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namazunomegami · 2 months

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Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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nothomegal · 9 months

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“The little owl family” (Part 3)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond.Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: typical mentions of murder, Mikey being obsessive and violent.

Word Count: 4k. (Sorry for so much text- )

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

Both siblings have returned home after making a visit to the plice station. (Y/N) was a bit moody but mostly relieved that the police finally listened. They already visited the station, the day after finding the dinosaur drawing, but of course everyone thought they were crazy for freaking out over a scrible, saying that maybe some teens saw them around the Myers house and decided to prank them. They had non of it yet couldn't do much, the only advice the cop gave them was to close the doors and keep the inside of the house private.

Now however, when the police heard (S/N)'s testimony that's when they took it more serious. Sure, the probability of it being some dumbass dressing up to be funny was there, yet it worth checking just in case, specially when knowing that the real Michael Myers kidnapped his sister. And who knows, maybe he'll do the same but with some random child...

—"(Y/N)..."—

(S/N)'s gentle voice shut all overwhelming thoughts inside (Y/N)'s mind. They slowly put the knife next to the cooking board and look at their sister.

—"What is it songbird? Still scared?"—

The girl fidgets with her fingers a bit while staring on the tiled kitchen floor. Eventually she sighs and her arms drop.

—"I'm sorry..."—

(Y/N) blinks a couple of times, confused with their sudden apology.

—"Sorry? For what?"— you ask, genuinely confused.

—"For starting all this mess... I think Terry is right, I'm just a scaredy cat that overreacted."— she says, her expression guilty.

Their eyes widened slightly, they walk over to their sister and kneel in front of her.

—"You did nothing wrong sweetheart, you actually did the right thing! The police is there to help, to protect us."— you say softly as you cup her cheek. —"And you better get ready because tomorrow I'll say Terry some not-so-nice things to that goblin so he leaves you alone."—

—"It's... It's not about Terry anymore, it's about you (Y/N)."— she lowers her gaze even more. —"I- I don't like how much you have to worry now, and it's all because of me! If-... If I just stayed quiet, if I didn't ask to see that dumb old house we would be okay and happy, and we would be able to celebrate Halloween!... I ruined it all I- "—

Before (S/N) could continue with her rant, her sibling wraps their arms around her form tightly, holding her close in silence for a few seconds.

—"I said you did nothing wrong. This situation could've happe to anyone, and we got the unluky number. I know you're worried about me and I admit that I may not be at my best state, but it will pass eventually and everything will be right again."— you lean back a bit, your gaze warm. —"We just need to hold on a bit, until the police catches that scary man. I'm sure it will be soon."—

(S/N), more calm, nods as she wipes the little tears that were threatning to slide down her cheeks.

—"Was that man Michael Myers?... Is he the Boogeyman?..."—

(Y/N)'s body goes stiff as they think what to answer. They haven't told their sister about the stranger's identity, not wanting to scare her even further but it seems like (S/N) started to figure out the whole situation by herself.

—"I-... I don't know."— you sigh, but she doesn't seem convinced. —"Myers is supposed to be in the asylum and- "—

—"He escaped... Did he?"— she glances at you.

After a little pause, their sibling nods, their expression a bit sad, even ashamed for trying to keep her oblivious. But the girl had no anger or resentment in her eyes, but a desire to know.

—"What did he do so everyone are so scared of him?..."—

—"I'm... I'm not sure you want to know that... Long story short; very scary and bad things."—

—"What things? Please tell me (Y/N)! I promise I won't get scared!"— she begs you in a childish tone.

(Y/N) remains quiet, thinking. Eventually they sigh and stand up.

—"You better take a sit, I'll go get you a poptart."— you simply say.

The girl gets a little spine chill, both excited and worried about what her sibling is about to tell her. Ones the girl took her sit on the dining table and was munching the sweet treat, (Y/N) starts speaking while resuming their cooking.

—"Last year, a few days before Halloween, all grown up Michael Myers escaped. He killed people while doing it, and not in a pretty way..."—

(S/N) freezes mid bite.

—"K-Killed?..."—

—"Yes... Killed. One of the victims was one of his caretakers, a sweet old man that was there since he was a kid..."—

(Y/N) could see how physically uncomfortable their sister got, even if the details of how he killed him weren't mentioned. They began to feel bad for the little girl and were ready to stop the 'story telling', but the girl proved to be tougher than expected.

—"And what happened after he escaped?..."—

—"He... He tracked his little sister, that is now a teen. He murdered her adoptive parents, a friend and then kiddnapped her, nearly killing her as well in the process. The sister survived though, and Michael Myers supposedly died when she shot him, but as we can see he didn't..."—

The little girl listens quietly, taking in the information and shrinking on her sit every second, the munched poptart still untouched in her shaky hands.

—"Is he... Is he coming to kills us?"— she finally asks.

There are a few seconds of silence, until (Y/N) breaks it, their tone loud, strict, cold... Yet burning with anger and determination.

—"I won't allow it."— and you meant it. —"If he dares to come, I will break every single limb of his. He's not touching you while I'm still breathing."—

Such tone took (S/N) off guard, she never saw her sibling be so cold and serious about anything.

—"But... But what if he hurts you?..."—

—"He won't. Mom and dad won't allow him."— you reply with a softer tone and then turn towards her. —"Even if they're not here, they still taking care of us. We'll be okay, songbird. I promise."— you smile.

