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whytheylosttheirminds · 1 day

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I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron

(Prologue and Chapter 1)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

Prologue

Before gold, before grams, before the gun, there was you. Back when there weren’t crosses to steal, lines to snort, cops to run from, there was you. Long summer nights on the Druthers, your mom blowing up your phone ‘cause you missed curfew again. Skipping class and riding to the beach on the back of his bike. All the way back to grade school, playing tag and pretending you were pirates. Then middle school, that kiss under the lifeguard tower, a first for both of you. In high school, the night you got back from the “character-building summer camp” you had been shipped off to and you shared your other first. When you were first together, it didn’t even hurt, but just felt like fucking finally.

He remembers it all, taking all of his strength to keep it stuffed under the surface. The coke, the violence, the drama he creates in his wake cover you up nicely, until those nights when he’s dead asleep and there you are again, leaving. When he wakes, it all comes back to him. How he sat on the curb and watched you go, bloody and hurt from the night that was your final straw. How he showed up on your doorstep the next day, like he was five-years-old again asking if you could come outside and play. How your mother told him you were gone and wouldn’t tell him where you went.

“Honey,” she said with something like pity in her voice, “Promise me, you’ll let her go, let her be happy.”

A promise he kept, until the day you rolled back into town with no warning. Your timing could not have been worse. After the summer from hell, the summer that made him a killer, he finally felt like he was in control. It wasn’t until he saw you, the only person in the world that ever really knew him, that he realized he had no idea who he was.

Chapter One

You clutched your phone tight, reading and rereading the message. One you used to get nearly every night but hadn’t seen in two long years.

party at cameron’s tonite !!

It was a group text, sent by the girl from your high school you bumped into in the grocery store earlier that day. You had been back on the island for all of an hour before inevitably seeing someone you knew. You tried to duck quickly into the cereal aisle, but she caught your eye before you could disappear, an action you were infamous for.

“Omg, we need to hang out soon!” She had said, before handing you her phone to put your new number in.

You smiled your fakest smile and said, “it’s a must!” You didn’t think either of you really meant it, but apparently she had.

There were eleven or twelve other numbers in the group text, none you had saved, but you assumed they were likely other people from your high school. She probably just added anyone in her contacts she could think of, not even stopping to realize she was inviting the Kook prince’s former princess to his party. Your relationship had been the stuff of legend on this island. Everyone had an opinion, you were practically a celebrity couple, and it was the biggest news on the island for months when you left, suddenly disappearing overnight. Some real shit must’ve gone down around here since then to make it such old news that this girl didn’t even think about it when adding you to this text.

Your heart pounding in your ears, you couldn’t believe it when you felt yourself typing out i’ll be there :)

You wore your hair down, the way you always used to have it in high school. After you left, you had cut it short, wanting to shed away as much of your old life as you could, but in the last few months you’d started to let it grow back. Now it flowed down to the middle of your back, tickling the skin of your shoulders where the thin spaghetti straps of the little dress you had on left them exposed. You let the front pieces fall around your face, a sort of curtain to keep an extra layer between you and the other partygoers.

You could not believe you were here. For real this time, not in a dream as you had been every night for two years, but really here.

As you walked down the gravel path, it all came rushing back. The smell of Rose’s garden, the distant sound of the ocean lapping against the shore, the low thud of the music echoing through the crisp evening air. How many times have you walked down this path? How many nights had you spent here, your senses filled with the glory of Tannyhill, the glory of him? And yet now it felt so heavy, the sights, sounds, smells of it all were nearly choking you. Tears welled in your eyes, but something kept your feet walking towards those grand front doors, towards him.

Four years earlier…

The glass panes of the front door are slightly blurred, only revealing the soft lighting of the grand entryway on the other side. You had crossed this threshold at least a thousand times in the ten years since your family moved to this island. Knocking felt strange, you felt so small standing here in the porch light, surrounded by moths and the thick coastal August air. An envelope, wrinkled from being opened and rifled through so many times, was clutched between your clammy hands.

A figure you couldn’t quite make out approached the door, and your heart pounded in your ears as you hoped desperately it would be him who opened the door. But it wasn’t.

“Oh, hey - I- hi, Mr. Cameron,” you stammered, ever intimidated by the island’s most powerful man.

“Y/N,” Ward nodded cordially. “It’s after 10pm.”

You smiled weakly, if you felt small before, you feel positively infantile now.

“I was just hoping I could see Rafe for like, just a second,” you pleaded, putting on your sweetest smile.

“He’s studying,” Ward said. “You can come back tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Before you could protest, the door was closed and the blurred figure retreated into the house.

Never one to give up, you stuffed the letter into the back pocket of your jeans, and stepped back from the porch, sizing up the massive house to see which rooms still had lights on. You knew the blueprint of this place by heart, checking off each family member mentally as you scanned their window for signs of life. Wheezie’s room? Dark. Sarah’s room? Dark. Rose and Ward’s room? Still lit. This would have to be a stealth mission.

You snuck around the side of the house and looked up at the last window on your list. To your excitement, the room was still lit. You saw a long shadow pass by the curtains, and you actually jumped a little from the thrill. After spending the longest summer of your life apart from the one person you wanted to spend it with, he was actually right there, just two stories off the ground.

You traveled 800 miles today, what was a few more feet? Blocking out the better judgment ringing in the back of your mind, you picked up a few pebbles from the rocky path that leads to the backyard, and started climbing the big tree that grew right up past Rafe’s balcony. How you were gonna get from the tree to the balcony? That was five-minutes-from-now-you’s problem. You chuckled to yourself as your body naturally found each branch and knot on the tree. You used to have competitions when you were kids to see who could climb this tree the fastest, and you beat Rafe everytime. You remembered the shocked look on his face the first time he saw you scurry up the tree, you were hoping for a similar level of approving surprise once you got where you were going.

Once you reached the branch directly across from Rafe’s balcony, you pulled one of the pebbles from your pocket and chucked it at his window as hard as you could.

“Shit,” you whisper-yelled as the throw fell short and the pebble dropped, loudly knocking into the first floor window below. You couldn’t afford another noise-causing miss, so you recalculated the throw and bit your lip as you lobbed the next pebble hard. It smacked into Rafe’s window with a loud TINK and you smiled in satisfaction. You waited a moment, then two, and still nothing. The shadowy figure did not return to the curtain. You only had one pebble left, and you had never been good at climbing back down this tree. Remembering the time you fell out of it onto the waiting Rafe below, and you both ended up needing stitches, your stomach twisted in fear. You took in a deep breath and held it, letting the last pebble fly. Another sharp TINK, and a moment of baited breath later, the tall shadow finally returned to the window.

Rafe opened the curtains harshly and you immediately broke into a wild smile. He looked so cute in his fitted gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, his normally gelled back her falling in messy pieces around his face. You held back a giggle, delighted by the completely confused look on his face as he searched out the window for the cause of the sound. He lifted the window open and examined the two pebbles that had fallen on the windowsill.

You took the opportunity to whisper a loud “psssst.” His face shot up in surprise and his eyes finally found you in the tree, just a few feet off of the balcony. Where you expected to see surprised delight on his face, you instead caught something cold and irritated.

“Y/N,” he whisper-called to you. “What are you doing?”

“I just got back, I wanted to see you!” You called to him, hoping his apparent anger was just in response to his own shock.

“I’m busy.” Rafe went to close the window and you felt your moment of opportunity slip away.

“Wait!” you stopped him. “Please don’t make me climb down. We both know it won’t end well.” You smiled a sweetly shy smile you hoped would melt his icy demeanor a bit.

He sighed and looked at you annoyed for a moment before climbing out the window, his height requiring him to duck low in order to make it through. He had grown even taller over the summer, he must have hit 6 foot by now, maybe more. Your stomach flipped as you watched his athletic frame emerge from his bedroom, now able to see how defined his arms looked in the moonlight. You’d always thought he was a cute boy, but the way he looked right now lit a fire in your belly. Then you realized what it was - while you were gone, the cute boy-next-door had become a man.

“Just reach over,” he directed you.

“I don’t think I can without falling,” you explained. “I think I’m gonna have to jump.”

“Are you stupid?” He scoffed humorlessly.

Your heart sank, the boy you left behind three months ago never would have called you stupid.

“It’ll be fine, you just have to catch me,” you explained.

He rolled his eyes and opened his arms, reaching them over the bannister of the balcony, “fine.”

The brief moment of joy you got from his submission faded fast as you made the mistake of looking down at the gap between the tree and the balcony.

“Actually…” you said, bravery fading.

“What, are you scared?” Rafe taunted.

“No!” you insisted. You smiled at him, suddenly feeling like the two of you were ten again and he was daring you to jump off the trampoline into the pool in your backyard.

Now or never. With a deep breath and a sharp yelp, you threw yourself out of the tree and towards his waiting arms on the balcony. As promised, he caught you, and pulled you quickly over the bannister. His arms wrapped around your waist, yours around his shoulders, he held you there just a few inches off the ground.

You flattened your hands against the taut muscles of his shoulders, delighting in the strong warmth of them. But before you could fully revel in the feeling of being in his arms, he released his grip on your waist and you dropped the final few inches to the ground. Rafe quickly stepped back, breaking the lock your arms had around his neck. Despite the southern summer heat, the air between you suddenly felt ice cold.

“Rafe,” you whispered, stepping towards him, but he only pulled further away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without even looking at you.

Rafe started back towards his window, and something gave you the feeling he was not going to invite you to follow him through it.

“I need to talk to you,” you started to explain.

Rafe whipped around to face you, the way he towered over you at his new height sending goosebumps down your spine.

“Why don’t you go talk to your new boyfriend instead?” He snapped.

You were so stunned that you let out a little laugh, which only made his furrowed brow scrunch even more in anger.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“I saw the pictures your camp was posting on their website all summer. I saw you wrapped around that douchebag.”

It took a moment of confused silence for you to realize what he was talking about, when it finally dawned on you, you laughed again. He turned from you and started heading towards the window again, but you caught his arm, your hand not able to fit even halfway around it.

“No, Rafe,” you explained, “That was just Andy, one of the other campers. We were doing a trust fall exercise. He dropped me like two seconds after that!”

Despite himself, Rafe turned to look at you, eyes examining you nervously.

“Are you ok?” He asked in a small voice, wishing desperately that he didn’t care.

You smiled softly, there he was - your boy.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, showing him the small scar on your wrist. “Just a little scrape.”

A moment passed, he avoided your eyes but allowed you to step closer, your hand sliding down his arm and slipping into his, his fingers reluctantly intertwining with yours. You knew exactly what words he was struggling to find, but decided to let him get there on his own.

Finally, “Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

Your other hand reached into your back pocket and pulled out the envelope you had tucked away. You held it out to him wordlessly. He took the letter and held it to the light coming from his room, examining it with a confused look. The envelope was addressed to him at Tannyhill, from you at camp. When he finally noticed the “return to sender” label, it all clicked.

“They kept getting returned to me, I don’t know why,” you said as you squeezed his hand. “I asked to use my phone to let you know but they wouldn’t let me. I almost just snuck out of camp and came home so I could explain it to you.”

“Your mom would’ve been so mad,” he said, finally, finally smiling at you.

“Then she would’ve just taken away my phone and we’d be back where we started,” You said. “There’s like twenty more letters like that. I don’t know why they never made it to you, it’s like someone was sabotaging me.”

Rafe seemed satisfied with your explanation and the remaining bit of anger on his face melted away completely. He stuffed the letter in his pocket and suddenly threw his arms around you, lifting you in the air as you yelped in surprise, giggling as he started planting sloppy kisses all over your face and neck.

“Shhh, baby, my parents will hear you,” he whispered. “They’ve got me locked in my tower because I failed my last quiz in this fucking summer school pre-calc class.”

“Rafe!” you said in mock-scandal. “Naughty language!”

