#yes I’m aware he doesn’t make much sense yet

[spiritflakess]

Witch Hat Atelier Oc Concept Art Dump.

I love my little guy, currently cooking up some trauma for him. 🐸

Bonus of My little dude hanging out with @qiffers WHA oc Miyu. (I get mixed up with her hair sometimes 🙏 I’m so sorry dude for slandering your girl like this.)

[musicalmoritz]

It’s canon Mitsuba’s gay?

I’m gonna use this as an excuse to yap because Mitsuba’s queercoding is either weirdly downplayed by fans or used solely for BL shipping purposes so I want to talk about it through the lens of what it means for his character, role in the story, and relationship with Kou

Yes, Mitsuba is canonically gay

Things don’t have to be explicitly stated in order to be canon, subtext is a major part of media analysis. This is something a lot of fans miss which leads to a misunderstanding of the source material. I do have some credentials for this, I’ve taken two undergrad college literature classes in which the subject of queercoding did come up multiple times. Meaning analyzing queercoding has literally gone towards my degree so I feel like my opinion holds some weight (not as much as that of an actual English major but yk I assume I’ve had more education on it than the general TBHK fandom)

There are multiple ways to queercode a character, sometimes it can be as simple as feminizing a man or masculinizing a woman. Though that method might be a bit outdated nowadays with gender roles becoming less strict, it’s still worth keeping in mind when analyzing queer characters. Another way is through romantically colored scenes with characters of the same sex, or by having them hint at disinterest in the opposite sex. Mitsuba checks off all three of these boxes and then some

First off, Mitsuba is attracted to men. This is made extremely obvious through his relationship with Kou but I’m gonna explain it anyways because unfortunately I’ve seen a lot of fans say they’re just platonic

Mitsuba and Kou went on a date. When this is brought up, fans typically jump to the excuse of “but Kou said it wasn’t a date,” which is where my American Lit class is going to come in handy. One of the major things we learned is that authors have to understand that everything they write has some sort of real world connotation. If you write a scene with a doctor, you have to understand that your readers already have preconceived notions of what doctors represent. You can choose to either lean into that or subvert it, but you have to be aware that as soon as a doctor enters the scene, readers have already made assumptions about that character

The word “date” is clearly being used in a romantic context here. When Kou texts his friends and brother about it, they all assume he’s talking about a romantic date. While in the actual context of the scene, Mitsuba and Kou aren’t quite ready to use such a strong label yet, the romantic wording here is still very intentional. AidaIro would not have labeled this moment as a date if they didn’t want readers to view it in a romantic light, because they understand that their readers are going to associate dates with romance. Japanese censorship is really strict, it’s hard to publish stories with explicitly queer characters unless the series is labeled as a BL or GL. And so Japanese manga writers often have to find roundabout ways to express that characters are gay without outright stating it- such as suggesting that they’re going on a date with a character of the same sex

In the printed volume for Vol.20, there’s an editor’s note that mentions that when Kou and Mitsuba are making plans to hang out at the school festival, it holds a romantic implication for the Japanese audience. Cultural differences are important to keep in mind, to western fans this scene might not raise any eyebrows but for its primary audience, it is confirmation that Mitsuba and Kou are romantic. I also find it interesting that the editor felt this context was important enough to warrant clarification

And frankly, their relationship doesn’t make a lot of sense if it’s solely platonic. Male friendship is something TBHK writes very realistically, the male characters aren’t as touchy-feely with their friends as they are with their female love interests. Yokoo and Satou don’t directly ask Kou how he’s feeling when they notice he’s upset, instead they give him a task to distract him- similar to how men in real life cheer their friends up through quality time rather than talking through their emotions like women do (not every man ofc but a good majority of them). When Teru is down, Akane doesn’t hold him and reassure him the way he does with Aoi. There are no grand declarations of ultimate “friendship” the way you see in fan servicy series like Haikyuu. Instead, he used his and Teru’s rivalry to indirectly motivate him to get his head back in the game. When Hanako is sad, Kou cheers him up by making donuts for him and then giving them to Nene so she can pretend she’s the one who made them. This is a very healthy portrayal of male friendship, and Mitsuba and Kou are nothing like this

Mitsuba and Kou both cry and vent to each other multiple times (the Mitsuba Arc, the Picture Perfect Arc, the Nightlife Arc), and instead of comforting each other indirectly they do things like offering to die for each other. You would never see Akane offer to die to make Teru feel better, nor would you Aoi and Nene or Kou and Hanako. It stands out so much from other friendships in the series, even Kou’s friendships with other characters. That is a conscious writing decision, AidaIro make a point to show Mitsuba as an exception for Kou. It’s worth noting that in the same chapter where Yokoo and Satou cheer Kou up indirectly, Mitsuba attempts to directly have him talk about his feelings

They’re also incredibly possessive over one another, in a way friends usually aren’t. When Kou was in the Red House, he was shown his greatest desires, and Mitsuba appeared in one of these. Kou said he knew Mitsuba would appear, which is interesting because at that point he had already picked up on the house showing him what he wanted. But what does he want? He wants Mitsuba to rely on him entirely, to be completely useless without him. He wants Mitsuba to be “no good without him,” to need him so badly that he begs him to die so they can be together. I’m not exaggerating, these are lines pulled straight from the chapter (paraphrased but still). Later on in the Nightlife arc, Kou breaks down when he discovers Mitsuba has been relying on Tsukasa for life-saving help. As for Mitsuba, he wants to die by Kou’s hands. He says it wouldn’t be satisfying if anyone else killed him, and that he would be happy if Kou were to be the last person he spent time with before he died. He tries to trap Kou in a picture perfect world just like Hanako does with Nene, because he wants to live a normal life with him. It’s also shown in one of the extras that Mitsuba cries when Kou ignores him

They’re also drawn very romantically, again we don’t see Teru and Akane this intimate with one another unless they’re fighting. We especially don’t see Kou this intimate with anyone other than Mitsuba, and while Mitsuba is sometimes clingy with Tsukasa we certainly never see him posed romantically with a woman. This comes back to authorial intent and real world connotations, AidaIro know that male friends aren’t typically this close, and therefore casual affection like this will be interpreted in a romantic light. We see them hold hands/wrists multiple times too, Kou gives Mitsuba a piggyback ride in one scene, and in ASHK they had a classic “pinned against the wall” page

I’ll also mention the AUs, because those indicate a lot about the characters as well. In Hanako-Kun of the Opera, Kou poisoned Mitsuba so he could take him away from the opera house and protect him from Tsukasa. He basically kidnapped him. He also stayed with Mitsuba at the opera house for a seemingly long period of time despite hating opera. Aaaaand they’re childhood best friends in this au and Kou took care of Mitsuba while he was sick

Then there’s the Ghost Hotel, where Kou is a werewolf who takes bites out of mummy Mitsuba during full moons. Despite this, the two appear to be friends and Mitsuba helps Kou out around the kitchen. Cannibalism is consistently tied to romance throughout TBHK, most notably with Hakubo and Sumire but other romantic pairings have cannibalistic moments or official arts. During the zombie mokke chapter, Nene panicked when Akane tries to eat her because she assumed it would put her in a love triangle with Aoi. So yeah, cannibalism in TBHK is directly tied to romance and we see that with Mitsukou both in canon and in this au. Speaking of which, I’m not even gonna get into the symbolism of Kou holding a heart out to Mitsuba. Connect the dots for yourselves

Now that we’ve got Mitsukou out of the way, let’s talk about Mitsuba’s disinterest in women

Remember how I said one of the ways queercoding is done is by having a character hint at disinterest in the opposite sex? Yeah, very rarely are we going to see a queercoded male character outright say “I have no attraction to women.” Instead they say they just never saw the appeal in dating, or that they never had time to settle down. In more obvious cases, we have scenes like Reiner from AOT joking that Ymir isn’t all that into guys

I couldn’t find the second scene but there are TWO extras where the subject of Mitsuba’s disinterest in women comes up. C’mon guys I’m trying not to be mean here but you have to be blind, oblivious, or in denial to not pick up on that. Whyyyyy would they mention Mitsuba not having a crush on any girls twice if it weren’t to suggest something about his preference?? Coupled with his appearance (which I’ll get to later) and relationship with Kou, these scenes carry a lot of weight. Even if those other aspects weren’t included, scenes like this would still indicate he has no interest in women (which would make him gay or aroace, though due to his relationship with Kou the aroace thing is kind of ruled out)

Compare this to a scene where Mitsuba thinks he’s being asked out by a man. He doesn’t say “hmmm nope no guys, I’m cuter than all of them~” he specifically says “I’m not interested in guys with lame earrings.” The way this is worded implies that Mitsuba is discussing a type, though it’s v much a comedic scene and we know from everything else that he absolutely does like guys with lame earrings, it’s still worded in a way that makes him appear queer. If he were straight, they would have had him say he’s not interested in guys at all (like Dazai from Bungou Stray Dogs, John Watson from BBC Sherlock, Finn Hudson from Glee, idk there are a lot of male characters that are explicit straight sorry for the crazy random list). Also note how he teases Kou about it, he knows that Kou is fond of him and doesn’t hesitate to use that against him (like when he was comforting him during the Nightlife arc)

They don’t go overboard with Mitsuba’s disinterest in women because, well, that’s not really necessary. Two scenes is already a lot, and he doesn’t have any romantic relationships with women in canon (even as a crush/a joke scene). It’s rare for TBHK characters to have absolutely no scenes expressing interest in the opposite sex, since the series is partially a romance. But Mitsuba consistently only ever shows interest in one man, and when girls are brought up he’s quick to brush it off. His mom did think Nene was his girlfriend when they met, but this was depicted as a very awkward and comedic scene. Because the premise of Mitsuba having a girlfriend is objectively hilarious

(Due to Sousuke’s young age it’s reasonable to assume he wasn’t out to his mom yet, he’s around the age where most kids are closeted. It’s even possible that Sousuke hadn’t come to terms with his sexuality yet, though it’s still a prevalent part of both his character and No.3’s)

Now let’s move onto appearances. I want to give a quick disclaimer, not all gay men are feminine and not all feminine men are gay. Androgyny is also very common in anime and doesn’t automatically mean a character is gay, but there are cases when it’s used for queercoding. Mitsuba is one of these cases

Mitsuba is a very feminine character, this is addressed as soon as he shows up in the manga. He was bullied for his appearance (and personality), but unlike his personality he never tried to change his feminine appearance. He kept his hair long, continues to wear scarves and cardigans and earrings. No.3 wears these things as well, and I would argue has a more feminine personality since he seems to be more open about his emotions and idk. I struggle to categorize feminine and masculine traits because imo that’s subjective but there are things society deems feminine vs. masculine. The problem is that I really dislike the whole “men are strong and women are emotional” thing but ehhhh I guess I have to talk about it for this. Hmph. But yeah although Mitsuba isn’t exactly the biggest sweetheart ever, he does act somewhat feminine compared to the other male characters (as I’ve said he’s p much the only man in the series who attempts to work through emotional conflicts directly)

Once again we circle back to intent, AidaIro know that a male character dressed in pink with pink eyes and long pink hair is going to raise some eyebrows. Even by androgynous anime standards, it’s a bit much. And good for him, although not all gay men are feminine, some are and that’s also fine. I can’t speak on how well he represents feminine gay men because I’m a lesbian but he does dress similar to some of the feminine gay men I’ve known irl (or slightly less feminine in some cases…I knew this one dude in high school who used to wear corsets to class and he was so badass I hope he’s doing well)

I could get into how Kou is a bit feminized too with the whole housework thing but this ain’t abt him. I will say that Kou is still a very masculine character but despite this his character is feminized in some ways compared to the other men. I’m not really here to discuss whether that’s good or bad, I’m just stating the evidence as it is, you can make your own conclusions as to how you feel about it

So how does being queer impact Mitsuba’s character arc?

When I get around to writing my analyses of all the TBHK characters I WILL be talking more in depth about the queer allegories with Mitsuba’s character but for now I’ll give ya’ll a quick summary. Supernatural characters have been used for years to represent queerness, the same could be said for villains and any character trope that represents a feeling of “otherness.” Sometimes it’s more broad like X-Men, where the superpowered characters are used to represent all types of minorities (though I believe X-Men is more closely tied to race, there are rampant queer themes as well). Then there’s books like Interview with the Vampire that get more specific with it, where Louis denying his “true nature” as a vampire is used as an allegory for him denying his queerness. Well I’m here to tell you that Mitsuba and Louis de Pointe du Lac are in the same boat

Mitsuba differs from the other supernaturals because he desperately tries to hold on to feelings of normalcy. He wants to be a normal human and live a normal human life. He doesn’t want to be othered, to be outcasted from society for something he can’t control. We don’t see Hanako, Tsuchigomori, Mei, or any of the other supernatural characters struggle with this. You could argue that Akane does but his situation is more related to learning to empathize with others than any internal battles within himself. Hanako may have moments of wishing him and Nene could have something more, but that’s more about romance than his identity.

This desire to be “normal” is unique to Mitsuba’s character, and it’s a very queer desire. Being an angsty teenager who hasn’t fully accepted themself yet and hasn’t realized that being queer is not only normal, but a beautiful experience. It’s also so interesting to me that as he’s trying so hard to be normal, it creates a push and pull between him and Kou. He wants to be normal for Kou but he also feels that he’s hurting Kou just by existing, that this could only end bad for him. Oh the inherent guilt of having your first gay crush and feeling like you're corrupting them hist for pining from afar

So, can you ship him with women? Technically you can do anything, shipping isn’t illegal and we all have free will. Should you ship him with women is more subjective, I personally think no!! Queerness is not just a sexuality, it’s an identity that deeply impacts who you are as a person. It shapes your experiences and your view of yourself, and in an allegorical way it has certainly done this for Mitsuba. Yes, bi people are queer as well and this is still true for them, but bisexuality is not Mitsuba’s experience. Mono-attraction exists and that specification is very important to gay men and lesbians. For some people sexuality is fluid and that’s beautiful, but it doesn’t work that way for everyone

Some queer fans don’t care if gay characters are shipped with members of the opposite sex, and they’re entitled to their own opinions. It makes me immensely uncomfortable tho, so please block me if you ship Mitsuba with women. That goes for any ships between canon gay/lesbian characters and the opposite sex. I respect people’s right to have opinions but that doesn’t mean I have to like the opinions themselves, and I don’t have to engage with anything that makes me uneasy. That goes for all of you btw, never let people convince you that you have to put up with shit you hate on the internet lmao, this is not real life babes. Block and move on

TL;DR

Mitsuba is too gay to function

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Scary Little Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, alcohol, humiliation, spanking, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary:��You make a mistake while cooking Christmas dinner.

Character: Frank Castle

Day One of the December Daze Challenge. Prompt - i didn't know the egg nog was spiked! + don’t look at them, why are you looking at them? look at me. they’re not going to help you. - source

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You pour yourself another glass of the rich eggnog. It’s unlike any you’ve had before. Luxurious almost. You sip on the clear mug of the festive fuel as you flutter around the warm kitchen. The stove sends a radiating swelter through the space, along with the scent of turkey and thyme. 

You set the cup down and flip on the stove light. You have a look at the turkey through the window. You take the thermometer and stand, gripping the handle as your head ripples oddly. Ooh, it must be the heat. You should open a window, yet the blistering cold hardly sounds much better. 

You open the door and reach through to poke the turkey with the tip. You wait until the temperature pops up. Almost there. 

“Peach,” Frank’s voice drawls from the front room. 

As always, you are diligent in your response. You rush you to look in on him as you press your sweaty palms to the front of your apron. You give a sheepish smile. 

“Yes, sir,” you say. “Bird’s almost done.” 

“Not too worried ‘bout that,” he wiggles his can at you. “Get Bill too.” 

Your Christmas is small. Just you, him, and his best friend. An old marine buddy who sleeps as much on your couch as in his own bed. You don’t mind, he knows how to keep Frank mellow. 

“Of course, honey,” you take his can, a swish of dregs still in the bottom, then take Billy’s glass. As you weave around the table, you stumble over your own toes.  

“Eh, slow down,” Frank warns, “don’t need ya makin’ a mess.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. It’s a call-and-answer. You can’t leave him unheard. 

You go into the kitchen and dump what’s left in the can. You rinse it and put it in the recycling bin. You take a new one from the fridge and slide it into his coozy. You mix Billy a new drink from the bottle he brought with him. 

