#weirdly fitting tag???? where- what?

[mx-giraffe]

I dunno what weird ass shit yous are doin on c.ai

(that's a lie I know exactly what you're doing, and just remember that Santa is watching guys. he's always watching when you're asleep and when you're awake and he knows if you've been good or bad.)

but I'm constructing the most soft and sweet slow burn romances known to man.

[gobstoppr]

Tetris Fanart.

I've been playing tetris while listening to horror podcasts. and yeah

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

listening to my Tideturners playlist was a mistake because I am having SO many feelings about the Sidewinder again.

she's not just any AU of Mai Trin; she's a version who's endured the absolute worst case scenario and lives every day in fear of losing everything all over again. but her story flips the entire narrative of Guild Wars 2 on its head; it's all a matter of perspective, and hers comes from an entirely different angle than we're used to.

what is a monster? as they say, to a bird, a cat is a monster.

the Sidewinder's monster is the Commander.

the first Commander she ever met was a tyrant who set the world on fire just to watch it burn. nothing could stop his rampage until there was nothing left to destroy. he made Scarlet Briar's war look like a playground scuffle; in fact, he did it by killing her and seizing her army to do it with. the Sidewinder doesn't have to wonder what a rogue Commander is capable of at their worst. she KNOWS.

and she also knows that if even a single one knew about her outpost, about her, about her people, and decided they were a threat to get rid of, there's absolutely nothing she could do to stop them. the most she could hope to do is be enough of a speed bump that the rest of the Turnabout can escape and make her sacrifice worthwhile.

she's spent decades building up a new world, a new society, and a new identity-- and in a split second a single person could bring it all crashing down. that absolutely terrifies her. it's all so fragile.

a major part of the Sidewinder's personal arc has to do with overcoming that dread to find common ground. because, truth-be-told, much as she'd insist otherwise? she's not so different from the Commander herself. she's fought long and hard to become someone worthy of the trust and respect that so many refugees from so many, many different worlds have placed on her. it's not enough to have it, she wants to DESERVE it. and even if she'd claim she's not there yet, most would agree she's succeeded. she's the beating heart of the Turnabout; none of it would exist without her. she's given all of them the hope that the heroes of their own worlds couldn't.

Mai Trin never wanted to be a leader or a hero or a politician. but as the Sidewinder, she's become all three out of necessity. she had no other choice. no one else was left alive to do it in her place.

so she puts on her mask, and she steps onto the stage, and she talks big, but deep down she knows that if the worst case scenario came back, there was nothing she could do to protect them, not on her own. the only thing that might stand a chance is another Commander, and is she really prepared to take a risk like that? is she willing to put it all on the line to fight for a future without fear?

and even if they are the right choice, even if they do agree to help in spite of it all... can she put one of the last good people at risk, knowing just what horrors they'd be up against? facing someone who's killed others like them a hundred times over, allowing them no rest even in death as their shambling corpses are conscripted into his undead army? how can she, in good conscience, expect anyone to face something so horrific with stakes as high as THAT? which is worse; that they turn against her, or that they trust her and die, adding another force of nature to their enemies' ranks? the Sidewinder doesn't know the answer to that question, if there is one.

there's so much weight on every choice she must make, and the consequences of every wrong move are unfathomable. she might not be the Commander, but that, at least, is one thing they have in common. the decisions they make will decide who lives and who dies.

all the Sidewinder can hope is that when she finally does make that leap of faith, she'll be ready to handle whatever results lay in store.

[linaslivery]

౨ৎ AS IT WAS ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Being in Formula One has never been easy for Logan since he joined. At first, it was a childhood dream but now, his childhood dream is slipping away into a nightmare. The constant criticism, mistreatment by his team, being ignored by others, is especially getting into his head. But you are here to help him through these tough times…by less acceptable ways than others. Safe to say to not mess with his very overprotective girlfriend because something you say against him, might be the last..

PAIRING ౨ৎ Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ౨ৎ reader is very overprotective of logan (and by that, i mean she goes after anyone that doesn’t give constructive criticism),

A/N ౨ৎ ugh i love logan sm and i hate what’s happening to him :( i really hope that if kimi antonelli ever joins now that the age has been lowered again, that they don’t rush him like what they did to logan. There wasn’t any specific way to do this fic so i did my personal spin on it.

1K EVENT MASTERLIST

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y/n_l/n

y/n_l/n posted a story 10 minutes ago!

[story 1: aussie aussie aussie!! oi oi oi!!] [story 2: finally landed 😵‍💫]

100 others have replied!

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username22 mom is on her way to support dad 😋 !

y/n_l/n yes i am!!

username23 MELBOURNE!! CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU IN THE PADDOCK 🥹🥹

y/n_l/n AHHHH ME TOO LOVELY!!

username24 say hello to logan for us, let him know that people definitely care about him and how amazing he is ❤️

y/n_l/n omg 🥹🥹 i’ll spread the word! he’ll be so happy 🩷

username25 logan sucks ass as a driver

y/n_l/n y’know what else sucked? your mom on my dick last night

TWITTER [Click on the photos!! they are cut weirdly to fit :(]

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y/n_l/n

liked by logansargeant, olliebearman, lilymunihe and others

y/n_l/n Look at my Logie Bear and think about what you did @ williamsracing & @ alexalbon .

tagged ; logansargeant

2,491 comments

williamsracing ✔︎ don’t blame admin for this… 😓😓

→ username1 FREE WILLIAMS ADMIN!!

username2 HELP THE FISH PHOTO 😭😭

→ username3 bro is too american → username4 @ username he is THE florida man → y/n_l/n listen, he was very proud of his fish that he caught.

logansargeant ✔︎ did you really have to choose those photos of me 😞

→ y/n_l/n i did you look like a cutie :( → logansargeant ✔︎ 🥲

alexalbon ✔︎ WHAT DID I DO??

→ y/n_l/n steal his car. → alexalbon ✔︎ I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE IT WAS A TEAM DECISION 😭 → alexalbon ✔︎ I SAID I SORRY MULTIPLE TIMES TOO → y/n_l/n ✔︎ WELL BE MORE SORRY. I EXPECT A PARAGRAPH APOLOGY TO HIM → username5 i seriously need someone that loves me as much as y/n loves and defends logan. → alexalbon ✔︎dear y/n and logan, I want to offer my sincerest apology for stealing logan’s car. It was a team decision I was forced into without my consent. it was never my intention to take your car. I hope we can still be besties. - Alexander Albon → username6 ALEXANDER IS WILD 😭

username7 photos 4-6 just being of him and y/n 🥹

username8 they are so in love 🤭

→ y/n_l/n you bet your ass in in love with this american boy.

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y/n_l/n

liked by lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri, logansargeant

y/n_l/n rest and relaxation after the race where logan gets all the love he deserves :) (thanks for the photos lily and oscar 🫶)

p.s good job alex… ig 😒

tagged ; logansargeant, oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer

2,109 comments

username9 TANGLED IS SUCH A PERFECT FILM TO WATCH WHAT

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ don’t let the photos fool you, tied us down and made us watch it → lilyzneimer no we didn’t stop spreading lies :( → y/n_l/n stop making accusations.

username10 THANKS FOR THE LOGAN PHOTOS Y/N 🤭

→ y/n_l/n always ready to feed my children logan photos 🥴 → username11 oh, we ARE getting fed

oscrapiastri thanks for giving credit where credit is due 👍

username12 her caring for him after what williams did to him and logan not racing is what i needed.

username26 imagine supporting a driver that can’t even finish above 10th in racing

→ y/n_l/n blud just found about about logan and doesn’t know about his f2 an f3 wins

username27 this is why logan hasn’t won anything 😂 his gf constantly babies him

→ y/n_l/n babies? I just show more love than your gf would show your pathetic ass?

username28 i’m sorry that logan has to deal with this woman

→ y/n_l/n i’m sorry your mom doesn’t love you

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logansargeant ✔︎

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, arthurleclerc and others

logansargeant I love my girlfriend :)

tagged ; y/n_l/n

3,210 comments

y/n_l/n AWE LOGAN :(

y/n_l/n i love you so so so much sweet boy ❤️

→ username12 the complete 180 she does when talking to others compared to logan 😭 → y/n_l/n @ username12 is there a problem with that?? 🤨 → username13 @ y/n_l/n no ma’am.

alexalbon ✔︎ your gf is scary as shit

→ logansargeant ✔︎ what do you mean → alexalbon ✔︎ @ logansargeant mate, when i took your car she texted me a 54 sentence paragraph on how she will cut my dick off and HOW. → georgerussell63 ✔︎ … @ alexalbon remind me to never talk to her when i see her. → username ✔︎ GEORGE 😭😭 → landonorris ✔︎ @ y/n_l/n don't cut off the weenies :( → username14 ✔︎ @ landonorris WEENIES 💀 → y/n_l/n @ landonorris can’t make any promises 😆 → alexalbon ✔︎ @ logansargeant SEE SHE’S MENTAL → y/n_l/n @ alexalbon mentally fantasizing about my amazingly cute boyfriend? yes!! → y/n_l/n i still don’t forgive you alexander. → alexalbon ✔︎ @ y/n_l/n the full name too?? → lilymunihe ✔︎ you heard the lady alexander albon → alexalbon ✔︎ @ lilymunihe WHAT DID I DO TO GET TAG TEAMED?? BY MY OWN GIRLFRIEND TOO?? → y/n_l/n @ alexalbon i can list a lot of things!! → alexalbon ✔︎ @ y/n_l/n oh god.

y/n_l/n has posted a story with logansargeant 5 minutes ago!

[story 1: omw to jpn!!] [story2: logan snoozing 💤 ] [story3: 🩷 🇯🇵 ]

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y/n_l/n

liked by logansargeant, carmenmundt, georgerussell63 and others

y/n_l/n MY FAVORTIE AMERICNA SID IT OML IM SO HPAPY IM CYRING TAKE THIS ALEXANDER HAMILTON

tagged ; logansargeant

3,645 comments

username15 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 😭

username16 the fact logan only got 17th and she’s celebrating like he got P1 is so cute

→ y/n_l/n he’s always p1 in my heart no matter what ❤️ → logansargeant @ y/n_l/n babe 🥹 → landonorris @ logansargeant enough flirting i might hurl → y/n_l/n @ landonorris bro’s upset that he’s single → landonorris @ y/n_l/n WHAT NO IM NOT → y/n_l/n @ landonorris starge 1: denial

username17 USA USA USA 🇺🇸 🗣️ 🔥

username18 WTF IS A KILOMETER !?!?!?

→ logansargeant 1,000 meters or 0.62 miles :) → alexalbon @ logansargeant that’s my american. → y/n_l/n @ alexalbon get in line alexander, that’s my boyfriend. → alexalbon @ y/n_l/n STOP CALLING ME ALEXANDER I DON’T LIKE IT. → y/n_l/n @ alexalbon WOMP WOMP LOGAN'S BETTER 😒 → lilymunihe @ alexalbon okay alexander hamilton → alexalbon @ lilymunihe oh god not you too…

username19 the misspellings 😭 😭

username20 she’s happy that logan is happy… and that’s all that matters.

username21 i love it when people are in love

*♥︎ by Author!*

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 1 / 4

Your roommate has a dirty secret - you. The only problem is: you can't remember anything about that. And there might be even more problems when you realize just what kind of relationship you have with her.

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Memory loss. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Fingering. Sex toys. Object insertion. Bondage. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5.5k

A/N: Remember: if these tags are not for you, you better turn back now! If you know my other stories, you may be used to my very explicit writing style, but this is still some of the darker stuff, somewhat. It's rough, but there is an actual wlw story buried beneath the depravity, I swear! And: THIS IS FICTION! Nobody got hurt in the making of this series. (By the way, the header is just for aesthetics, it's up to you to decide how Mistress looks like and obviously Reader looks however you want to insert her. I tried my best to keep her neutral.) Another note on the fandom tags: I write characters who could be anyone, so I thought about some kick-ass ladies who may fit the role here. I'm sorry this is not about your favorite character, but maybe it can still somewhat fit? Give it a try :)

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

You're staring at the pictures with your lips parted and trembling, your cheeks warm, a strange tingle in your nape. Your hands are shaking as you file through the prints. They look weirdly professional, good lighting, even better angles, the background is blurry while the focus lies directly on...

You.

It's you in those photographs, you in various positions, you in different outfits... or with nothing at all hiding your curves. Some pictures are just showing certain body parts, some angles you've never seen of yourself, some more flattering than others.

But whatever you see, you can't hide the fact that it arouses you. It's not the subject, you're usually quite self-conscious about taking nudes of yourself (even though you gotta admit that these look quite well made, so surreal that you feel almost proud of yourself), it's actually two things that make your core throb:

One: you are in clearly compromising positions, bent over with your legs spread wide, on your back, bound to the bed with cuffs around your wrists and ankles, or tied up with soft-looking rope in intricate patterns, your body composed in ways you haven't thought possible (or comfortable).

And two: you are always stuffed. There are various objects sticking out of both your cunt and your ass, sometimes there's even something in your mouth that's held open by a spider gag. It varies too, not all holes are occupied all the time, all at once, in some pictures it's just one and it's particularly stuffed and stretched (is that an eggplant?).

Your body reacts more and more as you flip through the thick printed paper. The worst thing about it all:

You can't remember a goddamn thing!

Shame and arousal course through you as you stare at yourself. But you can't put them down, can't stop. In this photo, you're wearing a black leather harness that accentuates your breasts. You're standing, with wide legs, a spreader bar attached to your ankles. You're blindfolded, your arms tied behind your back. It's a series of pictures, you realize.

First from the front, then from the back (your ass cheeks look great with how they're pushed up by the leather straps). You notice something shiny between them: a butt plug with a sparkly diamond base. It's glowing, or blinking as you see in the next picture where the light is gone.

Your insides convulse a little, your muscles clenching around nothing. It's like looking at porn, but you can't ignore the familiarity about the body portrayed. It is undoubtedly yours.

But then again: you've never had anything up your ass, not in your conscious state at least. But here (and in those other pics) you have, and the next print even shows a close-up of the plug in your ass. It's a strangely aesthetic photo considering the unflattering motif and angle, but it certainly does things to you. Though you can't be sure if the tension in your stomach comes from embarrassment, excitement or sheer terror at the revelation that somebody took these pictures of you – and you can't even remember it.

Swallowing hard, you pry your eyes from the prints, your hands still shaking, as you look around the room. Somebody can only be one person. Your gaze scrapes over the shelves around you, full of camera equipment, old-fashioned film containers next to a plastic box full of SD-cards, various lenses and other extras, and then the cameras themselves, three at least, behind glass doors, kept away, like the pictures you found in a large brown envelope hiding in a drawer.

You've been looking for some hair ties, an innocent search, knowing your roommate wouldn't mind, but now you feel as if you've stepped into a different world, uncovering secrets you should have never known about. Even if they are about you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you look back at the pictures in your hands, your cheeks positively aflame now as you trace the blurry lines of your body before the focus shifts to a close-up of your cunt, shiny and reddened, your clit swollen, with black clamps attached to your pussy lips, thin metal chains disappearing off to the sides, holding your folds open while something black and girthy vanishes into your body.

The next pictures show a white-gloved hand gripping the base of the dildo, and you flip quicker through the sheets to create the motion, seeing the toy going in and out of your cunt, guided by the anonymous hand, spreading your core, diving in to retreat with an extra layer of shine before disappearing again, and as you stare at the prints, you can almost feel it moving inside you, a faint memory as your muscles clench and unclench, your arousal building up before it drips into your underwear.

You are torn between being very horny upon seeing these pictures and utterly disturbed. If you could only remember these scenes, then it wouldn't be as bad. But you can't. There's nothing, only fog that slips through your mind's imaginary fingers as you try to catch it, as you try to make sense of this. You feel your heart beating faster while your eyes tear up from staring unblinkingly at the prints in your hands.

This can't be real. Confusion merges with betrayal, your belly feels tense, your heart clenches in rhythm with your walls, your throat closes up as the first tear spills from your lashes.

You let go of the pictures, watching them scatter over the desk and down to the floor, every angle of your body on display, every inch captured in embarrassing detail, your holes filled or gaping, your mouth gagged or stuffed or open, there's drool, there are tears, there's wetness glistening on your skin in almost every shot. Your eyes may be the scariest part staring up at you. They're either glazed over, unfocused, or rolled back and hooded, some bloodshot, some watery, and some look almost defiant, a moment captured in time where you seemingly fought back?