The girl remains silent, observing their expression to see if they're just pretending, but (Y/N)'s look and words seemed genuine. She eventually smiles back with a toothy grin.

—"You're right! Bet the ghost of mom and dad are going to haunt him if he dares to come!"—

—"Oh they definetely will! Dad was scary but angry mom was even scarier!"—

And the dull atmosphere from before vanished in a blink of an eye, the siblings talking about random topic which would make them either laugh or argue. The tunes coming out from the speaker only made their afternoon even better, singing or even dancing, anything to keep the dark thoughts away.

But of course, they weren't enjoying it alone. The dark presence was outside, hiding in the shadows. Even though he couldn't see (Y/N) through the windows anymore, due to the curtains they strictly maintained closed, their tone alone was enough to make him feel the same adrenaline spike, his chest heavy with some sort of excitement. The way their cold voice managed to penetrate and shake every single bone and muscle inside of him was an indescribable feeling, yet so, so adicting. They knew who he is, the atrocities he commited and how much of a threat he is, yet they made it clear how many fucks they give about it, only worrying about the safety of the little one.

And now... Now that the atmosphere inside of the house changed, so did his mood. The way they both laughed, chanted, danced... Every single interaction between these two radiated with warmth, warmth strong enough to keep the crude outside world away from their little happy home.

From their little happy family...

Happy family...

He should be envious of them, he should be mad at them for having what he could never have, she should try to destroy it, to destroy the both of them so he stops feeling bad...!

But... He doesn't. He doesn't feel bad at all, none of these negative and destructive feelings are haunting him, not ones. It's the oposite, he actually feels warmth whenever he observes them, some alien coziness that unknowingly to him would make his body relax and gaze soft. He's not sure why he feels like this, but he can't deny the fact that if feels good... Peaceful, he feels at peace for ones in his wretched life.

He should be content with that, with what he has it should be enough, it should... But he knows that his mind will crave for more...

And it's only a matter of time before he loses control.

. . .

October 28th.

The last couple of days been pretty uneventful, the 'Boogeyman' wasn't mentioned anymore and didn't appear ones, even the owl family resumed their carefree lifestyle and were already teaching their babies to fly!

But unfortunately, tonight the siblings couldn't observe the birds due to a hard storm outside. Rain, wind, thunder, you named it all.

(S/N) was in (Y/N)'s room, she was quite scared of thunders so of course she would ask to sleep with their sibling who, unlike the young one, was probably having the best sleep of their life.

The bed was quite wide so they both fit without any issue, each one with their own blanket.

At some point though, a particulary loud thunder resonated, which made (S/N) cuddle closed to (Y/N). The mentioned sibling woke up due the loud sound but thought nothing of it, ready to close their eyes and go back to sleep.

But suddenly, an alarming feeling striked in their gut. Something felt wrong, is the air colder? Heavier? Is their heartbeat too loud? Is the house too silent? It's hard to tell what exactply isn't right, but they know something is.

They suddenly sit up, their eyes wide and staring at the door. The little girl felt the sudden movement and also sit up, though her form sleepy and confused.

—"Uh?... What's wrong?"— she mumbles before yawning.

—"...I don't know."— you reply, still staring at the door.

The girl blinks a couple of times and also looks at the door. They both remain in this position completely still, barely breathing, until a very faint thud resonated somewhere downstairs. Sure, the noise could mean whatever, but the sense of dread inside of (Y/N) only increased, demanding them to take actions.

—"{Songbird.}"— you whisper, your tone urgent. —"{I want you to tiptoe towards the closet and hide in there, do not come out until I say so.}"—

—"{B-But- }"—

She has no time to ask questions because (Y/N) had stand up and was already searching under their bed for something. They eventually find what they've been looking for, a hunting rifle.

They then look up and glance at their sister, who was completely frozen on the bed with a horrified expression.

—"{Just go hide, please. And if things get ugly...}"— you pause, glancing at the door briefly. —"{Then run away, run towards our next house neighbors and ask them to call the police, okay?"}—

—"{But (Y/N)!... Y-You-...}"—

They nudge her side gently, silently telling her to stop talking and hide. With a huge effort the girl manages to make her body move again and as quietly as she could she made her way towards the closet, hiding her form inside and gently closing the door.

(Y/N) remained in place, near the bed with the rifle already pointing at the door. For solid five minutes absolutely nothing happened, the wind kept howling, the rain pouring and the thunders striking, but nothing else, there were no more odd sounds inside the hou-

Footsteps, the unmistakable sound of footsteps resonated from the stairs. Whoever was walking was doing it slowly, casually even, as if they owned the place. (Y/N) kept their posture, pre aiming at the door and simply waiting, if the intruder is bold enough to enter into their room they'll shoot without thinking twice. Sure, the idea of killing another human is scary and definetely puts their mind even more on edge, but it's either their and (S/N)'s or the intruder's life.

The footsteps eventually stop right in front of the door. There are another good few minutes of silence but it's suddenly interrupted by a loud and bright thunder, which illuminated the whole room and the hall. And right there, through the door crack, they saw an unmistakable shadow of a human.

With no time to waste and with enough evidence that there is an intruder, (Y/N) pulls the trigger.

BANG!

A faint line of smoke is coming out the rifle, but there was no thud or screams of pain at the other side of the door, nothing.