You return and serve Frank first. Billy smiles as he accepts his glass. “Smells delicious,” he comments. 

“Thank you, Billy,” you step back and blink, your lashes seeming to catch each other. “It’s a pretty big turkey so there’s a lot to go around.” 

“Good, I’m starving,” he slaps his flat stomach then sips from his glass, “that’s good. You make the best drinks.” 

“Just coke and whiskey,” Frank grumbles. 

“Sure, but it’s a good balance,” Billy raises his glass. 

“Thank you, sir. Uh, that eggnog you brought is pretty good. I’m on my third glass. I know Frank doesn’t like it very much,” you say. 

“Eggnog?” Frank echoes. 

Billy chuckles, “oh yeah? You like it?” 

“Sure. I haven’t had any since I was a kid.” 

He laughs again, “did you read the label?” 

Frank stiffens and slurps from the can. You look at him and shake your head. “Kinda.” 

“It’s Baileys, sweetheart. 60 proof. You been drinking it straight?” 

“You brought her alcohol?” Frank sits ups. 

“I brought it for everyone. I was being a good house guest, Castle.” 

“You been drinking?” Frank turns his sneer on you, knowing Billy will meet him with the same. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know--” 

“You telling me you didn’t taste the rum?” He snarls. 

You blink and glance at Billy nervously. He shrugs and sips his whiskey. 

“Don’t look at him, why are you looking at him? Look at me. He's not going to help you.” Frank barks. 

You flinch and face him. You clasp your hands together. “I don’t drink sir, I wouldn’t know--” 

“You talking back to me?” He sits forward and reaches to put his beer down. 

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before--” 

“Get over here,” he points in front of him. “And shut your smart mouth.” 

Your lip trembles as you nod and put your eyes down. Usually, he’s until Billy isn’t there, or at least, you are somewhere private. You know it’s bad because he isn’t. 

You shrink down, curling your shoulders and approach him. You’re all too aware of the other man in the room. Just as conscious of his full attention. As you near Frank, he grabs your wrist and wrenches you forward. You whine as you stagger. 

“Don’t be goddamn stubborn,” he growls. 

You snivel and apologise again. 

“Get yourself over my knee. And pull that skirt up while you’re at it.” He commands. 

You obey. You lay across his lap and reach back to lift your skirt. He just as quickly grabs your panties and swipes them down your ass. You whimper again, your thighs quivering as you’re exposed to the room. To Billy. 

Frank spreads his calloused hand across your ass. You brace yourself as he lifts his arm, leaving your skin cold. The first strike is scalding. You cry out as your flesh stings. You keep your head down as he does it again. Spanking you so hard that you feel it in your spine. 

“You know better than that,” he reprimands as he lays each slap. 

When he stops, he keeps his hand on your fiery skin. You don’t dare move. You stay draped over his lap as the noise of the football game continues on around you. 

“Go on,” he gives a lighter tap. “Get dinner on the table. Game’s getting good.” 

You lift yourself, pulling up your panties as you keep your eyes on the floor. You’re too humiliated to look at Billy. As you drop your skirt. You sense him shift in his seat and it makes you wince. You flee to the kitchen. 

The turkey is done. You take it out and blink away tears as you carve it. You sort out light and dark meat on a platter and carry it to the table. You arrange all the fixings in serving dishes; sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, carrots, beans, turnip, cranberry sauce, gravy, stuffing, and buns. 

You hesitate as you cautiously peek into the living room. 

“Um, sir, dinner--” 

“Go on, wait for us,” Frank waves you away, his eyes fixated on the television. “Wanna see this kick.” 

“Yes, sir,” you whisper. 

You go to the table and sit. You’re patient as you wait for them. Billy comes first, appearing through the kitchen as he brings in his glass with a helping of the eggnog. You look away shamefully. 

“You’re right, sweetheart. It’s pretty good,” he sets the glass down as he sits. 

“Yes, sir, very,” you agree. “I’m sorry I drank so much.” 

“Well, I brought it for that very purpose,” he affirms. 

Frank finally comes in. He claims his chair at the head of the table. You get up and step up next to his shoulder. 

“Can I fix you a plate, sir?” You ask. 

“You know what I like.” 

You take his plate; dark meat, potatoes, carrots, gravy, a bun, and some stuffing. You butter his bun then sit down. He doesn’t move. 

“Well, we got company,” he sneers. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Billy--” 

You go to get up and Billy waves you off. “I’m a big boy, I can serve myself.” 

“Big boy?” Frank echoes under his breath. 

Billy snickers and shakes his head, “jeez, Frank, it’s Christmas. Have a bit of holiday cheer.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not a child,” Frank snaps. 

“Fuck if you don’t act like one,” Billy retorts. 

“Big boy. Think you’re a fucking big boy,” Frank repeats. “I’ll show you a man.” 

The table lurches as Frank stands. You stare at him as he reaches for you. He grabs your upper arm, his fingertips dipping into the bruises already there. He rips you up to your feet and moves you around the table in front of him. He kicks the chair behind him away as he hits it. 

“You don’t need to take it out on her, Frank. What’s the problem--” 

“I’m showing you what a big man is,” Frank grabs the back of your neck and bends you forcefully. Your stomach crushes his place and you feel the moisture sopping through the layers of your apron and dress. “You come in here, givin’ her that poison--” 

“It’s the holiday. Just a treat--” 

“You both shut your fucking mouth,” Frank tears your skirt up above your ass. “I see the way you look at her. I hear the way she fawns over you. ‘Oh, Billy, thank you’,” he mimics you meanly. “Well, I’ll show you what you’re never going to have.” 

You stare at the wall as Frank tugs your panties down again. He kicks your feet apart and pinches your ass. You squeak as he splays his hand against your flesh and pokes around your cunt. You close your eyes as he brushes your entrance with his rough fingertips. 

He pushes two fingers inside of you and you whine. He wiggles them then slides them out. You hear the clank of cutlery. You blow out between your lips as Frank’s weight shifts around behind you and he pushes his tip between your cheeks. 

He guides himself down to your cunt and bucks his hips mercilessly. He splits you with a single thrust. You gnash your teeth as he jerks again, bottoming out with a grunt. You grip the edge of the table and hold your breath. 

A knife scratches on porcelain. You hear chewing. You lift your head as Frank thrusts again. You stare at Billy as he scoops up gravy, potato, and turkey in a single bite. He sucks the fork clean and smiles. He's entirely unbothered by the gruff display. 

“The fuck are you doing?” Frank puffs but does not relent. The table jolts with his aggression and Billy picks up his glass to keep the liquid from sloshing. 

“Well, I don’t want my food to get cold,” he says. 

Frank growls and frames your hips. He snaps his pelvis against you and grunts. “Goddamn, Bill, you always were a goddamn freak.” 

Billy laughs and takes a gulp of the eggnog. He swallows and lets out a sigh, “well, you know, I won’t mind if there’s leftovers. I'll be happy to eat them up.” He winks and Frank pumps into harder. 

“Fucking bastard,” he snarls and his flesh slaps you loudly. “Peach, you keep looking at him but you remember who you belong too. “He bends over you and loops his arm around to grab your chin. He lifts you, arching your back as he forces your head up. He ruts into you relentlessly. “Remember, it ain’t fucking him.” 

[awniie]

ANGEL !! ㅤㅤㅤ⭑

summary: how ‘toru treats his precious little angel !! ㅤㅤㅤ⭑

content: fem!reader, dacrophilia, cum denial, mean toru, sorta proof read, fingering, smut written while half awake (sorry if something doesn’t make sense!)

note: I’m growing some sorta feelings for this man..

“Look at this pretty little pussy, all wet..just f’me,” Satoru hummed while tapping the tip of his fat cock against your pulsing entrance. He was right, you were really wet, slick dribbling from your pretty cunny to your ass.

You were laid out on your back, eyes blinking away at the tears that pricked them.

‘toruuuu’ you drawled, calling out for the white-haired who was currently teasing your hole. There was no response for a good minute before a low voice answered. “Yess baby?” Satoru didn’t even look at you, too entranced by your cunt to make eye contact. He always got so lost during sex, as if your pussy made him intoxicated to the point where his senses went dull, and the part of him that was fully aware was the his dick.

You opened your mouth to speak, probably to whine about how he wouldn’t stop teasing with you, but your words ran dry as you felt the familiar sensation of pale fingers playing with your overstimulated clit. Instead of scratching complainhitive words, pitiful sobs escaped your lips and you heard his indiscreet snicker. Your body tensed as he built up the pleasure in your clit, a strangled symphony of your moans left your throat in abundance. It was too much, the pressure of his cock aswell as the ministrations of his fingers, you could barely think about anything else. The better it felt, the farther gone you were in your mind. “you gonna cum f’me angel?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer. He just wanted to hear the sex-drunken taint in your voice just before you let go. “y-yes ‘toru! g’nna cum!” You whimpered , bucking your hips wildly as his fingers quickened their caresses on your clit. He let out a little amused hum, giving your bundle of nerves a little more love before pulling them away.

“T-toru!” you cried, dumbstruck n disappointed . The overwhelming pleasure you had just experienced, the pleasure that was so intense that you could grab it, had dissipated just like that. The burn of a ruin orgasm seared between your legs, as well as the burn of embarrassment that seared your mind. “W-why’d you stop...?” you sniffled as your pussy was still twitching and soaking the bed with your cum. Satoru gave you a little smile, still prodding your cunt with his slick-coated fingers. “Didn’t want you to cum yet angel. Patience, yeah?”

Patience your ass. You knew you too well to believe that faux-innocent bullshit that seaped out of his honeymouth. Satoru liked the power he had over you, more than liked, loved it. He loved how you got so dumb to the point where you couldn’t speak, except for the little babbles and murmurs that slipped out. How’d desperate you got just so you could finally cum. He relished in it, but you weren’t as big of a fan of it as he was.

After what seemed like hours of begging and pleading for him just to properly fuck you, he finally gave into your lust-tainted mewls and started pumping his pre-coated length . But just when you thought you’d finally get to cum, he continued to tease your overstimmed cunny with his dick instead, again.

“please, stop teasin’ me.” You mumured. Your head started to hurt with how bad you needed to cum. He ignored your pleas, dragging his mushroom tip across your slit, still with that stupid smirk of his. So with whatever reasonability you had that remained, you your own trembling hand and trying to grab hold of his cock. He let out a groan at the way your hands flexed over his He watched in amusement as you tried to put in your cunt, swiping your hand away chuckling at your frustrated whimpers.

“I wanna hear you ask for it, angel. Ask ‘toru to fuck you.” He told you. Maybe if you had any more of your senses, you would’ve tried to scrap together some of whatever dignity you had left, but right now all you wanted to do was cum all over his cock.

“please ‘toru..Please fuck me, pleasee. I promise I’ll take it so good.” you whined, nothing more than a whimpering n’ wet mess. Pearls of tears swole and ran down your heated cheeks, your naked body quivered with need and want. Satoru couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at your fucked-out state, too far lost in the chase of your own pleasure to care about how pitiful you looked right now. Despite how much he enjoyed your cute little tears and moans, He’d choose to be merciful. He’d do anything for his pretty little angel.

“d’awww, Only ‘cus you asked so nicely, yeah?” He cooed, kneading at doughy flesh of your thighs and aligned his pre-covered cock with your hole. “‘Toru’s gonna fuck your precious pussy real good, angel. Does that sound good?” You nodded and let out a high-pitched ‘mhm’. “Yeah, I know it does baby. Dont worry, ‘toru’s got ya.”

“y-yes ‘toru, t’ank you..!” you babbled, squirming at the sudden pressure at your entrance. He slid into you slowly, letting you savor the feeling of finally being full. By the time he reached his hilt, a little bulge had formed at your abdomen.

“f-fuck angel,” he stuttered as pink gummy walls clenched around his length. “your just too precious!

[juuuulez]

📰 | carmen berzatto x reader ; “Proximity.”

info: Carmen Berzatto x Reader, no pronouns (but written with fem! in mind), NYC era, tired Carmy, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs (cocaine/weed), you’re Carmen’s roommate.

summary: Carmen is your roommate: who happens to have terrible sleeping habits.

we rot, thinkin' lots about nothing / yeah, i could spend a lifetime / sitting here talkin' — comfort crowd, conan gray.

i don't feel like nothing special / i snag my tights out on the lawn chair / guess i’m a mess and play the role — i might say something stupid, charli xcx.

okay so BASICALLY this is kid krow boyfriend x brat girlfriend. expect three parts to this cute lil series my slayers. i’m insatiable and music makes me write.

“Jesus, what’ve I said about sleepin’ on the couch?”

Your voice is a shrill whine in the small apartment. The space itself is dingy, a two-bedroom joint in New York City. Mess forms on just about every surface, namely the coffee table, stacked high with a combination of culinary books, trays of pencils, and dirtied ashtrays.

Heels clack as you clamber into the living room, dropping down to your knees aside the couch. Carmy is dead to the world, passed out with his face pressed into the cushion, hair all tangled and wild.

You grab onto his shoulder, trying to push him upright with an exasperated groan. It doesn’t work. Finally, you use sharp, manicured nails to tug at his ear, a sharp pinch that finally awakens your roommate.

“Fuck.” Carmen grumbles, only pushing his face deeper into the pillow to evade any further scolding.

“Get off the couch, asshole.” You continue to berate him, “You pay for a room, so go sleep in it.”

Living in New York was expensive. So, you advertised for taking in a roommate. Someone lowkey who would stay out of your business, keep their shit to themselves, and best case scenario, help cook every now and then.

Carmen Berzatto seemed like the jackpot.

Except he was run absolutely ragged. Sure, the restaurant he worked at was classy, whatever. You didn’t care enough to indulge in the details. But the man would work for hours on end, and pass out on the first surface he could find.

Which brought you back to the problem at hand.

“I’m serious.” You continue, “I wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy before bed and have my joint. It’s my nightly ritual, you gotta fuckin’ move.”

At this point you were leaning your full weight against him, pushing Carmen deeper into the cushion. He groaned and finally rolled over, prompting you to let go, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Y’can’t watch it in y’er room?” He asks.

You huff, sitting on the hardwood floor in defeat. “No. There’s no TV in there, and my phone is dead.”

Carmen finally clears his foggy vision, blinking tiredly as he inspects your form, slumped on the ground beside him. A tight little black top clings to you, along with a matching pencil skirt.

“Did y’go out?” He asks, gaining some sense of awareness. The pair of you didn’t discuss personal stuff, most of the time Carmen had no idea what you were up to.

He was an early riser, you weren’t. Carmen would get home after a long shift and pass out, while you still roamed the streets late into the night. In a way, it was nice, as the pair of you wouldn’t often clash or argue for you simply weren’t in each other’s way.

Except for now, of course.

“Yes.” You huff, “And now it’s late and ‘m tired and have a headache. All I wanna do is watch Grey’s Anatomy and pass out on my,” You punctuate the word by stealing the throw pillow from him. “couch.”

There’s nowhere to argue. Technically, it was your couch. It was your apartment. Carmen knew he should be grateful, given that he simply had to pay a portion of rent, yet wasn’t responsible for the financial burden of all the furniture you’d collected beforehand.

Instead of just moving, Carmen finds himself wondering about your night. The headache. “How much did y’drink?” He asks.

You catch on, standing with an irritated groan. The throw pillow is tossed back down, to which Carmen grips it and pulls it to his chest. He wants to fall back asleep so badly. But now you’re causing a commotion, leaning against the wall and prying each heel off with huffs of frustration, throwing them somewhere down the hallway.

“It’s not the alcohol, it’s Katie’s bum-ass coke.” You complain loudly. “She gets it for free ‘cus she’s fucking this guy, but it’s just not good. Like, I can feel my brain cells evaporating and screaming like it’s a fiery wreck up there.”

Carmen hums, fiending understanding. Of course. It’s definitely not one of his favourite things about you. But, it’s not really his place to step in, to point out all the terrible choices you make. Sometimes he finds himself tempted to, but has to remember that would make things weird.

You didn’t want his baggage. Fuck, Carmen certainly didn’t want yours. It was a box that shouldn’t be opened, a line that won’t be crossed.

“Y’ever think about.. just not doing it?” Carmen ends up saying, his voice quiet and tentative, unable to help himself but prod the tiniest bit.

Thankfully, you brush it off, dumping a shiny pile of jewellery onto the coffee table to join the existing mess. “Yeah, right. Then I’ll get massive FOMO and it’ll kill the entire vibe. Great advice. Now scooch.”