The ones where you're blindfolded are the least terrifying, those are the ones where you can dissociate, where you can imagine somebody else being tied to whatever surfaces there are, tables, benches, beds, chairs, artfully presented, where it's just a body, clad in sexy lingerie and high heels, or adorned with ropes, or in the moments after where the skin is dented by the intricate patterns left behind by the ties.

The close-ups are also getting to you. You've never seen your own cunt or ass up close like this, so again, it could be anyone's holes filled and spread and used by various objects. The sheer amount and variety of them is quite concerning. But it's the unconventional ones that make you shiver, that create that tension in your stomach. The cucumber pushed deep into your ass so only its thinner stalk or whatever its called pokes out. The wide eggplant parting your labia in an obscene fashion, its entire body stuffed into your cunt, creating a slight bulge in your lower stomach.

There's another stack of photos atop a large envelope (the whole drawer seems to be dedicated to just you), and your curiosity gets the better of you after all. It's a series of pictures showing different round objects pushed into your holes. From marbles to ping pong balls to actual tennis balls, they're all shown vanishing into either your ass or your cunt, pushed by a delicate finger clad in a white glove, one after the other, and you can only assume how many would actually fit. It's not a video, you can't be sure, but you can imagine whoever did this to you didn't stop at just one.

Indeed they didn't, as the next photo shows. Another set of hands, also wearing white gloves, is grabbing your ass cheeks and pulling them apart, making your sphincter wink at the camera, before, in the next shot, your hole is gaping, allowing a strange view inside, rosy flesh stuffed with white little balls (you can see at least three, but more are hinted at behind them). You feel a little sick looking at the rest of the series of pictures, where they come back out as your hole puckers, pushing and pushing.

Your body reacts in earnest, your muscles clenching around nothing, deep shivers crashing down your spine. You flip past more of these kinds of photos, until you stop when you see white-gloved fingers poking at your cunt, spreading your lips, gathering your slick that glistens on the surface of the latex gloves, and you let out an audible gasp when the next picture doesn't show them push in, but shows only a wrist (attached to a slender arm) poking out of your stretched hole, gripped by tight skin, suggesting the entire hand is stuck inside you.

Your stomach gives a nervous growl at the sight, your breath hitching in your throat. You swallow thickly, your nostrils flaring as you force yourself to breathe through your nose to calm yourself. The stack of pictures shakes in your hands as you flip through more extreme insertions, more vegetables, some fruits, an entire apple made it up your cunt apparently, while they went from using one cucumber in your ass to at least three, stretching your rim impossibly wide. The sight alone makes your asshole clench violently, and you wonder why you never felt sore after being stuffed so full and spread so wide.

But your body seemingly adjusted, returned to its former state, unharmed, giving no hints at what actually happened to you. Strange. It's almost as if this happened to somebody else after all. But it didn't. It is your body. You may not know your cunt or ass up close, but you recognize the rest, your boobs, your arms, your belly, your legs, your feet, the birthmarks that make you you. It is you in these pictures, in every single one.

Only you.

A strangled sob escapes you as you look over the desk, seeing more and more envelopes, hiding in plain sight, more prints, some smaller, some bigger, all filled with motifs of your body being used in various fashions, one more degrading than the next. Shame settles low in your stomach, like a heavy weight that makes it hard to breathe. Your head is spinning, blood rushing in your ears so loudly you are startled back into reality as you suddenly hear the creaking of the door.

Footsteps follow, before someone clears their throat.

You whip around, dropping the last pictures you were holding, more shots of your stuffed cunt, wet and glistening as it's assaulted by more household items. Your eyes widen when you see your roommate in the door frame, a smug smile on her beautiful face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh hi,” she says in a nonchalant tone, tilting her head. “What are you doing here, pet?” she adds, and you frown at the nickname, a strange sensation crashing through your nerves.

“I... uh... I was looking for...” you stammer, taking a step away from the desk and the mess you made by dropping all those prints. “A hair tie,” you whisper breathlessly, curling your shaking hands into fists as you stare at her. “What... what are these? Did you take them?” you then ask, your voice trembling as much as your shoulders while you look from her back to the discriminating evidence you found by accident.

Your roommate sighs, unfolding her arms as she walks towards you. She's taller than you, slender and still curvy in the right places, her long hair falling over her slim shoulders. You force yourself to look into her eyes and not get distracted by the cleavage her tight dress creates or how close she is. She stops right in front of you, looking down, a softer looking smile curling her full lips.

“You know I did,” she says quietly, reaching up a hand to caress your cheek with the back of her finger. You shiver under the touch, but don't flinch away. “You agreed to this, remember?”

“No,” you breathe out, blinking quickly as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Shh, it's okay, pet, don't worry. You did. I would never do anything to harm you,” she whispers, leaning closer until you feel her hot breath on your lips. “You wanted to be my muse, you begged me for it,” she adds, biting her lip sensually before leaning in to press her warm mouth to the corner of yours.

You stiffen, eyes widening, your heart nearly exploding in your chest. You can't remember any of this. Why is she saying that? She is just your roommate!

You moved in only a few months ago, replying to an ad you saw on the bulletin board of your college dorm. A cheap room in a good neighborhood, your own room, away from the distractions of having to live with people you don't like or know that well, it sounded too good to be true. But it was true, and the woman looking for roommates was so nice, so enticing. You met her at a neutral place, to get to know her (fall for her charm), before she showed you the apartment, and you moved in later that week.

It was perfect. Until it wasn't. Not that you noticed it right away. You just never saw her. Now that you thought about it, you can only (barely) remember going to your classes (you are still going to your classes, right?), while the rest of the day is somewhat of a blur. You can't, however, remember going to your job at the coffee shop (do you still have a job? How are you paying for this place?), and the more you try to remember, the more holes come up, black and all-consuming.

You frown as you stare at her. She leans back slowly, watching you. Her hand is on your face, the pointy nail of her thump scraping over your bottom lip as her long fingers caress the shell of your ear.

“No need to worry, pet,” she says quietly, her voice a low soft thrum, rich like honey, that tickles something inside you that you've fought all your life. Why does she keep calling you 'pet'? And why does it affect you so much? “Everything is just fine. And I'm not even mad that you just went into my room like this. I told you you shouldn't, didn't I?”

You swallow as she lowers her hand and closes it around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. You feel your pulse throbbing against her palm. “I'm sorry,” you gasp out.

She smiles at you, moving her hand even lower, teasing her fingertips along the neckline of your shirt. “It's okay. You know the consequences. It'll be fine.” You furrow your eyebrows, breathing harder, not understanding anything. “Not the first time, hm?” she adds, giving you a wink. Her words make no sense, your head is hurting with how tight you pull your eyebrows together, and with all the thoughts and questions whirling about in a wild dance of confusion.

“I... I don't –”

“Shh,” she shushes you, her hand gripping your chin. You freeze. “Be a good pet and go back to your room. I'll clean this up. Put on the clothes I chose for you. Wait for me when you're done. Do you understand?”

You stare at her, your body tensing up, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. Her words, the cadence of her voice, the dominant tone, it all brings you to do one thing, your mind emptying as words spill from your trembling lips. “Yes, Mistress.”

You don't even know where these came from. Mistress? Pet? What is going on? But your body moves on auto-pilot, your mind swirling, still fighting the confusion, but also easing into a strange void, triggered by words you've heard before, or so it feels, commands you've answered many times in the past.

She lets go of your chin, giving you a warm smile, even though her eyes are dark and somewhat cold, and you nod, bow your head and shuffle out of the room, your legs trembling as you make your way back into your bedroom across the hall.

For a moment you're wondering how you got here, why you're here, but then your gaze falls onto a pile of clothes on your bed. You walk closer, picking up item after item. A short black skirt, pleated, barely long enough to not be considered a belt. A tight tank top, white and almost see-through. A set of fancy black underwear, a lace bra with an intricate flower pattern, a thong of similar design. There's also a pair of sheer black stockings, a garter belt and straps to attach each piece together.

Your stomach tenses at the sight. You've seen these pieces before, in the photos you shouldn't have seen. It's a blur how you put them on, your head spinning, your hands shaking, but you still somehow manage to dress in time before you hear footsteps on the floorboards outside your room. Your heart beats faster, your chest heaving, tight in the bra and top, straining, something cold crashing down your spine before it gathers hot and pulsing right between your legs.

Before the creaking of the door announces your roommate, you suddenly fall to your knees, your feet tucked under your rear, your hands automatically finding purchase in your lap, folded neatly as you stretch your back and square your shoulders, breathing deep as you train your eyes straight ahead, waiting for the door to open. You have no idea what made you assume this position, why it feels so familiar, so safe in a way.

Your roommate (your Mistress) enters your bedroom, her high heels thudding over the carpet as she walks up to you, tilting her head as she watches you closely. “Stand,” she says, and you do, your legs moving seemingly on their own. Once you stand, stiff with your arms pressed to your sides, chest pushed out, your neck straight, eyes wandering over the tall frame in front of you, she nods. “See? You haven't forgotten. Good girl,” she says, and the praise shoots through you like a pistol shot, straight into your clit, making it throb and ache, your heart beating in the same hurried rhythm.

She walks around you then, her long fingers brushing over your bare arms, around your shoulders, down your spine, until she gives your ass a soft slap, making you gasp quietly. She repeats the motion, but this time, she leaves her hand on your cheek for a moment, squeezing it, her fingernails digging into your soft skin. You stiffen, breathing a little harder.

“You're so beautiful,” she whispers as she leans into you, looming behind you, her breath ghosting your jaw. “My perfect little muse.”

You feel her lips brushing against the soft spot behind your ear, a hot kiss that makes you shiver, while her hand gropes your ass, fingertips teasing at the thin fabric of your thong tucked between your cheeks.

Suddenly she leans back, lets go of you, and you hear her walking a few steps before she stops, a deep sigh echoing through the room. You turn around slowly, unsure if you should, but when you do, you freeze as you watch her pick up the glass of water on your bedside table.

“Baby, I told you to drink more,” she says with a tilt of her head. “You always forget, hm? So busy, head always in the clouds...” She walks back to you, holding the glass in front of you, her eyes boring into yours as she waits for you to grab it. You do, your hands shaking. “Drink up, pretty girl. You know you need it.”

She's so caring, you think as you bring the water to your lips, holding her gaze, but as soon as you feel the cold liquid running down your tight throat, an image flickers before your eyes. Your roommate (Mistress) sitting on your bed, moving a clear glass straw in a stirring motion, swirling the water, making a faint sheen of powder disappear. You feel as if you've watched her do that many times. What is that? What did she put in here? Vitamins? Or something else?

But you can't even question it further, can't find the courage to ask, when you realize you've drank the whole thing, every drop of water (and whatever else was in there) now in your stomach. “Good girl,” she praises and smiles at you, before she takes the glass from your clammy fingers and puts it back on your bedside table. “Now let's get you ready for our big night out, yeah?”

You frown, another faint memory peeking through the fog in your head. It seems to be getting thicker now. Strange. But this image, you still see somewhat clearly before you. You had plans tonight, you remember now, you wanted to go out. Where? No idea. But you needed a hair tie. Yeah. That's why you went into your roommate's room in the first place. Some details are blurry (were you supposed to go out with her? Have you done that before? Why would you? You barely know the woman...), but somehow they don't matter anymore.

She steps back in front of you, her fingers vanishing in the cleavage of her dress before she pulls something from between her breasts. You blink in confusion as you recognize the shape. It's a metal butt plug. And she stored it between her boobs? Interesting.

“Open wide, pet,” she tells you, and without even questioning it, you part your lips and let your tongue roll out. She looks pleased as she puts the rounded object into your mouth. It's warm, and the taste triggers something else in you. Another familiar sensation. It's her, you know without knowing, her taste, sweet and a bit salty, exploding on your tongue, sinking deep, causing soft shivers to crash down your spine, something hot gathering low in your gut.

You've had your face on her chest before, huh? Must be. Your cheeks burn up badly, your breaths loud through your nose as you suckle on the butt plug between your lips, your eyes scanning the pretty face looking down at you. She keeps her fingers on the base, pushing the object in and out, and you find yourself licking around it, coating it in your saliva. Like you've done before. You think.

She watches you before she lets go of the plug and puts her palm over your mouth. “Keep it nice and warm for me, okay?” she says, leaning closer until her nose brushes against yours. You give a jerking nod, tightening your lips around the narrowest part of the plug while its body rests hard and heavy on your tongue. “Good.”

You feel saliva pooling in your mouth, and the urge to swallow becomes stronger. But you focus on the woman in front of you as she straightens up again, her hands on her hips. Her whole presence, her aura, has you in its grip, you feel, it's impossible to fight it, to protest, to do anything except the things she demands of you. All it takes is a look, a word, her voice driving through you like an electric current that controls your every limb.

And so you move when she tells you to turn around and bend over, and as you rest on your forearms on the edge of your bed, she nudges your legs apart and steps between them, her hands sliding under your skirt and pushing it up. You stiffen slightly, breathing harder, your heart thundering inside your chest, but you can't object, you don't want to. You just endure.

And a tiny part of you, through the fog in your head, lights up, a growing heat that creeps down your spine, tenses in your stomach, seeps lower until it gathers in your core, scorching, wet, and it's all you feel when she pushes your thong aside and moves her fingers along your slit, dipping gently between your puffy lips and into your slick, the loud squelching noise making your ears burn.

She prods at your entrance, teases your clit, but then she moves up again, and without warning or command or reassuring words pokes right against your puckered hole, and as you gasp around the plug in your mouth, flinching slightly, she stretches your rim and pushes into your ass, a slim finger, a pointy fingernail, digging against your tense muscles. In and out it goes until there are two fingers, then three, and it burns, the friction too much, like little daggers poking at your nerves.

“Come on, pet, relax,” she says from behind you, moving her fingers deeper, curling them, pushing and prodding against protesting muscles. “You've done this before. You're a pro at this, remember?”

Her words bring up the hazy memories of the pictures you saw, of the various items wedged into your tight ass, and some just don't make sense. Three cucumbers? Really? While it already feels like too much when she 'only' has three slim fingers inside you? How did you manage that? Your stomach gives a distant growl as drool slips past your tight lips and onto your bed.

“Fine, I'll lube you up this time,” she sighs and removes her fingers with a strangely wet pop. This time? She doesn't usually? It's almost as if you can remember the pain of the dry friction, but then why can you never remember any soreness afterwards? Confusion lingers on your mind as you hear her footsteps leaving the room.

You remain in your bent-over position, your hands clawing at the sheets as you suckle mindlessly on the metal plug in your mouth, trying to make sense of it all. You come to no conclusion whatsoever when she eventually returns, and you hear the squirt of some liquid before you can feel it. Large dollops of something cold pressing against your tight hole. You groan against the object between your lips as she pushes deeper, her fingers, slick and cold, sliding in and out again.

This time she stretches your hole by scissoring her fingers, knuckles digging into your tense muscles, and you hear another squirt and something cold lands on your hot skin, slipping right into you. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out on your exposed skin. She keeps doing that, filling you up with more and more lube, you assume, her fingers pushing it deep, coating your insides. It's a strange sensation, but again, this feels somewhat familiar, and triggers more memories you seem to have suppressed before, or forgotten.

You see yourself strapped to a reclining chair, your legs raised up in some sort of stirrups, ankles tied and wrists bound to the armrests. You're naked, and she is kneeling between your wide open legs in front of a large plastic bucket or something like it, and there's a tube inside your ass, something cold (water?) pressing through it and into you, and you see and feel it filling you up, your stomach bulging, and you feel sick, your insides cramping, but you can't say anything, there's a gag in your mouth, so all you can do is squirm in your restraints, until you feel a different sort of pain as she slaps your mound with a force that makes you cry out, makes you flinch remembering it, and she keeps at it, hitting your clit with precise blows until it's all puffy and throbbing badly, and you throw your head back and whine helplessly, your belly still bulging, filling up, while her voice coos into your ear:

“You want to be clean, pet, don't you? So we gotta clean you up properly. You don't want to be dirty for our guests, now do you?”