They remain in position for a while but after not hearing anything, or seeing through the tiny hole they just made, (Y/N) slowly lowers the gun, questioning if there even was someone or it's actually their unhealthy paranoia getting the best of them.

They got their answer when the door practically flew off it's hanles and a giant dark mass charged at them. They try to aim and shoot again but the intruder is way faster and manages to grab the end of the rifle and tilt it up the moment (Y/N) pulls the trigger again, making them shoot at the ceiling.

They both struggle, (Y/N) desperately trying to get the gun free but the intruder is way too strong, he's also big, which makes it nearly impossible to push away.

Realizing that things are actually about to get ugly, they shout.

—"(S/N)! RUN!"—

The closet door swings open and the little girl sprints out the room, quietly crying and extremely scared. The massive stranger stopped for a brief moment when he heard the girl, it was just a moment of stillness that ended up with him practically ripping off the rifle out of (Y/N)'s grasp and throwing it agains the wall with great force.

The next thing they know is that the intruder managed to get to their neck. Ones has a firm hold of it, he stands up to his full height and slams their body against the wall, knocking out any oxygen left in their lungs. It didn't stop (Y/N) from struggling though, doing their best to land a kick on his stomack or the lower (and more painful) parts, yet their attempts were cut short when the stranger began to squeeze their neck with both hands, making their struggles weaker.

Eventually, the lack of oxygen began to affect (Y/N) and their arms drop and their body goes numb. Only when they nearly fainted, is when the stranger lose his grip, not enough to let go but enough to let them breathe as they're kept in place.

Durning this little moment of calm another thunder striked and illuminated the room, allowing them to see the emotionless face of the stranger, staring right into their sould.

—"{Myers...}"— you mouth breathlessly.

A sudden little thud followed by a rubber squeak got their attention. (Y/N)'s eyes wide and fill with terror when they see (S/N) standing in the doorway with a little pile of toys in one arm.

—"Leave them alone! You ugly monster!"—

She exclaims as she throws another toy into Michael's broad back, the toy making little to no harm. The man merely glances over his shoulder, his gaze now focused on her little frame.

—"You're mad at us because we visited your home, are you?! (Y/N) did absolutelly nothing wrong, we went there because of me! I am the guilty one! You should've punish me instead!"—

She exclaims again, tears sliding down her cheeks like rivers yet she didn't care. The girl stood high and threw another toy.

—"Or you want to take them away?! I know you have a little sister too, I- "— she hiccups a bit. —"I can be your new little sister! Please take me! Punish me! B-But please! Please leave (Y/N) alone!"—

The girl ends up desperately sobbing, both scared of the man in front of her and the fact that her sibling may disappear forever. Michael slowly turns towards her as he lets go of (Y/N), their body falling into the floor as they gasp for air.

The man starts to slowly and menacingly walk towards (S/N). The girl suddenly realized the mess she just got herself into as she starts to back away, throwing the rest of her toys at the man in a desperate attempt to slow him down, but all they did is bounce off his body into the floor.

—"W-Wait! Ne-Never mind! I- I ch-changed my mind! I don't want t-to go anywhere!"— she lets out a squeak when her back hit the wall in the hall.

The massive man gets even closer, his shadow making the already dark house even darker, darkness that threatens to engulf anything and never let go. The girl lets out a terrified cry as she shields herself with her hands.

—"(Y/N)!"—

The desperate cry of their name made them regain their conscience quickly, they see Michael Myers being just two feets away from their sister, blocking any escape with his broad figure as he extends his hand towards the little girl. Oh god he's about to strangle her just like he attempted with them!

(S/N) is in danger.

They must save her.

No matter what.

But what both siblings failed to see, was the way Michael moved his arm towards the little girl. His movements where slow and smooth, no aggression reflected in them.

When he was about to brush his finger agains (S/N)'s arm, a spartan-like war cry resonated behind him and something cold was wrapped around his neck. (Y/N) tugs the thick wire back rougly, causing the behemoth to stumble backwards, leaving enough room for (S/N) to escape.

—"RUN GODDAMNIT!"— you yell.

And this time (S/N) listens, sprinting through the stairs as fast as her body allows, leaving the house and not return.

The struggle between Michael and (Y/N) continued, they held tightly into the wire, trying to squeaze it even more while Michael attempted to get them off his back. The man eventually gets the solution and slams his body, back first, agains the wall, but (Y/N) doesn't give up. He repeats this maneuver a couple of times until their grip is lose enough to peel them off him and throw them into the floor.

The fall didn't go well, (Y/N) ended up going face first into the floor, but whatever pain they felt is quickly overshadowed by the adrenaline rushing through their veins. They know they won't be able to kill this monster, they know they're going to die, they know they have no chance, they know... But they refuse to go down so easily.

Durning the struggle, it seems like the man dropped his weapon, which (Y/N) had already grabbed as they stand up again. They hold the knife tightly as they stare into the man’s eyes, blood was leaking through their nose down their chin like a river. And despite this, despite all of these disadvantages, they stand hight and ready to keep fighting.

The killer must think they’re insane for even daring to get back to their feet, that they’re delusional for attempting to fight back… But (Y/N) does not care, not when their most loved one is in danger.

Michael remains completely still, looking at (Y/N)’s form. The moment their eyes made contact again, the same spine chill jolted through his body. The feeling was electrifying, so adictive, it began to intoxicate his mind, his eyes half lidded and breath heavy. He shouldn't be like this, (Y/N)'s eyes should not cause his body to react like that, but he can't help it...