Carmen has no choice but to shift as your stocking-clad foot nudges his thigh. There’s a hole in it, around your ankle, and he absentmindedly wonders how that happened. Regardless, he sits further up on the couch, making room for you to ungracefully slump beside him. It’s a close proximity, but one he’s slowly gotten adjusted to, finding that you’re the kind of person who simply doesn’t care about all these little touches.

The ones that make Carmen all flustered and nervous, the ones he’ll overthink whenever his mind isn’t so loud.

You lay on your side, legs curled up in the space that isn’t occupied by Carmen’s thighs. It looks like you’re ready to sleep in this position, and Carmen resists making a comment about how hypocritical that would be.

There’s a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again.

“What’s the time, anyway?” Carmen asks.

You give a little shrug, the motion halfhearted and yet full of effort. “Like, three. Wanted to leave earlier, but it was this whole big thing.”

Carmy doesn’t bother indulging, instead giving a short hum as he thinks about it. All this time, and yet he’s never met any of your friends. You don’t bring them over, mostly because you’re barely home at night. He wonders if they’re like you.

“Shoes.” You suddenly pipe up again, a foot once again nudging him. “Y’were sleepin’ in them.”

He looks down, noticing the fact that his sneakers are still on. It makes his brows furrow, brain still all hazy from sleep, resisting the urge to melt back into the couch and continue his nap.

“Wasn’t thinking.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes once more. They sting slightly with the light you’ve turned on down the hall, the one neither of you will get up to switch off.

With the last of his willpower, Carmen toes off his shoes, letting them land somewhere underneath the coffee table. One of your heels lingers nearby, too.

“Clearly.” You mumble, “Your bedroom is three steps away, and you’re sleeping here. Weirdo.”

It’s not exactly venomous, and if Carmen was any other person he’d probably smile. Laugh a little. But he’s not. The pair of you are so different to the point where Carmen struggles to understand you, and to combat this issue, he’s reduced your role in his life to that of a stranger: a passing face on his eventual journey for something bigger.

“What about that joint?” He reminds you, deciding to ignore the slight snipe.

It earns another groan, drawn-out and dramatic as you press your cheek into the armrest. “No way ‘m getting up now.”

There’s a beat of silence as Carmen shifts, leaning over the couch to the floor. He finds his abandoned pile of belongings, the stuff he’d dropped after work seconds before passing out. A carton of cigarettes find his hand, tugging one out to place it between his lips.

He flicks the lighter, inhales, lets it spark to life. Then, Carmen takes it back out, passing it down and holding it in front of your face. Even with your eyes closed, you knew that noise, and didn’t need any direction to lean forward and snatch it between your teeth.

The sound you make is a pleased one, inhaling deep and letting it out. It manages to quell your headache slightly, to lessen that irritability that always grows after a night out like this, where the coming day you’ll be snappy and tired and miserable.

You ask for Alexa to play Grey’s Anatomy, the Google TV opening to the episode you were last on.

Carmen smiles when you thank it, as if the television was sentient.

Though he’s never been one for medical shows, Carmen doesn’t seem to mind. That’s because he barely watches it, passing out again maybe 5 minutes into the episode, still sitting up against the couch. It doesn’t even matter, for you follow suit not much later, the cigarette burnt out and filter falling to the floor in an ashy pile.

[lqfiles]

SCORE THAT GOAL! — 25. NOT my boyfriend

(wc: 1.054)

“thank you for waiting for me.” chenle had walked over to you with a happy smile present on his face. you returned the expression and stood up from the bench you had sat on. “no problem, i felt like being nice today.” you joked and handed him the bottle he had asked you to hold for him. chenle chuckled. “i better savour this rare moment then.” dapping the sweat off his face with his shirt, he quickly put on his jacket and motioned for you to follow him out the basketball court.

“did you see that c cut i did when i was cornered by all of them? i'm too good at this.” chenle boasted as he continued to gulp down his water. you shook your head. “i'm going to be honest with you, i barely understood what was going on but you scored a lot of times so i'm just going to agree with you.” chenle laughed, sparing you a quick glance. “that’s all that matters.”

“what’s with the sudden request of watching your club practice anyways? do you like my company that much?” you teased, earning a nudge from chenle who quickly went into defense mode. “don’t get too full of yourself, sungchan snuck away when i wasn’t looking and left me by myself today. can you believe he said he’d rather go home and sleep than attend the club today?” chenle exclaimed in full disbelieve, making you chuckle.

“that’s actually very on brand of him.” you responded back, smile growing as you watched chenle accept the truth. “well yes- but, what happened to bros being there for bros? what happened to the saying ‘be a keeper, not a sleeper’?” chenle sulked. the two of you had started to walk without much of an aim, barely aware of where you’re heading too. the wind was carrying the journey and neither of you cared.

“you just made that saying up yourself.” you once again chuckled and chenle sighed. “whatever, this is why you should’ve joined the basketball club instead. sungchan is fake and you’re my bff, the fact that he is in the club and you aren’t just doesn’t make sense!” chenle had a mixture of a disappointment and annoyance on his face, trying to get sympathy out of you. clearly you didn’t care, because you just laughed in his face right after. “hey, be happy sungchan joined.”

“and if i had joined the club, i wouldn't have gotten to talk to jisung.” you reasoned and chenle let out a long groan, throwing his head back before he stopped in his tracks. “what do you even see in that guy? he’s weird, can’t communicate with people for shit, tall in a derogatory way and did i mention that he is weird?” chenle tried to persuade you. yet the grin that grew on your face made it clear that non of those negative traits changed your perception of jisung.

“he’s cute and good looking, he’s fun to talk to as well now that we’re friends.” you had never seen chenle’s eyes widen like that, on the verge of bulging out even. “friends?! no way… next thing you know he’s going to replace me as your best friend. i can’t let this happen.” chenle complained, holding onto your shoulders to shake some sense it you. you removed his hands, starting to feel dizzy already.

“calm down, you’re still my bff! i want him to be my boyfriend, that’s different!” you tried to explain, but the unconvinced look on chenle’s face made you sigh. in a swift motion, you pulled him in for a hug, one tight and full of assurance that would hopefully get chenle to stop sulking. “i’m serious, it’s not easy to replace you.” you pulled back with a smile and you could see chenle fighting his mouth from twitching into a grin itself. he scoffed before nudging you away (patting your head once before doing so) “i better not be.” he finally smiled.

a smile that left all too quickly, forming into a frown. “speaking of the devil himself.” chenle whispered, making you turn around instantly. you almost screeched seeing jisung standing a few steps away, stopped in his tracks as he waited for the two of you to finish your affectionate moment.

“jisung! what are you doing here?!” you exclaimed, an awkward smile forming on your lips as you sent him a wave, simultaneously taking a few steps away from chenle. jisung was silent for a second before hesitantly lifting his hand up. “hi?”

“well, i.. i forgot something at college, but you guys were kind busy. did i.. interrupt something?” jisung said carefully, exchanging looks between you and chenle who had a scowl set on his face. you turned and almost gasped at the expression chenle wore, quickly tugging him aside and hitting his ribcage.

“ah sorry, we didn’t meant to block your path!” you apologised and moved all the way off the side walk, motioning for jisung to walk past. “thank you.” he muttered, gaze moving from you to chenle who was still threw him a nasty glare. “i-i’ll see you tomorrow..?”

jisung wishes he never assumed his previous encounters with you were peak awkwardness, because nothing could beat the awkward silence that overtook the air at this current moment. you were stood 10 meters away from, trying to give him space to walk while your friend looked at him like he was mentally putting a curse on him. all of this happening in total silence.

“y-yeah. i’ll see you tomorrow. hope you find your stuff at college.” you were hesitant to move, hoping jisung would move first. he did, picking up his previous pace, sparing you one last glance.

only when he turned the corner of the street did you let out a breath of air you had been holding in. the first thing you did now that you could breathe was repeatedly punch chenle on his upper arm. “ow! what was that for?!” chenle took steps back from you and your assault.

“no what was THAT about? did you have to glare at him? now he probably thinks you hate him.” you rubbed your hand over your face in distress, it didn’t help that you could hear chenle laughing from beside you.

“he wouldn’t be wrong.”

previous — master list — next

notes ; ngl the next chapter is going to be so cute 😝

TAGLIST ; @rksbae @222brainrot @severefireangelprune @violetvoo @prdshobi @kikookii @haechansbbg @en-dream @bbxnny-bbxtch @cvpidxo @jaeminslattes @90s-belladonna @softieluvsyou @wenjunblossoms @be0mluver @jeongintwt @myhaechan @love1again @ckline35 @cassie6392 @hibernatinghamster @starboys-gf @rllymark @mfaal @snflwrhaerecs4u @sunflowerbebe07 @ahnneyong @enhalovie @galacticpurpl3 @manooffline @luv4jeno @mikadorbs @1moo7 @ksywoo @ohdudehesflirting @savluvsmingi @finnydraws @invumi @crvzy-fujoshi @peterparkerluvvbot @hrjunluvs @i2kittenz @jisungji @http-peachie @jisyng @sweetcandycum @giaccolo @shotaroswifeyily @sinsgaybutthatsokay @be-my-sunrise @syzavxy @kyusqult @mxlly143 @o-schist @bigjishirt @snuglyjwi @hyunniesvlog @shuaadmirer

[lilislegacy]

The way haters just boil Annabeth's character to just insulting Percy and not seeing theres more to her really shows how much they dont get her. Honestly Percy would hate them for this...

thanks for the ask @emilia9622!

agreed completely. like if you want to dislike a character, go for it. but don’t lie to yourself. don’t base it all off of one thing or flaw and make it 100x bigger than it is.

for instance, i don’t like luke. but it’s for a multitude of reasons. he knowingly betrayed all his friends several times, fought a deadly war against them, and intentionally poisoned the camp. he was percy’s first friend at camp and was a mentor to him, but had no issues lying to him and deceiving him. he literally was fine with the idea of 12 year old little percy being dragged down to tartarus. he also let annabeth be kidnapped and forced to hold up the world. when he finally saw thalia alive, he fought her and tried to harm her. yes i know that there is very complex trauma and history that led to all his actions, and i really do feel so bad for him, but i can’t respect someone who betrays his close friends like that. no matter what. i could go on and on, and don’t get me started about him having romantic feelings for annabeth… UGH. but that said, i understand why people love his character. he’s complex and has a lot of really good history. he also has a wonderful, yet tragic, redemption at the end. he really deserved better. i don’t have love for him, but his character deserves love. i’m happy that there are people to love him so that i don’t have to, because i have personal reasons for not liking him. i think luke is an amazingly well written character and i think rick wrote him beautifully. the truth is, besides the singular part where he admitted he had feelings for annabeth, i wouldn’t change anything about him or his story. so personally, i don’t like him, but i think he’s a great character and objectively, i can see why people love him.

it’s okay to dislike a character. but don’t pick their biggest flaws, strip away all the good parts of the character, and fool yourself into believing that’s all they are. (and then continue to go on tumblr and scream about how toxic and terrible the character is 🙄)

this is what “people can’t handle complex characters” actually means. people often throw that phrase around. people say that about readers not liking jason all the time, but the truth is, people are fully entitled to not like jason. it doesn’t make sense to me, because i LOVE jason. he’s my cutie patootie. but the people who dislike him simply don’t like him. they don’t usually make him out to be someone he’s not, they just don’t like him for who he is. they often just don’t find him interesting enough to break down the more complex parts of his character. it breaks my heart, and i don’t understand, but that’s okay. they just don’t like him. there’s nothing else to it. most annabeth haters, however, make her out to be someone she’s not and then proceed to hate on that one self-generated version of her. it’s so toxic. THAT is not being able to handle a complex character

no, annabeth is not perfect. if she was, she would be unrealistic, and people would hate her for that too. yes, she has excessive pride. she tends to think herself above others, and yes that even includes percy at times. but you know what? she admitted to having that issue all the way back in book 2. she was literally 13 when she explained to percy what hubris is and how it’s her biggest downfall. she’s a self aware queen. she knows it���s an issue and she works hard to correct it in little ways and make sure the people around her, especially percy, know she values them and their opinions. anyone who read the heroes of olympus series unbiased and got to read her POV knows that annabeth holds percy in the highest regard. she respects the hell out of him. even though sometimes she says things that aren’t nice, she doesn’t truly feel that way and always corrects it in some way. she’s not selfish, she’s just tragically intelligent, and it naturally gives her a bit of a complex. it wouldn’t make sense if it didn’t.

and i love her for it. the fact that she has a real flaw that can affect relationships, but that she is self aware of and actively works on, makes her legit one of my favorite characters ever. she’s SO realistic.

but people take that one flaw and make it her whole character. they call her cold and harsh, when in reality she’s one of the most warm and sensitive people in the series. she takes care of her friends. she’s strong and she’s often the leader, but it’s because she’s so loving and kind all the time. she works hard and looks out for everyone. she makes friends fast for a reason. she’s a wonderful person. she’s so, so sweet, and it breaks my heart that people choose to take that away from her.

anyway, sorry i just word vomited so much. basically i agree 100%.

[kaizokuniichan]

Poker Face

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Summary: A cocktail waitress in the Gran Tesoro casino takes a liking to Zoro and you can’t stand it. Reader is toxic. Pettiness ensues.

Note: Takes place during Film Gold although it’s just the backdrop. No canon characters apart from Zoro.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: Basic toxic behavior, degradation, spitting, hair pulling, devious back shots

Tags: @eelnoise @bby-deerling @kibblz-n-bitz @sunshinescribes @sleepymarimo

You were going to kill him. You were going to throttle him if he didn’t get that busty cocktail waitress’s hands off of him.

All night you’d been trying to convince yourself that the woman was simply doing her job of preying on the weak-willed desires of male patrons in exchange for their lecherous ogling. But Zoro wasn’t just any male patron, and her needling went far beyond a means to an end. She wanted him, and she’d done everything outside of plop herself into his lap to make her point.

Cacophonous hoots and hollers from the other Blackjack tables dulled in your ears as you watched the woman scratch her talons up and down the starched sleeve of his cream suit jacket. He remained infuriatingly obtuse while draining another glass in his typical, uncouth manner. Though he continued to ignore her advances, you still ground your teeth when her blood red, coffin-shaped claws dug into his arm. There was only so much of his obliviousness you could take—after all, he wasn’t the type to allow just anyone to put their hands on him. At this point, it appeared that he was playing some sort of game to fuck with you. For what reason, you couldn’t say.

The urge to ruin her perfectly installed lash extensions with a violent slam to the table spread like venom in your veins as an envious green serpent curled and coiled into a hiss behind your darkened eyes. He was more than aware of the murderous intent licking at your fingertips, yet he refused to spare you any glance or make any move to shove the woman off. Yes, he was most certainly fucking with you.

Another roll of dice bounced softly onto the felt tabletop and the man beside you raised his glass with a jubilant shout. He’d been hopelessly trying to win your affection by purchasing all of your drinks and asking you to blow on the dice as his “good luck charm”. He is quite handsome you thought to yourself as you admired him. A bit on the older side, and much more clean cut than what you were used to, but cute enough all the same.

With wicked ease you ran your fingers down his arm to mirror the wretched tart on the other side of the table. You caught the polite man’s warm smile and tried to picture yourself falling for someone more elegant like him, but unfortunately your heart had already been claimed by the rugged, classless oaf sitting on the other side of the table.

Before you could stop yourself your feet carried you to the other side where the two of them sat—her head resting on his shoulder, and his eyes flitted to you when you stood in front of them.

“Well, isn’t this cozy.”

He’d only been mildly thrown off by the acid in your tone, but she had more sense to cower.

“I’m sorry, is there something that you need?”

You couldn’t decide if you were satisfied with the tremor in her voice, or annoyed that she’d even dared to speak to you.

“This doesn’t really seem like very “professional” behavior.”

“I’m…sorry?”

The woman was an idiot. Anyone with half a brain could see you weren’t in the mood for mindless chat, especially with someone as irrelevant as her. You chose to ignore her and returned your attention back to him.

“Are you really doing this?”

He remained silent while little flickers of amusement tickled his lips. The woman eventually gained enough sense to disentangle herself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was your-“

“He’s not. Have at him sweetie.”

You placed a palm to his face and mushed it as you walked past while simultaneously knocking your shoulder into hers. Under her breath there was an utterance of some sort that involved the word “bitch”, and it took everything within you not to whip back around and hurl your purse at her head. No use damaging a perfectly good bag.