You frown deeply as those words echo in your cloudy head. Guests? But the question vanishes slowly, replaced by the sensation of her fingers digging deep into your ass, spreading more lube, and in the back of your mind you're just glad she isn't giving you another enema. A strange thought to have, but it makes sense in the dizziness that holds you hostage. Breathing harder, you press your forehead into the bed, swallowing hard around the plug in your mouth.

As she works on (in) your ass, you start to feel a tingle in your neglected pussy, a spasm deep within, a little clench, a needy little urge, and instead of holding still, you find yourself grinding your rear into her hand. She stops immediately, a deep sigh escaping her as she pulls her fingers out of your ass and grips your nape with her wet hand. You shiver and stiffen, holding your breath as she pulls you into a standing position.

Her free hand grabs the base of the plug and pulls it out of your mouth where it clangs against your teeth, causing you to flinch. You swallow the excess spit and take a shuddering breath as you feel the warm metal pressing between your ass cheeks. With how she worked you open, it slips in easily enough, and your muscles clench slightly around its narrow neck, but it's only after she smacks your soft cheek a few times in rapid succession, making you whine and shudder as your skin tightens, that you're tensing up enough to hold it in place.

She lets go of you and spins you around, then holds out her hand to you, her fingers glistening in lube and your own wetness. “Clean,” she says, and even though your stomach makes a loud grumble of protest, you find yourself leaning in and closing your lips around her slim fingers. A strange taste of artificial strawberry and something else, something tangy and your own, floods your senses, but you close your eyes and flick your tongue around her digits, focusing on the task and not on the taste and the origin of it.

Eventually she pulls her hand away and pats your cheek, leaving a trail of saliva on your warm skin. Your eyes flutter open as she leans around you and adjusts your thong, pulling it back in place, then pushes your skirt down again. Her eyes meet yours, the gaze intense, creating another soothing wave of heat that rolls over you gently, that makes you clench around the plug in your butt. A smile grazes her full lips, and you find yourself smiling back.

“Alright, now put your hair up, get your shoes and your coat, and wait by the front door,” she tells you as she steps away, holding your gaze until you nod obediently. Your mind is reeling at this point, confusion and arousal warring inside of you. What is happening?

You don't know, and you don't seem to care too much either as you start moving, following her orders. You end up on your knees again, right by the door, waiting like a dog, and the image couldn't have been more fitting when you see her approaching with a strange leather band in her hands. You blink when she crouches down before you and fixes what you can only assume is a collar around your neck. It sits tight enough to notice it, but you can still breathe freely and swallow against it without it restricting you in any way.

You're still confused why you need this (and why you accept it so easily). Your roommate (Mistress) cups your face and looks at you with a warm gaze that makes you bite your lip, her hands rubbing over your cheeks before she tugs her thumbs under your chin and lifts it so she can lean in and press her lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut as you part your lips and meet her tongue, the kiss deep and soft, gentle gliding of tongues and lips, a warm gesture, sending sparks through your nerves that make you throb with a need that feels both familiar and eerily unknown, frightening.

A single thought ricochets through your empty head: You would do anything for this woman.

“My beautiful pet,” she whispers against your tingling lips, the tip of her tongue tracing the corner of your mouth. “Are you ready?”

Without thinking, without wondering what for, you nod eagerly, a breathless “Yes, Mistress.” leaving your swollen lips. She gives you another peck and stands up then, snapping her fingers in a way that leaves no room for interpretation. You stand immediately, swaying slightly on the high heels you were told to wear. You're still smaller than her, but having to look up only amplifies the sensation coursing through you. Your devotion for her.

She grabs a large bag and shoves it into your hands, and you know by the weight and feel of it, that it holds camera equipment. A distant memory shimmers behind your glassy eyes, of stumbling into her room, finding those envelopes in the drawer of her desk, of flipping through countless pictures of your naked body, of your holes being stuffed and stretched, of being tied down, of letting her do with you whatever she wants. What has disturbed you earlier is barely worth a flinch now.

It's what you do. It's what you are. Her muse. Her pet. She chose you and you obey. It's what you do, it's what she does. She's your Mistress, after all.

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: Yes, our dominant lady here is indeed inspired by a character from my other (m/f) Dom/sub story: Infatuated: Mistress.

By the way, a little disclaimer at the end here as we go to the next (heavier) chapters: I am not a BDSM professional or expert, I am a writer with a dirty mind and access to the Internet. This is fiction, gaslighting people is bad, consent is very important, but when a hot lady tells you to do something, you gotta do it, that's the law (jk). Please see this as what it is: a fantasy and nothing more.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[periwinkla]

Some Maya shenanigans for the pokeattorney AU and some background narumitsu! I live for her teasing Edgeworth to death. For more about this AU: https://periwinkla.tumblr.com/tagged/pokeattorney%20au I think Munchlax and Misdreavus are perfect for her (and Mismagius and Snorlax fit her very well when she's older too, gotta draw that in the future). Munchlax is known for its outrageous appetite and Misdreavus is a mischievous pokémon, but also it's funny that - since they're a Normal type and Ghost type respectively - they can't even touch each other, which is basically what Maya can accomplish via channeling (bringing together the 'normal' world with the 'ghost' world). Also in this universe I imagine the Steel Samurai to have a Kingambit, thus Miles has one as well. Kingambit literally is a Steel Samurai, after all. It also fits with Miles' color scheme, chess theme, and sword theme (the only contradictory thing is that Kingambit is weirdly enough 'not skilled at devising complex strategies' but I guess Gardevoir can make up for that) Maya loves Kingambit obviously, and will absolutely tease them both to death. In this instance, by making both Kingambit and Gardevoir wear Miles' main fashion statement. Also on a side note I love the scene in Turnabout Goodbyes where she gets Polly to tell her the safe number. Her 'criminal mind' saved Edgeworth's behind. -The teams up to now, although might change some: Phoenix - shiny Decidueye, Goodra, shiny Umbreon (7y gap)* Trucy - Hoopa, Eevee (gigantamax) Miles - Gardevoir, Kingambit, Dachsbun (Pess), Espeon (7y gap)* Maya - Munchlax, Misdreavus Pearl - Cleffa Franziska - shiny Gallade, Dragonair, alolan Ninetales/Froslass Iris - white Floette/Florges Dahlia - Roselia Kristoph - shiny Roserade Athena - Rotom, Pawmot, shiny Lucario Ema - Reuniclus Nahyuta - shiny alolan Ninetales (it fits so well it's insane) Apollo - Scorbunny/Cinderace, Whismur Klavier - Toxtricity Larry - Smeargle, Monferno *Espeon and Umbreon evolve at the same time but Phoenix and Miles are in different time zones when it happens, still need to figure out the specifics

[fairyhaos]

◈ adorable and insufferable // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words

tags: sick fic, fluff, crack, established relationship, joshua makes small snuffly bunny noises when he's sick

warnings: food mention at the end

notes: for his birthday present, i give him a cold. as you can see, i love him very much.

Your boyfriend is sick.

He is, also, an absolutely terrible liar.

That leads you to the situation right now, where you’ve cornered Joshua in the kitchen, hands on your hips, a bunny spa headband pushing your hair back, and it’s not the most intimidating sight but Joshua gulps all the same, eyes darting around the kitchen nervously.

He’s looking for an escape route. You can see it in his eyes, clear as day, so you step even closer, voice dangerously calm as you speak.

“No, keep your eyes on me,” you say, face set into an angry frown. “Shua.”

Joshua looks at you, and tries not to breathe too weirdly. “Um. Y/N?”

You look him up and down, and then slowly fold your arms. “Shua,” you say again. “Are you sick?”

He blinks rapidly, and then has to stop, because it makes his head feel all woozy. “No?” he tries, and then coughs a little. He’ll claim it was out of nervousness, because you look kind of terrifying right now, but your eyes immediately widen at the sound, and he knows he’s busted.

“You are!” Instantly, you lunge for him as he tries to dive past you and escape this interrogation. “Joshua, come back! You’re sick!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear I’m not,” he insists, trying to pull away from the iron grip you’ve clasped around his wrist. Resistance is futile, though. You’re not letting him go, now that him and his wellbeing are involved. “Y/N, baby, please, I’m totally fine.”

“No you’re not,” you say firmly, and then begin dragging your whining boyfriend out the kitchen and towards the stairs. 

“I—” He sneezes, then, a loud and wet sneeze that scrapes at his throat and makes his eyes water, and he pauses, shocked. He sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

You shake your head, partly exasperated, partly fond, and continue pulling Joshua up the stairs.

He’s been shuffling around the house looking mildly ill all day, and you’ve been waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and get him up to bed. Because Joshua, when he gets sick, utterly refuses to give in and accept that he’s coming down with something, always waiting until the last moment to finally admit defeat to whatever illness has plagued him this time.

By the time you’re opening the bedroom door and ushering Joshua inside, he’s looking considerably worse than before, face all flushed and eyes watering from the sudden coughing fit he had while coming up the stairs.

“Come on, baby,” you coax, tucking him into bed. You press a hand to his forehead, a little alarmed and a little amused by how quickly he managed to look severely ill during the short walk upstairs. “Sleep.”

“I can still function, you know,” he insists as you pull the covers over him. “I can—I can do things.”

“I’d rather you not,” you say, smoothing down his hair and tucking away a few stray strands. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “I knew you’d get sick from all those days where you went out wearing all those thin layers in winter. What were you thinking?”

Joshua huffs petulantly. “It’s called fashion.”

“It’s called making yourself sick,” you return, and then chuckle at his pout. Leaning down, you press a quick kiss to his forehead, brushing a finger over his cheek fondly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel way worse tomorrow if you don’t.”

He grumbles, but there’s a small smile on his face as he bids you goodbye and asks you to shut the door properly on the way out.

───────────── 💗

Your boyfriend is very, very self-sufficient. He tries not to bother other people with his struggles and his concerns, but he’s also very terrible at hiding it away when someone asks him directly if everything’s okay.

He’s also really weak in the face of attention.

Which means that while he’s very self-sufficient, the moment you notice he’s unwell and call him out on it, he melts instantly and gets taken over by his sickness so quickly that it surprises you every time.

Slowly, you creak open the bedroom door, peering inside to see Joshua staring blankly up at the ceiling. His head snaps towards you as you walk across the room, but his eyes are all glassy.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, and all he’s said is your name but it’s like he’s speaking through a ball of cotton. 

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, smiling a little, because his eyes positively shine when you confirm it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you place a damp towel over his forehead, feeling his cheek with the back of your hand, and wince a little at how warm he is. “Goodness me, Shua, you’re burning up.”

“No, I’m not,” he murmurs. “You’re burning up.”

You smile a little, pinching his cheek lightly. “If you were this sick, then why didn’t you say anything, hm? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“I’m not that sick. I can still do stuff,” he says, eyes falling shut just slightly as you begin stroking his hair, a relaxing movement. “Hey, hey, Y/N, watch this.”

“Hm?” You stop stroking his hair, sitting back and waiting patiently. 

There’s a long silence, and then Joshua cracks an eye open to look at you. He looks expectant—well, as expectant as a person with an extremely high fever can look—but when you don’t say anything, a small frown creases his brow.

“Didn’t you see it?”

“See what, baby?”

“The cartwheels. I did cartwheels.”

The statement is so absurd that you think he’s joking, but his face is set into such a serious pout that you can’t help but laugh a little, because there's something about fever-drowsed Joshua that is so adorable.

“You didn’t do any cartwheels, baby,” you say gently, and go back to stroking his hair. “You didn’t even get up.”

Joshua frowns, the pout deepening. “Oh.” His eyes close, and then open again. “I did them in my head, though. I’m sure I did.”

Cute, you think helplessly, unable to stop the smile spreading across the face. “Okay.” You kiss his nose. “I believe you. But I’m gonna go get you something to drink and eat, and then you’re gonna take some meds, okay?”

He makes a small noise of discontent when you get up, and then coughs, giving a pathetic sniffle like a sad little bunny, and you almost want to just stay next to him and never leave his side.

“You’re gonna need to take the meds to get better faster,” you say at the door. “I’ll be back soon, promise. Wait here.”

Joshua makes that sad noise again, but he watches you go. “Okay,” he says, all mumbly. “I promise not to cartwheel away.”

You laugh a little, because good lord, he’s so adorable. “Okay. I’m trusting you, alright?”

“Mhm.”

You close the door and walk down the stairs, shaking your head fondly.

───────────── 💗

It’s only several days later that his fever finally lets up, and he’s well enough to walk around the house once more. You wake up to Joshua in the kitchen, a blanket around his frame, making pancakes.

“Baby?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “What are you doing?”

Joshua turns to you, and then grins, eyes crinkling fondly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and deposits the last pancake onto a plate. “I’m making you breakfast, of course. Here. Eat up. Want some french toast too?”

“Wh—huh?” you say, incredibly intelligently, slowly sliding into the seat that, like the gentleman he is, Joshua had pulled out for you. “Why?”

“It’s a thank-you present, obviously,” Joshua says, as he busies himself making french toast. As if the pancakes and spread of fresh fruit and waffles (he cooked waffles too?) aren’t enough. “I’ve been insufferable over the past few days.”

You chuckle a little, thinking of Joshua insisting he can do cartwheels while you try to spoon feed him soup. “Yeah, you have. But I didn’t mind. You’re my boyfriend. Of course I’m gonna put up with you.”

Joshua laughs. “Thank you, Y/N. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be dead without me,” you say, incredibly seriously, and it makes Joshua laugh again. His eyes are still a little puffed up, but he beams at you, all full of life, and it makes you grin too.

“You’re totally right,” he says, and leans over to peck you on the cheek. “I love you.”

You smile, taking hold of his chin and bringing him down to press a longer kiss to his lips. “I love you more.”

Joshua quirks a grin at that, kissing your forehead for good measure before going back to the bread. “Let’s not start that argument again. Eat your pancakes, sweetheart, before they get cold.”

You look over at him as he busies himself making yet more food, and it makes you a little dizzy, really, just how much Joshua loves you. And how much you love him in return. Even when he’s doing cartwheels in his head and insisting he’s doing them in real life.

“Hey, now you’re all better, you can do those cartwheels you kept wanting to do.”

“Really? Should I?”

“Yeah! I bet I can do them better though.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[xazse]

ohhh what about jjk men with a very timid and shy lamb hybrid reader ! they hit the jackpot for having the kindest and sweetest girl as their baby 🩷

Gojo x Lambgirl!FemReader

Notes: Sorry if you wanted smut After I finish my last Ask I’ll make sure to make some for these two <33

Notes: and also sorry for only making Gojo I didn’t really have the motivation to do all of them against if you don’t really like Gojo let me know and I’ll do another ver for you. <3

Pairings: Gojo x Lambgirl!FemReader

Tags: Nothing but fluff, mentions of Geto and Shoko

-Days with Gojo are erratic to say the least, most of the time he’s trying to coax you out of your shell, trying to get you to hug him without him asking, or maybe you even giving him a cheek kiss without him having to once again ask. But that doesn’t mean he won’t give you the warmest kisses ever, you’ll usually sit there with your hands politely in your lap while his lips trace every surface on your face, oh my god he just adores you.

-Gojo can’t help but want to carry you everywhere around the house with your legs wrapped around his torso and arms locked around his neck, your cute ears flopping around. In the mornings when you’re groggy and still sleepy he’ll pick you up without question and walk to the bathroom to do his daily face routine, sitting you on the countertop and does his in-depth steps and if he’s changed anything he’ll explain everything about it, you don’t mind though.

-Satoru loves dressing you up, picking your outfits on days where you go out, Gojo personally tailors your outfits so your tail will fit threw (Gojos good at everything of course he’s gonna know how to tailor) that’s just the Cherry on top. he’ll throw cute white miniskirts that leave a good view of your ass out when you bend over. You always protest that it’s embarrassing and you’ll be looked at weirdly but one thing Gojo is good at is convincing and that he does. So when your wrapped around his arm, constant having to readjust the length of the skirt, he revels in it.

-You love lazy sundays, you take that as an opportunity to be all over him. Squirming in his lap trying to get even closer to him. He’ll use this as an opportunity to scratch behind your ears while you kiss at his chin.