“Oh, baby, I can say way naughtier things than that,” he growled in your ear, your cheeks now burning from real-scandal.

“C’mon,” he said, setting you down and grabbing your hand, to lead you to his still-open window.

He placed his large hand on the small of your back as he helped you through the window, climbing in after you and closing it slowly so as to not make a sound.

You and Rafe had done some more-than-kissing things before, but that was the night you gave yourselves to each other completely. He held you after, softly kissing the scar on your arm from when Andy had dropped you.

“Never gonna let that Andy asshole touch you again,” he said between kisses. “He can find his own girl, you’re mine.”

You giggled and he looked up at you in confusion.

“Rafe,” you were laughing hard now. “Andy’s gay.”

He broke into a bashful grin, a quick blush of embarrassment swept across his cheeks before he grew serious again and started kissing up your arm.

“I don’t care,” he said. “They should all know - all the Andys and Jakes and Chads and whoeverthefucks,” his kisses had reached your neck, “no guy is ever gonna get to touch you like me.” He pulled back and looked into your eyes with a sincerity that squeezed your heart. “Gonna love you forever. Gonna marry you, make you a mom. Never gonna spend three months, or even three fucking days away from you again. That what you want?”

“Yes,” you breathed, meaning it with your whole being.

“Good.”

Now…

The memories flooded your brain as you opened the door and stepped into the home you used to think would be yours someday. The party was swelling, the vibe feeling so familiar and so uncomfortable at the same time.

You made your way straight to the kitchen, desperately needing a drink. Every step you took sent a memory flashing through your thoughts like a shock to your brain. You passed the living room and saw movie-nights-turned-make-out-sessions on the couch, playing mario kart with Sarah and Wheezie while Rafe laughed at your hyper-competitiveness, prom pictures in front of the fireplace. You passed the dining room and saw the first family dinner you were invited to, how you made Ward laugh with a story about fishing your own dad used to tell, how Rafe squeezed your thigh under the table in pride. You entered the kitchen and saw the time you and Rafe set off the smoke alarm trying to make pancakes, the time he lifted you onto the counter and went down on you when his family was out of town. And then, standing by the keg, you saw the girl who invited you, clearly plastered already.

“Omg!” She yelled when she saw you.

Everyone else in the large kitchen turned and looked at you. It felt dramatic, but you could swear the whole room fell silent when they saw you, a comical record scratch playing in your head.

The girl who invited you ran over to you, beer sloshing over the side of her solo cup and onto her shirt.

“I can not believe you came,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I completely forgot when I invited you, about, you know, you and-”

“Can I get one of those?” you cut her off quickly, gesturing towards her drink.

Before she could answer, a loud crash came from outside the kitchen’s open french doors. The heads that had all been watching you suddenly snapped toward the sound towards the crowded back yard. When the loud bellow of a man’s voice rang out, the people in the kitchen all ran towards the unfolding scene. You pushed through the crowd and out the doors, drawn inexplicably to the voice. Your heart dropped to your stomach when you realized why - it was Rafe.

There in the backyard, packed with drunk people and lit by string lights, Rafe stood with his fist clenched in the collar of some guy’s white button up, forcefully pulling the scared looking dude toward him while he yelled.

“I said none of that fucking cheap shit,” Rafe yelled at the guy you now realized was a cater-waiter.

“I’m sorry sir, I-” Rafe threw the man down and he fell back in the dirt.

“This isn’t some ghetto block party out in The Cut,” Rafe yelled. “Do you know who’s fucking house you’re at right now?”

The crowd around you watched, most smiling in support of the man they looked at like he was a rockstar. You cringed at the looks of admiration in their eyes and took Rafe in with your own.

He looked different, harder. His floppy blond locks had been shaved off, and he had traded old t-shirts and jeans for slacks and a polo. He was as tall and built as you remembered, but instead of it being endearing, it was just scary as he looked down at the poor server like he was gonna kill him.

Then he spat on him. He actually spat on another human being. It disgusted you in more ways than one, and you felt your heart breaking in your chest as you realized you had no idea who this man was. The boy who held you on that night four years ago and promised to be yours forever clearly didn’t live here anymore. You turned quickly and pushed back through the crowd, unable to watch another second of this sickening display of toxic masculinity.

Rafe glared down at the pogue-scum in the dirt below him, an eerily familiar feeling washed over him as something moved quickly in the corner of his eye. He turned at just the right moment to see a whip of long hair disappear through the crowd. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly be. Surely, it was not you.

(chapter 2)

a/n: Hiiii this is the first fic I've posted in about 10 years!! Hope you enjoyed, forgive me if I'm rusty! More chapters to come :)

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kangnina · 2 days

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MDNI - Toxic!Heeseung 6

Heeseung Masterlist

Now Playing - Addicted by Monsta X

Toxic!Heeseung is sitting on your bed when you turn on the lights in your bedroom. “Why didn’t you stop me, beautiful?” He asks, tilting his head. “WHAT THE FUCK HEESEUNG!?!” Of course, his unexpected presence just scared the shit out of you. You glare at him as you try to keep your heart from escaping your chest. But honestly, you’ve never been so happy to see him. Here. In your house. On your bed. You watched him walk out of the club with some skank. Your mind told you to stop him but you were too afraid to do it. The fear of public rejection outweighed the uncertainty of rekindling… whatever the fuck this is. You were the one who told him to leave you alone. How could you chase him after that? You cried all the way home because you were 1000% sure he was dicking her down right now. He walks over to you, placing his warm hands on your cheeks; his soft lips and hot breath taste like bourbon as he kisses you. You never realized how long a week truly is until he’s touching you again. Usually, he’s forceful and rough. But this is gentle and sweet like the kiss goodnight at the end of a first date. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering “I don’t want anyone else. All the times I've said I needed you. I meant it–” you put your finger to his lips. “Show me how badly you need me.”

Toxic!Heeseung is in rare form. Docile. Submissive. You watch his eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. His hands reach up to cup your breast as you ride up and down on his cock. Your fingers creep up his abs and over his pecs. Your nails dig into his flesh as you tighten your grip around his neck. Your second orgasm approaches and you lay against his chest rolling your hips as you suck on his bottom lip. Pulling it between your teeth. Your wet pussy squelching and clenching around his thick cock as he swallows your loud moans. He’s enjoying this slow rolling more than you anticipated. Not once trying to steal the show the way he typically does. You feel him tense once again with his own impending orgasm. But you suddenly pull away, leaving him dangling just at the precipice of release. Giggling wickedly in his ear “Mmm, I don’t think you deserve to cum. This is what happens when you look at another woman,” you say, biting his earlobe. His whines grow louder and more pathetic as you edge him again. And again. He feels like he’s losing his mind but he loves it. Pussy drunk and rambling. “Fuck. Fuckin’ ruin me baby,” he groans. “I’ll never be anyone else’s.”

-------

@snoopypupp @moonlightndaydreams @daydreams-after-dark @wildflowermooon

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silkscream · 2 days

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our boredom's bone-deep

ੈ✩ aki hayakawa x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, drunk sex, angst, alcohol, smoking, hurt/comfort, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of s*icidal ideation

ੈ✩ wc: 3.8k

ੈ✩ a/n: theyre both so repressed. also sorry about the tswift reference guilty as sin is just on repeat this week

“Yo.”

Aki turns around to see you walking towards him. You join him on the balcony, reaching over to steal his cigarette back from the breast pocket of his windbreaker.

He looked good in civilian clothes. You didn’t see him like this often – out of his dress shirt and tie with his hair down. Dressed casually like he was a normal boy and not a hunter who signed his soul over.

“You can ask first, you know,” Aki grumbles, watching as you light up the cigarette in your mouth.

“You were going to say yes, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing that it’s true. He’d taken you to his apartment because it was closer to the location of the mission, offering aid to the wounds you’d gotten in the face of a devil. He didn’t have to. You could still walk and you certainly weren’t dying, but he felt the need to keep you close, anyway.

You chuckle when you see the irritated look on his face.

“Don’t pout.”

The cigarette in his mouth is burned down to the nub. You take it out, grazing the cherried end against the ceramic eightball ashtray you’d gotten him for Christmas the year before. The paint was chipping from how often he used it, speckles of white against the black paint.

You take another cig out from the pack before placing it back into his pocket, holding the stick between your fingers up to his mouth and lighting it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re very welcome,” you grin.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Smoking and silent, staring at the sky post-golden hour, when everything is blanketed in cobalt blue bleeding into a light orange.

“How are your cuts?”

“I’m fine,” you chuckle. “Why do you worry so much? I’ve been around longer than you have, you know.”

Aki merely shrugs. He doesn’t look at you. Holds in his emotions like a geyser begging to stay dormant.

“I just do,” he says plainly.

“How sweet,” you scoff, flicking your cigarette off the railing. “Thought you liked me the least, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, irritated. “You’re the one who trained me. Obviously, I don’t hate you.”

You merely chuckle, discarding your blazer. Your uniform shirt is still slightly bloodied.

“What, you think I don’t like you?” Aki asks, a brow raised.

“I’d be surprised if you liked anyone,” you shrug. “But I can tell you have a soft spot for Denji and Power, even if you refuse to admit it.”

He grunts, looking away from you as he finishes his second cigarette. The late spring breeze blows his hair into his face. He doesn’t realize how close he is to you until he adjusts his arms on the balcony, his elbow grazing yours. You don’t react, your chin tucked into your arms as you lean forward. He looks at you with curiosity.

You look at him finally and grin.

“You look better with your hair down, you know.”

“I was thinking about cutting it,” he mumbles.

“Don’t. It’s cute. I always thought you looked kind of like a girl. The hair is working.”

He rolls his eyes again, grimacing. He tries to hide his flush.

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “You know how to make a guy feel special.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?” you grin. “You think I’m scary and mean? I’m very sweet to my lovers, you know.”

He could cringe. That wasn’t what he meant. He shivers at the word “lover” like it’s taboo, knowing very well that images of you are flooding his brain against his will. Your proximity makes it worse, how even despite both of you getting roughed up during your mission, you still smelled sweet to him.

“Yeah, right.”

“Do you really think I’m so cruel?” you challenge him. He’s not going to take the bait. He won’t.

“I’d assume you were a sadist.”

“You think I’m a sadist?” you laugh.

“Probably,” Aki grumbles. He fidgets.

He doesn’t want to take out another cigarette, but he’s convinced that it’s the only thing that would help him tolerate your presence right now. He’d felt unusual since he took you back to this apartment. His nose wrinkles at the memory of your body hours prior, your side saturated in blood. His rabbit heart thumping out of his chest at the thought you’d die in his arms — and yet here you are, next to him, teasing like you always do.

“Why?”

“Because you love pushing me to my limits,” he mutters.

“Oh, come on,” you chuckle. “It’s not like I treat you like a toy. I’m not Makima.”

“What does Makima have to do with this—”

“Because you listen to everything she says. It’s like all of you fucking worship her.”

Your voice sounds bitter, but Aki doesn’t want to pry about it. For some reason, something in his chest riles him, makes his heartbeat faster at the prospect that you might be jealous of his devotion to Miss Makima. You’d always clashed in your beliefs but was never particularly candid about it – you were like him. You wanted to kill devils for the sake of avenging your family, but you also seemed apathetic about your life. With no family or a promising future, you often didn’t care if you died. It was the most frustrating thing about you.

Aki huffs. “You hate following rules yet you’re still controlling. It’s hypocritical.”

“I am not controlling.”

“You are. And you love to torment me because I’m the only one willing to put up with your shit,” he says, laughing humorlessly. You don’t know that he would do anything you told him, that he didn’t give a fuck about Makima. It had always been you, at the forefront of both his blissful dreams and worst nightmares.

“I like your resilience,” you say quietly.

“Resilience?”