As your heels clacked across the marble floors your body trembled with rage. A stiff drink probably would’ve done you some good but you weren’t in the mood, and the rest of the crew were off gallivanting around the casino but you had no desire to join them.

As luck would have it, a stool was vacated right as you arrived, and once settled in your seat, you plopped your purse on the counter and rolled your shoulders. The tension in your muscles slowly faded, and the heat simmering beneath your skin was cooled by the vent blasting overhead.

Your short-lived luck soon met its end as your attempts at flagging down the bartender were unsuccessful. After several fruitless waves, you made the decision to just end the night, but your movements were halted when a warm hand softly touched the small of your back. The touch was much too unfamiliar to be anyone from the crew—and certainly not that damned swordsman. You geared up to tell off the unwelcome guest but when you turned around you were met with the sensual gaze of the handsome man from the previous table.

“Need some help?”

You flashed him your most dazzling smile. He deserved it.

“From you? Of course.”

You heard his short intake of breath and knew you had him completely hooked—not that it took much effort really. From appearances alone it was obvious he was someone who easily garnered lots of attention. And yet you were the one who’d bewitched him, and he longed for your company. He wished to serve you, and you began flirting with the idea of allowing it. Hopefully that shitty asshole a few tables over had a perfect view.

The harried bartender finally arrived with your seltzer and lime, and your prior annoyance was quelled by his sincere apologies. The gentleman stopped your hand when you offered a tip, sliding his card over instead.

“Someone as pretty as yourself should never open their wallet.”

You snapped your clutch closed with a smirk. The guy was completely entranced.

He sat down beside you and began to ramble about his name, where he was from, and whatever it was he did that made his pockets long. You were sure it had to be interesting, but all of his words were diluted by the fog of your lingering jealousy. It was unfair to him, but you needed the distraction to keep yourself from being vexed for the rest of the night.

The squeak of Handsome Stranger’s chair blew aside your bitter thoughts when he tried to subtly inch closer, so you threw him a bone and adjusted yourself to allow the slit in your skirt to reveal more skin. Embers of his desire glowed deep his eyes, and he took a nervous gulp of his scotch before speaking.

“I hope I’m not being too forward but I would love to invite you back to my penthouse suite for a little nightcap, if you were so inclined?”

Your suddenly rose when you felt a piercing, steely glare from somewhere off to the side. Observation haki was not something you were completely practiced in, but it always seemed to appear in the most convenient times.

It was unfortunate that this sweet man was an innocent casualty in the toxic web he’d been ensnared in. The dim lights of the casino reflected in his enlarged pupils as he waited expectantly for your reply—as did the gruff man in the distance.

“Oh I would love to. But I have my nightly upkeep that I must maintain. Lots of serums and oils and creams to remain all nice and soft and sweet for tasteful men such as yourself. I wouldn’t want you to catch me looking anything less than perfect.”

He leaned closer and gently placed a cool hand over yours.

“If you come with me tonight I’ll have people that can handle your every need. Just stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

The guy was smooth, you’d certainly give him that. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles and he cocked his head to the side as if to bring his lips to your cheek, but a large hand grabbed his shoulder and forcefully shoved him back.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Well. That barely took any time. You’d planned on at least allowing the man to walk you to the elevator.

“Excuse you,” you pouted theatrically, “that was very rude.”

Zoro slipped between the two seats to block the man from your sight.

“You done having your fun?”

Still playing nonchalant, you removed your lipgloss from your clutch and applied a few swipes across your lips.

“I don’t know what you mean. Please step aside so I can finish chatting with this lovely gentleman.”

Zoro side-eyed the man still gathering himself from being nearly toppled over and let out a dry laugh.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re gonna have to do a lot better if you wanna get a rise outta me.”

You sniffed and pretended to touch up the rest of your makeup though you knew it wasn’t needed—you looked absolutely divine.

“Well clearly it has, otherwise you wouldn’t be over here harassing my-“

“Your what?”

The man finally straightened himself out and stood by your side.

“Miss, is this guy bothering you? Shall I call security?”

Aw, what a sweetie. You began to feel a little bad for him when he was shouldered aside by Zoro’s massive body.

“So,” he scoffed, still ignoring him, “not only are you tryna piss me off, but you’re doing it with someone who thinks you’re weak?”

“Not everyone needs to use brute force to get their point across Zoro. We’re not all Neanderthals.”

Zoro’s face morphed into a taunting smirk that filled your belly with lava.

“True. But I know someone who needs brute force when they’re being a hypocritical brat.”

You fought the urge to tug him closer by the lapels of his suit jacket and bite his stupid lips just to shut him up.

The head of the unsuspecting man ping-ponged between your prickly jibes, and he stepped back as the realization of his use as a ploy began to sink in.

“I think I’d better just go.”

Zoro flashed him a maniacal grin as he stumbled away, and you began to gather your things when his arm hooked around your waist to drag you back into his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well,” you sighed as you tried to pull yourself free from his grasp, “you’ve effectively ruined my fun for the evening so I’m off to bed. Maybe you should go find your little girlfriend from earlier.” You heard him snicker as you walked away.

A sea of affluent casino-dwellers parted as you lead him back to the elevators, and he pressed his hard body into your back as he reached out to push the button. His warm breaths against your neck melted your glacial attitude, and his closeness was so foreboding that the levy of your sanity nearly collapsed.

The elevator doors slid open and he pushed you inside as a crowd of elaborately dressed guests exited. The night was fairly young so it was unlikely that anyone from the crew would come looking for you.

The lift climbed the floors with smooth efficiency and paused occasionally to allow more guests to enter and exit. The excitement in the box was palpable though it couldn’t quite penetrate the curtain of tension separating the two of you from the rest of the crowd. His fingers curled firmly around your hip and the subtle poke in his slacks left you breathless. Glancing at your glossy reflection in the gold-plated walls proved to be a mistake as you were met with menacing eyes and a callous grin that promised retribution.

You were under no impression that you’d part ways once you arrived at your floor, and your hands shook as you searched your bag for your key. Anxiety clawed at your chest when he swiped the key from your hands to slap it onto the card reader, and the soft click of the locking mechanism signified the final nail being hammered into your coffin. You were fucked.

Before you could gain your bearings you were shoved roughly into the wall with your arms pinned behind your back and a harsh mouth pressed to your ear.

“Bet you’re real proud of yourself, aren’t ya?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you wobbled on your heels.

“You’re the one who started all of this with that slutty harlot downstairs.” Your sane mind would’ve admonished you for using such degrading language towards a woman, but your morals had been cast aside the moment he’d stepped out in that delicious cream suit—effortlessly sexy as always.

His low chuckle carried the rumblings of an approaching storm that rippled down your spine. “All I did was sit there and mind my drink. I can’t help it if a random woman has some kind of agenda.”

“Come on Zoro, you’re not dumb. You know what her agenda was, and you could’ve shut that shit down, but you didn’t.”

He loosened his grip on your arms when he felt your muscles strain but then re-tightened it when he remembered you mushing his face earlier.

“Why should I have shut her down,” he asked smugly. He obviously was living for your embarrassment.

“Because she’s not even someone you’d be interested in fucking.” He quirked a brow in surprise.

“Oh, she’s not?”

You chose not to speak and he pressed himself into your backside—the imprint of his arousal nestling between your cheeks.

“And who’s someone I’d be interested in fucking then?”

You had no witty reply as he pulled your long skirt up your thighs, so slowly you could almost feel every satiny fiber rub over your skin. He bunched it around your waist and gave your ass a squeeze.

“You played too close to fire the sweetheart. Now I’m gonna fuckin ruin ya.”

With a swiftness even you weren’t prepared for, he ripped off your lacy underwear and tossed it aside where it lay in tatters on the marble floor. He turned you around and shoved a thigh between your legs to prevent your escape. Not that you ever would.

“You chose the right guy to piss me off you know, knowing full well he wasn’t gonna rough you up the way you want.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just having an innocent conversation.”

“Don’t play cute with me, you knew what you were doing.”

He forced your head back to leer at you through those stupid green-tinted sunglasses and you wanted to smack them off his face. Dick. How could he make something as tacky as wearing sunglasses indoors look sexy?

“Why have you been fucking with me Zoro?”

“Someone had to wake your ass up,” he murmured with a satisfied smirk.

You realized just how foolish you’d been—you were never the one who was in control. The man was an analytical genius, and you were always meant to be the prey. Your carefully curated web of petty games paled ten times over in comparison to anything he could construct.

“Okay. Since you’re the one that’s clearly in charge here, whatever am I to do?”

He rolled his eyes. “Quit the blushing good girl act and get your ass on the bed.”

“Couldn’t I at least get a kiss first,” you pouted and fluttered your lashes. You knew he hated when you pretended to act sweet and demure.

“No. Clearly you don’t deserve it yet.”

You must have taken too long for his liking for he took matters—and you—into his own hands by hoisting you up and throwing you over his shoulder. The weight of your body had hardly ever been an issue for him—what was an issue was your smart ass mouth.

“I’m surprised you could even find where the bed is.”

Your suite was fairly large so realistically it could take more than a few steps to actually reach it, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood for your diatribes. With a scoff, he roughly deposited you onto the luxurious bedding.

“The worst thing I can do right now is leave you here unfulfilled and unsatisfied, so maybe you should keep your mouth shut.”

You buttoned your lip and began unbuckling your shoes, and his eyes softened as he watched you wince while wiggling your toes.

“Dunno why you even bother with those things anyway, you know you can’t stand on them for more than an hour.”

“It goes with the outfit,” you sighed, tossing them aside.

“It’s a shame you’re not gonna get anymore wear outta that outfit.”

You leaned back on your elbows and watched him pull off his suit jacket and unzip the jumpsuit underneath down to his waist, though he didn’t remove any more than that.

He grasped your ankle to pull you back to the edge of the bed and tore your skirt apart at the slit as if it were rice paper. In the blink of an eye you were left bare and splayed before him like a feast waiting to be devoured. And oh how ravenously he would devour you—gnashing his teeth as he pulled you apart, and leaving nothing but the entrails of your bleeding heart behind. And then he’d sink his teeth into that too.

With his length completely exposed he flipped you over and propped you up on your elbows. His hand pushed your head down into the mattress, and he slapped your ass a few times, smiling to himself as you yelped from each impact. You felt him bite into the meaty flesh of your ass before following it with another harsh smack, and you hoped a reddened imprint of his teeth and hand would remain on your skin as a dirty reminder.

“I know you can do better than that. Spread your legs and arch your back more.”

Annoying as always, he demanded more while giving you virtually nothing. Your first instinct was to display disobedience, but his threat of leaving you high and dry made you compliant.

“Please Zoro, I’ve waited so long.”

You heard a clattering behind you that you assumed was his sunglasses being tossed aside. His rough fingers slid up and down your opening, and you whined when he refused to probe any deeper. You wiggled your hips in a wordless command.

“You’re such a needy girl, aren’t ya? Where’d all that fake innocence go?”

His fingers continued to tease you while he taunted, and your annoyance gave way to desperation.

“Zoro please. I’m begging you, please.”

A harsh smack on your pussy made your knees buckle.

“The begging’s nice, but I’m still waiting to hear an apology.”

You’d do anything but that. He was the one who started all of this.

“No?” He sighed in exasperation. “Alright then. Guess I’ll just leave you here to take care of yourself.”

“No wait!”

His hands crawled up your spine to grip your shoulder and the back of your neck, and he leaned over to tickle your ear with his lips.

“You want my dick that badly?”

Your tears wetted the sheets as they spilled from your eyes.

“I do, I want it so bad. So fucking bad. ’m sorry for being a brat.”

“Yeah?” His voice was strained. Clearly he was also holding himself back from giving in until you’d truly earned it. After a final swipe of his fingers along your slick folds he tapped your ass with his cock a few times before positioning himself.

“There it is. Keep begging for it.”

He gifted you with his tip, but your euphoria was short lived when he refused to fill you any further. You needed to feel every pulse that beat along the veiny underside of his length. As he stretched your walls torturously slow, your relieved whines were muffled by the silken sheets. The wait had been torturously long.

He slid his cock between your lower lips and the lubricant of his precum mixed with the wetness leaking from your pussy. One of his hands grasped your wrist to twist it behind your back and he repositioned himself once again at your entrance.

“Even though you don’t deserve it, I’m gonna fuck this needy pussy anyway.”

You gasped and sighed thankful whimpers as he pressed forward and stuffed you with a burning stretch. You’d have to adjust to his girth—every single part of his body was impossibly thick and wide. Calloused fingers tripped over your clit in an attempt to loosen your muscles, and before you knew it the two of you were fully connected.

His fingers crawled into your scalp and hooked around your tresses to tug your back, and you clenched walls and you unhinged your jaw with a deep moan. Finally, for the first time tonight, your desires were being fulfilled.

His hips snapped against your ass and all you could do was lay there and take it. The stillness of the room was rattled by the harsh slaps of your skin connecting and your rhythmic whiny moans. He was quiet, save for a couple of low grunts as he held you in place to mercilessly slam into your sex. He seemed disconnected—using you as his own personal toy to get himself off, so you were then taken by surprise when his gravelly voice finally acknowledged you.

“This what you needed to get you to behave? You’re something else. You know this is only meant for me, right? This is all mine, understand?”

He pulled your head further back and cupped your jaw, and you could see his eyes glow red from your peripheral.

“Yes. I understand.”

“You understand what,” he demanded as he smushed your cheeks together.

“My pussy is yours. I’m all yours. Only yours.”

You felt his cock throb inside you and he cursed under his breath. His groans rose in volume when your tongue slid and curled between the two fingers he’d stuffed inside your mouth, and he pressed them further down your throat to make you gag.

“Fuck, you’re so needy. Look at you tightening up around me.”

You heard him chuckle and he removed his fingers to caress and grope your curves—pinching your nipples and squeezing bruises into your skin. He never ceased his thrusts as his hand slid between your legs to circle your puffy clit. Jolts of pleasure electrified your nerves as he defiled you—hammering away until your foundation crumbled to dust.

He finally let go of your hair to hike his knee up on the bed and your body flopped bonelessly onto the mattress. The bed frame knocked noisily against the wall from the merciless onslaught, and you mourned the definite loss of your security deposit.

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder to draw out more of those precious sounds he loved so much while his tongue licked to soothe the raw skin. You could hear the faint tinkling of his earrings clinking together when he nuzzled the crook of your neck.

“Stop being so quiet. Use that big mouth of yours and let me hear you.”

You gulped, filling your lungs with muggy bits of air.

“I don’t…want anyone to hear.”

His movements stilled.

“Yes you do.”

The air in your lungs was trapped as you held your breath.

“Why would you stop?”

“Because I know you’re lying.”

His cock twitched and he relinquished some of his practiced control by sensually grinding his hips, achingly slow. A totally different rhythm from what he’d started with.

“I know you wish that waitress could see us now.” His voice had dipped to an intimate murmur as he stroked your walls. You could hear the crude sounds of how slick and slippery you were at the base of your connection—he’d reached so deep that he prodded your delicate center.

“You want her to see who all of this belongs to. That I’m all yours.”

You whimpered with every rough slam of his hips, and he picked your head up to crush your lips together. His tongue invaded your mouth and you gripped the sheets as trails of saliva trickled down your chin.

He ceased his invasive overtaking of your mouth to lick up the wetness dribbling down your jaw.

“Open your mouth.”

His voice was a puppeteer that held the strings to control your body. You opened your mouth in a stupor and stuck out your tongue, and he chuckled at your immediate compliance before spitting the remnants of your saliva back into your mouth.

“Hold it there and keep your tongue out.”

You dared not disobey. He kept your head in place to examine your face and you rubbed your ass against him in an attempt to get him to fuck you harder. He smirked and finally let go of your jaw.

“Swallow.”

Immediately you closed your mouth and gulped, savoring your tastes mixing together. He continued grinding against your ass until he pressed you back down into the mattress to resume his rough thrusts. You went to bring your fingers to your clit to help yourself along but he yanked your hand away and pinned it back onto the bed.

“Nuh uh,” he tutted, “you don’t get to finish. Be good and lay there.”

You whined and begged him to let you cum but he smiled wickedly and selfishly chased his own high. Even if you weren’t permitted to touch yourself, his cock still reached the deepest depths of your insides—kissing that fleshy patch of bliss which left your body immobile. His grunts became faster as his balls slapped against your ass, and the squeaks of the weakened bed frame synchronized with his frantic thrusts. You chanted his name and arched your back as he gripped your waist to pound you into the mattress.