-He had put aside you meeting Geto and Shoko for a while because you expressed feeling super nervous and all in all thinking negative thoughts on how they wouldn’t like you. It was the complete opposite. When they walked into Gojos house they hadn’t expected to see you hiding behind him peering over at them, with your ears and nose twitching. Gojo pulled you from behind him and made you stand in front of the two of them. Oh you were a cute thing, shyly hiding your hands behind your back and greeting them with a small quirk of your lips.

After a while of them coming over and Gojo successfully warming you up to them, you would not leave them alone. If you weren’t on Geto’s lap rubbing against his face, you were all on Shoko giving her tight hugs and making her rub your ears. That doesn’t mean that they hated it, it was kinda nice having someone tail after them all over Gojos apartment, sometimes they would only come over just for you, promptly pushing Gojo and embracing you right in front of him.

[heartless-tate]

I have a request!!

I need some angsty Rhys x reader like I need the air I breathe. I’m talkin someone died and was brought back by the grace of the Gods or something along those lines. And I need the other party to lose it.

Can be smutty too I won’t be mad about it. But if it doesn’t fit don’t force it. Love your works! You’re a fabulous writer 💜

Come back to me | Rhysand X Freader angst

A/N: sorry it took so long! I’ve been very busy. P.S this shit wasn’t proof read so if it sucks it sucks. I’ll do better on my upcoming fics 😭 And thank you so much anon!

warnings: death, allusions to sex, wasn’t proof read 🥴, MDNI!!!!

“No!” Rhysand snaps at you. You growled challengingly at your friend. He was so fucking stubborn. 

“Rhysand I swear to the cauldron above I will skin your ass if you don’t let me go on this mission.” 

Rhysand bristles at your new threat. You were always creative with them. His eyebrow quirks. He sighs and rubs his temples. He looks around his office as if trying to find an escape. He stands abruptly and approaches you. His wings gently cocoon you, and he drops his head on your neck defeatedly like a pouty child. 

“Don’t call me that...” he mutters into your skin. Your fae ears catch it. His breath was warm against your skin, and you wondered briefly why he had been so touchy as of late. 

“What?! Your name…?”

“Yes.You always call me Rhys- call me anything but my full name. We’re closer than that dear.” He whispers, lifting his head up. You huff. You wonder why you feel your body gets hot at the nickname. It was just Rhysand- he gave pet names to others. Right? Your eyes find his violet ones. You were tempted to scream at him again but you saw his tired eyes, and softened. You sigh. 

“Fine. But I’ll go with you.” Rhysand spoke before you could say anything else. 

——————

It wasn’t just Rhysand that tagged along. Azriel and Cassian did too. Whatever- at least you got to go. Ever since your best friend, Rhysand, returned from under the mountain he’s been weirdly protective. He had always been protective- but now he was outrageously paranoid of anything harming you. It was odd. 

You were on a simple mission. Track down a group that has been disturbing some of the night court’s cities, take them out. Simple really. Or so you thought. Once you had successfully tracked the group down, Azriel had stopped any of you from proceeding further. He wanted to observe the band of rouges to see what they were doing. And their powers. You didn’t see a point in it- as you were there. Azriel was there. Cassian was there. Rhysand was there. You four could take out this lowly group in minutes! Or so you thought.

 After about three days of restless following the group, it was safe to say you were ready to take them out. You didn’t pay any mind to Cassian  trying to stop you from proceeding. Azriel had been scouting the area for any others. Rhysand was with him as back up. Leaving you and Cassian to watch the group. You felt a hand grip your wrist and jerk you back.. 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Cassian whisper-barked at you. 

“Cas- I’m hungry. I was just going to get some food.” You whispered sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him. His eyes softened he contemplated. 

“Fine stay here, don’t move and keep your eyes on them- I’ll go on a quick hunt real quick.” He muttered. You smirked in victory once he left, now it was time to show them that you could be helpful. 

————————

“Something’s wrong. I sense it.” Rhysand yelled to Azriel over the wind. There was no other members of the band of rouges around.  Azriel flared his wings slightly and nodded in response.

“Let’s head back, I’m sure everything is fine.” He responded. 

Rhysand wasted no time and turning swiftly in the air. He started a fast pace back to the camp where the group was resting. Azriel followed suit. Something was wrong. He could sense it. His skin had goosebumps, and he felt restless. He had a shaky feeling of anxiety. Why? He couldn’t figure this out.

The camp came into view, and he was about to dive into the forest to hide himself from the group. But his eyes caught something- a body. A body in the middle of all the men. The men were cheering and whipping it. Rhysand’s eyes sharpened and he felt sick. It was- you. A sense of rage and utter wrath of a thousand burning suns filled him. 

Azriel flinched when the whole area went completely dark- it wasn’t nighttime- it was Rhysand’s wrath. He felt a shiver work it’s way up his spine. He caught sight of your naked body being beaten. 

A loud book of thunder sounded, causing all the men to pause their fun. They didn’t have time to react when something large hit the ground. Majority of them fell to the floor, scampering. Dust was everywhere. 

A tall looming figure with bat wings spread in front of you, covering you. Rhysand. Everything hurt. So fucking bad. You were covered in blood and vomit- whatever they had shoved down your throat was working fast. You felt sick. Vunerable. Everything was so hazy. You didn’t have time to process the screams around you or why. You felt your body collapse. Something was wrong. No- it’d be fine. You’d get flown to Madja and healed and you’d soon wake up. You tried to keep your body up but failed, collapsing to the mud. 

Rhysand felt dread at hearing the thump on the ground. There were bodies everywhere. His senses were heightened. The only heartbeat was Azriel’s and yours. But yours was the only one that mattered right now. And it was so slow- 

He shoved Azriel away from your collapsed form quickly, cradling your head. Your scent- it was fading. Your skin was so pale. He realized with a sick feeling you were dying. His eyes met your weakly opened one’s. Your eyes started to close.

“Nonononono- cmon we need to get her to Madja. What are you doing?! Let’s go!” He yelled, quickly hailing your body in his arms. Azriel flinched. 

“Rhys- it’s too late. It’s an hour flight, and where we are it’s impossible to winnow! And the poison they forced on her has spread mostly.” Azriel whispered. Rhysand ignored his words, shaking his head. His wings flared, preparing for flight. 

“Where’s Cassian- get him- we can make it-“

“Rhysand- we fucking can’t. It’s not possible.” Azriel’s words and reality finally seemed to hit Rhysand. Rhysand collapsed in the mud, holding you close to his chest. He was rocking you back and forth, tears falling from his eyes. 

He gently caressed your face. Your eyes opened. He whimpered softly at your weak expression. “No.nononononono! It wasn’t suppose to happen like this. There was so much I had planned for you- for us.” Rhysand said. His words were soothing. You felt yourself relax. You felt Rhysand’s talons scrape your mind, and gently broke your barricade. The pain in your body disappeared. You were able to process his words better. Death, you were dying. Us. You had never realized there was an us. You couldn’t help but press your face against your hand. You think you could die at peace like this. You weren’t sure if the tears on your face were his or yours? Maybe both. You were so tired- you felt so relaxed with his warm body and wings covering you. We’re the woods always this quiet? It was getting harder to keep your eyes open. Rhysand’s hold tightened. 

Rhysand came to the realization if he was panicked you would feel it- he needed to calm himself for you. It was the least he could do. He took shaky breaths pressing his forehead agaisnt yours. “I’m so sorry..” he muttered agaisnt your skin. 

“..you have nothing to be sorry for…” you grunted out. “..I love you Rhysand.” 

“Don’t call me that.” He groaned out. Nudging his head against your body gently. Your choked laugh filled his ears. 

“I love you so much Rhys.” You said again. He made a noise of pain  and kissed your wet eyelids. 

“I have loved you with every fiber of my being since the day I met you, and I will continue loving you until the day I die..” He whispered loudly. His lips were soft as they gently pressed to the tip of your nose. He watched as your shaky hand reached forward to wipe his watery eyes. Your fingertips were soft. He savored the moment, closing his eyes. Until he felt your hand fall. His eyes widened open, panic settling in. Your eyes were fighting to stay open. Your chin lifted foward as if to kiss him. He bent forward. His forehead again rested against yours. You were both staring at eachother. Something snapped- a gold tether between you too. You felt your heart throb one last time. And everything went dark. 

Rhysand screamed. It was guttal and terrifying to Azriel who stood off to the side giving you two privacy. He felt his heart break. You were dead. 

——————

Rhysand refused to let you go. Your corpse remained in his bed- it had been two days after your death. Somehow his magic had kept your body intact and clean. He refused to eat, drink, or even leave your side. He spent his hours curled up agaisnt you, crying and begging for you to come back. You were his mate. He had loved you as much more then a friend for a millennia of years by now, and he had a sneaking hint you were mates. But the mother was so cruel- killing you just as soon as the bond snapped. 

His claws dug into your skin gently as he rocked your corpse back and forth. A knock sounded at the door, eliciting a growl from him. Azriel stepped in. 

“Rhys. You need to eat. Y/n wouldn’t want you-“ 

“Don’t say her fucking name!” Rhysand growled, eyes going dark. Azriel shivered in fear at the sudden darkness. Nobody could get to Rhys. It was scary. His brother was slowly killing himself. And they couldn’t do anything about it. 

Azriel nodded and left the room, deciding to leave it be. Rhysand curled his wings back around you. He climbed on top of you, gently straddling. A few tears dropped down his face, landing on yours. His forehead met yours. 

“Bring her back home-  please..” He cried out. 

Rhysand flinched. He was hearing things now. Was he in so much pain he was delusional now? He whimpered. He thought he could hear you calling his name. Maybe his time has finally come and he’ll be with you again. 

“Rhys..!” 

Rhysand jumped, hearing your sickly coughs. You. You. You. You were breathing. He was surely in the afterlife now. His head dropped to your chest, ignoring your cries of his name in favor of hearing your heartbeat. It was there- you were alive.

Rhysand choked on a sob. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Rhysand!” You yelled louder. He flinched. 

“Get off of me- your suffocating me you big Illyrian baby.” You groaned. He wuickly jumped off of you. Onyl to wrap you in his arms and cradle you to his lap like a child. 

“Rhys?” You questioned. His head was pressed to your chest again. Where your heart was. You felt something wet drip down. 

“You were dead. Gone- dead. I lost you!” He choked out. “I thought..” he couldn’t finish his sentence as he made a whimpering noise. He was having a full break down. 

“Rhys. I’m right here, I’m alive, calm down.” You muttered. Your body was sore but you couldn’t feel much right now. All you could focus on was the weird attached feeling towards the male holding you. How were you alive? You had no idea. But you weren’t mad. That’s for sure. 

Rhysand gently pushed you down against his sheets. You were in his bed, in his shirt and boxers. You smelled of him. There wasn’t much to say. He was acting on instinct. His hand roamed your body, as if ensuring you were real. His wings cradled you, blocking out the world. He grabbed your face, turning it, inspecting you. 

“Rhysand!” You snapped. He flinched in response. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m fine.” You repeated trying to calm his mother hen. You could feel his emotions now. 

“No. You’re not going anywhere. That’s for sure.” He whispered, eyes holding a dark look. You nodded in response. You flushed slightly, remembering. He was your mate. He finally smiled down at you. It was slightly crazed, but it was better than crying. His eyes were puffy. 

“I’m here to stay.” You whispered as his lips slowly met yours. Your first kiss with him. 

—————-

Rhysand was very clingy. The last two weeks have been spent with him up your ass. The inner circle was delighted to see you alive. And Cassian begged forgiveness. He thought it was his fault. You assured him, it wasn’t his fault. Which led to Rhysand sitting you down and giving you a very long lecture. You weren’t allowed on missions until next starfall. Of course, it annoyed you. But you also decided to relent and obey Rhysand this time. Armen said you were a miracle and not to question your resurrection.

You and Rhysand had been taking it slow as far as the bond. It strictly stayed to small pecks on the lips. He wanted to ravish you- but he wanted you to be comfortable with him. You were. How couldn’t you be? Azriel told you how he stayed beside your body. It made you tear up. And now, all that was left of the ‘accident’ was a protective Rhys. He refused to leave your side for more than an hour. Sleeping arrangements were made where you could sleep in his room or yours, but best belive he had to be in the same room. If you didn’t want him touching you that night he was more then happy to sit in a chair and do paperwork (and watch you as you sleep but you didn’t know that.)  But you always ended up wanting him by you. It brung comfort. 

You were ready for more. Specifically tonight. You convinced Rhysand that you would be okay while he joined his brothers at Rita’s. But you knew he’d be back within two hours. And would waste no time attaching to you. So you worked fast. You made yourself look pretty in the mirror feeling slightly self conscious. You felt a shift in the air realizing Rhysand was near. You rushed to the kitchen looking at the meal you prepared. You were shaking. This was embarrassing. What if he didn’t want you? 

“Love?” Rhysand’s sweet voice filled the air as he sensed your distress and rushed into the dining room. He paused upon seeing you. You were gorgeous. No female on this planet could hold a candle to your beauty. He swallowed the saliva building in his mouth. You were standing in one of those sundresses. He gulped. You were clammy. His eyes slid to the plate of food where he usually sat for dinner. His eyes slid back to yours. 

He felt himself harden. “Y/n?” He whispered. 

“I’m accepting the bond.” You whispered. 

“Say it again.” He demanded. 

“I’m accepting the bond Rhys.” You said louder, feeling embarrassed until he plopped down on the chair. He wasted no time in devouring his food. It was gone in under two minutes. His eyes found yours again. 

“I suggest you sit and eat your plate. Because once I get you in my room you’re not coming out for a very long while.” His pupils were dilated and his wings were flared. He was holding himself back.

You certainly didn’t waste any time eating your plate. 

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

As he drags her deeper and deeper into his world, introducing her to yet another dominant character, she quickly realizes it's all too much. Or is it?

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Fem!Dom. Bondage. Fingering. Sex toys/vibrators. Double penetration. Overstimulation. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 9.2k

ELEVEN 🟥 TWELVE 🟥 THIRTEEN

The worst thing about being measured isn't the act itself, but how this woman keeps handling her as if she were a doll, talking about her as if she weren't even here. She's glad he's with her, and his presence does give her enough comfort to endure whatever the seamstress does to her next, but it's still an ordeal she really doesn't want to go through. Even if it means he'll buy her new clothes, clothes that will really fit her body, not just randomly picked shirts and skirts and underwear that came always only close to properly fitting her.

He's putting in so much effort for her, probably leaves quite a sum in this strange store, and she is grateful, but she also has never been this humiliated in her life – and that is after spending an entire weekend with a stranger who choked her on his cock, fucked her ass as if it were the most natural thing and made her lose control over her body in the most mortifying way.

It is actually this other woman that makes her feel worse than he could ever make her feel (though forcing her to walk around with his cum leaking into her underwear and that woman definitely noticing is a weird little transition between the two). While he always made sure she was okay afterwards, she is downright mean to her.

Called her an object. Actually slapped her.

She also has cold, clammy hands, and the way her measuring tape cuts into her skin and pokes at her nipples and other sensitive areas is not how she expected to be treated here. Not that she expected to be brought to a tailor in the first place. The entire day (and it's only a little after lunch, she assumes) has been far from anything she could have ever expected. Packing up her stuff, leaving her apartment for the last time presumably, letting him lead her into a new life... It is, simply said, more than overwhelming.

The ordeal continues, and she is either staring at the floor, biting her tongue to keep quiet and still, or she's looking at him, how he leans against the wall, strong arms crossed over his chest, in his fancy suit, so tall and intimidating and strangely enough the only anchor she has here. His gaze is intense, and she can only imagine what he is thinking about, fantasizing about.

Probably how he will take her next, and the thought alone makes her squirm on her feet a little, the heat seeping right between her legs where his cum is still caked into her panties, warm and wet, initially a mortifying feeling (because she knows the other woman must have seen it too), but also weirdly comforting. His mark on her, almost as obvious as the countless bruises on her neck that still throb slightly when she moves her head.

But as with most of her aches, she's ignored them enough to almost forget about them. They're part of her now, of her situation, her life. She's still trying to wrap her head around it all. She's living with him now. Staying with him, more likely. Will he keep her in his bed, locked into his bedroom when he's not there? How will this go? Will he lock her up like a pet or give her more freedom? What would she prefer?