Their eyes... There was no fear on them, only cold rage, a burning determination to protect and fight back. This gaze could be compared to the one of a wild wolf protecting an injured member of their pack.

The sacrifice they were ready to make in order to protect their sister caused Michael to feel a bit of respect towards them... Maybe even admiration, no, obsession. He was obsessed with their eyes, with their voice, with them... He was obsessed with (Y/N).

They both remains still, but eventually, and to their misfortune, Michael makes a move. He charges at them but (Y/N) seemed to learn from their previous mistake as they step aside and make a clear slash on his shoulder, causing the man release a low groan.

They attempt to stab him on the neck but Michael quickly grabs their wrist mid attack and tightly squeezes it, to the point that he felt something pop inside and right after that the knife was released from their grasp. But (Y/N) still refused to give up, this time they attepts to land a hit on his face or grab his mask, attempt that was cut short when Michael pushed them into the floor and practically tackled them.

(Y/N) glares daggers at him, their gaze hateful.

—"Don't you get it you sick fuck?!"— you exclaim, voice full of anger.

Michael only tilts his head, action that only pisses (Y/N) off.

—"I am not stopping, I won't stop fighting, not when my sister is in danger! Not while I'm still breathing!"—

And after these words they start struggling under Michael's large body, as the man himself got entranced with them again. Their bloodied visage looked so beautiful to him for some reason, their eyes filled with hate, not only towards him, but towards everything in the world made his breath shake. If it was any other victim he would be frustrated with such behavior... But not with (Y/N), never with them.

At some point, their struggles began to morph into quiet sobs, desperate and disappointed. They were disappointed with themselves, their helplessness and their inability to protect (S/N), not from this monster. They failed her...

They look away and bite their lip, holding their cries as best as possible, not wanting this beast to see them cry, to give him the joy watching them slowly break. This new picture of (Y/N) caused something inside of Michael's chest squeeze painfully, this new broken and vulnerable (Y/N) was very different from the previous one. It may not cause him the same thrill, but in ignites a new emotion, something he though he lost very, very long ago...

Protectiveness.

The same one he felt when he saw Angel cry, when she cowered away from him before he tried to reveal himself... And even after she tried to escape, he still felt protective of her in his own way... And now he feels it towards (Y/N).

Michael's head then straightens as he began to lean down, closer to them. (Y/N) tries to use their last bits of strength to push him away, slow him down, anything to keep him away from killing them in that same instant. When they feel his large arms wrap around their form, they shut their eyes tightly, expecting to feel pain at any second as he breaks their body limb by limb... But that doesn't happen.

They keep their eyes closed for a solid minute, and when still nothing happen, they open them just to be greeted by Michael's large form holding them in a tight embrace. His body warm despite his clothes being wet, the heat slightly soothing any pain in (Y/N)'s body, but not their mind. Being this close they can feel how powerful and strong Michael's body is, even embraced they can barely move, he could easily break their spine at any moment with enough force if he wanted to...

But (Y/N) had no time to question it or had any strength to push him since the adrenaline started to worn off and their vision and senses to slowly black out.

They're not sure how long Michael held them, but eventually he let go and stood up as the plice sirens got closer. He throws one last glance at (Y/N)'s nearly unconscious form before grabbing his knife and walking away.

But, it wasn't the last time they will see him...

Because the monster inside of him will force him to return…

#nothomegal fic #michael myers #rz michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x reader #gn reader #halloween #slasher x reader

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ilys00ga · 8 months

Text

FOREVER, YOU & ME.

pairing: yoongi x oc

genre: yandre!yoongi, doctor!yoongi, patient!reader, doctor/hospital au, one-shot.

warning: mentions of drugs (?), obsessive and manipulative behavior, non-consensual, use of pet names.

A/N: tried something new :) really couldn't stop myself from writing again. sorry.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

pitch dark night sky, bright colorful lights drowning the crowded streets of Seoul and fireworks painting the canvas of the sky. it's New Years Eve, everyone is outside. people playing here, others dancing there. even those who prefer staying inside restaurants to enjoy the presence of their loved ones in the first moments of the year.

however the celebration is, everyone is doing something on the streets of Seoul tonight.

one hour post midnight, and the hospital is still alive and cold, as usual.

"I left some other reports and important papers on your desk, I'll be helping Dr. choi for the rest of the night." nurse Jeon tells yoongi as they stand at the reception.

"are there any news on the missing patient?" nurse Jeon asks.

"nope. it's been three days and still no trace." the receptionist answers.

"that's weird. she was getting discharged right before disappearing." nurse Jeon's brows furrow. "poor girl suffered here for months and never got a break."

"maybe she just decided to leave quietly with no warning." yoongi hums casually. it's no rare case to have patients leaving the hospital with no words, as soon as their treatment ends. some are just impatient as that.

"she was friendly though, hyung. I expected a small goodby, to be honest." yoongi snorts with an eye roll at the younger's pout. he is naturally social, this one, he likes to befriend the patients to make them feel as comfortable as their healing process requires, and maybe a tiny bit more.

yoongi, on the other hand, is less social and more professional. he likes to focus only on his job and to smoothly terminate his missions.

"she was your patient, though, are you not even slightly worried, hyung?" he added.