He fucked you in a frenzy—biting incoherent curses into your skin. And with one last slam into your abused pussy his body seized and he groaned as he released inside of you so fully that it spilled out to form a ring around the base of his cock. Your walls fluttered as you desperately rubbed your clit—still keeping your back arched to hold him in place as you rushed to follow. It only took a few firm circles around your bud before the muscles in your core tightened and your legs shook as electricity spread throughout your body to shock every one of your nerve endings. You let out a cry into the sheets and Zoro thrust lazily to help carry you along until you sighed weakly and relaxed.

He pulled out smoothly and the warmth of his cum slid down between your thighs and onto the floor. After straightening back up he turned you around and finally pressed his lips to yours. You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck, and his hands came down to squeeze your ass a few times before giving it a smack.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked as he laid you back down onto the bed and laid next to you.

“That was so mean,” you giggled as you rested your head on his chest and dragged your fingers over his pec.

“You deserved it. Acting like such a brat, as if it wasn’t obvious that I’m already yours. And you’re mine.”

Your body buzzed from his words and you cupped his cheek to kiss his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

[l0stglitch]

Omg ik we just got completely broken in the last request but imagine the one day we’re walking around the boardwalk and we see this helpless kitty so we try and help it ofc you forgot to tell your dad so there pissed but they kidnapped you when you were a helpless kitty in there eyes so why can’t you do the same?? sorry if this doesn’t make sense and for bad spelling :,/

History repeats itself

Platonic Yandere lost boys x reader

Notes- Sorry I know this isn’t exactly what you asked but I thought your request would tie perfectly into a part 2 of the last fic/hcs.

Warnings- Depression, Mental illness, Angst(?), Yandere behaviour, Dissociation

Part 1

It had been five weeks since your cruel punishment had ended, and nothing had improved.

David watched you from his wheelchair throne, not even bothering to hide his concern. Marko was sat to your right, an arm slung round your shoulder as he quietly read to you.

It was a quiet evening in the middle of October. You used to love Halloween, but this year David wasn’t even sure you were aware of the approaching holiday.

He so desperately wished you would snap out of this strange state of mind. Even if just to scream at him and call him an awful father- anything was better than this. It was like someone had stolen every part of your mind linked to you and replaced it with a numb, complacent animal.

“Y/n you haven’t left the cave in a while, sweetheart. Why don’t we go to that diner you like in town?”

Your eyes slowly tore themselves from the page and met with David’s. It broke his heart to see how empty they looked. “Ok.”

Marko frowned, “You used to love that place, pumpkin. Not feeling up to burgers tonight?”

Your only response was a small shrug as you shifted your attention back to the book resting in his right hand.

Your two fathers exchanged a worried glance. Marko squeezed your shoulder sympathetically before continuing to read.

David sighed and stood up, “I’ll go let the others know.”

You hadn’t realised in your state of depression, but things had grown tense between your fathers. Dwayne in particular had become noticeably colder towards David.

Said man was cleaning your room for you. A somewhat futile attempt at trying to win you over, David assumed. Either that or he was trying to distract himself from the distressing reality of the situation.

David leant against your doorframe, watching as Dwayne carefully folded your freshly washed clothes.

“You just gonna pretend I’m not here?”

Dwayne finally looked up from his task, “Wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or just watch me folding our daughter’s clothes.”

David narrowed his eyes at the man before him, but decided not to argue, “We were gonna take the kid to that burger place if you guys wanted to join.” He glanced over at Paul, who was sprawled across your couch with a cigarette.

Dwayne glared back at David, “The kid has a name, David. It’s Y/n.”

He huffed, “Are you coming or not man?”

“Of course I’m coming. She’s my daughter as much as she is yours.” Dwayne shot back, grabbing his leather jacket before striding out the room to go find you.

Paul stood up as well, shooting David a wary glance before brushing past him in pursuit of Dwayne.

David sighed in frustration before following his two partners out the room.

He returned to find Marko helping you into your jacket. You stared off into space passively, allowing him to guide you arms into the sleeves.

David frowned at the sight. You would’ve never let him do that before.

Dwayne cleared his throat, “I’ll take her over to the bikes.” Marko glanced up at him before looking back at you.

“You wanna ride with Dwayne, baby?” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle, as if he was trying not to spook you.

Your only response was a shrug, which he took as a yes, allowing the other man to take your hand and lead you out the cave.

David watched you leave before turning to Marko. “She spoken to you yet?”

The shorter man shrugged uncomfortably, “Not really. She’s like a zombie.”

“Hey man- she’s still our daughter,” Paul interjected with an offended frown.

Marko raised his hands in defense, “I know! That kid means the fucking world to me, but I’m not gonna sit here and pretend something isn’t wrong.”

Paul just scowled at him before turning around and leaving to join you and Dwayne outside.

“Well this is fucking fantastic. Now they’re both pissed off.” David grumbled under his breath.

Marko ignored the statement, “You think she’ll get better?”

David hummed, “She’s a strong kid.”

He frowned at the half answer, “I guess so.”

“Cmon. The others are waiting for us out there.”

Marko didn’t reply as he grabbed the keys to his bike and lead the way out, trying to hide his concern about your deteriorating state.

They hadn’t even left and things had already become tense. This was going to be a long night.

By the time David reached the others, Dwayne had already gotten you sat on the back of his bike, arms wrapped half heartedly around his midsection.

“She ready to go?” David asked, catching Dwayne’s eye.

The other man simply revved his engine and turned his attention over to the space ahead.

David rolled his eyes and mounted his own ride, growing tired of Dwayne’s attitude. Had it been Marko or Paul, he would have already put a stop to it, but Dwayne wasn’t as easy to order around.

Being the oldest meant that whilst he wasn’t as hotheaded and rash as the others, he did stand his ground in arguments. They didn’t occur often, but when they did it affected the whole pack.

Dwayne didn’t wait for David to adjust himself. His bike raced ahead without warning, leaving the others to catch up.

~

Despite the borderline overwhelming smell of greasy junk food, you couldn’t muster enough energy to eat the meal before you.

A delicate voice in the back of your mind reminded you of your need for food, but no pangs of hunger could overpower the numbness you had felt since David had chained you to the wall.

Dwayne rubbed your knee from under the table and leant in closer so you could hear him properly, “I know you don’t feel hungry baby, but you gotta eat some of it.”

You remained silent, focusing your attention on the bubbles fizzing in your coke.

“How about you try some of the fries?”

Still, no response came from your mouth. All thoughts withered away before your mind was able to comprehend any intelligent idea about the external world around you. You didn’t know if you wanted the fries or not. They tasted good- you knew that, but the taste of what you were eating seemed so much more trivial now.

What was the point in making the effort? They wouldn’t last long anyway. You’d be better off just giving them away to the scrappy kids lingering around the car park.

Dwayne sighed beside you. “Do you know how much it hurts seeing you like this princess? Please just eat the fries for me, Y/n. I don’t wanna lose my baby girl.”

You looked up from the coke and accidentally locked eyes with David. He was watching you with an expectant stare, his icy blue eyes boring into yours.

Normally you would’ve squirmed under the attention, but it no longer affected you the way it used to. “I’m not hungry,” You replied, voice raspy and quiet. It didn’t matter what volume you spoke at- they’d be able to hear every word even if you had whispered.

David sighed, “You haven’t eaten since yesterday. We’re not leaving this diner till you finish those fries.” You shifted your gaze back to your plate as he spoke, “You can’t force me to eat.”

Marko glanced over at you from his seat beside David, “Wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.” Dwayne sharply kicked him under the table, eliciting a hiss of pain. You didn’t react. They definitely could force you to eat if it came down to it, but you knew that all four of them were still walking on eggshells around you. It wouldn’t be worth the risk. Dwayne shot Marko a stern glare before speaking to you, “We’re not gonna force you to do anything baby. If you don’t want the fries that’s ok. We could go get you something else if you want?”

You continued staring meekly down at your full plate of food. This one sided conversation had began to tire you, and you didn’t see the point in answering Dwayne’s constant questions. In the end it didn’t matter- if you didn’t make a decision then they’d make one for you. You were happy to just let them take the reins, allowing you to fall into a state of dissociation.

David made a clicking sound with his tongue and locked eyes with Dwayne, “Can I have a word?”

The brunette hesitated, shooting you another concerned glance before standing up from his chair and moving out of earshot. David was quick to follow.

Dwayne frowned as he walked over, “What do you want, David?”

The man shoved his gloved hands deep into the pockets of his trench coat, “We can’t keep tiptoeing round her like this man.”

“Well what do you suggest?” Dwayne snapped back, “We tried things your way, and look where it fucking got us. Our daughter is practically unresponsive and showing no signs of improvement. All this because you thought that she needed to be isolated for two months.”

David scoffed, “Yeah, well we all know that your ‘gentle parenting’ act is not only complete bullshit, but also fucking ineffective. As for Marko, you think breaking her legs would’ve been any better than this?”

At the mention of his name, Marko glanced up from the food in front of him. Both he and Paul had heard the whole of their argument, but neither had wanted to get involved.

Dwayne shoved David back, his eyes flashing gold momentarily. “This is your fault David! Look what you’ve done- she’s broken.”

David gritted his teeth, suddenly aware of the attention they had gained from the other customers. He lowered his voice and took a step closer to Dwayne, “I can fix this. You don’t.. understand her mind the way I do.”

He glared back at David, “I’ve walked her dreams countless times. I think I know our daughter’s mind well enough.”

The other man just shook his head, almost condescendingly, “No.. not like that. You just don’t get it- you never will. It’s not something that can be learned. It’s instinct.”

“Well your ‘instincts’ to have her chained to a wall for two months seemed a little off.”

David opened his mouth to argue back, but was cut off before he had a chance to speak. “She’s not eating anything guys. We should just, like, take her to the beach or something. Perhaps she needs a little fresh air…” Paul suggested, trying to focus their attention on something else.

David paused, caught off guard by the interruption. Apparently Dwayne hadn’t seen Paul approaching either, because he stayed silent too.

“Yeah I think Paul’s got a point,” Marko added, standing up and nodding towards the other man. He rounded the table and pulled you to your feet, wrapping an arm round your shoulders possessively. “Should we go?” He asked pointedly, his voice bordering on threatening.

David nodded and Dwayne took a step forward as if he wanted to pull you out of Marko’s hold, but then stopped himself and hummed in agreement.

You stared at the grime on the floor- it sort of reminded you of the cave. The hand that rested on your shoulder gave it a squeeze before you were guided outside the diner. Nothing felt real. The voices around you sounded different, and your body felt alien to you. Perhaps you would see a stranger if you looked into a mirror. Perhaps not. Did it even matter anymore? This wasn’t your life. This wasn’t happening.

“She’s completely out of it man,” Paul murmured to Dwayne, eyeing you as they walked towards the bikes. “Our baby’s in there somewhere… she’s gotta be.” Dwayne replied, trying to keep the doubt out of his own voice.

Marko turned around to address the others, “I’m gonna take Y/n on my bike.” Despite him usually being the most reckless driver, nobody argued back. Paul hummed before speaking up, “So we’re still going to the beach, right?” His eyes darted between each of his lovers, searching for confirmation. David nodded in response, “Yeah, unless anyone else has a better idea?”

“Nah man, the beach is fine,” Marko replied as they finally reached the bikes. Mounting his ride, your father turned to help you up, only to find you had disappeared from your previous spot.

He frantically twisted around, “Where the fuck-”

Paul’s barking laugh cut him off, “Chill out dude, she’s right there!” If Marko hadn’t been dead, he was sure his heart would’ve been pounding from within his chest.

“What the hell is she doing?”

That question was a little harder to answer. Whilst your fathers had been talking, you’d found yourself drawn to a small black cat huddled against a nearby fence. The poor thing was shivering against the October wind, its scrappy black fur doing little to protect itself from the weather.

For the first time in months you felt something other than empty detachment. You couldn’t describe the emotion- it felt strange and alien to you, but there was no denying it was there.

This tiny, helpless creature seemed akin to you in every way. Those lost eyes, constantly searching for a meaning, bore into yours with an eery familiarity.

You found yourself unconsciously reaching towards the cat, offering a trembling hand. The frightened animal hesitated before your crouched form. Your voice was hoarse and quiet when you spoke to it, “It’s ok. I can keep you safe.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had subconsciously projected all of your repressed trauma onto this cat. A sudden overwhelming desire to protect and nurture filled you. Instinctively, you picked up the kitten and brought her close to your chest, stroking her soft fur before turning around and staring up at the four men behind you.

Your fathers watched in startled silence as you turned to look at them. Your eyes held more emotion than they had seen in months, and you held each of their gazes with a resolved stare. It was obvious you weren’t going to let go of the cat, David noted, glancing down at the black scrap of fur.

Marko cautiously took a step closer, crouching down to your level. “Hey sweetie.. who’s this?” He asked softly, motioning towards to animal.

For a moment, you stayed silent. How were you going to explain to them that this cat was you? Perhaps not physically, but you were convinced that spiritually you two were the same.

After earning no response, Marko tried again. “Does she have a name?” You nodded slowly, “It’s pumpkin.”

Marko frowned, “But that’s my name for you. Maybe we should call her something else?” You shook your head, “Her name is pumpkin.”

Your father sighed. The name sort of made sense- considering the fact that the cat had remarkably bright orange eyes. It irked him a little though that you had given his pet name for you to a mere animal you had found on the street.

“She’s cold; I need to take her home.” Marko watched as you abruptly stood up and carried Pumpkin back over to the bikes. This sudden change in demeanour was perplexing, but not entirely unwelcome.

You stopped in front of Dwayne, tilting your head expectantly at him. He shifted uncomfortably, “Why don’t you ride with Marko, baby? He’s good with animals.”

Paul sniggered behind him, “You’re not scared, are ya bud?” Dwayne rolled his eyes, “Just don’t want it scratchin’ up my jacket.”

You ignored their banter, bringing Pumpkin over to Marko so that he’d be able to help you up onto his bike. “You sure you wanna keep her?” He asked you quietly, glancing down at the kitten in your arms.

You nodded certainly, eyes sparkling dangerously under the streetlight, entranced by an obsession they recognised all too well.

“She’s mind now. She’s staying with me.”

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife @purple-lemon-8 @xjesterxjacksx @whatispopping69 @simplyreading96 @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic @humbuginmybones

I guess this is my Christmas present to you guys! Sorry it took me so long to post. 😅

[hyuckwrlds]

heeey!

can you do something cute with johnny? like, strangers to lovers or fake dating 🤗

>> right now

wc: 908 let me hear you say it, babe

“So you’re here with…Johnny?”

The boy in front of you says his name with a hint of uncertainty, almost as if it didn’t make sense that Johnny was at this party with you. 

You take a sip from your drink in hand and wince at the harsh taste of alcohol. Johnny had asked you to hold it for him before going to the bathroom, but since he’s nowhere to be found, you’re all too aware of how alone you look now. Which is exactly why you got approached in the first place. 

“Mhm,” you hum, trying to make a show of clear disinterest. 

The boy doesn’t seem particularly swayed by this though. “So you guys are together?”

You pause. In hindsight, you really should’ve seen this coming but for some reason, you didn’t, which brings you to a mild state of panic. Your gaze darts to the kitchen entryway where Johnny is starting to weave through the room of people. 

“Um,” you shrug, managing to catch his eye across the room. He notes the new figure accompanying you and raises his eyebrows, amused at your little predicament. In a silent plea, you beg him to save you from this nightmare of an interaction. 

Like the asshole he is, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he joins a small group of his friends standing a few feet away—close enough to eavesdrop on your conversation for entertainment. This goes unnoticed by your “friend” though, seeing as he’s too busy awaiting your answer like a dog holding out for a tennis ball in the air.

“I can’t really say,” you answer eventually, honestly. 

He awkwardly laughs. “It’s a yes or no question.” 

Sure, you like Johnny. You’re pretty damn sure he likes you too—if your toothbrush in his apartment means anything—but you’ve never defined what you are. You know what he looks like when he wakes up in the morning and how it feels to fall asleep in his arms, but calling him your boyfriend feels like crossing a line that has yet to be drawn.

You know Johnny is waiting to hear your response just as much as this boy. So, with a sigh, you relent.

“Nope,” you admit. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

The boy’s face suddenly alights as he straightens up but just like that, Johnny whips around to finally cut in. 