She doesn't know, and while she is caught in her thoughts about it, she suddenly feels a soft slap to her butt cheek that startles her. “All done,” the seamstress says in a mock friendly tone, and while she stares at her, she notices him walking closer, a cold “Tsk” on his lips that makes the other woman flinch slightly.

His hand closes around her wrist as he pulls her off the platform and against him, and she looks up in relief, focusing fully on him now, even though his eyes are fixed on the tailor behind her.

“I'll have your order ready by tomorrow,” she says, and he nods while his hand moves to her lower back, warm and comforting as he pulls her a bit closer.

With how she tilts her chin up to look at him, she doesn't notice what's going on behind her, and frankly, she doesn't care about the seamstress anymore. She wants to forget about this whole thing as soon as possible.

“Raise up your arms.” His voice makes her blink, and she realizes she has just stared at him without paying any attention at all. He's stepped back a little, let go of her, and now her dress, the little pale pink one he chose for her to wear, is in his hands.

She lets out a surprised gasp, but obliges and raises her arms, still focusing on him, though a little bit more present when he pulls the dress over her head and smooths it down her body. His hands slip around her neck and into her hair as he frees it from the collar, thumbs brushing over her jaw as he looks down at her, a strange mixture of a dark hunger and a soft admiration shining in his eyes. She bites her lip, a nervous gesture she's utilized a lot lately, and he raises an eyebrow as he watches her closely. She stops immediately, taking a shuddering breath.

He cups her face, his own a stoic mask, before he straightens up again and lets go of her, exhaling loudly. Without another word, he grabs her hand, nods towards the tailor she had already erased from her mind, and pulls her out of the room, back along the narrow hallways to the door they had entered through. Instead of turning to the elevator, he walks to the left, further into the belly of the building until they reach another unassuming door.

She's never been behind the scenes of these fancy department stores before (and she assumes that's where they are – the normal places she's bought clothes at before certainly didn't have their own tailors in hidden backrooms, just bored teenagers waiting for their shift to be over), and despite the rather humiliating start, she is fascinated by it. His world is so different from hers, it makes the whole situation feel more like one of those princess makeover shows instead of the abduction movie that it is.

As she was being measured, her mind had gone all different directions, back to the beginning, crossing over that sentence that made her question everything: “You made me take you,” he had said, making it sound as if it had been all her fault. And maybe it had been. She had approached him, made the literal first move, and he had reacted. Not the way he probably should have, but does it even matter now? Abduction sounds so much more serious than what she had experienced with him. He might have taken her, but she can't remember anything of the actual taking, so maybe she did agree to it?

And maybe she even agreed to all the vile things he did to her, and maybe they had felt a little wrong to her just because she was so inexperienced, had nothing to compare his behavior to. If anything, she now knows a lot more, about sex, about her own body, about his body, about the thin line between pain and pleasure, and most of all, she knows that despite her initial reluctance, she wants this, whatever it is, with him. As long as she's allowed to stay with him, as long as he keeps giving her that precious head-empty-feeling, she will be fine with whatever he does.

Even though her stomach is tensing up, in the worst way, at the mere thought of what that may be. Even after a weekend of being used in ways she could have never imagined, he is still the most unpredictable man she has ever met. And it scares her – more than it excites her, though she's learned to come around eventually. Emphasis on come...

Inhaling deeply, she watches him as he raises his hand to rap his knuckles against the door they've stopped in front of. But then he seems to hesitate, his eyes moving down to meet hers. She feels a blush creeping up her neck at the intensity in his gaze, but it's when he suddenly crouches down in front of her that she lets out a soft yelp. His hands slip under her dress, fingers hooking around the waistband of her panties, and while she stiffens, on the verge of protesting, he pushes her underwear down her legs so swiftly she can only stumble back slightly.

As he balls up the garment in his big hand and stands up again, she stares at him in confusion, instinctively pressing her thighs together at the sudden loss of fabric between them. He puts her panties into his pants pocket, an unreadable expression on his hard face. Instead of giving her any explanation or doing anything else to her, he turns back to the door and knocks.

Her head is spinning, and to ground herself, she focuses on her surroundings again. The hallway around them is bland, as is the door, but there is a tiny sign with a symbol on it, and when she realizes what it portrays, she feels a single bead of sweat run down between her shoulder blades. It's got the shape of a freaking butt plug.

Her hand twitches against his leg on instinct, and he meets her gaze for a moment as she stares up at him with widening eyes. He only has time to give her a crooked smirk before she can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. It opens and takes his attention away from her. Slowly she follows the motion and feels her heart sink at the sight in front of her.

“Ah, what a lovely surprise,” the woman that greets them says with a strangely exotic accent that she can't place. She is... beautiful, to say the least. Dressed in a tight black dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, accentuating an impressive bust as well as a narrow waist and wide hips, the woman balances on precariously high heels, shiny and bright red, her legs are long, her arms are toned, golden rings and bracelets hang from the hands she extends towards the man next to her, completely ignoring her.

He steps towards the woman whose long hair falls in heavy waves around her slim shoulders, framing a face that could belong to a model for sure. High cheekbones, full lips, long dark lashes, a smile that would disarm anyone – but it only creates a deep, dark void inside her stomach as she watches the tall woman throw her arms around the slightly taller man. Something cold grows within her like tiny little ice flowers when he puts his big hands lightly on her tiny waist, the same hands that have been on her body before...

She feels like a literal child next to the two adults, not just small, but hideous in her pastel pink sundress and old shabby sneakers, while the handsome man receives not one, but three kisses on his cheeks from the woman who moves so elegantly on those shoes slash murder weapons that she feels unsteady just looking at her.

Once their greeting ritual is over, she hooks her arm around his, throwing a blinding smile at him and slowly pulls him through the open door, whispering something she cannot understand that makes him smile back at her – all while she, the tiny girl, is left standing on the bland hallway with her heart racing and something ugly festering inside her stomach.

The strange feeling dissipates the moment he suddenly turns back and looks at her, extending his hand, and she almost trips over her own shoes as she steps forward and grabs it, too eager to follow, too eager to touch him as well. The smile on the woman's face freezes, turning cold and fake as her dark eyes follow his gesture, and she feels a shiver crash down her spine as they meet hers.

She quickly averts her eyes, squeezing his hand tightly as she catches up and almost presses into his side, trying to hide behind him to get away from the scrutinizing gaze of the other woman who's let go of his arm to hold the door. Together they leave the unassuming hallway and step into a space that doesn't feel much better.

It's a wider hallway, the walls are black, and as she brushes the knuckles of her free hand against them she notices that they feel soft like velvet, shimmering slightly in the dim, almost purple light shining from the fancy chandelier hanging high above them. She looks around curiously, sees various doors, framed by golden trim, adorned with golden details and handles. It looks expensive, exclusive, too fancy for her tastes, but it's not the luxury that twists her guts. There's a faint smell in the air, and she can't quite put her finger on it.

The woman walks past them, fixed on ignoring her, her heels thudding softly over the carpet. She turns to the second door on the left, that fake smile back on her beautiful face as she looks at the man she's clinging to like a lost child. He keeps holding her hand as they follow her into another room. The light is brighter here, the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves that hold various sizes of black boxes she cannot look into.

The door clicks shut behind them, and the smell becomes overwhelming. Like rubber, plastic, with a strangely sweet undertone, earthy like leather. Artificial, weirdly familiar. She swallows dryly. They walk to the middle of the room, there's some sort of bar, and the woman steps behind it while he pulls her to the other side, nudging her to slip onto one of the two bar stools while he remains standing behind her, one large hand on her shoulder to hold her there.

She feels him close to her, his warmth a comfort she certainly needs when she lets her eyes wander through the room once more. And slowly, very slowly, it dawns on her. He brought her to a freaking sex shop.

Apart from the unassuming boxes on the shelves, there's a wall, plush looking and red, that holds an array of objects that make her frown and shiver: things that looks like riding crops and canes, whips and paddles, some solid, some with holes, most made of leather, some with wood, expensive looking, intricate, and she forces herself not to think back to the few times she's followed her curiosity into the darker corners of the Internet.

Despite her great aversion to sex toys, she knows of them (before she was forced to experience them), seen them in use in various porn clips and gifs, she may be inexperienced, but she hasn't been living under a rock. Though her desire to pleasure herself has been majorly dulled after seeing one too many of these darker themed videos centered around helpless girls in precarious situations, unable to move, bound and gagged and then... tortured, there's no other word that comes to her innocent mind. It had been deeply disturbing.

It's only now, after spending more than 48 hours with a man who would seem to enjoy exactly those kinds of clips, that she learned that there is pleasure in pain, but she still doesn't want to get near any of the objects hanging from the wall. She can still feel the phantom pain of his hand on her butt cheeks when he'd spanked her, she can't imagine what it must feel like to be hit with a wide leather paddle or a thin wooden cane.

Shuddering deeply, she looks away quickly, but her gaze only falls onto another display, another plush wall, this time there are hand cuffs hanging from hooks, things that look like collars and leashes, leather and metal gleaming in the soft lighting. There are even masks and muzzles and blindfolds and... gags. More items she doesn't want to learn more about.

When she brings her attention back to the woman behind the bar, she notices that she's watching her with a dark smile, full lips curled, a glint in her eyes. She clears her throat and turns slightly to look up at the man behind her, and he has the same glint in his eyes. Her frown deepens as she looks from one adult to the other. (She's technically one as well, but still feels like a damn child between them.)

“I have to admit,” the woman says in her sweet, exotic voice, “I am a little surprised. You visit me so rarely, and usually not with... this kind of company,” she adds with a smile, her eyes moving away from her to him, and she feels him shifting against her, his hand curling around her shoulder, and despite the somewhat possessive touch, she feels that coldness poking at her insides again when she imagines these two alone in the same room, surrounded by sex toys. “Did you come to pick up your order?”

“No,” he replies, his deep voice vibrating against her, cutting through her dark thoughts. “I doubt you have it ready so soon.” The woman's smile turns a little sour at his mocking tone, but she keeps her facade, tilting her head slightly, shifting from one leg to the other as she leans against the bar. “I need something more immediate, to go, if you will.”

A surprised laugh escapes the older woman before her eyes land on hers, and while she looks back at her in confusion, she smirks darkly. “To go, huh? That's why you brought your little pet?”

It's like another sting inside her, being called a pet after being called an object, but she tries her best not to let them see how flustered she really is, not only by the names, but by the implications. She's in a sex shop, and whatever he wants to buy for her, she already knows she'll hate it. It's only been this morning that she woke up with a damn dildo stuffed inside her, held in place by a freaking harness. Does he really want to fill her up again? Can't he give her a break?

No. Of course he can't. She is his to use, to have, to control, he'd told her that, and she can't say no, because she somehow agreed to this. Submitted to him. And if they'd be in his penthouse and he'd ask her again to choose one of those many colorful toys he stores in his bedside table, she'd be somewhat okay with it, but it's the place, it's the woman, it's everything that happened prior, that makes her wary, that twists her stomach, that feels worse than anything he'd made her do before.

She feels the blush creeping up her neck even before the woman bends down to pick up something stored beneath the bar, and when she puts a large glass case in front of her, her heart sinks and her cheeks burn up fully. It's two rows of items lying on soft looking red velvet, and by now she can tell by the shape of them, where those are supposed to go. She feels the respective holes clenching in terrified anticipation. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she fights the shudders crashing through her body, her fingers clawing at the hem of her short dress.

He steps beside her, his hand still on her shoulder, his grip tight, demanding, as he leans closer to take a look at the display on the bar.

“The usual?” the woman asks, and she notices how he stiffens beside her, and it's that motion that distracts her from her spiraling thoughts. The two words hang in the air, making her wonder. She actually never questioned his large collection of sex toys, but it makes sense. He's a popular man, she's seen him disappear with various girls before he had finally picked her. It shouldn't surprise her that there have been others in the bed he'd taken her virginity in, others he's used those toys on. (She just hopes he's cleaned them afterwards...)

How he now looks at the woman though, it feels strange. As if she said too much, said something she shouldn't have said. It only deepens her frown. Before she can make sense of it, a deep vibration hums in the air, and she looks down at the glass case with a raised eyebrow, goosebumps crawling over her exposed arms, but it's not one of the toys, it's his phone.

He lets go of her shoulder and pulls it from his pocket, then sighs as he glances at the display. “I gotta take this,” he says, letting the device buzz in his hand while he moves his free one over the spotless glass. “That one,” he says quickly, his voice harsh and business-like, pointing to one of the larger, longer items in the case, and while she stares at him, his words and choice settling heavy in her stomach, the woman nods with a professional smile. “Prepare her for me?” he adds with a last look, and she can hear the sharp inhale and slight hesitation of the shop owner (and frankly, she feels the same. What now? What kind of service is that?).

“Of course,” the woman says despite her initial reaction, her voice calm and friendly, while her face is a mask of dark disdain as she watches him turn around and leave the room with quick steps, the phone already pressed to his ear – and the girl squirms on the stool, eager to follow him, absolutely not wanting to stay here, alone, with that woman, surrounded by freaking sex toys and horrifying bondage equipment – and the prospect of being prepared to take something up her ass again.

Her heart clenches as she fists the hem of her dress, trying to ground herself, her breath quickening when the woman taps her manicured nails on the glass case in front of her. She looks up timidly, meeting a rather sinister smile that makes her skin crawl with goosebumps.

“Well then,” the woman says and stores the display case back beneath the bar. “Let's get... ready then, hm?” She walks towards one of the shelves and picks up a medium sized black box, then nods towards a corner of the room that's partitioned off by a heavy looking curtain. “Get in there,” she adds, her tone much rougher than before.

“Yes, ma'am,” she mumbles, unable to stop the words. It's a reflex, an instinct, an inborn thing to obey when met with people like this. Demanding, dominant. She's just surprised this works with women as well.

Shuffling on her sneakers, her thighs still pressed together, she makes it past the curtain, and freezes. It's a room filled with strange benches, plush ones, leather ones, some lower to the ground, some higher up, definitely shaped to accommodate a body draped over them. There are wooden structures behind them on the wall, boards in an x-shape, and when she notices the hand cuffs dangling from them, she feels a cold shiver rushing down her spine.

“Bend over that one,” the woman tells her, her formerly flowery voice cold and demeaning now, and she follows the delicate hand pointing to one of the benches, a leather one shaped like a triangle of some sort.

Unable to stop herself, she walks to it, inhaling deeply, her whole body shaking, but somehow she does as she is told and presses her stomach against the soft leather, then bends forward, her hands gripping a metal bar on the bottom to steady herself. It's a strange position, leaving her rear completely exposed, and it's only after she's bent over, that she realizes that he took her panties from her.

A soft laugh comes from behind her, pushing even more blood into her already red face. “You came prepared, huh?” the woman mocks, and she flinches badly when she feels two hands on her hips, slowly moving up the thin fabric of her dress. “Of course you'd be. He always thinks ahead...”

Her comment distracts her from the humiliation of the situation. Always? He's brought girls here before? Then again, why is she surprised? She's established he's a popular man with unique tastes, why should she be the first to go through this treatment? Swallowing hard, she grips the metal bar tighter, resting her cheek on the cold leather beneath her, trying to breathe her fears and doubts away.

A sudden slap makes her yelp, her body convulsing against the bench. “So responsive, good,” the woman whispers, more to herself, while she flips her skirt up fully, scratching her seemingly gloved hand over her throbbing ass cheek, the sound of the rubber making her skin crawl. “So, are you familiar with having things up your pretty little bum?”

When she doesn't reply immediately, the hand is back on her rear, the smack even louder, crashing through her nerves instantly. She gasps, almost chokes on her spit, before croaking out: “Y-yes, ma'am.”

“Yeah? Like what? Dainty little metal plugs? Vibrators? Cocks?”

“M-metal ones,” she whispers breathlessly, shame burning through her body when she adds: “And... c-cock...”

It's one thing to experience those things, but talking about them with a complete stranger? And she thought being measured by a rude woman was bad. Her day seems to spiral more and more, so even the idea of being roughly fucked on a desk, unprepared and raw, sounds better than having to endure this. Actually, anything that includes him would be better right about now.

She feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she wonders where he's gone, when he comes back, if he comes back, why he's left her alone with this woman in the first place, why he lets her get so close to her body that's presumably all his...