You nod slowly. “You’re the strongest person I know, Aki.”

He hates how much dopamine fills his brain when you say this. The smallest praises from you would have him hung up, lately. Even a smile was motivating, though he’d rather die than admit that to anyone. He was never one to pine or yearn, keeping to himself since he was young. No girl could pry anything out of him that wasn’t surface-level until you.

He hated it. It felt like a weakness.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“If I’m actually that strong, I probably would’ve broken down your walls by now.”

It could be a teasing statement, but he tucks his expression away into the fabric of his jacket, looking away from you. You’re so close to him, close enough to touch, but he still holds himself back.

“You should save your efforts,” you mumble.

Aki looks at you with narrowed eyes and tries to scan your face for anything telling, but you’re as stoic as him. He’d always found it frustrating, how he could never get anything out of you. He didn’t know how to be selfish. He was apprehensive about provoking you despite how much he wanted to.

“Why?”

You finally look him in the eye. Your features are painted with stubborn contempt as you glare at him.

“Because I’m not worth it.”

Your words strike him through the heart. You weren’t one to be particularly insecure – he’d known this since he met you. But your words now are trying to downplay how much he feels for you, and he won’t have it.

Aki moves close enough to you to smell your breath.

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I waste my time on you,” he protests.

You stare at him. You’re surprised he wants to know you at all. You’ve barely processed the meaning behind his words, the possibility of him wanting you beyond mission support and devil-hunting guidance. Both of you had walls up and that was fine. You never had any intention of breaking any of his, regardless of how often he showed up in your dreams. No matter how often you’d find yourself glancing at him, drinking up his features until you had snapped yourself out of it.

“You can’t want things as a devil hunter,” you say blankly, staring at the dark sky. “There’s no use. Desire is the root of all suffering and shit, right? Like in Buddhism?”

Aki feels his face warm up, his frown deepening as you say this without even looking at him.

“I’ll suffer for you if I want to,” he says firmly.

“Always a masochist,” you whisper, sighing. You smile weakly at him.

“Maybe I am a masochist.”

“I know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be a devil hunter, huh?”

“Why are you a devil hunter?” he raises a brow.

“Because it’s better than killing myself. If I die because of this job, at least I died being useful, you know?”

He swallows thickly at the thought of your death. He’d imagined it a thousand times since he met you and realized how sardonic you were, how little you cared about your own life. You were a mirror of him.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he says, his tone cold.

“It’s the truth.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not letting you die.”

You stare at him, the expression on your face unreadable. Your eyes look dim.

“Thanks,” you mutter. You slide the glass door open and go back inside. Aki feels his lungs ache.

Eventually, he follows you in and sees you on the couch, staring blankly at the television with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. He rolls his eyes. You were just as bad as Kishibe these days.

He sits down next to you without a word, stealing the bottle to take a gulp, flinching. You watch with amusement. He grimaces at you.

“What?” he asks, irritated.

“You can do better than that.”

He wants to wipe the smirk off his face. Maybe with his mouth. He blinks at you a little too fast, then distracts himself with another gulp. A longer one that makes his throat burn, his head dizzy. You laugh.

“I fucking hate you,” he grumbles.

“I didn’t force you to do it,” you scoff.

No, you didn’t. But it was always easy for Aki to do things for you. He often wanted to, didn’t ask any questions. You always wondered why.

“Would you roll around like a dog if I asked you to?” you grin.

“Fuck off.”

You lay down, perching your legs over his lap. He sets his hands on your thigh like it’s second nature to him. You scan his features. His midnight eyes glisten with the blue of the television reflecting in his irises, his mouth downturned into a default pout.

“You should keep your hair down more often.”

He looks at you with surprise, like he’d forgotten you were there.

“Pretty boy,” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.” He tries to keep his expression level. His face is hot from the whiskey, not you, he tells himself.

You shift your position and your foot grazes his crotch. It makes his breath hitch, the creature of want inside him gnawing at his heart. He thinks maybe you’re teasing him, so he takes your foot and rubs it. You raise a brow.

You’re sitting up now, grunting as you do. He pretends that you aren’t staring at him.

“Does it still hurt?” he murmurs.

“Nah. I’m good.”

There’s contempt on his face when he looks at you, his eyes tracing your collarbone just for a second before gazing at the blood on your shirt. Speckled shapes turning from red to brown.

“Let me see.”

“Aki. I’m fine.”

“Let me see,” he mumbles.

You sigh, unbuttoning your shirt until you’re only in a sports bra. He frowns at your wound, how the gauze is dark and nearly falling off.

“Why didn’t you tell me it needed to be changed?”

“It’s fine—”

“No,” he scolds. “Stay still.”

He pins you down by your hips. Somehow, he’s in between your legs, his face frowning in concentration as he looks at your skin. He gets up to grab the first aid kit.

You take another sip of whiskey.

It numbs the pain when he fixes you up again. His fingers are delicate when they handle you — you can’t help but stare at the way they move when he blots your cut. A small press to the center and you feel it sting, making you hiss. He grips you by the waist to disarm you.

Stay still.

“There,” he breathes, kneeling on the floor in front of you. “It’s more secure now.”

He looks at your stomach, watching the rise and fall of your skin as you breathe. You reach out and pat his head like he’s a pet. Aki was a cute drunk. Still stoic, but malleable in your hands. There are moments during group outings when he opens up a little, places his head on your shoulder. Looks at you for a bit longer than he normally allows himself to.

He presses his cheek to your thigh and sighs as you skim the nape of his neck with your fingers. You stroke his jaw. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you.

Your thumb hooks on his mouth briefly and you feel his tongue on the pad of your fingertip. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. Glazed over in the dimness, dripped in syrup.

“You’re barely awake,” you breathe. “I should go.”

“No.” He grips your wrist when you pull your hand away, saliva from his mouth creating the string of fate. The sight made your heart sing. Disgusting.

“Why?” you whisper.

He’s quiet. He could bite the bullet, let the heat of it soar straight through his chest so you can see all the gory bits of desire in him. The whiskey only exacerbated the feeling. He was usually good at keeping it down, despite clinging to you like an extra limb. You probably saw right through him.

“Just stay,” he mutters.

“Make me stay, then.”

He hides his face in your lap again. He feels like such a boy. When you run your fingers through his hair again, he pulls away and grabs both of your wrists, pulling you toward him until you fall onto his lap, his body on the floor. He grips your hips and stares at you from below.

“What are you doing? You wanna wrestle?” you joke half-heartedly.

“No,” he slurs quietly. “You’re hurt.”

Aki sits up and leans on the back of his elbows. He looks at you like he’s eager prey, offering himself on a platter, but he won’t say it. It’s killing you.

“C’mon,” you grin. “I can take it.”

“Stop.”

You pin him to the ground. You’re playing. It’s just that and nothing else, isn’t it?

“Aki,” you say. Your face is so close to his. Your breath smells like tobacco and cinnamon, your neck like petrichor.

“I’m not letting you provoke me,” he groans.

You roll your eyes. “Stop trying to take care of me.”

“But I want to,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

“Then I’ll take care of you. I’m your senpai, remember?”

His face is hot again, sweat sticking to his shoulder blades. Fuck, he needed to fix the fan since Power and Denji had broken it while wrestling. The memory reminds him of the position he’s in right now and a flush creeps up his neck.

“I–”

Your mouth interrupts him. It’s an experimental peck. Impulsive. It’s short, but Aki groans into it and touches his tongue with yours. You pull away with wide eyes.

There’s hunger in his gaze, something like desperation. You could work with this. You knew that you had Aki wrapped around your finger since he started at Public Safety, but you didn’t know he would be like this.

He breathes deeply, dark lashes blinking at you from the mess of his bangs. His dick was infallibly hard since you’d straddled him. It was aching now underneath your cunt — there was no hiding it.

He narrows his eyes, trying to disguise how much he wants you.

“Thought you said desire is the root of all suffering.”

“I guess we’re both masochists, then,” you whisper.

He kisses you with more force this time, buries his mouth into your neck to exhale the scent of his shampoo in your hair. Drunk on you. He sucks a hickey into your flesh like it’s payback.

He groans when he feels your hands underneath his shirt, rubbing against the pale skin of his abdomen until he takes the liberty to pull the fabric off himself. Aki has always been pretty – like a girl, like you’d told him before. He was also remarkably boyish. The shy type. He’d seem to grow muscles over the past year, his lean figure always hidden by the uniform.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he huffs.

“Get uglier, then,” you roll your eyes, pulling at the zipper of his jeans.

He lets you handle him like a doll.

“Thought you’d be rougher,” you whisper.

“You’ve… thought about this before?” he asks.

You blink at him, then look away.

“Once or twice.”

“I’m not gonna be rough with you,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Not when you got stabbed earlier today.”

“Told you I’m a masochist,” you chuckle dryly. You strip off your slacks, showing off your less-than-sexy cotton underwear. He grazes your core, the wet patch growing larger with your slick.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, mesmerized. He licks his lips, wanting to taste you, lust transparent on his face. It humiliated you, for some reason — you were always used to it rough and fast, your vision blurred while you took cock that you didn’t give a shit about. This was different. This was real.

You put your fingers in his mouth again, pinning him down. He moans when you spit on the head of his cock, palming him gently. Taming him.

You slide your panties off of your legs and do the same with his briefs. When you hover over him, your throat feels tight. He keeps looking at you like you created him. Like you were the world itself.

His tip catches on the slick of your cunt, circling your entrance. Your blood boils, every ventricle in your body sparking to life. You feel him buck his hips, desperate and rutting.

“Use me,” he groans, muffled from your fingers on his tongue.

You sink down on him and his eyes roll back. You remove your fingers from his mouth to toy with your clit, whimpering at the sensation of him filling you up. He was bigger than you expected.

Aki shudders from sensitivity. Alcohol usually numbs his senses, but he can feel all of you, how hot and tight you are. It’s driving him mad. He hiccups through moans, his throat raw.

Your cunt pulses as you grind on him, trembling above him as you try to keep your hips from stuttering too much. Already, you were about to fall apart.

“Fuck,” Aki mutters.

Your hand grazes his face and jaw, and he leans into your palm to kiss it earnestly. Your face burns as you tangle your fingers in his raven hair. When he rises to kiss you, you pull his strands while your other hand holds him back by his shoulder. He groans and thrusts upward into you, holding your hips so that your thighs are flush against his.

Your pulse throbs against the cave of your chest. Aki is desperate to kiss you, to get his tongue in your mouth, so he uses your own trick on you – pulls you in with force and grabs a fistful of your hair. You moan into his mouth, tapering off into a whimper, and you feel him let out a breathy laugh in between kisses.

Aki lets himself be a little loud — no one else was home, and fucking you was cathartic. He squeezes the fat of your thigh, his lunacy suppressed into his tight fists. Entranced by the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick.

You whimper as your knees start to get rug burn, the skin as raw as the love bites on your neck. Your stomach stirs, ecstasy boiling in the pit. You could pretend it was love from the way he gripped you.

“You’re fucking tight,” he grunts.

“Do you like it?” you rasp. You almost sound like you’re begging.

He nods and holds your face, his other hand making an imprint on your waist. Aki was so much taller than you — his size didn’t register until now, the way he was forcing your chin up to look up into his eyes.

He can barely speak, only letting out choked moans and heavy breaths. You look so vulnerable despite being on top of him. He could picture it now, your thighs shaking with arms outstretched to him in morning light. Bare-faced and illuminated, not a bruise on your body. Happy in another life.

“Fuck, Aki,” you moan.

“Again,” he breathes.

“What?”

“Say my name again. Like that.” Like you love me.

“A-Aki,” you whine, gasping for air. “Close.”

A rush of blood to the head. He almost wants to tell you he loves you, force you to say it back to him in between swapping spit. Even if it was just pretend.