“Hey,” he sings as he slings an arm around you. Johnny meets your gaze, eyes crinkled in that way you love. “What’s with the face?”

“Where were you?” you hiss.

“Over there,” he answers coolly. You briefly consider strangling him.

“Well—”

“Hey, Johnny,” your acquaintance interjects, calling the attention of the taller beside you. Johnny’s arm has yet to leave you and you’re partially grateful. It makes you feel a bit more secure, like this.

“Hey…buddy,” Johnny starts, clearly drawing a blank on his name. “What’s up?”

“Is it true? That you guys aren’t dating?”

The boy’s gaze flicks between the two of you and you turn to Johnny, making it a point to look at him with exaggerated anticipation. 

“Yeah, Johnny. Is it?” you say, just to rub it in.

Something in his expression falters but ever so smoothly, he recovers with a clearing of his throat. He takes his sweet time responding. 

“Well, I mean, yeah. We’re not dating, but—” 

“Then let me take you out sometime.”

The two of you freeze as the boy turns back to you. There was no way he asked you out just like that. Especially in front of Johnny too, who—despite what you’ve said—is clearly involved with you in some way or another. 

You feel your jaw drop a bit and Johnny’s arm involuntarily loosen for a fraction of a second. Now what the hell are you supposed to say?

“Sorry,” you breathe out. Even though the poor guy had no chance from the start, a part of you feels a little guilty at how fast he deflates.

“Why?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?” Johnny parrots. Like a dick.

You glare at him. He knows why. He just wants to hear you say it. To hear that it’s because of him.

“I, um,” you start. “I’m interested in someone else.”

Even though it had to be painfully pried out of you, something akin to pride simmers in the middle of your chest. Saying it aloud makes you realize just how far gone you are now—to say for certain that Johnny is that someone else.  

“But—”

“Oh, look! Mark’s here!” Johnny interrupts, finally deciding to put an end to everything. He waves at an unspecified person (though Mark is nowhere to be seen) before pulling you away. “If you’ll excuse us.”

With that, he whisks you out of the kitchen and into a quieter part of the house by the front door. Once you’re far from the crestfallen boy, you slap Johnny’s hand off of you.

“I hate you,” you frown, watching as a smile spills across his face.

“No, you don’t.”

“I can’t believe you made me go through all of that.”

Though, as you stand there in the middle of some random party he dragged you to on a Friday night, you figure that you can’t complain. Not when he’s looking back at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. At the end of the day, you really do adore him too.  

“Speaking of…” he starts, interlacing your fingers with his. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Let’s make it official?”

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 28: Size Difference with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Pairing: Simone "Ghost" Riley X Fem!Reader Word Count: 1436 Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, Oral (F Receiving), Fingering (F Receiving), Soft!Simon, Squirting, Chair sex (Does this count as chair sex if there's no P in V? I'm gonna say yes), Pet names.

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

Simon can’t help but stare.

You’re not even doing anything out the ordinary, nothing odd or even unique.

Seated in his recliner in a little ball, knees curled under yourself, in one of his t-shirts and your comfortable panties, simple white cotton, with a book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.

The thing that has his staring is that fact that you’re swimming in that chair and shirt because they’re so massive compared to you.

And it makes something in his chest preen and makes something low in his belly feral.

The knowledge that he can throw you over his shoulder without even breaking a sweat? It makes him want to scream with how much it turns him on.

And the fact that you feed into it without knowing, or he’s pretty sure you’re not aware, is one of the best parts to him.

You’re just being you, and it’s all he needs in life.

As if sensing his gaze on you, your eyes flick up to look at him, head still tilted down toward your book, causing your gaze to come through your lashes.

“Si? You okay?” Your sweet voice drifted to his ears and had him feeling like one of those old cartoon characters that float toward their lover on a cloud of hearts as he approached you.

“I’m fine, Love.” He answered as he came to crouch next to you, putting him lower than you where you sat.

Your book was closed in an instant, and the mug discarded to the side. “You sure? You’re being awful stare-y.” You teased lightly, the kind of teasing that’s meant to gauge mood, lest something be wrong and he’s too scared to admit to it yet.

God, he loves how you show your love.

Sitting forward a bit, your soft hand brushed through his blond locks as it came to hold his cheek, the smallest bit of stubble scratching your palm, no need to hold to regs when on leave, and you loved it when he got scruffy.

Leaning into the soft touch, Simon eyes held your gaze. “Just wondering what a bastard like me could have possibly done to deserve an angel like you…” He whispered into the small space between you.

You let out a sigh as your brows furrowed slightly. He knew you hated it when he talked about himself like that, but also understood where it came from. “Simon…” You started like you always did, like you were going to scold him for his negative self-talk.

“It’s not that, not this time.” He said, stopping you in your tracks. “Even the best man doesn’t deserve you.” He continued, watching your face flush a little. “Can I show you?”

“Show me?” You questioned.

“How much I love you…” He clarified, brown eyes flickering between your own and your lips, which were pulling up into a smile.

Rather than speak, you nodded and leaned in, meeting him halfway in a sweet kiss that turned heated so fast it made your head spin.

His massive hands slipped under you to pull your legs forward, so he could settle on his knees between them, where they moved up to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as they slid up and down.

Your own finger threaded through his hair before settling at the space where the back of his neck met his head, holding him to you as you nipped at his lower lip, a polite request for more than just lips in your kisses.

And Christ above, who was he to deny you anything?

His lips parted, tongue meeting yours in a dance that pulled a pleased sigh from you.

Your bum scooted closer to the edge of the chair, and he met the movement, pressing his body to yours, his belly right up against the apex of your thighs, allowing you to roll them against the solid plains of his body unconsciously.

His own desire for you pulled his lips from yours to kiss down your neck, the temptation to leave marks was loud, but he resisted, this time he wanted to be soft, not claiming.

The little sounds you made had his cock jumping in his sweatpants, craving to hear more, more, more of those sweet sounds.

As his worked his way down, he bypassed what he knew was under his shirt, instead his hands slipped under the material to your hips to carefully slip your panties down your legs, tossing them aside like they’d offended him, which got that beautiful bell-like laugh from you.

That laugh morphed in his ears into a soft moan as his touch shifted to the space between your beautiful legs, thumb tentatively finding your clit, not wanting to overwhelm you too quickly.

He was already going from zero to a hundred, no reason to rush your body to catch up to his.

“Simon…” You breathed against his lips, eyes having drifted close long ago, body leaning into his touch like you needed it to survive.

“I got ya, Dove.” He murmured back, his own eyes watching your expressions, half for any signs of discomfort and half just because he loved to watch your pleasure displayed there.

One of your hands left his neck to try and drift lower, but his free hand caught your wrist, pressing his lips to your pulse point. “Don’t worry about me. This is about you.” He said before returning it to where it had previously been.

You pouted but he was quick to kiss the expression from your lips. “Next time.” He promised.

“Next time.” You confirmed, asserting that you’d hold him to that.

And knowing you, it would be when he was doing something equally mundane as how he’s found you.

Returning to the task at hand, his calloused fingers ran up and down your quickly dampening slit, then he guided you to lay back in the chair a bit, pushing his shirt up your tummy to press his lips to the soft part of your belly, then another a little lower.

The muscles in your belly twitched in anticipation but then he jumped down to press his lips to your inner thigh, then another to the crease of your hip.

Even he could admit he was teasing you, so when you let out a slightly frustrated sigh he chuckled and gave in, pressing his lips to your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking out to make a little circle around the pretty bud.

Your body reacted immediately, trying to seek more, but his hold on your hips kept you in place as he ran his tongue up the whole length of your pussy, dipping into your hole for only a moment before returning to your clit to lightly suck, earning him a squeal and a tug at his hair.

But he didn’t budge, instead his fingers returned, but this time rather than circle your clit with his thumb, he pressed one into your cunt while his tongue worked your bud until he felt like you could take a second finger.

That was when he zeroed in on your G-spot with curling digits, smirking when you once more tried to buck up into his touch, but his superior strength once more won out, keeping you right where he wanted you.

Soon enough he felt your legs begin to shake, pussy twitching and flexing with your impending orgasm, and he was relentless, intent to see you come apart on his fingers and mouth.

And come apart you did.

With a broken cry of his name, your body clenched down on his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Normally he would stop there, let you come down a little before you kept going, but this time he decided to try something new.

Continuing to bully your G-spot and clit, he watched as a second more intense orgasm built and crashed over you, soaking his fingers, face, and the chair under you.

He nearly came in his pants like a teenager at the sight, and it was all the proof he needed that you had to be an angel because that was damn near a religious experience.

Finally letting up on you, he ran his hands up and down your body as you panted, soothing you softly.

“I…Didn’t know…I could do that…” You managed as your eyes managed to open.

Before you could think any further, he had you in his arms, standing with his hands under your ass as he carried you toward the bedroom. “Then let’s see if you can do it again.”

[cieloclercs]

grace , send me a trope + a character and i’ll write a short drabble from it

hii, can i please request best friends to lovers with ollie?

congrats on 1k btwww 🫶🫶

call me cupid — ollie bearman

pairing. ollie bearman x best friend!reader

word count. 2.7k (i swear i tried to make it short lmao)

warnings. kind of a weird fusion of fluff and angst ??? unrequited love vibes (that’s not actually unrequited but u get what i mean), pining ollie, pining reader, arthur lowkey is the mastermind, and is also sick of said pining, abrupt ending i’m sorry 😭

author’s note. hello anon! thank you so much for your request ☺️ i hope this is ok ! i know it cuts off quite abruptly, but i’d be open to writing a part 2 with the confession if you want one <3

read below the cut

He’s staring again.

It’s becoming a problem, but can anyone really blame him? You look nothing short of angelic under the strobe lights, your shimmering dress catching his eye every time you move. You’re dancing with a girl he doesn’t recognise, that beautiful smile he adores stretched across your crimson-painted lips. It makes him wonder what she’s saying to you to make you seem so content.

Best friends shouldn’t look at each other the way he’s looking at you now. Ollie knows that. Yet on days like today, he really can’t help it. This is your party, celebrating your third Formula 2 victory in a row. He’d watched from way back in P5 as you stormed through the field, fighting off every challenge your opponents tried to throw your way. There’s a reason the fans call you the Queen of Formula 2, after all. You’re practically untouchable. All it does is heighten his awareness of his own pounding heart whenever you’re around; turn his insides to velvet when you so much as smile his way. Yes, it’s becoming a problem — and Ollie isn’t sure there’s anything he can do to stop it.

“You know, I’ve just thought of something you should try.” A voice speaks up to his left, breaking him out of whatever trance you’ve unwittingly put him under. He turns. Arthur Leclerc stands like the devil on his shoulder, arms folded, expression unimpressed. When Ollie says nothing, he goes on, “It’s called talking to her. Works wonders, really, I’d highly recommend. It’s how I met Carla.”

The younger of the two rolls his eyes. Arthur is the only other living soul on earth who knows about his infatuation with you — officially, at least. In reality, almost everyone in the Ferrari Academy has long since figured it out. Everyone except you, ironically. But Ollie supposes it makes sense; why would someone like you ever even consider him as something more than just a friend?

“Can we not do this tonight?” Ollie sighs, exasperated, “I’m just trying to forget about…all of that for a moment.”

This time it’s Arthur who rolls his eyes. Ever since he first caught on to his friend’s crush on you a little over eight months ago, he’s been trying every method under the sun to try and make him see that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be so pessimistic about his chances. But the answer is always the same. Ollie remains convinced, like some poor, naïve, completely oblivious child, that you’d never so much as give him a second glance if he told you how he felt. It’s complete bullshit, of course. Arthur has seen the way your eyes search immediately for his after a race, be it a good result or even a bad one. He’s watched you brush off close friends (including him, many a time) even family members, to get to Ollie. But of course, Ollie himself doesn’t notice. No fool in love ever does.

“You’re not going to forget though, are you?” Arthur muses, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye, “I know you, and I know you can’t stay away from her for that long. You’ll cave eventually.” he smirks. At the sight of Ollie’s pink cheeks, he knows he’s caught him out.

“Why don’t you go annoy someone else for a change?” the Brit grumbles. There’s the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Arthur could pick it out even in the pitch dark.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love me.” he teases.

Within moments he’s cowered behind Carla on the other side of the room, chased away by Ollie’s (half joking) threats to crash him out of the next race on purpose if he doesn’t shut his mouth. But Arthur’s words stick with him throughout the entire night. Somehow, they always do.

In truth, Ollie's been grappling with the idea of telling you for quite a while; to put him out of his own misery more than anything else. He's sick and tired of the 'best friends' label. It seems so trivial, so reductive to say that it hurts him, when in fact, every time you refer to him as such, he’s sure you must be ripping his heart out of his chest. But then he can’t help but feel melodramatic — at least he has you, even if only as a friend. Even if you don’t love him in the way he loves you, you’re still there. Close, though perhaps not quite close enough. Ollie has decided not to take that for granted. He knows how easily it can be snatched away from him.

In the end (just as he always seems to be) Arthur is right — it’s not even an hour before he finds himself gravitating towards you; unwittingly being pulled into your orbit from which he fears, if he’s not careful, he’ll never be able to escape. You’re hovering on the edge of a group of engineers now, sipping on a glass of sparkling water out of a straw. How you can appear drop dead gorgeous yet so damn adorable at the same time, he has no idea. Ollie feels he’ll be spending the rest of his life trying to figure you and your many layers out.

“Hi, Ol.” you greet him with a smile like the sun when he finally plucks up the courage to approach. He mutters something in reply, though as soon as the words have left his mouth he’s already forgotten them — he could have said something completely unintelligible for all he knows. That’s the effect you have on him.

“Having fun?” you prompt again, your soft smile spreading into a full-blown grin. Ollie glances briefly around the room. It’s absolutely packed full of Ferrari Academy members, both drivers and personnel. Normally, this kind of event would be his worst nightmare. Even if he’s known these people for years, the idea of having to socialise and look like he’s having fun makes him feel sick. But then he remembers all this is for you. It’s to celebrate your achievements in a male dominated field, which no woman has ever managed to do before. When he reminds himself of that, all his anxiety suddenly seems to melt away.

“Of course.” Ollie grins back. His heart soars to see you light up at his words, to see you giggle behind the rim of your glass and look at him as if he’s the only person in the world. At times like this he can truly believe that maybe Arthur is right — maybe, if he confesses, his world won’t come crashing down. Maybe you’ll light it up for the better.

“What happened to you at turn one? Nic told me you dropped out of the points." you go on, eyebrows furrowing with the remnants of confusion. Ollie had begun the feature race in P2 behind you, yet you'd find that the competition you'd so anticipated disappeared not even before the first lap had ended. The Brit sighs, shaking his head.

"I collided with Jack trying to defend." he tells you with a wince, "Damaged my sidepods."

Your expression twists into one of sympathy. There's almost no coming back from that, even for a driver as talented as Ollie. Still, you think, to climb back up to P5 after sustaining damage like that is no mean feat. You don't miss the way he flushes bashfully when you tell him as such.

"It was my own fault." he mumbles, trying desperately to cool the flames in his cheeks as you watch him, eyebrows raised. He always feels like he's been put under a microscope when you look at him like this. There's no escaping the calculation in your stare, the curious scrutiny. "I took too much of a risk."

You shake your head. There's the tiniest of knowing smiles on your lips. Ollie is always so hard on himself. It's something you both admire him for, and find yourself exasperated with; he never seems to be able to see how brilliant he really is -- or at least, how brilliant he is in your eyes.

"Well, whoever was at fault, it's a real shame." you dismiss with a wave of your hand, "I miss sharing the podium with you."

Ollie is sure he must be melting. He can't figure out if it's from your words alone, or from the tiny pout that's fallen on your lips, or even the soft glint in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Suddenly the proximity between the two of you seems to have all but diminished. He chuckles nervously.

"Next race will be ours." the Brit murmurs. Little by little you inch closer to him, your hand resting on the ledge you're leaning on, just ghosting over where his own lays flat. He breathes in sharply.

"Promise?" you whisper. The point of your heel bumps against his foot. Ollie glances down at it in a panic, before his head snaps up to meet your piercing gaze. He fears that if he rocks forwards only the slightest bit on the balls of his feet, he'll be close enough for his nose to bump yours. He's never felt so consumed, so intoxicated by another person in all his life. He can smell the honey scent of your hair, feel your warm breath tickling his cheek. His gaze flickers down for the briefest of moments to your lips - soft and pink, parted as if there's something else you want to say, but the words have gotten trapped in your throat.