A sudden stab of something cold rips her right out of her thoughts, her choked yelp coming almost a second too late, when she feels a thin finger pushing into her puckered hole without hesitation. She clenches around it as the woman moves something wet and cold around her insides. A whimper escapes her at the feeling, it's soothing as much as it is uncomfortable. The finger retreats, she hears the squirt of some liquid, and another cold dollop of what she assumes to be lube finds its way into her ass.

Weirdly enough this feels better than when he had his fingers inside her, dry and rough, forced and unexpected, and for a moment her body is confused by the attention, her core clenching, warmth settling low in her stomach, her thighs twitching slightly against the bench. But then the woman adds another finger, pushes deeper, and she feels her long sharp nails on her tense muscles, even through the glove.

Stiffening under the sensation, she grits her teeth, forces down her noises, doesn't want to draw too much attention to herself, wants it to be over soon. Her mind is spinning. Why is she even allowing this? She's come to terms when it came to him, wanting to please him because he gave her a new life, but this woman? Will she never be able to say no ever again? Will she let anyone do to her whatever they want? Is this what she's become?

A groan is forced out of her throat as she feels more pressure on the tight ring of muscles when the woman adds another finger, or maybe she's even using her whole hand now, she can't be sure, it feels like too much, stretching her, pushing deep, the lube squelching out of her with an obscene noise that makes her shiver deeply.

But then the strange sensation is gone, and she's left empty, her muscles clenching in confusion, her breath quicker, her heart thundering inside her chest, a single tear running down the side of her face. She hears the crinkling of paper behind her, the squirt of the lube bottle again, gloved hands rubbing over a wet surface. It's still a surprise when she feels something solid pressing against her sphincter, no matter how well she's been prepared.

As it is pushed deeper into her ass, she sees the shape of it in the glass case, sees his finger pointing at it, and she shudders deeply. It's longer than any plug she's had, not as long as his cock, but close, and luckily not as girthy, but it's made of differently sized balls pushed into a hard line, and she can feel every single bump as it slips into her, how her muscles tense around it, then give way, allowing the next to move in.

The woman is surprisingly gentle, but she still lets out quiet whines as the toy fills her up. Then it stops, resting hard and heavy inside her, and she yelps when her ass cheek is slapped once more, causing her muscles to clench around the insertion, holding it in place. She sniffles, biting her lip, trying to adjust. It feels strange, unfamiliar, but ultimately not as bad. Not that she can do anything against it anyway...

“What an obedient little pet you are,” she hears the woman's voice behind her, almost soft, as she moves her wet hands over her skin, her thumb poking at the base of the plug. “I'm almost jealous he found you first...”

Another slap clears the confusion in her head as she rocks against the bench, gasping. She feels her dress being pulled down again, then hears the sound of gloves being removed with a snap of rubber. She's still breathing a little harder when she's nudged off the bench and forced into a standing position again. Her legs are shaking, that object inside her moving with every twist and turn of her body, making her flinch.

“Thank you, ma'am,” she hears herself saying, her eyes glued to the floor, head bowed in a mixture of submission and shame, but there's something else swimming in the back of her mind as well. Gratitude, excitement at being praised, even if it wasn't by him.

The woman laughs softly. “Call me Mistress, pet,” she says, her long nail scratching along her throat as she grabs her chin and makes her look up. “You've earned it.”

She stares at her, chest rising and falling faster, her core clenching involuntarily. “Yes, Mistress,” she echoes quietly, making her opposite smile warmly.

Footsteps sound behind her, and she dares to break eye contact when she sees him pushing the curtain aside and entering the room. She blushes deeply, averting her eyes, standing stock-still while the woman lowers her hand and turns around.

“All done,” she says with a tilt to her head. He nods approvingly, stepping closer, his large hand suddenly finding her arm before he twists her around and presses her back to the bench.

She gasps, stiffening when he rips her dress up to expose her rear, then presses his finger to the base of the plug, forcing a choked groan out of her throat. “Any trouble?” he asks, rubbing over her probably reddened cheek.

“No, she's been very obedient,” the woman replies, and he huffs a grunt in response.

“Good,” he says and pushes her dress back down, before gripping her arm again and pulling her against him. She stumbles slightly, looking up at him. He meets her gaze, and a smile creeps onto his stoic face. “How do you feel?”

He's asked her the same thing when he has stuffed the dildo into her cunt, and back then she has felt full, it has been uncomfortable, strange, and having the larger plug in her butt still feels weird, with her muscles trying to adjust to the unfamiliar intruder by clenching around every bump of it, but overall she feels... okay.

“I feel fine,” she replies quietly, trying herself at a shy smile as he studies her face.

“Fine, hm?” he repeats with a dry laugh.

He looks away then (and she follows his gaze), nodding towards the woman who extends her hand to him, holding a piece of paper with a QR code on it. One hand on her shoulder, he slips the other into his pocket and retrieves his phone, quickly scanning the symbol, before the smile widens on his handsome face, almost turning diabolical.

She wonders what made him so happy, what's this all about, but then something strange makes her flinch, something from within. A yelp escapes her, and she grips onto his arm in surprise, feeling her muscles vibrating. No, not her muscles, the plug inside her. It's humming, buzzing against her flesh, a deep thrum that makes her entire body shudder. Her core clenches in response, her thighs trembling, and she leans against him helplessly.

He watches her with interest while his thumb moves along the screen, and the motion bleeds into the movement of the vibrating plug. It gets stronger, harder, throbbing inside her, coaxing little moans out of her that turn into gasps that turn into whimpers. She's clinging to him, and luckily he lets her, as her body quickly gets overwhelmed by the assault of sensations pulsing through her, all centered deep within her ass, but soon her cunt starts contracting too, clenching around nothing, and she cries out, squeezing her eyes shut.

“So responsive,” she hears the woman's voice, it's quiet and barely registers in her clouded mind, but she senses the hidden praise and it only makes everything worse.

The vibrations crescendo once more, loudly buzzing now, her whole body shaking, her nails digging into his arm, her lips parted, her shoulders hunching, her back arched, her legs feel like jello, everything moves, hums, shudders, muscles clench, convulse, contract, and she can only manage to issue a single croaked groan before she collapses against him, something warm and sticky dripping down her inner thigh.

He holds her, one strong arm around her, and slowly the thrumming gets weaker until it stops altogether, leaving her still shaking badly, the phantom sensation of having her insides vibrating clinging to her like she clings to him.

“Still fine?” he whispers, pressing her into him, his lips brushing against her damp forehead.

She's breathing harder, her heart still beating out of her chest, but she nods, a dumb little smile creeping onto her lips. “Yes, sir,” she mumbles, the words swimming out of her unchecked. Head empty, how lovely. He chuckles softly into her hair, before he slowly extracts her from himself, grabbing her shoulder to look at her. She can barely stand, but tries her best to remain upright, as she looks up at him out of hooded eyes.

He tilts his head, a curious glint in his gaze as he watches her closely. “Give me the same thing for her cunt,” he then says, the words barely make sense to her, but the woman moves behind him, replying with an amused: “Good idea.”

Her leaving footsteps are drowned by the soft yelp she issues when he suddenly picks her up and carries her towards another bench. This one is reclined, like a lounge chair, and she sinks into the soft leather, relaxing, eyelids fluttering, but as soon as he raises her legs and puts them into strange contraptions that hold them up and spread far apart, she slowly comes down from the high he's forced upon her.

He's standing between her open thighs, hands on her shins, holding her in place, his eyes wandering over her exposed lower body. She blinks in confusion, still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. The plug rests still and heavy inside her, the relaxed position pushing it a little deeper. She inhales sharply, wondering what's going on.

The woman returns, holding another black silicone toy in her newly gloved hands. There are leather straps hanging from her right forearm. A harness, she recognizes, and somehow that brings her down to earth with a force she hasn't expected. He wants to fill her even more, plug her up fully, and these things aren't normal dildos, they are vibrators, and he can control them with his phone. Oh for crying out loud!

She squirms in her seat, her legs kicking fruitlessly against his hold. He shakes his head and lets out a few “Tsk”s as he looks at her. It takes her a moment to obey the unspoken command, and it takes even more self-control to force herself to sit still. She bites her lip hard, breathing loudly through her nose as she looks from him to the woman and back, her heart beating harder again.

Once she's somewhat calm, he takes his hands from her shins, watching her closely, assessing if she'll stay calm, but then he sighs and fumbles with the thick leather bands attached to the contraptions that hold her legs up until they are bound in place, and she tests them immediately, tensing against them, but they won't budge. Her mind starts spinning as a strange kind of panic settles deep within her stomach.

He leans in then, a hand on her face. “Shh, it'll be alright, relax,” he soothes her, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Be a good girl, okay?”

She lets out a whine and nods obediently. He's playing dirty. He always did, but this feels like betrayal (and it's not even that he doesn't trust her to stay still, that he saw the need to restrain her), it's because he isn't alone. The woman watches her curiously, a dark smile on her full lips as she twists the toy between her long fingers. “Do you want me to prepare her?” she asks sweetly, her eyes boring into hers, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

“No, I'll do it,” he replies quietly, his hands already sliding down her inner thighs. And she's glad he does. The woman she's supposed to call Mistress still feels a little suspicious to her. She wants to feel good, sure, if she has the option, but not by her hands. He is the center of her new world, she doesn't need the confusion that comes with someone else pleasuring her.

Though this doesn't seem to be about her pleasure. With how they both look at her, she feels like a rabbit forced into a corner with not one, but two predators staring down at her, like grinning hyenas, eager to play with her.

And somehow it's all wrong when she feels his fingers sliding along her outer lips. What should have been an intimate gesture, a shared moment, a mutual exploration, is now a witnessed thing, with her being on full display, strapped into that strange chair-like bench, it would be almost clinical if it weren't for the soft lighting and dark interior of the room.

She's acutely aware of the woman watching his every move, how his fingers rub over her mound, creating these highly embarrassing squelching sounds when they dip between her folds, and she can't help it, she squirms, strangled whines escaping her as she turns her head away and squeezes her eyes shut.

Footsteps round the bench and then she feels two hands, gloved and a little cold, on her jaw, holding her head, turning it back, before a soft breath brushes against her forehead. “Open your eyes, pet,” the woman whispers, and she shivers, eyes flying open on instinct, a croaked gasp slipping from her parted lips. Her wide gaze finds his, and he watches her, stern, stoic, head tilted slightly, as he continues to rub his hand over her sex.

She's stiff on the bench, breathing harder, heart thundering, held by the woman's hands and the leather bindings around her legs, but it's his dark stare that freezes her to the spot, makes her shiver involuntarily. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she forces herself to relax, to focus on him. He holds her attention as he finally dips a finger into her already clenching hole, and she lets out a muffled moan at the sensation.

For a moment he just looks at her, moving his digit in and out slowly, testing the waters, teasing her resistance, almost a little too keen to coax those lewd sounds out of her wet cunt. Her nostrils flare as she fights the shame trying to burn up inside her. To soothe her, the woman presses her fingertips against her throat, applying soft pressure, but her sharp nails still scratch along her skin occasionally. She furrows her eyebrows, almost loses the battle against all these kinds of stimulation.

Eventually she does, when he adds another finger and really pumps into her now, and she feels her hips bucking, her shoulders tensing, body shuddering intensely. Her suspended feet twitch in their restraints, her toes curl, and she parts her lips to let out a wanton cry, her eyelids fluttering. He prolongs the moment of bliss by curling his fingers and bullying that special spot inside her with hard thrusts of his hand until she thrashes her head into the woman's hands and moans loudly, eyes rolling back, vision turning white.

And it's all gone for a moment, her orgasm crashing through her like a cleansing wave, letting her forget all about the strange room with its strange contraptions, the shop full of toys and whips and gags, and it's just his strong fingers guiding her through the exploding lights behind her eyelids, her body seemingly floating... if it wasn't for the pair of hands holding her neck.

The number of hands confuses her, and she slowly drifts down again, limbs relaxing, all of her sinking back down on the soft bench, while her heart is exploding inside her chest, her breath coming and going in hard puffs to fill her lungs with air again.

“Good pet,” a soft female voice whispers into her ear. “What a display...”

“Th-thank you,” she croaks out, still dizzy from her release, not sure who she's thanking and why, but the inborn instinct loosens her tongue enough to allow the words to spill out. Pointy nails dig into her throat, and she gasps, eyes fluttering open, the added word “Mistress” flying from her quivering lips.

But when the woman behind her eases her grip, her eyes fall onto him, and his gaze is darker than usual, eyebrows knitted, jaw clenched, and she lets out a strange whine, bucking up from the bench, wanting to get closer. Her hands, that have been gripping the sides of the bench in sheer panicked necessity, fly up and reach for him. She manages to slip from the woman's hands, but with her legs raised up and held in place as they are, she sits in a strange position, barely able to hold herself up, but her fingers still brush against the front of his shirt, fruitlessly trying to grab onto him.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, feeling the need to apologize, tears burning under her lashes. He watches her, standing so tall and intimating between her legs, one of his hands raised, shimmering in the light, her juices dripping past his knuckles.

She feels the woman retreating, and suddenly his wet hand is around her throat as he folds himself over her, and she gasps breathlessly, hands now gripping at his wrist, eyes wide, lips parted in a silent cry.

“Right you are,” he hisses, his voice low and dark and dangerous. “You are mine, and only mine,” he looks up when he says those last words, and she hears a shuffle behind her. When he looks back at her, she stiffens even more, holding her breath (not that she could breathe anyway with how he squeezes her throat). “So what do you say to me?”

Her mind is blank with fear (and strangely enough a bit of arousal, may it be the remnants of her orgasm or a new wave of excitement), so it takes her a moment to understand his question, causing him to apply more pressure on her neck, but once she moves her jaw, he eases it and lets her speak, or lets her try to speak.

“Th... tha... thank y-you,” she stammers, her voice hoarse and feeble, her breaths panicked and fast, so she tries again. “Th-thank y-you, s-sir.”

Her attempts calm the anger that has overtaken his handsome face and it relaxes. He exhales loudly, and nods, slowly leaning back, his hand moving to slip around her head, gently squeezing her nape as he watches her, before he leans in again and presses his forehead to hers, staring deeply into her eyes.

“You are mine,” he says again, his voice vibrating through her. “Mine to use, mine to have. Is that right, darling?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies, much quicker, holding his gaze, feeling herself sinking into his eyes, his dominance, his guidance. “I am yours.”

A smile grazes his tight lips, and she could have sworn he is fighting the urge to kiss her, show her the affection he usually would if they were alone, but they are not, so he just leans away, lets go of her and straightens up. She relaxes into the bench, hands falling limply onto her stomach, fingers curling into the hem of her dress, her eyes following his every move.

He inhales deeply, his large form growing for a moment, before he breaks eye contact and turns to the woman who has retreated into the shadows (and she wishes she would stay there). She hands him the black silicone toy, already lubed, shiny in the dim lighting, its shape a little different from the plug still sitting heavy in her ass. It's a little thicker, about as long, but more rounded, imitating the shape of a cock but only just, also bends a little as he rolls it between his long fingers.

She stares at him, waiting for whatever happens next. Her mind is still buzzing from what already happened, from entering this store to being bent over and plugged and pleasured, to being strapped down and pleasured all over again, and it's not over yet. Despite the dizziness swirling within her, her body is already reacting to the sight in front of her, as he approaches her, steps between her legs again, the shining item in his large hand. Her chest rises and falls faster, heart still beating as if it wants to jump through her ribcage, palms sweaty and lips dry in anticipation.

He holds her gaze, a little glint in his eyes while hers are wide and fearful. She doesn't even know anymore why she prefers fingers over sex toys, maybe it's more natural, more personal to feel somebody's heat instead of a cold, lifeless item. A toy pushed into another toy. Does it even matter? She shouldn't fight this, she knows that, he won't like it if she did, but she can't stop the involuntarily twitch of her body, the bucking of her hips, the strain in her spine as she tries to move away from where he's pointing the dildo.

His hand is on her stomach, large and heavy, pushing her down but also grounding her, giving her that warmth she's missing, and somehow she calms a little under the touch, every deep inhale pushing back against his palm. In her raised position with her legs spread so wide open, she can see when he rubs the silicone toy between her wet folds, gathers her slick, adds it to the lube shining on the smooth material.