You writhe as you cum. Heat-struck by the coil breaking in your stomach. It was like he was melting your insides. He feels your cunt twitch and spills into you with a groan, nose buried in your hair.

He winces as he pulls out of you, his cum getting the carpet wet. He’ll have to clean it up later. He breathes heavily and looks anywhere but your face.

“Lie down with me,” you whisper.

So he does, face to face with you, his arm loose over your waist. He wants to kiss you, but he assumes you’ve had your fill. He wonders if you’ll ever toy with him like that again. He hates himself for how badly he wants it.

But then you look at him, your eyes searching his for meaning. Unspoken words.

“You okay, baby?”

He’s shocked at the nickname, blushing like he didn’t just fuck you to the moon and back.

He nods, blinking rapidly when you stroke his jaw gently. Branding him with tenderness. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept with you. He didn’t want to be a sycophant, but he still felt attached to you, and it would only get worse from here. Stuck on his heart like chewed gum.

“Angel boy,” you sigh, hazed. You’re still a little drunk. “Pretty.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a dog.”

“What are you, then?”

He says nothing. You smile. The warmth in his chest is immeasurable. It aches like a wound that never heals. He supposes that’s what you are for him. But what is he?

“Yours.”

#aki hayakawa smut #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man fanfiction #csm smut #chainsaw man x you #chainsaw man x reader #csm x you #csm x reader

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xxshadowbabexx · 3 days

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Stuffed

authors note: inspired by a post I saw a while ago by @ghouljams

warnings: f!reader, eating cum out of a fleshlight, p in v sex, praise, language, anal fingering-ish

You had meant it as a joke, honestly. König knew you’d been with girls in the past- it wasn’t a secret.

So when you told him you missed eating pussy, you didn’t think he’d feel any type of way about it.

You definitely didn’t think you would find yourself here.

König’s cum was thick, sticky, and covering the fleshlight he had shoved into your face, “Go on, kleine maus. If you missed eating cunt so badly, why don’t you clean her off, jetzt?”

And fuck it, you obliged. Leaning forward you swiped your tongue through the folds. Salt and silicone filled your senses as König maneuvered your naked body to be face down ass up on your bed. Now your face was smushed into the toy as you continued to lap and suck, swallowing every greedy dollop of cum that overflowed out.

You smiled, wiggling your ass in anticipation as König spread your folds with his long cock. He slowly speared you, palming your ass as you moaned into the toy.

“Sehr gut, so tight around me. Bet you like getting filled with my load from both ends, no?”

You whimpered as he began thrusting into you, slow and deep. He was carefully rearranging your guts and filling your mouth simultaneously. It was bliss.

That’s it, eat her good as I fuck you. Bedürftige hure,”

You clenched around him as you felt his hand begin to wander, one calloused thumb pressing into your puckered ass.

You moaned out, “Ah, fuck Kö- more please,”

He laughed, pressing down on your back and forcing your arch to deepen, “Just like that. Cream around my cock, and I’ll fill you up. You’d like that, right? Come now, let go for me,”

And oh did you let go, creaming and clenching around him as you wept into the fleshlight. Salty tears mixing with the cum you were so dutifully cleaning up.

“Scheiß, going to fill you up, kleine maus,”

taglist

@frogtowne @xoxunhinged

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #konig cod #konig x reader smut #cod konig #konig #konig x reader

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conkers-thecosy · 2 days

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Five Fic Feedback!

Tagged by: No one! Seen this floating about a few fandoms, and decided to bring it over to bagginshield!

Rules: Pick five fics you've written, then tell us about how you feel about it vs how readers have received it!

1 - Bad Blood

My Thoughts: This one is way bigger than I meant it to be! It was going to be about 5k words and the only scene I had in my head was Bilbo biting the elven guard, haha! Readers: People really seem to love this one! I feel like feral Bilbo is always a crowd-pleaser, and this fic got much more attention than I ever expected it to! - 2 - Soldier My Thoughts: I'm really proud of this one. It was my first bagginshield fic, and it was after a loooong break from writing. Even though it's a bit weak in places, I have such a soft spot for it. Readers: I ended up re-posting this one after some harassment kicked my confidence down the toilet, but since then the reception has been very positive! - 3 - Poet My Thoughts: I'm sorry to say it, but this is probably my least favourite fic I've written. If it wasn't so popular I'd have removed it and altered the end of Soldier so it was just one fic! Readers: This fic seems to be very popular, and was the first time someone made art of my work - and more than once! I remember posting the first chapter and not expecting very much, only to come onto tumblr and see random posts where folks were super excited to see it was updating! It was such a lovely feeling! - 4 - My Ego Dies My Thoughts: I genuinely love this one, I think it's probably my personal favourite. I really enjoy playing about with the idea of "forgiveness" between Bilbo and Thorin, and this fic really scratched a particular itch for me! Readers: Probably my least popular fic - statistically, at least! I've found most folk weren't into it for one reason or another, but the people who love it, really, really love it! -

5 - Stealing Moments, Moments Away My Thoughts: I wish I'd taken more time with this one in some ways, but in others it really is the reshirement fic I wanted to tell. Again, I got to tinker with that "forgiveness" trope, and have a good look at what survival might realistically have meant for Thorin. Readers: This one is a quick read, and it's soft and fluffy, so I think readers enjoy it for that reason, though I believe some found it a bit boring. It was being updated almost daily, and the folks who were invested came back to comment and read practically every time I updated, which was just amazing to me! - 6 - Backs To The Wall (Sorry, I've written six, so I wanted to do all of them!) My Thoughts: I wrote this because it was something I wanted to read, and couldn't find. It's been amazingly fun, and I told myself when I started (knowing it was going to be fairly long - even if I didn't realise quite how long at the time, haha) that I wasn't going to take it too seriously, and I was really only writing this for myself, as the most self-indulgent kind of nonsense, ever! Readers: I can't begin to tell you how utterly blown away by the response to this I've been. Like?? It's just crazy to me how much folks are enjoying this, how excited and supportive everyone has been! I've been so grateful for everyone reading, and genuinely shocked down to my bones, haha! 💛 - No pressure tags for: @fantasyinallforms @lucigoo @lordoftherazzles @domesticgoddesswriter @thatfancygirlinwhite @lauramkaye @sass-y-squatch @mintedwitcher (and honestly anyone else who sees this and wants to do it, *waves a wand* you are Tagged!)

#tag game #bagginshield #bagginshield fic #thilbo #thilbo fic #fic writer #fic game #fandom #fandom game #conkers corner #bad blood #soldier poet king series #my ego dies #stealing moments moments away #SMMA #backs to the wall #BTTW #conkers-thecosy

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thelordofgifs · 1 day

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the fairest stars: post vii

Yet more of the "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" AU! Masterpost with links to all previous parts on tumblr and AO3 here.

Part 35: on stories, and the ways they repeat themselves.

Finrod goes to Mandos' throne room, and kneels – such as it is – in supplication before the Vala.

"Son of Arafinwë," says Mandos. "Having turned down our boon, have you come to ask another?"

"Not for myself," says Finrod. "But for my cousin."

"Whatever vow you have made," says Mandos, "Turkafinwë Fëanárion is not ready to be released from my Halls, even were he willing."

"Not – not Celegorm," says Finrod, "but Amrod his brother. Has no judgement been passed on him? It is many centuries now since he burned to death at his father's hands."

"The judgement was passed," says Mandos, "when he swore his Oath, and bound himself to violence. No one compelled by such a force can be released into the peace of Aman."

"But he regretted it," Finrod argues. "He meant to turn back as my own father did, and beg pardon of the Valar. He would be free of it, if he could."

"But he is not," says Mandos, implacable.

Finrod is good, and pious, and faithful. Finrod is not going to lose his temper with a Vala.

"Is there no pity in these Halls?" he asks. "Is there no way to set him free of a bond he does not want?"

"Lúthien your cousin asked a similar thing when she came before me," Mandos says. "And I will tell you what I told her: it is beyond my power to undo an Oath sworn in the name of the All-father. The Valar are not gaolers, child. Telufinwë's chains were of his own making."

"It wasn't his fault," Finrod says tightly, "it was his father who bound him—"

"I cannot give you what you want," Mandos says, interrupting him.

"Then pass the boon you have given me onto him," Finrod says; "transfer it away from me, I do not want it. Grant him his release, he has lingered here long enough."

"That is not how it works," Mandos says. "You are free to leave these Halls whenever you desire. It is not my way to retract mercy once it has been offered."

Do you call this mercy? Finrod does not say. He takes his leave instead.

“You did not need to do that,” Amrod says, when he returns.

Finrod is in no mood for Fëanorian self-pity. “Do you want to rot here forever, then?” he asks sharply.

“So it was decreed,” Amrod says, “and I told you already that I never expected any mercy for myself.”

“Yet you would have me extend it to your brother,” Finrod says.

“That,” says Amrod, “is not precisely what I said.” He makes some spirit-approximation of a shrug. “You know Tyelko as he is now better than I do. Is he past saving? Perhaps. But it is for your own sake that you are trying anyway, I think.”

“But if even you are condemned to remain here forever—” Finrod says, unable to keep himself from bitterness.

“I’ve killed people, Ingoldo,” Amrod reminds him. “Three of them, in fact.” He shudders briefly. “Why me? Why Tyelko, for that matter? There are many worthier souls in these Halls to demand your attention. After the Dagor Bragollach the Exiles came pouring in here in their thousands, and every one of them lies under the Doom of Mandos – all except for you. You could be pleading for any one of them, instead of your Kinslaying cousins, who are anyway bound by a greater chain.”

“Because,” Finrod says, irritable, “chains can be broken. And I cannot bear to see you deny that, again and again – you as well as your brother! Forever need not always mean forever. There are brighter things in store for you, for all of us, than to mourn here for eternity in the dark. Valar help me, I did not fully realise it, until Lúthien showed me it was so – and yet—” He stops suddenly.

Amrod looks at him with sympathy. "It is not only us you are angry with," he says.

"I do not want to be angry at all," Finrod says wearily. "I want to find a way out, I want to believe that there is hope for all of us – for you and me and your brother and my Ten and those we lost on the Ice and all the doomed and damned and grieving Noldor – can it be so? Or is it always the same story over and over again, all of us trapped in our roles until the end of the time? The Ainulindalë had space in it for new themes, did it not? So why must we condemn ourselves over-hastily, name these chains unbreakable for ever?"

"Perhaps they are," says Amrod, "for the rest of us, if not for you."

"I do not believe that any more," says Finrod. "And I am going to speak to my brother."

Back in Middle-earth:

Finduilas and Celebrimbor have ridden swiftly, their journey uneventful. They are coming now to the borders of the Girdle of Melian.

Finduilas smiles at Celebrimbor, more bravely than she really feels. "This is where we part ways."

To her eyes the Girdle is clearly visible, a sharply demarcated shimmering in the air, whereas all Celebrimbor can make out is a blurred sort of wrongness, as though the world itself is bending around Doriath's border.

"It isn't too late to change your mind," Celebrimbor tells her. "We can go back to Nargothrond, we can tell your father we only got lost in the mists—"

"It has been too late for that for a long time," Finduilas says, decisive. She smiles again. "Don't fret, Tyelpë! The worst Thingol can do to me is speak harshly. I am not the one in danger."

"I will be fine," Celebrimbor tells her. "It is the northern stretch of the Girdle where danger lies thick." He thinks of the desperate flight from Himlad after the Dagor Bragollach, and shivers a little. "You had better not tell Thingol that I am here, not after what my – my father tried."

"You aren't your father, Tyelpë," Finduilas says softly. She leans over to kiss his cheek. "Take heart! With any luck my errand will not be a long one, and we will have an escort of Iathren marchwardens to take us home."

Celebrimbor thinks that is overly optimistic, but he only says, "I will be here when you return – and good luck, coz."