"she's probably having a blast now, Jeon, it's new year's eve in the outside world. now, you get going." with a last pat on the nurse's back, yoongi bids his goodbye and leaves to the upper floors.

he passes by sleepy rooms, walking through long, white corridors with his hands tucked in the pockets of his white, neat knee-length lab coat. there's barely any people at this hour in the hospital, so any loud noise can be ten times louder in the thick, silent air of the night. he hums a random melody he grew fond of in the past couple of days as quietly as he can.

finally, he reaches a door. twisting the knob and entering his much warmer office, in which he barely lets anyone save from his nurses and very few collegue-friends.

unwanted presence means unwanted curiosity, which leads to unwanted questions and feelings.

ever so quietly, he removes the stethoscope hanging from the back of his neck and down to his chest, then puts it atop the desk. he always avoides touching the silver parts because of how annoyingly cold they usually get, despite the awake radiators that are distributed everywhere in the building.

bending towards one of the drawers, he opens it, pulls a key and a filled needle out, then heads to open another door inside the office. a door strictly forbidden for anyone except from himself.

every time the very few people that are allowed inside the office ask about that door, he says it's the private room in which he uses for resting and personal time when his shift hours get crazy.

a wave of relief washes over him upon stepping in.

the space is almost empty, limited in furniture. there's darkness, a small lamp on a small night stand right next to a bed, a heater, and there's a body.

someone is lying on that bed.

you are lying on that bed. small form, unmoving limbs, resting pale face, closed eyes, dark circles, dry lips... it would've been easy to assume that your soul had already left and rose high up to the skies if it weren't for the faint raise and fall of your torso.

a low melody, the same one he was humming a few minutes ago, can be heard as well. almost non-audible, not to grab any external attention or... disturb your deep, deep slumber.

yoongi smiles as he slowly sits on the edge of the bed, so careful as if you'd wake up at the smallest of mouvements.

the faint yellow lights of the lamp shone gently on your face, making him lift his hand to caress you skin and stare. thoughtless and content. just staring.

a few moments pass by and he snaps out of his hase, remembering what needs to be done first and before anything else.

he grabs the needle with one hand and holds your wrist in the other. he's so gentle with his touch. so gentle as if to apologize for what he's been doing to you.

"it's time for your shots, pertal." he whispers to your unconscious body. "I'm helping you sleep soundlessly, with no worries or corrupt thoughts."

the needle stabs your skin and pushes the drug into you vein.

"it's been three days, my love. I love having you here, you know?" he pulls the needle out and puts it in his pocket.

"people are looking for you. they want to take you away from me. like you wanted to leave and go away.. far away.. and leave.. I won't let that happen." his face eyes grow sharper as his words become saltier, but his voice stands soft and calm.

he lays down to face your stomach and hugs you. he hugs you tight and close, afraid you'd jump out of the bed and run away at any given moment. as if you could even lift a finger in your condition.

yoongi closes his eyes shut and inhales deeply, allowing your scent to settle into his lungs, locking it there and in his brain as well so he could remember it when he's away from you, doing whatever shitty thing his job makes him do during his shift.

"I can't let you go. I know you're a good little thing. nothing will change between us as long as you behave and stay with me. like this. forever."

"it's you and me forever, darling."

#yoongi #bts #agustd #yoongi fluff #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #yoongi au #bts fluff #bts yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi icons #yandere #yandere yoongi

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crownmemes · 15 days

Text

Detective Sentences, Vol. 18

(Sentences from various sources for detectives and/or muses that like to solve mysteries. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"I've gone over all of your cases, and I don't see any signs of genius at all."

"I don't forget anything - or anyone."

"I'm as baffled by this conflicting evidence as you are."

"You know how I hate computers. There's only one way to catch criminals, and that's good, old-fashioned police work!"

"You're lacking in imagination, that's your problem."

"We're all human. We all make mistakes. It's just that, in this line of work, the consequences of those mistakes are simply more consequential."

"What's really going on here?"

"You can't put a tick in the 'no publicity' box, you know."

"What happened to follow the facts? What happened to that?"

"I just asked you a straight question. I want you to give me a straight answer."

"Coincidences make me uncomfortable."

"How long have you been in CID?"

"There must be a rational answer for all of this."

"I don't always like the way you do things, but whatever our disagreements, I have the highest regard for your integrity."

"This is still a murder inquiry. You should treat it seriously."

"My lawyer would probably fire me as a client if he knew I was talking to you."

"Is there really ever such a thing as an accident?"

"We are in the middle of a murder enquiry! I think private lives can wait!"

"You used to be with the Serious Crime Squad, didn't you?"

"Enough! Not everything is a puzzle that needs to be solved!"

"Have you nothing better to do than sit with your feet on the desk, slurping tea?"

"If you're a risk factor, I'll pull you off the case!"

"One of the golden rules of detection is if you don't find something, keep looking."

"You prove how clever you are on your own patch. This is mine."

"You're really not good at reading people, are you?"

"I cannot for one moment believe that any breach of confidence on your part was deliberate, but your haphazard way of working was always bound to lead to this kind of cock-up!"

"You know, you should be very careful when you make allegations that you can't substantiate."

"What are criminals going to think if you show up to an arrest wearing that?"

"There's no such thing as saying too much when talking to a police officer."