He prods the tip against her entrance, and she stares, holding her breath, tensing up despite herself. His hand presses harder into her stomach, coaxing a gasp out of her, the motion making her look up at him, and he looks at her, hard, but his eyes seem warmer, reassuring, calm, sure of what he's doing, telling her it's okay. And it is okay. She inhales deeply, clenching her fingers around the fabric of her dress as she tries to relax the rest of her body.

She reminds herself she's had a toy inside her before, for several hours to be exact, and it was okay, more or less. She's felt full and a little stiff, but it was okay. She has been able to sleep with it lodged inside her no problem (kindly ignoring the outcome of that endeavor). But then she realizes she is not in his penthouse, not in a bed, but in a store, in the middle of the city, and she is supposed to walk around with not one, but two toys wedged inside her holes. How the hell is that supposed to work?

“Ah!” A pained yelp breaks from her throat as her thoughts are rudely interrupted by him pushing the dildo past the initial resistance and then continuously further, without hesitation, deeper, forcing it past her tense muscles, and she whines at the sensation, at feeling so incredibly full, and even worse when she feels the toy nudging against the other one in her ass through the thin layer between.

She writhes on the bench, almost howling now by how strange it feels to be stretched this much, to be filled this much, and suddenly the woman's hands are back on her shoulders, pushing her down, holding her in place. She feels tears streaming down her face as she watches him out of hooded eyes, vision blurry, her body still fighting the intrusion, clenching, tensing up even more, her legs kicking fruitlessly in their leather bindings, but he doesn't seem to care, just pushes the toy as deep as it will go, and she sees it disappearing inside her, feels it prodding her innermost spots, or so it feels, stretching her limits.

The hand on her stomach presses down again as if wanting to feel said toy through her skin, and she is certain it has to bulge out of her with how deep it is inside her, but when he removes his hand, there's nothing, just her fluttering belly, flat and covered in a thin layer of sweat. The woman hands him the leather straps she's carried earlier, and he starts arranging them around her thighs and her waist and hips, nudging her shuddering body to accommodate his handiwork.

Her whines are breathless little gasps now, her arms shaking from how hard she clutches at her dress to ground herself. She barely dares to breathe with how full she feels, how snug the harness sits around her lower body, holding everything in place. The last buckle is closed and secured, and she stares down at the contraption, those thick black leather straps, shiny and expensive looking, straight out of one of those BDSM clips she's stumbled across before. And in stark contrast to that, there's her pastel pink sundress, wrinkled from how she's holding onto the skirt part, with its cinched waist and modest neckline and those cute little white flowers.

And the girl on the bench is confused, to put it mildly. How is this happening? How did she end up strapped to a bench in a sex shop and plugged up by a toy in each of her holes, holes that have been virginal only a few days ago, holes she wouldn't even touch herself. Surrounded by two dominant adults, who are now stepping back to marvel at the sight in front of them. Surely they must see the contradiction too, how innocent she is on the surface while her insides are stretched and bullied by those silicone things that have no right to feel this invasive and yet so...

It's growing on her, to say the least. The longer they sit within her, slowly becoming a part of her, or so she hopes, the less stressed she is about it (well, we'll talk about how she is supposed to actually walk with them later). At least she thinks so now, lying on the bench, unmoving except for the nervous flutter of her stomach, with everything resting.

And while she calms down, savoring the quiet moment, the woman and the man walk behind her, out of her line of sight, and for a few more minutes, nothing happens – until it all explodes.

She almost jerks off the bench when the first vibration crashes through her. It's a single stab of movement deep within her, the attached toy throbbing hard against her tense muscles, and in turn pushing even harder against the other toy, and she bucks her hips, cries out, kicks her legs in their restraints, her hands flying to the harness between her thighs, clawing at the straps as she whines in protest.

“Relax,” sounds his voice, loud, demanding, echoing in her ears, and instantly grounding her as she stiffens, body shuddering as it is forced to remain still. She's breathing harder, frozen in her cramped position, before a hand pushes her back onto the bench.

He reappears between her legs, one hand on her knee, rubbing soothing circles into her skin as he looks down at her, the other hand holding his phone, his thumb pressed to the screen. She watches him breathlessly, new tears burning in her eyes. The hum grows inside her as he moves his digit over the device, and she clenches around the vibrating toy, grits her teeth, forces herself to endure.

His hand moves down her leg, short fingernails scratch along her inner thigh, teasing her sensitive skin, scraping over the leather straps. She is fixated on his fingers, focusing, distracting herself, and she realizes the harness sits low on her hips, a thick leather band running from her pubic bone all around her mound until it comes back up between her ass cheeks, tight and snug, thinning. And it sits right over her clit, and all he has to do, is push it down against it, and she wails, kicks her feet helplessly, convulses uncontrollably.

He holds the pressure, moves his thumb over the screen again before the buzzing grows stronger inside her. She thrashes her head back, hips arching upwards, insides singing with these unfamiliar sensations, and he pushes further, increases the vibrations once more, drives her closer and closer to the edge (of pleasure or insanity, she isn't sure at this point).

Her noises are loud and shrill in the room, the sound dampened by the velvet walls and other equipment, her throat quickly straining under the constant stream of whines and wails and cries, as she spasms on the bench, not even registering how the woman holds her shoulders, fingernails seemingly digging into her skin through the fabric of her dress.

She is overwhelmed, more than that, is barely able to breathe, to function, to think. Everything is buzzing, humming, twitching, fireworks explode behind her eyelids, pain crashes through her, turning into waves of pleasure that pull her away, threatening to drown her. Amidst the inescapable bliss, she hears a different kind of humming, voices, soft, amused, maybe even mocking, not that she cares.

“Such a sensitive little pet.” bleeds into a deeper thrum of “Good girl.”, and the praise spirals her even higher until she fades away into unconsciousness, letting go completely.

ELEVEN 🟥 TWELVE 🟥 THIRTEEN

End notes: So I wanted to introduce a female character that could fuel our poor girl's jealousy, but then Mistress stepped into my head and dominated everything. That's just how it goes sometimes. She makes another appearance, but I'm not sure if I want to keep her, maybe in the next season? We'll see.

Also sorry for the confusion I'm sure I created by writing a scene with two unnamed females, I hope it came through who did what and wasn't too redundant either.

Thank you for reading!

Next chapter on Sunday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290 @untamedheart81

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

[michellemisfit]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY

Happiest of birthdays to our dear @energievie who created today's birthday themed tag game. WHOOP WHOOP! 🥳

Thanks for the tag @deedala 🎉 @gallapiech 🤩 @vintagelacerosette 🙌

---

When is yours? 1st March

Where were you born? Switzerland.

How do you feel about your legal name? Are you using it online and/or IRL? Michelle is a nice name. I'm perfectly happy with it. I do however absolutely hate the Beales song I was named after. Think it's one of their worst songs. And I regularly forget that I have a middle name, not even cause I hate it or anything, purely because I think it's pointless. It's Aline.

How about your sign? Do you feel it "fits"? I'm Pisces. And I guess so..? I don't really know much about signs, but people who do tell me it fits, and I believe them. @celestialmickey - come and weigh in! haha

What's your earliest memory related to your birthday? Weirdly enough my earliest *birthday* memory that comes to mind is actually my brother's birthday, when he turned maybe 6? And I would have been 3? My parents had a weird thing about getting me small gifts on his birthday, because I was younger and they didn't want me to get upset I guess? Anyway. There's a photograph of him blowing out his birthday candles and me holding a little sheep stuffed toy that I got for his birthday. I remember loving that sheep a LOT! For my first birthday memory I actually don't really have one until about age 6 or 7? I had a birthday party in our party room and my mum made me invite the whole class, even though I wasn't friends with anyone at school. One of the girls gave me a doll as a present and I genuinly just didn't know what I was supposed to do with this thing and had no idea how to react when I unwrapped it... it was very awkward and I'm sure I was less than graceful. Not the best memory lol

What's one of the best gifts you've ever received? When I first moved to London I felt like I was required to go back to Switzerland for birthdays and Christmas celebrations, even though those were difficult, associated with a lot of bad memories, and never ever fun. I moved to London at the beginning of October with a suitcase of clothes and not much else, and we pretty immediately went on the Dirty Pretty Things break up tour, so i didn't even sleep in my new London room very much for the first 8 weeks. Going back to Switzerland for that Christmas was particularly hard because I hadn't been in London for long, I had barely any stuff that belonged to me, and there was a certain feeling of 'maybe it was just a long holiday, and I'm gonna wake up and live in Switzerland again', because I did a lot of extended holidays to follow bands around the UK in the two years leading up to my move so... yeah, it was rough. And then when I returned home to London Ruth and her mum had bought me my own bedsheets (zebra striped), and made up the bed in my room, and put a big bow on it, and I'm basically in floods of tears just thinking about it now. They made me a home that I was welcome in. And I’ll never forget that.

How about one of the best you've given yourself? I honestly can't think of anything that was a "birthday" gift to myself. hmmm. When I quit smoking I put £5 into a jar every day, that I wasn't spending on cigarettes, and then Ruth and I went to New York and attended Elsie Fest with my 'No Longer a Smoker' money, buying VIP tickets that came with awesome seats and a tonne of free booze... that was EXCELLENT! haha

What's your favourite cake flavour? Not a big fan of cake. I like raw cake batter an awful lot better than actual cake. So I now always ask for chocolate mousse for my birthday :)

How about your favourite flowers? Wild Flowers. And I quite like interesting twigs, too.

Have your ever thrown a birthday party? If yes, tell us about your favourite one. Oh yeah, I throw awesome parties. Here's just a few recent ones, or you can check out the Mys in the Kitchen tag for what may get served at my birthday parties... haha Though actually a couple of years post pandemic I wanted to have a brithday party, but keep it small and covid friendly, so I had a Cocktail & Cookie Icing party, which was so much fun!! I highly recommend everyone to throw a party at least once in their life, that includes like a fun workshop element. We had such a good time!

What's the ultimate birthday song?

Because it’s my birthday and people have to let me play it haha

There we have it! Birthday fun! Now it's your turn @deedala @ian-galagher @iandarling @darlingian @celestialmickey @crossmydna @too-schoolforcool @rereadanon @rutherinahobbit @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx x @iansw0rld @ohkate @palepinkgoat @lynne-monstr @loftec @sickness-health-all-that-shit @faejilly @junemermaid @jrooc @mikhailoisbaby @creepkinginc @francesrose3 @callivich @blue-disco-lights @sleepyfacetoughguy @stocious @spookygingerr @lingy910y @suzy-queued @greentealycheejelly @thepupperino

[keen-eye]

What is your opinion on Wincest?

thank you for asking. i hope you're ready for me to go very in-depth into my personal opinions about the ship and about the fandom, but if not:

TL;DR: take it or leave it, but you cannot deny that sam & dean do not act like normal siblings. because of this i think that i have some level of an objective view on it (or maybe not, idk). and most importantly, bullying is never okay. these are fictional characters

okay here we go ⬇️

if someone hates wincest they should block the tag/blog and move on, it's as simple as that. i myself had the tag blocked when i first started my rewatch. they are only embarrassing themselves by coming on here and crying about it. if fictional incest upsets you so much then i don't think this is the right show for you

jared and jensen have insane chemistry, they and the crew recognized it very quickly. so when you have two people with that much chemistry playing siblings their relationship will come across as very questionable and the audience will pick up on that. they didn't make it up out of nowhere. also, the cast and crew joke about the ship outside and within the show. it's not that serious

do i personally ship wincest? i guess technically i do. i follow a few wincest blogs, i've made a couple joke posts. but i never watch shows for shipping, i never watch shows just for hot people. power to those who do, though. i watch this show because i've never come across a more unique character than sam (reasons too long for this post). so the content i engage in/the blogs i follow are centered around sam and his and dean's canon dynamic, sometimes mixed with this hypothetical version of their relationship because i find it interesting to speculate on. because i do believe something more explicit than what was already shown could absolutely have fit into canon. and that's the only type that i find interesting, where they are not regular boyfriends but as they already are: brothers with a very fucked up and power imbalanced relationship. but i am not actively wearing shipping goggles when i'm watching

i understand that incest makes people uncomfortable. but the show was (originally) a gothic horror. taboo subjects, like incest, are a fundamental part of that genre. emotionally incestuous undertones were ingrained into the show from the beginning. sam & dean are not normal about each other. if you think that they act like regular siblings then i don't even know what to say. and even though the show shifted genres their codependency only intensified as it went on. many characters commented on their weirdly close relationship throughout the show

on that note, this taboo has been around literally forever. it's in literature, it's on tv, it's in porn. it will never not be a subject many people want to explore in fiction. on that note, i see a lot of people say that fictional incest ships will affect reality. i can promise that it will not all of a sudden make everyone want to start fucking their family members. and if someone believes this then i'd also expect them not ship other "problematic ships" (e.g., hannigram, a relationship between a murderous cannibal who physically and psychologically tortured the other person). sam & dean are serial killers but you don't see people saying that being okay with that in a fictional show makes someone a bad person

i can't say from personal observation (because i only joined tumblr in october last year) but i have seen many mentions that more people are becoming increasingly sensitive/engrossed in purity culture compared to fandom years ago and this is evident in how they behave on social media (i can at least corroborate that last part)

for example, seeing someone's sam & dean edit and freaking out in the comments about whether it's meant to be wincest or not before they reblog. or joining in bullying wincest shippers to fit in/appease other antis. or making a post about how disgusting wincest shippers are and directly tagging wincest. i don't know if this is something from the new generation or maybe something else but i will say that when i see people acting like this my immediate thought is that they are children who never learned social media etiquette

attacking and insulting anyone over any ship is extremely wrong and immature. going after people who worked on the show for not condemning a ship is wrong. i also see a lot of people say to wincest shippers that they are probably attracted to their own siblings. once again, these are fictional characters. if you feel comfortable saying that to a real person and without any shame then that says a lot about you. people ship things and explore subjects in fiction for different reasons and it does not mean that it is a one to one reflection of their morals

and lastly, maybe slightly unrelated, saying that wincest shippers have invaded tumblr, ao3, or now rednote is dumb. they were there first, they've been around since 2005. they made these platforms what they are today and they aren't going anywhere no matter how much others bully them

if you got this far then thank you for reading

[sweetbunpura]

Honestly I ADORE the idea of the tags just being like…

#accidental boyfriend acquirement x2

#instructions unclear: dating the tweels

#getting together after almost getting murdered

#is this normal for mers?

#…or maybe underwater mobsters?

#oh just the tweels? okay cool

#hey quick question is it normal for your new bfs mob family members to break into your house and fight you?

#asking for a friend

#gratuitous eels

#WHY ARE THERE SO MANY?!

Okay I may have gone overboard with the tags but either way you get what I mean. It’s just SO FUNNY TO ME???? 🤣

Like I def don’t mind platonic fics (my username is the-ace-reader for a reason lmao) but I also just love the vibe when characters are close friends and they just fit so well together they just naturally start dating and it’s so simple.

Aaaaaand I also like when it’s to the point where others are like “wait… you WEREN’T dating?!” and you can’t look at Symbiotic Relationship and tell me Yuu’s friends would NOT say that about the three of them together! 😂

I think you could go any which way you’d like - I mean. Obviously. It’s your story. 🤦‍♀️ But I think whether you try to stick with your og plan of having them be platonic or switch and have them end up in a poly relationship, it’ll be fun either way! Because the way you write them all is SO fun!

And I really do hope you write that sequel. I think it would be SO funny if the tweels family broke into Yuu’s house and Yuu just 🥊

Yuu may be Shrimpy, but shrimpy Yuu is not! The human can and will fight! 💪😤

#Giving the leech name a correct definition

The funniest thing is that someone could point all of this out to Yuu and she'd be like "Well, damn..."

"Are you gonna tell them this was an misunderstanding?"

"...I mean, I'm not saying no to the idea"

"oh seven..."

The other idea is that the whole family can smell Jade and Floyd on Yuu and they can smell Yuu on the twins. When asked about it, it's like multiple nails being hit on the head. Jade and Floyd are embarrassed while Yuu's just winging it, she weirdly calm about the whole thing.