He watches as she rides away from him, through the Girdle and then into the darkness of whatever lies beyond it.

It is a perfectly nice clearing they have chosen for their meeting-place, and he spends some time the next day setting up camp; then he gets bored, and invents a better mechanism for collecting rainwater for drinking, and then makes himself a makeshift chemistry lab out of the weird plants growing near the Girdle; and then he carves every fallen stick in a mile's radius into a miniature wooden animal, and ends up with a host of Eagles and an army of bears and No Dogs At All; and then and then and then

He's really bored tbh.

In Barad Eithel:

One thing about Maglor is that he needs a Job or he will go a little mad.

He is like Maedhros in that, Fingon reflects, and tries not to indulge the stab of the thought.

Unfair, to blame unhappy Maglor for not being his brother, for not having Maedhros' smile and Maedhros' bright thoughtful eyes and Maedhros' commanding presence—

Anyway: usually this does not pose much of an issue, because Maglor has made Maedhros his Job and attends to him both capably and contentedly.

Now, on the other hand, he is restless, and when Maglor is restless he hovers.

Fingon does not mind this most of the time. He likes his cousin's company, despite everything, and also Maglor is a better and more sensible advisor than most would give him credit for.

But there is really not that much for him to do today, and he is maybe driving Fingon a little crazy.

"Makalaurë," he says, "you might go down to the armoury."

Maglor smiles drily at him. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"No," Fingon lies, "only it occurred to me that you are certainly the most skilled person here at testing the metal for minute flaws – the same way you use its resonance in swordplay. And it would be good to make sure everything is in good shape while Morgoth seems to be unwiling to attack again."

“You are trying to get rid of me,” says Maglor, not really offended.

An hour later finds him in the armoury, sorting swords that need mending from those whose metal sings cleanly; he is so absorbed in the work that he does not at first notice there is someone else in the room, until Maeglin comes to stand before him.

“I did not know you had any interest in metalwork,” Maeglin says, in lieu of any other greeting.

“Not particularly,” Maglor says mildly, “but my father was the greatest smith of the Noldor, even so.”

Maeglin’s expression seems to imply that he intends to change that.

Maglor decides he might as well try to be friendly. “We have spoken little since you came to Barad Eithel,” he says; “forgive me, I have been too absorbed in my own affairs to greet you with the courtesy due so close a kinsman. But I am glad to meet Írissë’s son at last.”

Maeglin says, “Were you close to my mother?”

“Not as much as my younger brothers,” Maglor admits, “but even so I thought her fearless, and kind, and never reluctant to speak her own mind.”

“She was different,” Maeglin says in a low voice, “when I knew her.”

Maybe it would be good to change the subject.

"How well do you like Barad Eithel?" Maglor asks. "You have made friends among the lords of the Noldor already, I am glad to see."

Maeglin is looking at him guardedly. "Everyone has been very kind," he says, his voice neutral. "Although my uncle has had less time for me than I hoped."

Maglor bites his lip. "He has much to trouble him at present, too," he says, as evenly as he can. "But you should know he speaks highly of you."

"I am glad to hear it," Maeglin says. He looks at Maglor in silence for a little while, and then says, "You are close in his counsel, I think."

Maglor is kind of regretting his decision to be friendly.

"We have been friends for a long time," is all he says.

"But not as close as he was to your brother," Maeglin says, watching Maglor very carefully as he speaks.

"You were on the field after the battle," Maglor says, trying to keep his patience. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Forgive me," Maeglin says then, and flashes Maglor a quick rueful smile. "You are all names I have only ever heard in half-complete stories. There is a great deal I must learn. And nobody had ever told me that the High King was wed to his cousin."

"They are not wed," Maglor says automatically, Maedhros' customary rebuttal; then he wonders why he is still making Maedhros' arguments for him, still playing the lieutenant when the war is long since over, and the weight of his loss seizes him around the throat anew.

Belatedly he realises Maeglin is speaking. "Turgon my uncle was not happy to learn of it," he says. "But perhaps it does not matter so much now, since your brother is – well." He has the grace to look vaguely sympathetic, at least. "Some of the other lords are beginning to say that it would be wise for the King to take a wife, now that he is free of any other attachment. But that seems to me unkind."

"Unkind," Maglor asks, "or just contrary to your own hopes, which rather depend on his remaining unwed and heirless?" He raises an eyebrow.

Maeglin tenses. Maglor's eyes rest on him the way Idril's used to, as though seeing some ugly nub inside him, invisible to Maeglin himself.

Maeglin does not want to think about Idril.

"I have told them it would be cruel," he says, "to raise the matter to him while he has so many troubles."

"I see," Maglor says, and some of the pressure of his gaze relents. "Since they seem to listen to you, you might tell them that Fingon loves my brother, and is not so faithless as to waver in his affection now." He manages the flicker of a smile. "Or perhaps it would be wisest if you do not say that: they might like you less, then, after all."

"You are determined to mistrust me, I see," Maeglin says stiffly. "Strange, when half the court thinks you a spy for the Enemy, and your brother his puppet."

"Those accusations," Maglor says, "are older than you by many centuries, and have lost much of their sting. I am not a spy, and Fingon knows that. But you mistake me, Maeglin. I am not determined to mistrust you. I am only worried – for you, not just because of you." He looks directly at Maeglin again. "You are very lonely, I think."

Maeglin lifts his chin. "I am perfectly content," he says, his voice clipped, "and have very little need for your concern, thank you."

Maglor decides to take a risk. "You are not the only one," he says softly, "who knows what it is to drag the weight of a father's madness behind you. I too understand a little of that grief – it is a heavy thing, and solitary. But I am here if you wish to share some of the burden."

But Maeglin bristles. "What do you know of my burdens and my griefs?" he asks, scornful. "Spare me your pity, please. I do not need it – least of all from one cast so low as you. What now is the House of Fëanor but a set of traitors and invalids, clinging to glory they have long-since lost? In truth I think you envy me – envy that the High King trusts me, and gives me duties the likes of which you cannot imagine."

Maglor cannot stifle a laugh at this speech. "Yes," he says, "that must be it."

Maeglin glares at him and then storms out.

"At least you tried," Fingon says later, when Maglor relates the story.

(Some of it, at least. He does not think Fingon will take kindly to hearing about the speculation on his taking a wife; and Fingon is already rather too prone to lashing out at his lords at the moment.)

"You ought to spend more time with him," is all he says. "For your sake as much as his. He is rather too invested in who shall be named your heir, I think."

Fingon smiles drily. "Well, at least someone is looking to the matter of the succession," he says; and when Maglor gives him a Look, he throws his hands in the air and adds, "he's barely out of childhood, Makalaurë! Do you really think he's sneaking about plotting to poison me in my bed? My brother trusted him, clearly."

"Everyone trusted Curvo, too," Maglor mutters, "and look where that got us."

But when Fingon glances sharply at him he subsides. He does not have the appetite to argue with Fingon.

Fingon changes the subject. "I have not heard you speak so of your father before," he says quietly.

Maglor's ears twitch uncomfortably. "How unthinkingly we bound ourselves," he says, "gave up our freedom and our will and our innocence because he asked it of us – and how could we ever do otherwise? He was our father and we would have done anything for him." He draws a shaky breath.

Fingon has his own complicated feelings about his father, but he is simply Not Engaging With Them. "He has been dead a long time, Makalaurë," he says after a moment.

"I know!" Maglor says, bitterly. "I know: and we are still not free. I am tired of it."

Maedhros' name hovers in the air between them. Neither of them speaks it.

"You know my thoughts on your Oath," Fingon murmurs instead. "Chains can be broken, Makalaurë. Just because you have done evil before does not mean you are obliged to do it again." He gives Maglor a sympathetic look. "I am a Kinslayer too, you know."

"Did you tell Nelyo that?" Maglor asks, breaking their unspoken pact, and Fingon flinches.

[this is known as failing the Maedhros Bechdel Test]

After a moment, Maglor says, "I used to think – to hope, even – that maybe you were right, that Lúthien was right to tell me I need not lament forever. But here we are! Five hundred years have passed and the Oath still binds us tightly as ever it did, and he is gone, it has taken him from me once more – must it always be the same story over and over again? Shall I never be singing anything but the Noldolantë – must its themes echo through time for ever? I am tired, Finno."

"I know," says Fingon, "I know," and he puts his arms around Maglor, and Maglor leans shivering into the embrace, but it is not enough.

In Doriath:

Finduilas' entry into Menegroth has gone smoothly, and she is privately beginning to believe that Celebrimbor's fearmongering was just that.

Nobody has stopped her on recognising her (for she came here often, with her father, in the peaceful days of her youth before the Sudden Flame).

Nor does Thingol turn her away when she goes formally to her knees before him in his great throne room, and says, "I have come as an ambassador from Nargothrond, in the name of Orodreth my father."

"Little niece," says Thingol, with a flicker of humour at the corners of his mouth, "strange are the days when you whom I dandled on my knee not so many years ago now come to treat with me as a foreign king. But you will always be welcome in Menegroth, child."

Finduilas beams at him, and feels her confidence wax – until she hears footsteps behind her, which halt abruptly.

"What's this?" Lúthien asks sharply.

Finduilas spins around to face her.

Lúthien looks – good. Flourishing, even. Mortality suits her, adds some shimmering quality of transience to her loveliness, as if some light beyond the circles of this world is already shining through her skin.

A far cry from how she was when Finduilas last saw her, her face blotchy with tears, her nails ragged and torn – help me, cousin, please, let me out—

"Cousin," Finduilas says, summoning up a smile. "I am glad to see you again."

Lúthien ignores the greeting, looking past her to Thingol. "What is the meaning of this, Father?" she demands. "Why have you allowed her past the Girdle?"

Thingol looks troubled. He does not think he has ever seen Lúthien speak with such untempered anger. "The kin of Olwë my brother have always been welcome here, Lúthien," he says.

"Kin," Lúthien repeats. She looks at Finduilas now, her eyes hard. "That is one word for the way they treated me, certainly."

"I am sorry, cousin," Finduilas breathes. "I did not look to find you here, or else I would have come prepared with some gift of apology for you: but it is for that reason that I have come to plead Nargothrond's case with your father, because I am ashamed of how things happened, we are all ashamed – and my father has cast the sons of Fëanor out of the city—"

"I know that," says Lúthien, "they tried to kill me after he did so, you know."

Finduilas bites her lip. This is not going at all how she pictured it.

Lúthien makes a disgusted sound. "I can't do this," she says, and turns to her father again. "Either she leaves or I do," she says; "you know ultimatums are not my habit, Father, but I will not dwell under the same roof as she again."

She walks out.

Once she is gone Finduilas falls to her knees again. "Uncle," she says, "uncle, please. I have come for the sake of both our realms – please, give me another chance."

Thingol's eyes are colder now. "It is not my intention," he says, "to go against my daughter's wishes again."

"Let me make it right with her," Finduilas pleads, "she has every right to be angry, but I would see our old friendship renewed, if I can."

Thingol hesitates a moment, and Finduilas holds her breath. If he turns her away now, it will all have been in vain—

But at last he nods, and Finduilas is directed to Lúthien's favourite haunt, a clearing aboveground (for Lúthien above all other Elves cannot bear to be caged out of sight of the sky).

She stiffens when Finduilas comes across her. "Still here?"

"I know you are angry," Finduilas says, in a low voice, "and I have come to apologise. I should have protested harder when Celegorm sought to imprison you – I should have found some way to set you free – forgive me, cousin. It was not what I wanted: and I was not brave enough to speak against them."

Lúthien makes no indication that she accepts the apology. "Why have you come here, Finduilas?" she asks. "You were never the sort to pay much attention to politics."

Finduilas chews at her lip. "Nargothrond is weakened," she admits. "My father does his best, but after what the sons of Fëanor did – our unity is failing. Nor is he willing to ally with the High King in the north. I would not have us lose all the friends we once had."