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #assorted;#detective;

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chrisrin · 6 months

Note

I would like to know what your boundaries are when it comes to interacting with you.

are you ok with requests or questions that don’t have to do with your works

are you ok with receiving headcanons that are not relevant to or may contradict with what you already have

how many asks are you comfortable with receiving at one time.

Are there other things that you want us to know about fan interaction that I didn’t think to ask about

sure sure!

yeah i don't mind! i can't promise i'll answer them, esp. if it's anon. if you answer me non-anon i usually try to respond privately at least, if not publicly. this isn't always the case but. ya. if it's about something i don't really interact with, i probably won't publicly post it.

ye, i don't mind. but again, might not post it publicly. i do read every ask though! also unless i ask for them, don't send me art requests. i don't mind them but just don't waste your time, i won't do them. if u wanna commission me though that's here. i will draw anything* for money ^_^

i got like 882 asks stored up in my inbox you can flood me with as much stuff as you want, idm.

uhhhhhhhh nahhh? just don't be weird! have some basic social/internet etiquette, i'm just a guy behind the computer screen who has to wash his dishes every day just like you etc. etc.

#chris talks

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drdtfuitgumies · 18 days

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pinned post

(updated: 6th may 2024, i forgot to finish a sentence??? added a rule about ship asks)

this blog is unofficial, and not affiliated with danganronpa: despair time, the official danganronpa franchise, spike chunsoft, or nisa. all characters belong to danganronpa: despair time; all art is made by me unless stated otherwise.

continuity: -) (11/5/2024) arei has stolen david's hairclips and will be wearing them until further notice

let's have fun!! rules & quick faq under cut

blog explanation & rules

i'll be drawing the drdt characters in my fuit gumy style (example above, and also it needs to be spelt exactly that way). ideally i post one thing a day, but real life circumstances might help or hinder me

requests are currently open. i can't promise that i'll get to every request and i don't know if i can answer every ask, but i'll try my best!

i do not Bite but please be nice to me!! i am just a 1) gremlin 2) a Student who needs stability and routine

i can draw headcanons, aus, and such, but i'll be adhering to canon most of the time. also, i love weird combos too if you can find an explanation for them interacting whether platonically, romantically, or a secret third thing

if a request has multiple characters, please specify if you mean it romantically or not, so romantic interactions can be given ship tags as well. if it isn't specified in the request, i'll interpret it as platonic by default (i'm pretty dense and have trouble interpreting interactions sometimes)

i won't draw, read any of these asks, or interact with certain blogs if they contain: nsfw (out of personal comfort!), hate speech (what are you doing here), proship

this blog is NOT spoiler free! most of my art here is 99% going to be unserious shitposts anyways, but this is here just in case. also since drdt is 16+ this blog is 16+ too

any of my art posted in this blog can be used for personal use with credit (icons, headers, wallpapers, discord emotes for private servers and any other social media that lets you do that kinda stuff), but (for now) please don't repost in other social media (you can just share links if you'd like!)

quick faq before anyone asks

call me gremlyn (18+)! you can find me on @thatseitagremlin (drdt sideblog) / @iamjustagremlin (limbus main)

for this blog i draw with miro . com by default so i can restrict myself to a limited brush and color palette. this helps my brain not get distracted when drawing. depending on what tomfoolery i come up with or what requests i get i might use other apps though!

whit is the posterboy for this blog because he's my favorite character. my blorbo, if you will. my other faves are j, nico, and xander (i feel a Lot of cuteness aggression with xander specifically) if you're curious

i'm an omnivore and am fine with most ships but if i had to pick a ship to fight for it'd probably be charwhit or areiden. i also like jarei but i'm not sure if i prefer it platonically, romantically, or a secret third thing, and i'm not bothered enough to find out soon

also, do you guys know how to run an ask blog. because i don't. but once again, let's be nice and have fun!!

#pinned post #danganronpa despair time #drdt #fuit gumy art #whit young

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girls-alias · 6 months

Text

Sam's years - Sam Winchester X reader.

Part 1

Title: Sam's years.

Words: 1109.

Relation: Sam x reader.

No tw

Prompt:

Sam running into you years later after you left the hunting life.

Sam's pov :

I closed the impala door before approaching the kinder garden. I can't believe we're picking a kid up just so Dean can get laid! I stood off to the side as Dean talked to the woman at the desk. He didn't seem to have much luck as She kept shaking her head and ignoring him.

"Sam?" a voice called beside me, the voice was familiar but I couldn't place it. I turned to see y/n looking at me slightly confused, slightly panicked. The truth was I was feeling panicked too. The last time I saw y/n She was leaving. Leaving the hunting life, leaving her reality and leaving me. We weren't officially dating, everyone knew we were together but we never really said it.

"How've you been?' She asked a little nervously. I was nervous too, I haven't seen her in years but she looks just as beautiful as she was when I fell in love with her. I couldn't hold in my smile.

"I'm good, Dean's his usual self. Picking a kid up so he can get laid with the mother." I chuckled as she giggled slightly, the beautiful giggle I had always missed. "What are you doing here?' I asked looking around the bright colours of the kinder garden. She cleared her throat about to speak when She was interrupted.

"Mommy!" a little girl chanted as she ran to y/n. The little girl instantly ran into her arms as she crouched to hug her. I looked over the scene confused but soon saw Dean approaching seeming just as confused as I was. Y/n began talking to the little girl about her day.

