your muscles tensing and relaxing as he stimulated your nerves, his fingers hitting the sweet spot deep inside of you. One would not be wrong for believing that he was a master at this, that this wasn’t his first time at the rodeo. Donnie couldn’t explain it. His actions just felt natural at that moment.

You clenched around Donnie’s fingers making him groan, thoughts of how you would clench around him running through his head. You were intoxicating, every sound from you dulling the fire in his veins, yet edging him on, telling him that he needed more. That you needed more.

Donnie couldn’t help but press a kiss to your knee, making you look up at him, your eyes pleading for him. Pleading for him to continue what he was doing. To do more of it. So Donnie did, his lips going from your knee to hovering just above where his thumb was rubbing circles on you. You whimpered when you felt Donnie’s breath on you, your excitement for the feeling of his lips where you needed him the most, almost turning into anxiety of the thought of him not doing it. Flashes of what happened yesterday appeared in your head. The pain and need you felt for hours after the guards had broken you and the other guy apart. You had had no release, and the slowly growing feeling made you almost anxious. You wanted nothing more to cum, letting your juices drench this guy’s face. You still didn’t know he or his brothers names, yet in that moment you were desperate for either one of them to make you cum, just to stop the growing burning feeling inside of you.

Donnie replaced his thumb with his lips, giving your bundle a small lick before attaching his lips with small sucks. This action caused you to let out another loud moan, arching your back, once again struggling against the restraints. Donnie’s fingers speed up, so did his tongue continuing to do fast small licks on you, while the hand that had been holding you down, slowly sliding up under your gown, reaching to grab a hold of your chest. You and Donnie was so far gone in what you were doing, that you didn’t hear professor Exzor mumbling “interesting”, at what he saw on his screen.

You were so close, your mouth open wide, your eyes closed shut, and your body squirming underneath Donnie. He could feel how close you were, driven by a primal instinct to make you climax on him. You were so close. So close that Donnie could almost taste more than your sweet and salty juices. So close…

“Okay, that’s enough”, Exzor said to the guards. “I got the data I need for now. Put him in a holding cell before you bring him back to the others. Just send her straight to her cell”.

It felt sudden to you and Donnie when the guards grabbed a hold of him, pulling him away from you. You let out an almost pained scream, knowing that your possibility of release was once again being pulled from you. Donnie was like a wild animal at this point, fighting against the guards that were trying to restrain him.

“Let me go!”, he yelled, trying to pull his arm away from them with as much force as possible, only causing the guards to get more aggressive towards him. However, with eight guards around, it was only a matter of time before they were able to overpower him, and escort him out of the lab, so that they could place him in a holding cell. But just before they managed to get him out of the door, Donnie managed to get a look back at you, fighting against the restraints on the strap table. He caught your eyes, seeing how you silently pleaded for help. And suddenly Donnie understood why Mikey couldn’t stop talking about you.

—

“Log 67 on Human Studies by Professor Exzor. Date: the eighth of galamion, in the year 56 of the Triceraton Republic.

Today’s experiment once again proved a success. The turtle specimen marked purple has proved to be just as useful as theorized. With their help, I have been able to obtain more information about the human reproductive system, as well as their nerve system, along with a long theorized connection with humans' perception of pain and pleasure.

With today’s obtained data, I can now green light tomorrow's experiment, focusing further on humans’ connection between pain and pleasure, using the turtle marked red.

For the Republic”.

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