"The friends you had," Lúthien says casually, "when Finrod was your King."

Finduilas does not want to agree, does not want to acknowledge that her father is not the king his brother was. But perhaps her silence is agreement enough.

"So you are here to win back Doriath's might," Lúthien muses, "afraid, perhaps, of the prospect of it mustered against you."

Finduilas feels hot with embarassment. "No – no, you mistake me, cousin," she says. "I want to make things right. Nargothrond grieves what was done to you."

"Nargothrond," Lúthien says, her voice now very sharp, "was complicit in it, every single one of you who were too afraid to do what you knew you be right, too cowed by the sons of Fëanor of all people – two cowards who were bested by Beren and a dog, a dog who had more courage in his heart than your whole rotten city put together—" She draws a furious breath.

Finduilas blinks back tears. "I am ashamed of it," she says unhappily.

"But you still do not think you are really to blame," Lúthien says. "Dear little Finduilas, o best-loved niece and least-noticed daughter, the last princess of the Noldor: who could ever fault you for anything? Why do you think my father allowed you to stay? He too holds you blameless in all Nargothrond's failings, naught but a pretty spectator." She looks coldly at Finduilas. "I do not. You should have done better. You should have helped me." She pauses, as if gathering her strength for the blow, and then adds, "Finrod would have lived, had you helped me."

Finduilas draws a breath.

"I was only hours too late for him," Lúthien says, very softly, her eyes distant. "Had I come sooner, he would have been saved." She shudders, and then looks at Finduilas again. "So do not speak to me now of Nargothrond's troubles. They are of their own making."

Finduilas' eyes are stinging again. "Tales are told of your friendship with the eldest sons of Fëanor," she says angrily, "and yet you will not spare so much as a sliver of pity for your own kin?"

Lúthien shrugs, undeterred by the barb. "Call it selfishness, perhaps," she says. "Darling little cousin, did you think to take me for your model, to come here and win my father's quarter with your smile, and carry home some great boon? Give it up. You are not me."

"Does it mean nothing that I am sorry?" Finduilas cries. "Perhaps I am not brave like you, or clever like you, or so well-favoured by the Valar: but I grieve what was done to you! Does that not count for anything?"

"Not really," says Lúthien; "not until you are willing to realise the part you played in it." She looks at Finduilas then and manages a smile, a real one. "You are part of this world too, coz, a strand of the Great Music just as much as all these great lords and princes. Own it: and once you have done so perhaps we might reach some sort of understanding. But for now there is little I can say to you."

Finduilas walks away at that, and Lúthien manages to exhale.

She was harsh, she knows. Unfair, to blame Finduilas for all Nargothrond's crimes, to think of the blood underneath Lúthien's own ragged fingernails as she clawed desperately at the door and pin it all on her little cousin as though she was Lúthien's sole gaoler.

It was Sauron, Lúthien reminds herself, who killed Finrod.

Still she cannot keep the hot tears of guilt from her eyes.

Back outside the Girdle:

Celebrimbor is still Bored.

He is also quite worried about how angry Orodreth is going to be with him for absconding to Doriath with Finduilas.

It would have been easier, he thinks sometimes, had he left Nargothrond with his father and uncle.

Not better. Not right. But easier, maybe.

If Finrod had lived, if he had been the king Celebrimbor had thrown his allegiance behind, it would have been better received, he is sure.

But he could not have gone with his father either, he reasons to himself. Look what became of Curufin! Nobody even knows where he is; but the stain of his deeds marks all Beleriand yet.

Perhaps Celebrimbor might have stopped him and Celegorm from attacking Beren and Lúthien, had he been there.

Perhaps Huan would have stayed – would have lived, if Celebrimbor had been there.

Easy to fantasise. But Celebrimbor did nothing when he had the chance, did not speak against his father and Celegorm until it was too late to mean anything, left Lúthien sobbing in her lonely gaol instead of working to free her.

Lost in these unhappy musings, he does not at first notice how quiet the forest has grown: but there are no birds singing, suddenly, and the rustle of small mammals through the undergrowth has stilled.

It might be the Girdle, and the strange effects of Melian's magic, Celebrimbor reasons to himself.

Then he hears the growl.

The problem is – for just one crucial moment – his traitorous heart stills – and he thinks, Huan is here, he is come back for me as he always did—

The wolf-pack is lining the clearing by the time he realises his mistake, cutting off his chance of running.

Ah.

Celebrimbor has seen true wolves before, as a child in Valinor.

Once his father took him on a hunting-trip in the wilds near Formenos, just the two of them, and bade him be very quiet when they came to the sparse northern plains; and then he whispered in Celebrimbor's ear, Look! and, looking, Celebrimbor caught sight of an animal nearly bigger than Huan and snow-white all over, with a fine thick tail and a proud snout.

Typical, he thinks now, that Sauron could have perverted even so noble a beast: for the werewolves surrounding him now are mangy and thin, their frames twisted in the same painful way orcs are built, their eyes like dull hungry flames flickering in their heads.

It is not fair, a childish part of him wants to cry out, Tol-in-Gaurhoth was cast down, there should be no wolves roaming these lands now—

But Celebrimbor is a Scientist. He knows better than to trust what he believes over what he sees.

He scales a tree.

The wolves close in around its base, snarling up at him.

No Carcharoths, these, only relics of Sauron's experiments: but that will not matter, when their teeth sink into him.

Everything about you is derivative, some ugly voice seems to whisper to Celebrimbor, its sibilance woven into the wolves' growls; Celegorm your uncle was slain by a greater beast than these poor prototypes, and Finrod Felagund whom you loved at least saved another before they killed him, but you are going to die here, alone and forgotten and unmourned—

Celebrimbor grits his teeth, and ignores it.

He is not going to jump out of the tree to some foolish death. He is going to live forever, and leave a greater mark on the world than that of his father the traitor – he will not end like this—

Besides, Finduilas is expecting him to wait for her.

He leans against the trunk of the tree and settles in for a long night.

By the morning things are rather more dire.

The wolves have not tired; Celebrimbor, on the other hand, is very thirsty, and also growing worried for a new reason.

Finduilas is expecting him to wait for her.

If she comes back to the clearing where she left him, and the wolves decide she is an easier target—

She could perhaps run back to the safety of the Girdle in time – but the wolves are fast, and hungry.

Celebrimbor briefly imagines riding alone back to Nargothrond to inform Orodreth that his daughter is dead.

No: he will have to find a way to drive the wolves away, and quickly, for he does not know how much longer his cousin will be.

He grips his sword-hilt and then hesitates.

There is a pressure on the back of his neck, an oddly disapproving one, as though to say, Don't even think about it, child.

"I am not a child," Celebrimbor says aloud, and the wolves look up at him, snarling as though in agreement.

Finduilas is in danger, Celebrimbor reminds himself, and then he draws his sword and jumps down from his branch.

The wolves are upon him almost instantly. There are many of them, but Celebrimbor is quick, and moreover learned to fight wrestling with Huan long before he was ever given a sword.

He ducks and weaves and rolls, slashing with his sword as best as he can; but then one wolf lands a lucky blow with his claws on his thigh, and another collides with him from behind, sending him sprawling onto the ground—

Celebrimbor closes his eyes, and does not bother to cry out, for nobody will hear him.

Then he has the brief muddled impression of a thud, and sudden pressure on his chest, and then before he can catch his breath or work out what is going on the weight on his legs is lifted, and someone is snapping at him, "Get up, Tyelpë!" and his sword is suddenly back in his hand—

Celebrimbor knows that voice. He scrambles to his feet.

Standing before him, currently locked in a struggle with one of the last few wolves, dishevelled and bloodied but very much alive, is his father.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #finrod #amrod #finduilas #celebrimbor #maglor #fingon #maeglin #luthien #let's gooo this arc is gathering steam now

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batman-dc-imagines · 2 days

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Incorrect quotes with the J Squad + (Name)

(Name): Yo is Jerome sleeping or dead?

Jon: Hopefully dead, I hated his guts.

Jervis: Yeah, so did I.

Jerome: Okay first of all, fuck you-

——————————————————————

(Name): *Screams*

Jerome: *Screams louder to establish dominance*

Jon: Should we do something?

Jervis: No, I want to see who wins

——————————————————————

(Name): Everyone, synchronize your watches.

Jerome: I don’t know how to do that.

Jon: I don’t wear a watch.

Jervis: Time is a construct.

——————————————————————

(Name): Can I be frank with you guys?

Jerome: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Jon: Can I still be Jon?

Jervis: Shh, let Frank speak.

(Name): I hate y’all.

Jervis: You don’t mean that, Frank.

——————————————————————

(Name), about Jerome: Apparently we’re getting someone new in the group.

Jon: Are we stealing them?

Jervis: New or used?

(Name): Wonderful responses, both of you.

——————————————————————

(Name): How did none of you hear what I just said?

Jervis: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.

Jerome: I got distracted about halfway through.

Jon: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

——————————————————————

(Name): Dammit, Jerome!

Jerome: What?! It wasn’t me!

(Name): Sorry, force of habit. Dammit, Jon!

Jon: Not me either.

(Name): Oh...Then who set the house on fire?

Jervis: *whistles*

(Name): JERVIS-

——————————————————————

*(Name) is cooking*

Jerome: Any chance that’s for me?

(Name): It’s for Jervis. I’m planning on making some bad choices tonight, and I need him on my side.

Jon: I never realized the forethought that went into being a disappointment.

——————————————————————

Jervis: I think (Name) was right.

Jon: I'm surprised they haven't marched in here to say 'I told you so.'

Jerome: They wouldn't do that.

(Name): You're right, Jerome. For once in your life, you're 100% right. I would never say that.

(Name): *turns around, the shirt they're wearing saying 'I told you so' on the back*

——————————————————————

Jerome, banging on the door: Baghead! Open up!

Jon: Well, it all started when I was a kid...

Jervis: No, he meant-

(Name): Let him finish.

——————————————————————

(Name): Have you seen Jerome around here?

Jon: Ugh, yes. He made a horrible mess of the blood fountain.

Jervis: It looks fine to me?

Jon: IT USED TO BE WATER!!!

——————————————————————

Jon: Why are (Name) and Jerome sitting with their backs to each other?

Jervis: They had a fight.

Jon: Then why are they holding hands?

Jervis: They get sad when they fight.

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stoshasaurus · 1 month

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chad saint 14 for your timeline

here are some oiled up versions

SA SA SAINT 14!! THE VANGUARD'S GREATEST LOVE MACHINE!!!

#art #destiny #destiny 2 #saint 14 #saint 14 destiny #vanguard's greatest love machine #i TOLD you i was stealing that and i meant it #this is prolly gonna be my new background on literally everything so brace yourselves #don't commend me for the musculature i traced all of it over those fuckass chad pictures #lmfao #anyway #love you saint

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nosferatufaggot · 2 months

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SORRY WILL NEVER GET OVER IT!

"Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#I was thinking about when Clara told Danny that she fully meant it when she said she loved him. And that no one else will ever hear her say-#-those words. Those words are meant for him only.#Which I wish was true. She told Rigsy she loved Jane Austen.#You literally only had like thirty minutes left of screen time to keep your promise to Danny! Why mess up now!?#But as hard as that goes..................Twelve saying that to Clara?#Ough #AND IN THE SAME EPISODE!?#We got two heavy hitters of quotes in the same episode.#I made it my bio on my alt account for MSP.#It's just too good.#And I don't know if I'll ever be in the situation to steal that quote.#Doctor Who #Twelfth Doctor #Clara Oswald #Raaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#Sentiments of a vampire.

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ohara-n-brown · 5 months

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As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.

Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.

The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.

I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.

I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.

As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.

95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'

I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.

That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.

There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.

My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.