Anyone breaks into Yuu's house, it's an immediate "these hands are rated e for everyone" moment, and she's winning against the encounter too. Has to be stopped by being picked up by Floyd.

"Shrimpy- Oh, is that the bat I gave ya~?"

"Yeah."

"...."

"Floyd, don't."

"I wasn't gonna! ...But she's using the bat i gave her-"

"Floyd."

[pearlescentparade]

ummmdmm.....

can u erite me characyer

genre

situgation

format

okay caan i have uhhh...katana

angst Where and uh any format

uh oh

what we forsake 🍁 katana x reader angst❤️‍🩹

it's been months.

several months since katana went and defected from the cult, and never looked back. not even for you. solemnly, your thumb brushes over a picture of you two. he was so awkward, standing stiffly beside you. his face donned an expression that wanted to seem happier than a frown yet failed, instead coming across as a hesitant and apprehensive grimace.

you've been taking almost irrational measures to keep this photo hidden from the cult, some of many including: changing it's spot every day, pasting a different picture on top to hide the original, and even keeping a fake vandalized copy has his face crossed out and an "angrily" scribbled 'TRAITOR' on it.

for an organization that preaches all about family and bonds, the true eye is weirdly adamant about frequent and thorough room searches. as grateful as you are to the cult for taking you under their wing and protecting you, there's no denying the absolute disregard for basic privacy. what punishment they'd administer if they found out you still felt sentiment for a filthy renegade... you surely don't plan on discovering. strict parents beget sneaky children. your ears pick up footsteps approaching your room. alerted, you frantically insert the picture into a gap between the floorboards that just barely allowed the photo to fit in it. yet another one of your tactics. the moment you get back up, your door is swung open by none other than scythe.

"howdy, darling!", she tips her hat at you courteously, wearing her grin like always.

"s.. scythe! i thought I asked you to knock before entering...", you lightly scold her and hope she doesn't notice your wavering.

"d'aw, c'mon! ya don't gotta be so jumpy, we're family!" there it is again.. that whole 'family' messaging. she saunters over and places a hand on your shoulder. "aaaanywhoo~ i was thinkin' about goin' out to run some errands. tag along with me, will ya?" in classic scythe fashion, she does not ask, but rather commands.

knowing you have no say in the matter, you resign and sigh. "fine.. but please make it quick--i've some assignments from the overseer to get to." scythe nods, and tells you to meet her outside before leaving your room. before you set off with her though, you methodically pluck the photo from the gap and store it in a pocket of your uniform. where it's safe and sound.

you and scythe stroll around crossroads, purchasing various supplies for the cult. though, it's more like scythe dragging you around into stores arbitrarily and you holding onto the list of needed items and checking off what you've obtained. you're beginning to think that she's forgotten there even is a list.

as she scampers off into another building, you go to follow her. yet, you're stopped in your tracks when you catch a masked demon staring at you a fair distance away. in the crowds of other demons, he certainly stands out.

maybe you're absorbed in your grief, but you swear it's him. the horns, the stature, it has to be. to confirm, you slowly approach. as you get closer, you grow increasingly confident in your suspicions and speed up until you're standing right in front of him.

"it's unwise to walk up to strangers." his voice is slightly muffled beneath the mask, but it's unmistakably his. the smile that creeps onto your face is unable to be suppressed.

"we aren't strangers, katana.." you feebly attempt to mask your excitement. there's so much to catch up on, you don't know where you should start! yet katana shakes his head in disapproval. "we should be. for your safety."

why is he being so difficult? you frown at his aloof response and cross your arms, "is that really how you should be talking to me after we haven't seen each other in so long? we might not get an opportunity to speak like this again!"

"it's for the better. getting caught conversing with a traitor will not hold any advantage for you."

unconvinced, you raise an eyebrow. "then why didn't you leave when you saw me? sounds to me like you wanted me to come to you anyway." katana goes silent. no matter how impenetrable his walls are, it's always you who finds a way to weasel through the small cracks. he exhales deeply, "it was.. foolish. to expect you of all demons to be unable to identify me."

you beam. "how could i not?" your fingers fish out the photo of you two. "i basically have your features memorized from how much i look at this."

"you still hold the photograph?" katana tilts his head. proudly, you nod. "i've been hiding it from the cult wherever i can. you don't wanna know the lengths i've gone to so i can keep this little memory of us!" as you boast about the creative ways you've pioneered to stow away the small selfie, katana begins to think.

your connection to him is the greatest danger that you currently and continue to face. though you believe you can play up the façade that you don't associate with each other anymore, the cult will inevitably find out. they have a habit of snooping around their members' business. and when they find out... he doesn't even want to imagine what could happen to you.

because of him.

the extra caution you have to take. because of him.

the horrors you have to endure. because of him.

and while katana desires nothing more than to rip you from the jaws of corruption and keep you by his side, he knows that you will be hunted too if you defect like him. the family does not take treason lightly, he understands that more than anyone. he wouldn't be able to guarantee your absolute protection, not in the way the family can.

"if you were to make a decision between the family or myself, what would your answer be?" when katana suddenly interjects with a seemingly out-of-the-blue hypothetical after you'd started to think he fell asleep while you were talking, you look up in shock. but you answer quickly with an utmost confidence. "why, you, of course. isn't that obvious?" so then why was he asking?

"i see. then, may you show me the photograph?" you nod and bring the picture up to his face, pinching the top between your index and thumb. katana mimics your finger placement, his hand directly next to yours.

it would almost be cute, if he didn't cleanly rip the photo in half in the next moment.

the sound of the film being torn almost stops your heart. your eyes widen. "katana-! what the hell...!?" tears threaten to fall. katana only places a hand on your head, in a detached effort to comfort you. "my apologies. i didn't intend to make you cry. i thought if we are to be separated, we should keep a memento to remember one another by." your expression softens. katana has always been thoughtful. "..you're right but..."

katana spots a pair of recognizable teal horns coming your way. "i must depart now, the corruption grows with every moment it is not quelled. do not search for me. stay with the family, but do not fall into their trap."

you feel helpless. he's going to leave you and you can do nothing but watch yet again. "i'll miss you, katana." the words come out strained and shaky. you longingly glance up into the eyeholes of his mask, hoping he feels every ounce of yearning you keep for him in your soul.

"don't." he clasps your cheek and wipes away your tears with one of his thumbs, a final act of affection to you. then, clutching his half of your picture, he turns his back and disappears into the sea of demons. aimlessly, you reach a hand out, as if you could throw a rope over him and tow him back.

you're so caught in your grief, you don't even realize that katana left you with the half of your photo that only has you rather than him until you return to the church to stash it away again.

(parade postscript: teehee does anyone see what i did there with the ripped photograph and the fact that the reader has the half with themself and katana has the half with him because they're 😂😂😂 never going 😂😂 to be together 😂😂😂😂😂 or have each other 😂😂 again😂😂😂😂and while you remember people by keeping mementos of each other 😂😂😂😂 they only have themselves so they're going to struggle to remember each other 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 I HAVENT WRITTEN ANGST IN SOO LONG this was very fun thank you for the request :])

[tsukimefuku]

forgiveness is a collective resource ✦ satoru gojo

summary: as you're telling gojo about your most recent fallout, he ends up telling you in return the last question geto posed him before leaving.

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader, platonic! gojo x reader, implied higuruma x reader, fluff, angst, our beloved white haired, blue-eyed sorcerer receives some well deserved comfort.

wc: 900

notes, etc: i wrote this to the sound of i'm only human. it felt like a good fit. i wanted to write this one for so long, but never knew where i'd put it on the story. i'm happy to have found its place.

✦ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

I'm no prophet or Messiah ✦ You should go looking somewhere higher ✦ I'm only human, after all ✦ I'm only human, I do what I can ✦ Don't put the blame on me

"So, that's what happened," you concluded, taking another bite from your sandwich.

"Yeesh," was all Gojo mustered up to say, not being the best at comforting people.

You and Gojo were having a snack in the woods that surrounded Jujutsu High's HQ, and you had just told him about Hiromi's departure to Morioka.

"Having people leaving is shit," you noted, "especially when you care deeply about them. Feels like being left alone to fend off for yourself."

At that, he fell weirdly silent, and you wondered if maybe this would be the best moment to inquire about Geto. After a while, you had learned everything about their fallout — the death of Riko, how Geto had a sharp descent into madness, how he murdered an entire village and had been awarded the death penalty for that.

"The last thing Hiromi told me before he left was that he loved me," which was a twisted, painful little kindness, you thought. "What was the last thing Geto told you when he left?"

You noticed Gojo's demeanor changing a little, and his body becoming stiff. You gave him a few moments before he'd resume his talking.

After a sigh, he ensued.

"'Are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest, or are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo?'" He took a bite from his sweets, and continued to speak with a half-mouthful of sugar. "That was his final question to me before he left."

"What a stupid question."

"Huh?"

"What? You don't know the answer to that?"

He was silent.

You sighed. "You really think that low of yourself? Ugh. The latter, obviously."

The sorcerer was thoroughly surprised and somewhat dumbfounded, so he simply stayed silent in order to hear your observations, something that could be considered the highest form of respect Gojo Satoru was able to display for someone.

You shook your head before proceeding.

"First of all, Geto didn't know what he was talking about, because he wasn't seeing you, only a distorted reflection of his own resentment towards you for supposedly leaving him alone to spiral down madness on his own. Stop blaming yourself. You did what you could, all of you did."

You involuntarily sighed, trying to push the heaviness away from your heart.

"We sorcerers really need to put our God complex aside and learn to forgive ourselves."

Then, you took a pause to sip on your soda, proceeding.

"I blamed myself for years, just to have it all blow up in my face a decade later. Hiromi left a good new life he had built for himself to chase ghosts from the past," and Nanami, arguably the best one of us all, made a terrible decision that rendered him miserable, you thought, "all because of this wicked little thing called guilt. Guilt weighs us down, tethers us to the past and prevents us from moving forward. So here it is: I forgive you. Have my forgiveness." 

"Your forgiveness? For what?" Gojo asked, slightly confused.

"For whatever you want to use it for. Use it to forgive yourself, since you couldn't find it in you for your own benefit. Have absolution. Forgiveness is a collective resource, and we can all forgive each other for our shortcomings. We're all human, after all."

For the very first time ever, you saw Gojo's expression softening underneath his blindfold, and you wondered if the one looking back at you right now was the teenager that failed Riko Amanai and Suguru Geto so many years ago.

The real Satoru Gojo, underneath all the silly cockiness.

"And just to finish answering the question Geto posed, that's precisely why you're the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo, and not the other way around. It was from your failure that the strongest could emerge, and your fallibility stems from you and your humanity."

You now knew how those days went, especially Toji's plan of wearing Gojo down to strike, and the way Gojo told you mindlessly about the first time he let his infinity turned on for days on end.

"You tired yourself in Amanai's benefit, and it put you in a vulnerable position, something only Satoru Gojo, and not the abstract concept of 'the strongest', would ever do. That's why that question is fucking stupid and offensive. You're more than the six eyes and infinity, and more than the people you couldn't save. Let it go," you concluded, taking another sip from your soda.

You were both silent for a moment, and you briefly wondered if you hadn't stepped over a boundary.

"Please, get up" he solicited, an indecipherable voice and expression to his blindfold covered face, getting up from the ground himself.

"Oh, okay," you answered, slightly surprised at the unexpected request.

In a second, Gojo leaned down his huge frame and embraced you, remaining still like that for a minute as you hugged him back, having your chin hooked above his shoulder.

At this moment, even if he was a giant in comparison to you, he seemed and felt remarkably small.

"Thank you," he said, his voice but a whisper behind your head.

You smiled, tightening your grip around his back, happy you could finally reach him and keep him true company.

"No problem, pretty boy. You saved my ass so many times. Thought I'd try to return the favor, which you should know is not something easy to do, since you're the strongest," you said with a laugh, "not all kikufuku in the world would pay off that debt."

He huffed a brief chuckle, letting go of you, feeling he might not be so alone anymore.

[monimccoythings]

Bad Pick up Lines

I'm facing writer's block in this Bowser x reader so for now we are getting this T.T but I wanted to pull something after leaving it with a cliffhanger. I really love my Bowser x reader series hopefully I'll get to continue it some day.

`Previous Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4

tags: @loveforfandomsstuff @harpy-space (Please tell me if I'm forgetting someone, unfortunately I'm very dumb and forgetful)

Your head hurt, just like a nasty New Years Eve hangover. What happened?? The last things you remembered was a blast, a lot of fire and smoke and then...

Oh no.

You immediately opened your eyes. You were inside a darker and grittier castle, certainly not the Disney Princess vibe Peach had going on. What the fuck.

This couldn't be happening. You were dreaming. You had inhaled too much smoke and were in a coma at the ER. There was no way this was Bowser's castle.

He seemed to like the Middle Ages dark castle style, whelp at least the bed was cofortable. Still, you didn't want to stay longer than you needed to. If everything that had been told about your ex cutie patootie was true, which you were sure it was. What awaited you inside this walls was something worse than death.

Fuck, you had treated him like a pet, you had babie talked him, dressed him up, fed him apple slices and combed his luxurious red mane!! You would do all of that again given the chance tbh. It was worth it.

Escaping seemed impossible, the room you were in was too high; and the doors, though more obvious, were too heavy for you to move, whoever put you in there (Bowser) wanted to make sure you didn't get out.

You felt sick, even if you haven't had anything to eat since that morning. Was this how it ended?? With you dying because once you called the turtle equivalent of Genghis Khan 'chimken nugget'.

You heard thundering steps approaching your room. Big man was coming. There was no place for you to hide. Better face death with dignity.

The door opened and the King of Koopas himself came in. Woah. He was even bigger than you remembered, las time it was too smokey for you to see clearly, but boy did you see know his might and glory. I you put it him in your lap now the weight of his head alone could easily break your legs.

Your eyes quickly diverted towards his face, and noted that he looked anything but murderous. He had this weirdly dilated puppy eyes like the Puss in Boots in Shrek 2, his hair had been sliced back, and he was wearing a purple bowtie. Given his actual size, it wasn't as cute as he thought he would look. Still, you swallowed down the urge to laugh at the randomness of it all.

"Did you sleep well?" Wow, his voice was even more thunderous than last time, and now that it wasn't high pitched, it actually sounded kinda nice and fitting, but you couldn't let your guard down.

"Yeah?" You weren't sure where he was going with this. Bowser raised one eyebrow in confusion "Are you asking me?" "No?" God this was going to be a bloody mess.

Bowser, for a behemoth of his size and mass, looked kinda sheepish. It would be endearing if he didn't tower over you and could't crush you with a single hand.

"You-you know, it was quite helpful my bed was there..." He looked at something scribbled in his hand, squinting his eyes. "... for when you hell-fell! from Heaven..."

You snorted a bit, you couldn't help it, that was the worst pick up line you had ever heard. The tension dissipated from your body, only to return with full force when you realised that he may take offense in you laughing. You quickly clasped your hands over your mouth a blush colouring your cheeks.

Apparently he took it as you blushing with delight, because he shyly scratched the back of his head. It was cuteness oversized. For a second you saw your little buddy again, enjoying your pets, gradually warming up to you, and quietly listening when you rambled about everything that crossed your mind.

"Ha... that was a good one..." You managed to say. "I actually have like, so many more." He seemed happy that you had liked it. Oh you actually wanted to hear them all.

They did not disappoint, each one of them was as good (or bad) as the first one he had told. So cheesy. You felt more eased in his presence the more pick up lines he told, at certain point you felt like back at Peach's castle, but the sizes had been reversed. If you made a huge effort to look past the numerous atrocities he certainly had comitted, you could see that he was just lonely.

"Hey, wanna hear my pick up line?" For a second, he looked shocked. Nobody had ever told him a pick up line before. You cleared your throat, hoping it was as fun as it was to you. "So... Are you into the bad types? Because I am bad at everything."

His eyes shone with mirth, glad your audience loved your terrible sense of humour. You smiled at him and he smiled back. Peach had warned you due to previous experiences that once Bowser got a hold of someone he very rarely let them escape their grasp.

It seemed that Bowser had now moved his fixation towards you. Maybe you were not ready to jump into marriage immediately, and maybe you needed to return home to your job and duties. However, you wouldn't mind exchanging phone numbers... That could be a good start.