"Is that?' Dean questions so I answered with a simple yes. "She has a kid?' he questioned again so I repeated my answer. I was shaken back into reality when the little girl approached Dean and me.

"Hi, I'm Rory." The little girl explained in the cutest voice imaginable.

"It's nice to meet you," Dean replied showing how bad he is with kids. He doesn't know she won't understand.

"It's nice to meet you too. You're Sam and Dean, my mommy has a photo with you at home," Rory explained and I was a little shocked not just because of the photo but because she couldn't be any older than three. She's a baby and having a full conversation.

"Who are you here for?" Y/N asked Dean so he smiled.

"Lydia's boy," He explained so she smiled and approached the woman at the desk. She began talking to her but I couldn't listen in.

"How tall are you?" Rory asked me so I looked at her.

"6'3," I replied. So, she smiled.

"You're taller than my dad. I've never met him but mommy says I'll probably be taller than her because of his height," She explained so I smiled. She seems pretty smart for a child. Dean gave me a look, I couldn't explain it but I looked at him confused.

"He had to have died, no one would dare leave Y/N even if she was pregnant, she's still hot," He commented making me roll my eyes. It was always obvious Dean wanted her but she paid him no attention, even before her and I were almost a thing. It's strange to see her having a normal life. Every hunter always says there's no way out but she did it. I always believed that if anyone could do it, it would be her. Y/N started approaching us again, this time a boy was holding her hand. She smiled at me and it felt as though nothing had changed like I was back 4 years in time and seeing her as I always did. A weird part of me was expecting her to do our little signal for us to find somewhere private but she didn't, she just smiled at Rory.

"Where are you heading?" I asked a little too enthusiastically. She giggled and Rory seemed to look at her a little confused. Giggling was always something she only did with me, maybe that's still the case. I smiled at the thought.

"Rory and I have plans but it was nice seeing you," She explained as she said goodbye to the little boy and took Rory's hand. She gave me a final smile before leaving, I watched after her as my eyes followed her out of view.

I was sat with the little boy, Luke, as Dean entertained his mother. Luke was happily watching TV so I sat thinking of Y/N. She hasn't changed, even after giving birth, she had the same body and smile.

"What's your name?" The boy asked bringing me back to reality.

"Sam," I replied a little confused, I had told him earlier.

"Why does that man call you Sammy?" He asked so I sighed. I don't want to think about Dean right now, not when I know what he's doing to his mom.

"I'm his brother, he always calls me Sammy," I explained but he smiled.

"Why didn't Rory call you Daddy?" He asked so I looked at him confused. "My mom says Rory's dad was called Sammy and miss Y/N was stupid for leaving him. She thinks she's an idiot because she saw your picture and says you're hot... Are you sick?" He rambled and suddenly I was lost thinking.

"How old is Rory?" I asked and he smiled.

"3, she brought the cake into school last week," He explained and I sat silently doing maths. If Rory is 3 and her birthday was last week then Y/N would have been 4 months pregnant when she left. The baby is mine! Rory is my little girl! I quickly jumped to my feet.

"Wait here and watch the TV" I explained before hurrying out the house and into the Impala. I hurried to the school and approached the woman at the desk. "Y/N, do you know where she is?" I asked hastily. The woman at the desk seemed surprised by my urgency but calmed down to give me a sympathetic look.

"She just called, she pulled Rory out of school. Y/N's dad has fallen sick and she needs to leave town to look after him, I'm sorry," She explained making me groan. I rubbed my face as I willed the tears in my eyes not to fall. Y/N's dad died years ago, it's why she became a hunter. I sighed as I left, it's been years since I've seen her, I don't want to wait another 4 years to see her again. What am I supposed to do?

Masterlist

PART 2

#fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #part 1

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imrllytootiredforthis · 10 months

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Sweet tears of ecstasy? That intrigues me

okay so Sweet tears of ecstasy is one that i've been working on for awhile...it'll probably (dunno for sure😅) never come out if i'm being honest because it's a whole ass series with complexity and toxicity, an actual plot between the smut.

the thing is idk if i actually have the commitment and drive to finish something like this, so if i did end up posting it, it would probably be after i finished writing all of it-which idk if it'll ever happen😭

it is hongjoong x fem!reader x mingi, a college au.

the reader is a smartass in one of mingi's classes who he's obsessed with-why? because he likes smart girls who say things he doesn't understand while he looks at them with stars in his eyes, nodding along even though he has zero idea what they're saying (basically he's a himbo)

the reader is a very private and closed off person, has a few close friends but even with them she mostly keeps to herself. one of said people she is close with is hongjoong-who is pretty popular. him and the reader are like fwb but keep it on the down-low because it's not really anyone else's business.

anyways, the plot pretty much is, mingi ends up walking in on them in the bathroom at a party one night...doing unspeakable things and immediately leaves, embarrassed but even afterwards he can't stop thinking about it

that's all i'm gonna say for the plot, just in case i ever do end up releasing it but yeah. i've got a few parts of it written, i'll release one small snippet of one of them here

Sweet tears of ecstasy

“Shit,” You groan, chest heaving, a bead of sweat rolling down your temple.

Fingers twirl through threads of his hair as he pants as well, trying to calm his racing heart while almost (maybe) unaware of the affect that it had on your shivering body from his hot breath fanning across you.