"I promise." Ollie croaks.

Just one more step, you think. One more step, and he'll kiss you. He's so close, closer than he's ever been before, and suddenly you can see everything falling into place: all the nights spent crying on Arthur's shoulder, wondering whether Ollie is truly just scared as your friend says he is, or whether he simply doesn't feel the same. It will all fade into a distant, long-abandoned memory. Finally, you'll be able to call him something more than just your best friend.

But then he steps away.

You flinch, taken aback at his sudden movement. Ollie stares at you, wide-eyed, breathing heavily as if he's just run a marathon. He can't believe what's just happened — can't believe he was about to kiss you. How could he be so stupid?

"I —" he stammers. The look on your face is hard to decipher: shocked, confused, hurt. If Ollie looked a bit closer, he'd be able to see the last of those emotions, or the way your shock is mixed with a horrible sinking feeling of disappointment. But, of course, he doesn't see it that way. He's stuck on the same, poisonous idea that's been plaguing his mind ever since he first figured out his feelings — you don't feel the same way.

"I'm sorry." Ollie gasps. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and runs, leaving you stood alone, arms half outstretched as if to try and stop him. You're too late, of course. Within moments he's out of sight. Gone, just like your hope.

"Well that was a train wreck." a familiar voice speaks up from somewhere on your left. You spin around, groaning as you spot Arthur, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed in what you can only imagine is frustration.

"You don't say." you drawl bitterly, glaring down into your empty glass. Wordlessly, your friend passes you his own half-full one. You lean down to sniff at its contents, and pull away, nose scrunched in distaste — definitely not water. But you think, at this point, you're owed some kind of distraction.

"Why does he keep running away from me?" you grumble. It's been months of this cat and mouse game now. Tonight is the closest you've ever got; the first time you've seen with your own eyes that Ollie does reciprocate your feelings. Yet it feels like for that step forward, all you've gone and done is taken another two back.

"Because he's an idiot." Arthur answers plainly. The Monégasque watches as you take a gulp of his drink, pulling a face at the burn in your throat, and wordlessly reaches forwards to take the glass back from your hands. He's grateful that you don't complain.

"Well I wish he'd stop." you mutter. As much as you're willing to wait for Ollie for as long as he needs, it's painful, having to go on loving him from a distance like this. Every time you lock eyes, the longing grows more intense. You're not sure how much longer you can take it.

"You know, you're just as bad as he is." Arthur speaks up. Once again, your head snaps towards him, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"You heard me." the Monégasque says with a sigh, "Look, I want to help you, I really do, but you could make all of this so much easier for yourself if you just tell him how you feel."

And there it is. You can’t help but let out a bitter chuckle. It sounds so simple coming from Arthur’s mouth — so easy. God knows you’ve tried, time and time again, to be honest with Ollie about your feelings, to rip off the plaster in the hopes the pain of it won’t be too great; that he might just tell you he’s been trying to say the same thing all this time. But whenever you feel as if you might be ready, the words catch in your throat. You just can’t stomach them. It’s a kind of vulnerability you’ve never shown to anyone before, let alone someone who already means so much to you. At the end of the day, you’re still young. No matter how much you love Ollie now, the chances of him being the one are low.

At least, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself. But a part of you knows already — there’s no one else on earth you’ll ever feel this way about. Young or not, it’s always going to be Ollie.

“I don’t know if I can take that risk, Arth.” you say quietly, “If Ollie and I — if we’re not meant to be together…isn’t it better just to have him, even as a friend, than risk losing him entirely?”

You’re honestly not sure which is the most painful: having to pretend that you don’t love him, or the idea of one day not having him at all. Yet, you still know which one you’d choose — even if it hurts like ripping your own heart out of your chest.

“Huh.” Arthur says, eyebrows furrowing again. There’s something different in his expression this time, though. It’s less frustration, more a spark. As if he’s realised something you and Ollie may not have just yet.

“What?” you ask. Suddenly, Arthur begins to smile. You watch him disbelievingly, none the wiser as to what on earth he has to be so happy about at the present moment. Then he’s laughing, shaking his head as if in mirthful despair.

“You really are soulmates.” the Monégasque snickers, watching almost gleefully as you grow even more confused.

“What?” you ask again. Part of you begins to wonder if Arthur has lost his mind — you wouldn’t blame him after the game he’s been playing: acting as some sort of secret go-between in the middle and your and Ollie’s back and forth self-doubts. But Arthur hasn’t lost the will to live with it all just yet. In fact, he thinks he’s finally figured out how to make the both of you see sense.

“He said the exact same thing to me.”

And with that, Arthur turns on his heel, leaving you stood alone, your mind racing. All this time you’ve been trying to play the long game; trying to anticipate what Ollie is thinking, when in reality, your thoughts are practically shared. You’re both afraid. More than you ever have been in your life. But for the first time you begin to think, perhaps fear doesn’t have to be the dividing factor.

“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?” Carla Brocker asks her boyfriend as he retakes his familiar position at her side, still grinning like a child who’s just been told Christmas is coming early. Arthur says nothing, merely tilting his head in the direction of where you stand motionless. It only takes a few moments for Carla to catch on. She turns to face her boyfriend again, mouth hanging open.

“You think you’ve got through to her?” she whispers urgently.

Once again, Arthur Leclerc grins proudly.

“Just call me Cupid.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 8

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your clothes hang off of your body, a slake of sweat running down your thighs and stomach. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up this way, legs curled around Loki as he pins you to the wall.

The office lights blaring outside your eyelids. His breath plumes into your scalp as he presses his nose into your hair. You tilt your hips as your overwrought nerves cluster and ping off each other.

Another orgasm swells in the ebb and flow of pleasure. Minutes, hours, days, you don’t know how long you’ve been at it. 

It’s another of his tricks. The way he uses your body against your mind. How he can twist your desire like a cage around your reticence. 

“Mm, darling,” he slithers, “shall we go home?” 

He doesn’t stop his steady thrust as he speaks, a hand under your ass and the other on the back of your neck. He dips his head down to nib at your ear lobe. 

“Home?” You murmur dumbly. What does he mean? 

“As man and wife...” he puffs along your throat, “yes, darling, I think it’s time.” 

You push your head back as his lips tease your skin. You hate how he makes your insides rend. You clutch his shoulder and whine. You squeeze him tighter with your legs, hooking your feet together to keep him locked in. 

“A little more,” you rasp to your own horror. 

He snickers, “I never said we’d stop.” 

Confounded by his words, you flick your eyes open and a sudden flash of green paints your world. You feel a lurch around you. It’s as if you’re plummeting for that split second, then the world still again.  

Loki falls onto you. A silky sheet tickles your back beneath the crumpled fabric of your loose blouse, hanging at your elbows. Your shorn skirt fans out under your legs as Loki carries his motion, not missing a beat as the walls around you appear anew. 

Your head lolls as you take in your new surroundings. Behind the green tint, there’s something family. You can’t think. You don’t care where you are, you just care about that spiralling coil inside of you. You clasp onto Loki’s neck and sink your nails in, pushing your pelvis up to take him in. 

You cum again. Shaking violently as you’re battered in the eruption of hot and cold. Your arm splays limp and dangles over the edge of the sofa. Loki persists as you tremble helplessly.  

As you wade in the afterglow, fighting the tiding of yet another orgasm, your eyes flit around. This... this is your apartment. How-- 

You slap his shoulder and cough, “Loki, stop--” 

“Darling, I’m nearly--” 

“I don’t care, get--” 

He rams into you and your voice shrivels up. You drop your head down and gnash your teeth. He ruts into you furiously as he snakes his hand up to cover your mouth. He pumps into you as he pants against your cheek, muttering a flow of sultry delight. 

“Mmm, darling, just you try to get away,” he snarls, “I feel you clinging to me. You want me, hmm?” His taunts peter out into thick grunts and groans and he sinks his head down to growl against the cushions. 

A warmth blooms in you as he spasms and pushes himself into his limit. You twitch at the fullness and claw at his back. Fuck. As much as you hate that he’s right, he is. You don’t think you could make him get off. 

He finally stills but that urgent need does not. It’s a low buzz in your pelvis but you feel it pulsing, waiting to thrum again. You blink and take in what you can of your apartment.

Your plain white curtains are now green satin, around a nightscape that assure you of hours of torture. The walls, usually just as bland, are painted with gold and green trim and your eyes narrow on the snake ornament mounted on the wall with-- 

Huh! 

You tap Loki’s shoulder frantically, “get off, get off.” 

“Darling?” He mutters. 

“I mean it, off.” You try to push him and groan at the effort as your walls squeeze him. “Ayeee.” 

“Mmm, as you wish, dear wife.” 

He slides out of you and a full-body shudder constricts your muscles. You grit through the emptiness and sit up. You nearly tumble off the edge of the couch at the dizziness. You look down at your ruined clothes, barely hanging onto your figure. Fuck. 

You stand and squeak at the tenderness between your legs. You cup your pelvis and limp, your other hand on your forehead. You squint at the metal plate on the wall with the snake curved in an infinity sign. Between each loop, are a set of initials; his and yours. 

You pause and glance around again. You look at Loki as he works at untangling his dark hair. He is entirely too comfortable right now. 

“What did you to my place?” You accuse. 

“Our place,” he insists and sends you a smirk. 

You stare back at him. Your eyes threaten to stray down. His shoulders and chest are forged in muscle and as much as you didn’t ask for any of this, you can’t deny his boasting is mostly true. It makes you hate him more that he was honest in that sense after being so deceitful. 

You press your hands to your temples and his own eyes drift down. A cold wash flows through you as he purrs and you drop your arms. You pull your blouse up your shoulders and do up the only remaining button. Then you wrap your torn skirt and wrap it around yourself.. 

“I need a shower,” you hobble across the floor. 

“A wonderful idea, I shall join you.” He stands, shamelessly naked. You can’t pick out in the chaos of the afternoon when he stripped off every piece. Given how he can throw you through time and space, it probably isn’t much effort for him. 

“That wasn’t an invitation,” you stay far from him as you walk faster. “I need space. I need to think.” 

You hurry down the hall and shut the door before he can catch up. You growl at the sight of the bathroom. Green tile, green towels. He’s taken over more than your body but your entire life. You huff and shuffle forward to the shower and pull open the curtain. As you do, you shriek in horror. 

He reaches up to grip the metal bar and smirks down at you, “dirty mortal,” he tuts. “Time to get washed up.” 

[raven--bones]

I'm really loving your incubus au! I am excited and horrified to see what happens to our summoner next. And I'm really interested to see how the rest of the boys (especially Dream and Blue) get roped into these shenanigans.

ask and ye shall receive <3

incubus nightmare/reader part 2! (part 1 here) characters: nightmare, gender neutral reader word count: 1946 summary: there is an archdemon in your living room.

The archdemon looms above you in the dark, his unbroken horn nearly brushing your ceiling. He has to be well over two metres tall. 

“Hello, little mageling.” His voice is intoxicating; deep, alluring, and warm like mulled wine. He speaks calmly, softly, with utter confidence. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command your attention. 

You don’t dare look away for even a second. You feel like you’ll be eaten up by the darkness if you do. You can feel cool, shadowy tendrils stroking along your legs already, keeping you held in place on the floor. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

Your voice is dead in your throat. Your mind is racing, desperate to place his appearance to the archdemons you know… but you can’t. You’re not that far in your studies yet. You’ve only barely started to research the minor demons for your courses. You weren’t meant to be summon demons with names, let alone archdemons. 

You’re trapped with an uncontained archdemon in your living room and you don’t even know which one it is. You can guess, but to be wrong is to risk insulting something powerful enough to consume your soul. 

The archdemon slowly lowers into a crouch, his robes shifting in colour like an oil slick. The movement reminds you of a tiger preparing to pounce. Even like his he is so much bigger than you and no less intimidating. The tentacles at his back curl and weave around you, boxing you in. You lie there frozen in his shadow. “No? My, how very reckless… using an incantation outside your comprehension.”

He reaches forward slowly. The tip of one massive claw rests gently against your throat, then slowly slides up until the point presses, dangerously sharp, against the soft skin under your chin. The touch ignites a frigid chill of fear down your spine and a spark of warmth in your belly. The archdemon’s grin widens and the shadows clinging along your legs constrict. “Tell me, sorcerer. Are you aware of what you have done?”

You still can’t speak. The air is heavy with cold, dense magic. It feels like you’re slowly choking.

The archdemon hums; a low, dark sound that you can feel in your bones. “I see.” He pulls his claw back from your throat and you gasp for air when you can suddenly breathe, the pressure of the magic around you released. The atmosphere is still thick with mana but at least you can breathe. 

You struggle to catch your breath despite it. Your heart is pounding in your chest. 

The demon awaits your answer.

When you finally find your voice it sounds weak and hollow. It wavers with your fear and trepidation. “I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to summon you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.” Your voice breaks with every apology. All you can do is hope that your sincerity earns you mercy, that your desperation overpowers whatever it was that had earned his curiosity. If he loses interest in you maybe he’ll grow bored and leave you be. 

“Allow me to enlighten you.” He reaches down and taps a claw to the little incubus’ drawing. “This is one of the first summoning circles your kind created. Barely strong enough for even a lowly imp. And this…” He holds up your notecard now, your handwriting barely visible for the moonlight through the window. The incantation you’d copied. “This is a spell, older than your little human civilisation, to summon me.” 

But that… that doesn’t make sense. Your gaze drops to the dozens of papers scattered around you as though they hold the answer. None of this is making any sense. You can’t combine incompatible circles and spells, they’re complimentary to each other. The matching ones have to be used together.

The cool, slick end of a tentacle finds its way under your chin, tilting your face up to meet the archdemon’s again. 

“Come now. Surely you can put the pieces together.” 

The spoken spell is the catalyst, the instructions you’re trying to give the magic. The rune circle is those instructions translated into something your mana can focus through, with the added bonus of amplifying it with the ambient mana around you; without a circle a human’s intent is too fickle and fleeting to be used.

No mage you’ve ever heard of can do magic with only the spoken component.

This is bad. This is very bad. There’s something weird with your magic, clearly, but this archdemon knows what it is… and it’s only making him more and more interested in you. 

“You are a clever thing, aren’t you.” He’s watching you like a cat with a canary caught in its claws; like he wants to rip you apart and consume you in equal measure. “Tell me your name, little sorcerer.” 

All you can do is obey. Maybe if you play along you can get out of this unscathed. You tell him your name. The archdemon echoes it back to you and something about the way he says it feels like a vice around your heart. Constricting and final. 

He seems pleased by your compliance, slowly standing to his full height with an amused hum. “I am known by many names.” You’re pushed to your feet by the tentacles around you. Your knees are weak and as you falter a tentacle winds around your waist to keep you upright. Another loops behind your shoulders, walling you in until all you can see is the demon before you framed in darkness. “Ephialtes. Incubus.” It’s never a good sign when a demon has multiple names, or is significant enough to be named after the type he is. Unless– “I believe your kind presently know me as Nightmare.” –the type is named after him. 

The first incubus.

Your understanding must be written on your face. Nightmare’s grin is like a crescent moon, pale and contrasting against his otherwise dark form. “You realise, then, the situation you are in.” He pulls you towards him; his tentacles continue to slither about your form until your arms are pinned to your sides and you’re nearly pressed to his chest. You’re so close you could count the delicate silver links that make up his necklaces, or each cuff on his ribs. “Summoning me is not without consequence.” 

A demon that is summoned without the proper containment isn’t bound by any rules. They are free to wreak havoc until they’re dismissed with the proper ritual or decide to leave of their own accord. You are in no place to even begin dismissing him– even if you weren’t being held captive you aren’t trained to get rid of anything more powerful than an imp. You have no idea what a demon as powerful as Nightmare will want to do before he decides to leave.

“It has been many centuries since I have seen a human mage with mana anywhere close to half of yours, and even then… the focused intent required to summon me without the use of a circle is unheard of.” His claw finds your chin again, turning your face from side to side. “And all while not understanding the spell that you are reading. How long have you been studying?”

You can’t do the math under this kind of pressure. You flounder for a moment, trying to calculate something that normally you can just say off the top of your head. “I-I’m just an apprentice. I still have- I have to take the advanced courses. I have years to go before I’m licensed, even more while I, um…do internships for- for practical experience. This is the four- fifth summoning I’ve done.” And only the second unsupervised. You’ve ruined your perfect track record.