Borderline patients can't win.

And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.

BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.

Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.

And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.

I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.

Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.

Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.

To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.

I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.

I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.

You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.

Borderline people I'm sorry.

#autism #bpd #borderline personality disorder #actually autistic #neurodivergent #neurodivergency #neurodiversity #cluster b

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uncarving-the-block · 10 months

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u may as well just delete that reblog since nobody in their right minds are gonna agree with you defending reposting art LMAO

anyways nice to see you dont give a shit abt us artists who just dont want to see our creations floating around reposted by strangers who dont even both to remember our names. 🖕

Actually I gained multiple followers from that post. Speak and making lightning, ya know what I’m saying?

#i was in a queer bookstore the other day #and there was a book about anarchism #and I told my friend that that meant it was okay to steal it #and one staff member heard me and got really quiet for a second #then we all laughed #and as I was leaving I said ‘don’t worry I didn’t really streal the book 😇’#and she look at me and was like ‘hey I’m not a snitch’#and we’re all laughed #anyways the moral of the story is that I’m way funnier than anyone else on this website #and I’m going to fuck that cashier #she was v cute #Anways im not much of a thief #but if you let people dictate your morals to you then youre not much of an anarchist #and baby #I’m an anarchist #you’re a spineless liberal #so I won’t take your hand #and marry the State #🎶🎶🎶#yeah but honestly like #If you make art #and put it out into the world #especially somewhere like Tumblr #It’s your prerogative to make sure it’s shared in line with your desires vis a vis credit and modification #so slap a watermark on that baby if it’s so precious to you #or accept that it will be shared anonymously #like #I’m not even anti-credit #i just think it’s silly to try to exert that much control and put that much effort into caring about other peoples actions #for something as public and collaborative as at you share on the internet

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sttoru · 4 months

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your lover would do anything to have your attention on him and nothing or no one else. even if that meant competing with a stuffed toy.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, teeny tiny bit suggestive. implied age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). just satoru being a manchild honestly. reader gets called ‘pretty, princess, baby.’ little dumb drabble that is not beta read.

you were cuddling up to your plushie under a pile of blankets, protecting yourself from the almost freezing temperatures outside of your apartment. the television is playing your favorite show, your food is set on the coffee table and your lovely boyfriend is. . . taking pictures of you.

“come on — look at the camera, pretty girl!” satoru coos. he was blocking your view of the screen, indirectly forcing you to follow his instructions. the older man visibly melts the moment you actually do gaze up at him; his eyes soften and his smile brightens, “there y’go. so adorable.”

he snaps a couple pictures from different angles and even one from up close. his big hand cups both of your cheeks, squeezing them together and forcing your mouth into a deformed ‘o’ shape. the way you look up at him through your eyelashes was the cherry on top.

“have i ever told you how beautiful you are, princess?” satoru sighs as he takes one last picture. he puts his phone down and settles next to you on the couch.

you chuckle and instantly rest your head on his shoulder. he sneaks a hand under the blankets and rests it on the exposed skin of your hip, causing you to shiver from the contrast between your body temperatures, “you remind me of it every day.”

satoru huffs—a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. he’s holding back the urges to nibble on your cheek. you’re just so adorable to him; it’s hard to control the cute aggression he experiences whenever you’re around him.

“yeah, well, as i should.” your clingy boyfriend says matter-of-factly. you roll your eyes and scoot over to the other side of the couch, moving away from satoru in fear of him possibly stealing your blankets. he was known as the ‘blanket hogger’ in your relationship after all.

satoru frowns in response and childishly puts his hands on his hips, looking at you like you had just betrayed his trust. you stick your tongue out and continue watching your favorite show—snuggled up to the fluffy blankets and stuffed toy instead of your man.

“can’t believe i got replaced by some blankets and a dumb plushie.” satoru whines. he sighs dramatically and slumps back against the couch, crossing his arms. a pillow flies over to his side and hits him right on the head.

“it’s not dumb. that’s mean.” you glare at him with an offended expression, though were also proud of your excellent aim. you hug your hello kitty plushie to your chest and turn your body the other way. now it was your time to sulk.

little did you know that you’d still be no match to your sassy lover.

the older man falls to the side, continuing his theatrics and clutching his head, “and on top of all that, i’m portrayed as the bad guy. . . haaaah, all i wanted was to be close to my pretty girlfriend.”

that gains him another cushion to the head. satoru grunts and huffs before planning a counterattack. one that was much more direct, yet softer than your pillow attacks.

not a second passes by and your body is already getting robbed from the blankets. “hey, wait,” you click your tongue, though were physically too weak to do anything about satoru’s actions. his body crushes yours underneath him — your poor plushie squeezed between you and your lover.

his hands move quickly to wrap the covers around the both of you. satoru grins to himself as he snuggles up to you, making himself comfortable in your embrace. his face is buried against your chest and his voice is muffled as he speaks up, “oh, c’mooon. can ya blame a man for wanting to cuddle with his girl? exactly - no.”

. . . he didn’t even give you the chance to answer his question. you playfully smack the back of his head and satoru giggles. sometimes it really feels like you’re the older one in the relationship.

“fine, but she’s staying.” you give in eventually, though were demanding for your plushie to stay with you. not that satoru cared about that thing any longer: as long as he has you in his arms, he doesn’t give a damn about anything else.

the white-haired man answers with a simple hum. he even adjusts the stuffed toy so it could rest between both your bodies, patting its head with care before doing the same to you. his large hand settles on top of your head and he moves it back and forth—a gesture of affection he likes to do often.

“mm — say, baby. .” satoru yawns and rests his head back on your chest afterwards. he closes his eyes while he presses soft kisses to the swell of your breasts, “cuddling with me is way better than cuddling with your plushies, right? riiiight?”

there he goes again. you can’t help but snicker however. you grin devilishly and take time to think of a way to tease your lover, “hmmm—no, i think i’d much rather cuddle with my plushies.”

you hear that dramatic gasp and mentally prepare yourself to deal with an even whinier and clingier satoru.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk fic

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mx-paint · 1 year

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it's so fucking funny when white people say that something that actually has had a definition for over a century is made up just bc they don't want to change their lifestyle, then say that people they don't even know the names of agree w them bc they don't have any other defense

#another round of crybaby right wingers calling us crybabies bc we told them to stop stealing our cultures #nd they said 'their is no way to appropriate a culture bc it doesnt exist'#('also heres something i made up! i dont know any of these people but im telling you how they feel!')#anyway. when people tell you something and theyre from the culture youre talking ab you dont really have a say #esp if its the majority #its like saying i can wear a headress #i just looked back onto it and he says cultural clothing is of course only meant for the people of that culture like. then wtf are you sayi

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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AITA for telling my friend that I did not care it made her upset about some of the things I did with my OCs?

I (18F) made OCs with my friends: Kayla (18F), Bell (18F), and Kia (18F). Kayla said that she had a system that had fictives in it. I didn't really understand what she meant by that, but I wasn't going to judge. At least for a little while. We added a discord bot that would help Kayla be able to talk through her different identities in the server. But it got weird.

One day I saw her talking as if she was one of my ocs (I'll dub Chi for this post) and I felt weirded out by that. Kayla then announced that Chi was part of her system. She goes on about how Chi had suddenly appeared in her system and it took 2 days before her other identities accepted her as part of them.

I said that it was weird that Kayla put one of my ocs in her system, but she insisted she wasn't doing it on purpose. Bell and Kia asked me to just knock it off and respect Kayla because "people with systems can't control it when their system changes." I said that I don't like that she has Chi in her system and that Chi was my OC. This felt like someone was stealing my OC from me. Kayla got upset about that and said "you're upsetting everyone in my system by saying Chi doesn't belong there. We have all accepted her and hearing you reject her makes us all upset. Please apologize."

I refused to. Then I remembered that I had shared all of Chi's info in my own personal channel. The others can view it, but they can't type in it. So I deleted everything about Chi in there and left a note that Chi was being revised. That sent Kayla into a panic. "Stop! You can't!" She kept saying and "What did you do?" over and over again. I simply said that I was making changes to Chi. Kayla freaked out more over that and said that it was making her system distressed and that I needed to stop. I told her that I already set my mind to it.

Later I reposted Chi's info with some changes. Changed her from being a kind and caring person to cruel and dismissive. I also made it so that she had a criminal history and had murdered people before. She has trouble making friends and thinks everyone is constantly out to get her. To be honest, I like this version of her more than her previous incarnation.

Kayla did not like this and had a meltdown. She started screaming "what did you do?! What did you do?! What did you do to Chi?!" In the voice call we were having with Bell and Kia. She started begging me to change her back because Chi stopped responding in her system and has vanished. And the rest of her identities were in a panic now. She said "Murderer. You killed her. You killed Chi. For us, this feels like someone just died. A part of us is missing. We feel incomplete now. Please fix this. BRING HER BACK! CHANGE HER BACK! MURDERER! MURDERER! YOU'RE A MURDERER!"

I told her that I refused to change her back and this was the new Chi. This would be how Chi will be from now on no matter what people said because "My OC, my rules."

Kayla logged off of discord after calling me an asshole. Even Bell and Kia are siding with her saying that I took it too far. They also said I was an asshole for murdering a part of Kayla's like that. I said that Chi was not Kayla's to control, and that only I should get a say in what is done with Chi. They called me an asshole for not considering Kayla and her system's feelings right now because they were all mourning.

I don't think I did anything wrong, but maybe I should apologize. I would still refuse to change Chi back to what she was before though. So it would just be a half apology just to make her happy.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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subbmissivesuccubus · 7 months

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Bully- Part 1

Summary: Your bully's, Gojo and Geto, find out an embarrassing secret of yours and will never let you live it down. But maybe, you don't want them to.

Disclaimer: 18+ fic. Gojo X Fem reader X Geto. Humiliation kink. Free use kink. Gojo and Geto being mean. Bully Geto and Gojo. Dub-con warning. It is subtly implied that reader wants and enjoys what's happening to her, but the boys don't care to ask for consent.

a/n: Sorry it took so long wah but here's part one to the series. I plan to write many more cause damn it is so fun haha. I promise, the next part will have all the gratuitous smut and ruthless fucking this premise deserves. Consider this an appetizer <3

Taglist: @bisexuawolfsalt @candycandy00 @nekonanamii @sirimiripetrichor @collectionofdolls @dreamsxmerci

You sighed as you walked towards your classroom, dragging your feet, knowing full well what was waiting for you. It was the end of the day and it was your turn to clean up the classroom and just your luck- you were paired up with the two people you couldn't stand.

Gojo and Geto. The two 'strongest' sorcerers of your school. Their reputation preceded them. One of them was the prodigal son of a famous family with a deadly technique while the other had an incredibly useful and powerful skill as well. Everyone disliked them to some extent, but nobody could deny that the Jujutsu world would be worse without them.

Which is why it always confused you as to why these two powerful men seemed to love bullying you.

They were never malicious but damn if they weren't annoying. They loved to tease and prank you, joking about how weak you were and how you couldn't do anything by yourself. Forget the fact that you were actually quite strong and capable- but compared to them- everyone was weak.

But they seemed to enjoy bullying you especially even if there were classmates who were of lower grade than you. Stealing your drink right before you were going to take it from the vending machine, taking unflattering pictures of you and distributing it, embarrassing you in front of strangers by treating you like a dumb baby in front of them, making loud sex noises if you were on the phone with someone, tossing away your books and stealing your money-

Gojo spanking your ass casually a few times, Geto licking off some chocolate that was smeared next to your lips like it was a normal thing to do and even that one time when they cornered you in the hallway and convinced you to let them grope your boobs:

"If you let us squeeze your tits, we'll leave you alone for a week~" Gojo had said, wangling his fingers comically as they both stared at your chest like perverts. The offer was too good to give up which led to them squeezing your clothed tits for ten second each before they left, laughing at how easy it was to use you. And of course, they continued to bother you anyway.