“Hmmm... Is anyone aware of your abilities?” 

You shake your head. 

Nightmare’s claw moves up to your cheek, lightly tracing down it. It follows the curve of your jaw before he places it above your heart. 

“Perfect. You will not speak of your magic talents with anyone but myself.” The command settles cold and heavy in your chest. A curse. “I propose a deal, mageling. I will share my knowledge of magic with you. In exchange you will be bound to me.” 

You stare at him, voice once again lost. 

“You may decline, of course.” He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world to refuse him. As though you’re not currently at his mercy. “But you will forget this meeting and what you have learned about your magic. In addition I will seal your mana at normal levels. You will not be able to make the same mistakes again.” That doesn’t sound that bad. You’ve gotten by this far without knowing the extent of your skills. Losing something you didn’t know you had isn’t a terrible price to escape your current predicament. But… the allure of being taught magic by someone as powerful as Nightmare... 

Many mages have made deals with demons in exchange for knowledge and power. Historically, they’re the most notable ones. It’s taboo but their contributions to magic can’t be understated. You’re sure many of the other fondly-remembered historically significant mages just managed to keep their dark dealings a secret. 

You can’t believe you’re considering it.

“What would… being bound to you entail?” That’s the only caveat, you should know what you’d be getting into.

Nightmare seems pleased. His voice dips into a purr that makes your stomach flip. “You will be claimed as mine. You will never have to fear the threat of another demon– none would dare to accost someone bearing my mark. I will be able to find and come to you no matter where you are. In turn, you will be able to call for me.” You furrow your eyebrows. That sounds an awful lot like– “Yes, little bird. A bond of the soul.” 

That’s a lot. That’s a massive commitment. Not the worst thing he could ask for. But… why would he want to be bonded to you?

You’re incredulous. Curiosity and confusion momentarily overpowers your fear. “What would you get out of something like that?” 

Nightmare’s gaze is unwavering and intense, the bright cyan light in his socket keeping you transfixed. “You.” He pulls you closer. “You are far more valuable than you realise. I want to make you mine.”

He wants you as a tool. A weapon. 

But you would learn so much. You could become the most powerful mage in the world. Your potential is more than you ever conceived. Are you willing to lose that, now that you know just how far you could go? 

Are you willing to give yourself to an archdemon to achieve it?

“Your life will remain largely unchanged. You may continue your tutelage with your mentors. I will give you access to tomes and scrolls you would otherwise never obtain, and visit on occasion to teach you what cannot be learned from self-study. You will still be free to do as you wish.” His eyelight glints mischievously. “Mostly. I will require you to fulfill some tasks every now and again.” 

You bite your lip. You’re still considering it. Even after knowing the consequences. 

Forget everything or become bound to an archdemon forever. 

“The bond. How would you…” You trail off, cheeks warming somewhat. You’re not even sure how to phrase the question. You’re almost afraid to ask.

“Ah.” Nightmare traces your cheek again. You can’t help but enjoy the cool feeling of his bones on your flushed skin. You resist the urge to lean into it. “I am Incubus, little bird. That seems fairly obvious.” 

Your face erupts into a furious blush. That’s what you thought. You can’t say the thought is unpleasant. The opposite, even. You ignore the way your thighs press together the more your mind wanders down that train of thought.

“I… can I have time to think about it?” Your mind is racing. There are so many things to consider.

Your options are limited; accept or forget and have your potential limited. What are you willing to do to become more than you’ve ever thought yourself capable? Are you willing to be stifled to return to the status quo?

“This is not an offer I will make more than once. You must choose now.” Nightmare unwinds his tentacles from around you, gently setting you on the floor. They remain curled around you—you’re under no illusion of real freedom—but you’re no longer constricted. He holds out a hand to you, palm upwards, silver rings glinting in the soft light of the moon. “What is your answer?”

[bobsyourdylan]

Okay, so – a few thoughts on Izzy’s death. I’m sure other people have also laid this out, but I haven’t stumbled across it yet, so this is partially for me to get my thoughts organized. For the record, I love Izzy – he fascinated me (in a horrified sort of way) in season 1, and then he grew on me significantly in season 2. What a weird little guy. But also – I’m fine with them killing him off, and also with how they did it, because I think it makes sense for the story. But I know that a lot of people are super upset about his death, and also about the way he died. So, a few semi-coherent thoughts on that: 

Why not a sacrifice play?

This writer’s room is so self-aware, so deliberate about engaging with tropes – there is no possible way that they sat around breaking the story of Izzy’s death and no one said “woah, wouldn’t it be symbolic and gut-wrenching if he sacrificed himself for Ed? Or Stede?” No way. So why didn’t they go that route? 

Izzy’s arc in season 2 has been all about becoming his own man, separate from Ed/Blackbeard. Like – that’s what he’s worked towards, this whole season. That is his growth. It would be insulting to take that away from him at the last minute, and make his death purely about Ed and Stede.

Listen, I love a sacrifice arc as much as the next person. But Izzy’s life isn’t about sacrifice anymore – that’s the whole point of his season 2 arc. He has spent decades sacrificing both himself and Ed to the altar of Blackbeard. No more. 

It also means that Ed and Stede’s mourning doesn’t have to be tinged with the guilt of “he sacrificed himself to save me/my partner.” They can mourn Izzy purely for himself, because he is worth mourning. This, I would argue, is the send-off that Izzy’s character deserves.

Izzy’s death wasn’t accidental on Ricky’s part – it wasn’t a stray bullet.

We see from the scene when the crew is locked up in Spanish Jackie’s that Ricky recognizes Izzy. We know from their conversation that, for Ricky, Izzy is the epitome of piracy – Izzy, not Blackbeard, is the legend.

The thing is – Ed and Stede are both in the scene where Izzy dies (I’m not sure if you can see Stede on screen, but the bts photos show Rhys’ position, on what would be the far right of the shot). Arguably, Stede would have been the easier shot – Ricky wouldn’t have had to complete a full 180-degree turn before he could pull the trigger. So why doesn’t he go for Stede, who abandoned him to the tender mercies of Spanish Jackie in the first place? Or Blackbeard, arguably the greatest/most famous pirate alive, with the possible exception of Zheng, who he’s already targeted? Sure, you could argue that he’d going for Ed here… but I don’t think he is. The shot’s too low to be accidentally aimed for Izzy – it would hit Ed’s knee or something, probably. I think that yes, it’s a panicked shot, not well-aimed at all. But if it’s aimed at anyone, I think it has to be Izzy. And at the very least, the symbolism of it is very much not accidental.

For probably the first time since they created Blackbeard, Izzy isn’t just a stand-in for Ed. His significance is his own in this scene – in all of his interactions with Ricky. He’s not targeted because he’s Blackbeard’s first mate (why go for the first mate when you could go for Blackbeard?). He’s targeted because he’s Izzy Hands – because he is significant, powerful, famous, respected in and of himself.

And more than that – this is an arc about the end of piracy. And Izzy Hands is piracy – the show has been telling us from the beginning that piracy is a mixed bag, full of the good and the bad, and Izzy represents that  – represents both the toxic, violent side of piracy, and the side of piracy that he grows into, that he explains to Ricky – piracy as family, home, belonging. Izzy dies, and it hurts, because not only is he a great character, but he represents in one person all of the complicated, hilarious, heartbreakin, violent, loving aspects of piracy – and of the show. But it is so, so important that Izzy dies as himself – not as a symbol or shield of Ed, or Stede, or Blackbeard. Not even as a symbol of piracy, but instead as the active embodiment of piracy – as something/someone who grows, changes, ends. Not as static or passive, but as better than when we first met him, as transformed as Buttons in his own way. 

Izzy’s death sets up a possible revenge arc:

We know that everything in this show ties back to the main relationship between Ed and Stede. Izzy’s death is, I think, significant on its own, for him as a character – but it is also, by necessity, significant to Ed and Stede’s relationship. Namely – it sets up an interesting conflict for season 3 re: a potential revenge arc for Ed. 

Now, clearly they’ve carefully ended season 2 on a relatively high note in case we don’t get a season 3. But we know they’re gonna be terrible at running an inn, and we know there’s unfinished business with Ricky. Ed’s current strategy of dealing with everything that’s happened seems to be “I don’t want to be a pirate, get me out of here” – which, while fair enough, won’t last, because that’s the nature of unfinished business. So, at some point, Ed and Stede are going to need to confront Ricky again. And, if the writers decide to lean into the revenge arc, I’d say the odds are pretty high that, when Ed lays eyes on Ricky again, we get a flashback to Izzy’s death. 

And this sets us up for a pivotal, and necessary, moment in Ed’s character arc: when confronted with pain, loss, negative emotion in general – can Ed deal with it without losing himself? Ed needs a balance between the Kraken, Blackbeard, and Edward, and we see at the end of season 1 and beginning of season 2 how challenging that balance is for him to find, especially when confronted with loss or pain. We can see Ed working towards that balance when he’s interacting with Low – Low’s taunts don’t push Ed to violence, but instead get to Stede. But comparatively, Izzy’s loss is a much greater blow, and at some point, Ed is going to need to confront that.

Plus – we know the writing team are thinking of Izzy’s death at least partially in terms of the mentor/mentee arc, which often confronts the question of revenge – after the mentor’s death, the mentee is required to choose on their own how to go on, what kind of person they want to be. And this often requires a confrontation with both the mentor’s loss and a decision about how far they want to take their desire for revenge.

Why not a cooler death?

Okay — I get this criticism. I do. Izzy is an amazing fighter, we all love that about him. And you can keep most of the above symbolism and still have him die fighting two dozen British soldiers. 

But — again — we are back to the root of this show: Ed and Stede. 

Izzy has two deaths this season: one in the premiere, one in the finale. The first is Stede’s fantasy. Cool swordfight, and Stede triumphs, obviously — but the premise of the fight is that Izzy’s a great swordsman and Stede bests him because now Stede’s a great pirate. This is Stede’s ideal pirate fantasy. 

But Izzy’s actual death is not like this. It is messy and inelegant and painful and no one gets any glory from it at all and Ed is crying with Izzy dying in his arms, and Stede wants to help, goes for bandages, but he doesn’t know what to do and it’s not enough anyways — And this is not a fantasy anymore. This is piracy, and this is the piracy that Ed wants to escape. And it’s important that Stede sees this, sees what Ed is done with. 

And it’s also important that Stede tries to save Izzy. Izzy isn’t just a symbolic barrier between Stede and Ed anymore, to be sacrificed to Stede’s reunion fantasy. He’s his own person, with his own death, and Izzy has grown, yes, but so has Stede.

And by using Izzy’s death to make this point, we both get Stede learning the reality of piracy and growing beyond his fantasy, and the glorious fantasy fight kiss i love you reunion between Ed and Stede (if Ed and Stede had reunited by fighting off dozens of British soldiers, but Izzy had died doing the same, the dissonance would have messed with both the death and the reunion, because we the audience wouldn’t be able to distinguish between the fantasy and reality worlds). And getting both of these is the premise of the show — fantasy and reality both. 

And sure — you can be mad that the show used Izzy in this way. But that is the show’s premise — everything is in service of the protagonists and their relationship. This is not a surprise— it’s been openly talked about since day 1. 

You don’t have to like what the writers did. You don’t have to agree that it was the correct choice. But they have proven to us, time and time again over the last year, that they are self-aware and careful with this show that they know we love so much. So we absolutely owe it, to them and to ourselves, to ask why they made a choice that not everyone may agree with. What is the payoff? Why did they decide to do this thing that they knew would upset fans? Because we know it’s not that they hate us. So what is it? You don’t have to agree that the payoff is worth it. But do the writers, and the show, and yourself the favor of recognizing that there is a payoff here.

[glassica]

The Man of Your Dreams

Notes: M!yan spirit x F!reader, paranormal, reincarnation, implication of death & murder, supernatural, lucid dream, possession, sexual acts, implication of masturbation

Some nights, when you still lying awake alone on mattress, you could’ve heard the sound of banging on door and knob turning over incessantly. “It’s just the wind,” your roommate shrugged. Make sense, but you couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone is trying to enter the room.

Then some times later those eerie sounds stopped and finally you could put aside that unexplained fear for good. This was also around the time you started dreaming about a strange man. Not so model-handsome, but certainly charming and approachable. Right at first meeting you knew he was the perfect kind of lover you wished for. Even as dreams, the exchanges were more dynamic and effortless than with any dates you went to in real life. He was attentive to your thoughts, always recalled what brings you joys or sorrows, even the hidden secrets you had yet open up. It was safe to conclude he know more about you than yourself.

Dreams of him. Once every few months. Then fortnight. Then weekly. And now was every nights. You had discarded the real world. No longer looked forward to the first light of new day, your true life began when moon hung amidst sparkling stars and the mind drifted away into the dreamland, into his warm presence. So what if he was just an illusion, a likely product of subconsciousness? When he wrapped you tightly against chest, adorning on your neck thousands of butterfly kisses before taking off the fabrics witheld the treasure he’d craved to taste it whole. When he bit and sucked senselessly your nipple while pinching the other til both were pinky, harderned and wet in saliva. When his shaft hurriedly drilled in and out yours from the back while hands busy squeezing pair of dough so reddened from someone’s loving slaps. By the time waking up, panties embarrassingly sloppy and the tip of fingers solidated from you-know-what. Your roommates teased, what kind of wild thoughts you’d been entertaining lately?

But soon the teasing turned to clear concern. Forget close circles, everyone you met outside could sense the lifelessness of your manners. They started noticing the fatigue evident on those eye bags, the back hunched over and footsteps dragging wearily on floor. It was difficult to put in words, but it seemed as if the soul of yours was draining day by day, metaphorically and literally. You skipped classes, declined hangouts, even stopped visiting home on weekends just to get more sleeps. To get more time with him. 

So the roommates sat you down. They were glad your all-nighters had ended, nevertheless everything too much wasn’t good. Did you suffered from any illnesses or troubles, and if you needed to see doctors. In response you just waved hand with disinterest. Why should they care? It wasn’t that serious!

“You know love, my friends and family are so annoying. They keep nagging me that I sleep too much, when just some times ago it was also them telling me to stop competing with owls!”

You rolled over, nuzzling your face in his chest. It was after another steamy round, the two laid there cuddling, letting yourselves soaked in each other’s gentle warmth. Like always, you began telling him about things happened in real world, though you barely remember what your days were like anymore.

“In other words they want you to spend less time on your lover,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand on your back, “I told you so. They are a jealous, petty bunch. Not worth anything.”

“Um, that’s kinda harsh. I’m bothered by their scolding but that doesn’t mean I don’t get them. It’s true that I’ve been neglecting myself in reality a lot now.”

“...”

You got that chills running down the shivers again. Yes you were well aware how this man reacted to you defending your close people in real life, but wasn’t it time for him to start warming up on them?

…Nevermind, you should said something to distract him instantly. It was pure wish-fulfillment to hope he could be civil about your friends and family, please give up.

“A- Anyways, I’ve thought about this for long. Isn’t it tragic that we can’t see each other outside of dreams?”

“Indeed. If I could, I would’ve met and snatched you from these pests earlier,” he pulled your chin up, forcing your mouth opened for a wet kiss, “but God wasn’t fair. I wasn’t allowed to reincarnated on human’s realm again. That’s why I could only pine after you mindlessly as a lost spirit.”

“You don’t remember, but we were a couple in our previous lives. On your deathbed, I had sworn to find and keep you tight if we were to reborn in this world. You may look different from your past life, but I recognized your soul immediately. I’m such a wonderful partner, no?! I’m hurt that you went on dates with those worthless stupid guys when you had an amazing husband right there!” 

His words were sweet like honey, but the tone suggested otherwise. You thought you’d seen the worst of his madness, but that staled in comparison to the storm reflecting on his pupils. Towering on your body and both arms putting down beside your head resembling a cage, for the first time ever did you ever had an accurate visualization of how facing a devil feels like. 

“Well but you already know, I didn’t, or more like, couldn’t reborn. My soul is forced to wander on living realm for who knows how long. In the mean time, you will move on, you will marry some idiot, have kids, pass away for a second time in front of my own eyes, and I still not get out of this limbo!” - he growled angrily, thumbs caressing your neck, “So maybe, maybe if we can’t reunite in this life, you could join me instead. It’s okay. As long as we are together. As long as you stay by my side. As long as you’re forever mine.”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

Next morning, your family opened the phones to see hundreds of missed calls and texts from the roommates. Everyone woke up, except you.