You could have made a complaint to the higher ups about their behavior, something your friends have told you to do but you refused. You didn't want to be the wuss who was running to the elders over something so childish when everyone has an important job to do. Dealing with some bullying was easy compared to fighting to the death with some curses.

Besides, if you reported on them...

You steeled yourself before opening to the door to the classroom, met with the sight you expected: Gojo and Geto, lounging around, not doing any work as they waited for you to do it for them because, in their words: 'the weaklings need to put in more effort'.

But what you were not expecting to see was your phone in Gojo's hand using earplugs that he had connected to the device. You knew you left your phone in the locker assigned to you in the hallways which meant these two managed to pick the lock and take it. But the anger over that was dwarfed by your sudden realization:

The way they were looking at you as you closed the door, giving you a shocked look but you could tell there was an underlying hint of pure glee.

Uh oh.

"Give me back my-"

You yelped as Geto suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, barely giving you a second to collect yourself before he wrapped his arms around your neck, catching you in a choke-hold. Before you could even react, he pulled your back against him and manhandled you as he sat on a classroom bench and forced you to sit between his legs, wrapping said legs around you. You were completely caught, your nails doing nothing even as you dug it into his arms.

"Holy fuck!" Gojo explained, eyes wide and a huge grin on his face as he continued to listen to the audio on your phone, looking over at you and Geto opposite of the table he was sitting on, "You're a perverted freak, aren't you?"

"Give it back!" you snapped, grunting in annoyance as you tried to break out of Geto's hold but the man simply laughed as he held you tighter, his legs not budging.

"This is some nasty stuff!" Gojo continued, "Who knew a weakling like you would be such a masochistic slut~" he removed the earbuds from the socket and increased the volume as he confirmed what you had feared:

"Yeah? you like that don't you? Little slut~" a man's voice echoed throughout the room from your phone speakers, "Everybody looking at you as I fuck this sloppy little pussy~ Oh this cunt is dripping for me- did you like being spanked in front of them so much?"

It was an erotic audio you had saved on your phone, one of many that you enjoyed in private. You had even saved it under non-suspicious names which meant that the boys were digging through your files to find something- and they did.

"This isn't even the only one we heard, you know." Gojo explained as he dangled the phone in front of you mockingly, "What was it again? A girl getting humiliated by her teacher in front of her classmates-"

"A girl getting groped by her boyfriend on a crowded train." Geto recollected, his lips so close to your ear you could feel his hot breath dance against your skin.

"Being used as a free-use toy by a group of guys~" Gojo said, a giant shit eating grin on his face, "Seems like this one has a humiliation kink~"

"I'm not surprised." Geto said, leaning into your ear and blowing into it, making you gasp and jump, "No wonder she never reported us to the principle for all the times we preyed on her. She was probably enjoying it."

"Oh!" Gojo said like he just realized it, "Was that why? Was your pussy growing wet every time we bullied you, little slut?"

"Fuck you." you spat out, both of the men laughing in response.

"Yeah, I bet you wanted us to fuck you." Geto growled into your ear, your shiver not going unnoticed by him, "You're fucking loving this~"

"Why don't we check?" Gojo suggested, cutting off anything you might have said, his hands inching towards your belt, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, "Let's see for ourselves if we made your pussy wet~"

"Gojo-"

"That's a great plan!" Geto interrupted, laughing as he tightened his hold your your neck, making you gasp, "Take those pants off. So baggy and loose- what a waste of a nice ass."

"I agree." Gojo said, finger now running over the metal of your belt, "it hides so much. With what I felt everytime I've spanked you- your pants do you no favors."

"Don't you- fucking dare!" You choked out, face turning slightly red from the lack of air and from Gojo slowly starting to fiddle with your belt.

"Oh, what are you gonna do about it, little slut?" Gojo teased, licking his lips as his long, lithe fingers started to tug at the leather of your belt, "Look at your fucking face- that look in your eyes? You're loving this."

"No- I'm not- fuck-" you sputtered out, failing to convey your frustrations. You couldn't stand these two assholes. Constantly picking on you and thinking they were so high and mighty- treating you like a bug on their path. So smug and narcissistic and not caring about anyone but themselves-

But as much as you'd hate to admit it, you couldn't deny that your body was throbbing. Everytime they bullied you, you felt that heat. Your heart-rate quickened and your pussy would grow wet, leaving you a confused mess every-time you got bullied. When it first happened, you didn't understand what was happening. Through some internet searching, you found those audios and realized you weren't the only one out there.

A masochist with a humiliation kink.

And without them knowing, the two guys you hate were fulfilling those fantasies for you.

Well now, they were more than aware.

"Come on, little bitch~" Geto cooed into your ear, his silky voice making you shudder, "Why settle with these audios when you can experience the real thing?"

"I...I..." you panted, heat rushing to your face and your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel your pussy dampen and had no doubt that if Gojo actually took your pants off, they'd see you be wet and needy.

"Too slow~" Gojo suddenly said, unbuckling your belt in a matter of seconds before ripping it off of you just as fast, throwing it aside. You yelped as you instinctively struggled, Geto laughing behind you as he tightened his hold on you even more, rendering you helpless. Gojo laughed as well, his bright blue eyes peeking from behind his glasses as you could see the gleam of excitement in them.

"You excited, little bitch?" Gojo cooed, licking his lips as his hands started trailing up your leg, running over the fabric of your pants as he inched up higher and higher. Everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, a rush of heat coursing through you.

"He asked you a question." Geto said, clicking his tongue as you refused to say anything, "Weren't you taught any manners?"

"Fucking- i'll kill you-" you gasped out, face growing redder as you heard Geto's growl of annoyance, feeling the vibration of his chest against your back. "Don't worry about it, Suguru." Gojo said, smirking as he started undoing the buttons of your pants, "We can punish her later for her disrespect. For now, I just want to get at this pussy~"

With a big grin, Gojo ripped your pants off of you in one fell swoop, making you squeal as he tossed it away. You shivered as your bare legs were exposed to the evening air as well as their lecherous stares. You could see Gojo's eyes trail up your legs before zoning in on your clothed pussy, the man letting out a snort as he took in your panties.

"Pink with a bow on? Really?" he joked, "how plain and not sexy."

"I think they're cute." Geto chimed in, also shamelessly staring down at your clothed cunt, "But it doesn't matter. It's not going to be on her for long, anyway."

"True." Gojo said with a nod as he hooked his finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled it out before letting go, allowing the elastic to slap back against you, "but next time, wear something sexier."

"I hate you- so much!" you snarled, face bright red, biting your lower lip as the white haired man looped his fingers back into the waistband of your panties, this time, very obviously wanting to get it off of you. You gasped, unable to stop your shivers as Gojo leaned forward and placed a kiss on your tummy, his tongue peeking out to lick at your skin as he slowly starting pulling your panties down. He laughed as you tried to squiggle out but your movements only made the slide of your panties all the more easier for him.

"Look at that~" Gojo gasped as your cunt got exposed, practically drooling as he stared like a pervert, a twinkle behind his blue eyes, "You might be a weakling but atleast you have a pretty pussy."

"Atleast she's good for something~" Geto teased, shuffling behind you and in that moment, you felt it. Something long, hard and thick pressed up against your back and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was. You gulped as you felt the imprint of Geto's cock against you, unable to help yourself as your eyes darted towards the front of Gojo's pants and sure enough: His erection was straining against it.

They were too focused on your cunt to notice where you were looking and you were too focused on their dicks to notice that your panties were now completely off and that Gojo had tossed the fabric aside. Geto immediately hooked his legs over your own before forcefully spreading them apart, leaving you wide and exposed to their perverted gazes. Gojo let out a whistle as he dragged a chair over before sitting on it, his face now right across your bare cunt.

"Fuck- fuck you- fuck you!" you gasped out and cursed, feeling lightheaded from the situation. "How does she look?" Geto asked, both of them ignoring you and you could hear the hunger in his voice and the sensation of his cock twitching against you. "Oh, she's perfect~" Gojo responded and you knew they were referring to your pussy as its own person- somehow giving it more praise and respect than they've ever given you, "And oh so wet~"

"I want to see." Geto demanded, not having the same view as Gojo, "Can't let you have all the fun."

"Sure thing, pal." Gojo said, not taking his eyes off of your pussy as he continued to stare, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. "Gojo- don't you dare-" You barked out, understanding what he was going to do- but what you hoped sounded aggressive came out soft and subservient. The man simply snorted in response, ignoring your pleas as he opened up his phone camera and started taking pictures of your pussy. You shut your eyes and squealed everytime you heard the shutter of the camera, trembling body still held tightly in Geto's arms.

"Her hole clenches every-time I take a picture~" Gojo cooed, bringing a hand up to thumb at your pussy lips before spreading them apart even more, making your back arch against Geto, "And look at this little clit! So fucking cute!"

"Just show it to me already!" Geto snarled, impatient. "Alright, alright." Gojo responded with a roll of his eyes, standing up before turning the phone towards the two of you, a shot of your spread pussy on screen. You turned your head away and closed your eyes, ears ringing at how humiliated you felt-

and pussy dripping at how good it was.

"Oh, she does look delicious!" Geto praised, gripping your chin as he forced you to turn your head back towards the phone, making you look at the picture, "You have such a pretty cunt and you hid it from us for so long?"

You whined cutely as you looked at the picture- a closeup shot of your spread cunt with a clear view of your clit and hole, your cunt glistening with slick.

"Seriously!" Gojo barked as he started swiping, showing off the various photos of your pussy that were now in his possession, "If we knew all you wanted was some fucking, we'd have pounded this pussy ages ago! I've always wanted a sex toy."

"Don't you have like a dozen already?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure this bitch's cunt will feel way better than some silicone~"

"I hate you-" you gasped out, any and all fight leaving your bones (not that there was much to begin with) as you leaned your head against Geto's shoulder, "I hate you both- so much-"

"Yeah?" Geto asked, the tone in his voice clearly indicating that he wasn't taking you seriously, "Well, this pussy says otherwise."

He let go of your chin and snaked his hand down quickly to cup your pussy, making you yelp. You didn't know if what you felt was shame or relief that there was finally a hand on your cunt- finally some friction against your dripping womanhood. You tossed your head back, eyebrows furrowed and lip trapped under your teeth as Geto's long fingers started gliding through your pussy lips. The slick sound of him rubbing circles over your hole and collecting your wetness echoed through the room, the sound making your ears burn and your chest feel like it was on fire.

This is was so...so...

so fucking fun...

"She's loving this~" Gojo predicted accurately, eyes darting between your blissful expression and Geto's fingers toying with your body, "Fucking whore- slutty bitch- oh, we are going to have fun with you~"

"Her pussy is growing wetter by the second." Geto noted, cock fully erect and throbbing against you, his other arm slowly letting go of the hold around your neck, confident that you were going to stay right there like a good little girl. You gasped as the head spinning pressure was finally off of you, taking in a few deep breaths but choking on it just as quickly as the man started using his slick covered fingers to run circles over your clit.

"You're dripping all over the table, little bitch~" Gojo teased, taking a couple more pictures before pocketing it, "Fuck- let me feel too- or- actually-"

He sat back on the chair, pulling it closer before gripping your thighs, an eager grin on his face:

"I'm gonna eat~"

"Get used to this, little bitch." Geto growled into your ear, pulling his hand away from your cunt and snickering at your whine of disappointment, "You're our toy now and we are going to do whatever we want to you, understand?"

His hands came upto your chest, lithe fingers starting to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one, revealing a patch of skin before the peeks of your bra. Gojo licked his lips and moved forward, his hot breath fanning against your slick cunt.

"Whatever. We. Want."

#subby writes #jujutsu geto smut #jujutsu gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu geto #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader x geto #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

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