He could barely help the churn in his stomach at the way you looked down at him, hungry as your eyes roved over his skin; ravenous, like you weren’t above pouncing on him the second after you came despite the slight tremble still apparent in your legs.

“Stop looking at me like that!” He moaned, trying to hide his head in your thigh as he squirmed, your hand in his hair holding him back.

How could you not? It would be a crime to not appreciate how puffed and red his lips were, his hair messy and chin covered in a mess that his tongue seemed determined to clean, poking out every so often. “Like what babyboy?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes as you smile, cupping his cheek in time for him to brush his head against your inner thighs, blowing at you just to hear you hiss.

You groan, “Don’t be a dick!” Using the position in favour for shoving him back, away from you before frowning at the cold left behind and pulling him back in.

He almost laughs but instead kisses your skin softly, lovingly.

“You’ve gotten too good at that y’know?”

“I dunno,” he looks up before crawling up into your open arms, allowing him to cuddle up against you as you light a cigarette, placing it between your lips with a puff. “Is there such a thing as being too good at eating pussy?”

The smell of nicotine fills his head, making him feel cloudy and safe.

He’s never liked it when you smoke, told you many times to stop, tried many times to make you.

Hiding them, throwing them in the trash, sending you websites and YouTube videos, threatening you. Nothing’s worked and he still doesn’t like it but he can’t help the way that the smell alone is almost enough to make him hard again.

A cigarette before you give him the best orgasm he’s had in his life, relighting the same one right after, right before round two and then another one before you hop into the shower afterwards.

Pavlov’s dogs or some shit, right?

“You wanna stay the night?” The words echo hollowly, seeming to bounce off the four walls of his room.

He feels foolish. For even asking. For even hoping. Especially when you don’t answer, simply taking another puff, offering it to him in which he declines with a quiet reminder of how you should quit.

His body feels cold when you pull away. The bed seems so much bigger when you’re not in it.

“Not tonight lover,” You grab your underwear off the floor, jeans too followed by the shirt you came in. “Got some stuff I need to do,”

He wishes that you’d grab his hoodie right next to it instead, slip it on and wear it tomorrow when he’d see you in class. “Mhm.” It’s a bullshit excuse. You know it. He knows it.

But it’s an unspoken promise at this point. He asks you to stay. You say you have something. You leave. He stays. Cold and left with the scent of cigarettes and sex.

“You coming to the party tomorrow night?” You put out the deathstick on the ashtray that’s taken space on his nightstand, brought a couple of weeks ago by you after being annoyed with the fact that he had nothing else that you could’ve used.

“Wooyoung’s?”

“Yeah, the one at his and San’s place?”

He thinks over the things he had planned for tomorrow, ready to skip out anything originally planned to go to this stupid party with you. Graciously happy to find that he has nothing. “Yeah, why?”

You turn back to him, smile plastered across you face, looking so much more innocent than you really are.

“Just wanted to make sure that I’d see you there, probably wouldn’t go if you weren’t. You’re the only one that makes that kinda stuff bearable for me.” He swears his heart soars with the words, with the way you lean down, placing a kiss on his neck, lingering on his jaw, then his cheek and the corner of his mouth before planting one on his lips, nipping at them playfully, pulling away just as quick before he can wrap his arms around your neck and pull you in, effectively starting round 3 of the night.

“Y-yeah,”

He’s slightly breathless but you don’t seem to notice, fishing your phone out of your pocket to check the time. “Oh shit, I gotta go!”

You scramble to grab the rest of your things, your bag, the pack of cigarettes and lighter you left on his nightstand beside the ashtray and one last stolen kiss.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay? 8 and don’t be late, I will leave you behind if it’s over ten minutes.”

He pouts petulantly, “I don’t take that long!”

You roll your eyes playfully as you unlock the door, peeking your head in one more time before you shut it. “Take a shower okay? You smell like sex and I’ll call you later, text me if you need anything, anything at all.” He nods and you pin him with a look that seems to say ‘don’t fuck around with me.’

“Okay!”

“Good." You smile softly and for a second he can pretend that he's really yours and that you'll come back later tonight when he's sleeping, cuddling up to him in the dark and that you'll wake up in the morning-together.

But then your next words come, like a slap to the face. What you say every night that you leave him. "See you later Hongjoong.”

And with that, you’re gone. And he’s left alone in the dark once more.

so yeah, a snippet from the first part, after this it switches to mingi's point of view, already at the party mentioned the next night. which is where he ends up walking in on them.

#inbox💌#hard thoughts #dom reader #ateez hard thoughts #sub ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #sub mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #sub hongjoong #hongjoong smut

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 1 year

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Hey sleepy! So i have a quick question, do you think a combat medic SO would be a good fit for Ghost? Im asking cuz im thinking of making an OC and i would looove to hear your opinion. It's just i think he's so versatile like that that you could create almost anyone for him so long as there's trust and understanding. What do you think? :D

Hello Anon! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)/ First off, I really am honored that you'd ask me about how to pair an OC with Ghost. I was like WHY but I'll probably just tell you what I think about when making things happen with Ghost.

I think you can make any type of SO work with Ghost, it's just how the author could make it work with him.

Ghost is a very, VERY private man, would talk only when he needs to, and I'd imagine he would literally avoid talking to other civvies, and create as less as possible the connection with other people given his job and identity. Dude's living as quite literally 'no one'.

"As long as there's trust and understanding" -> THAT'S RIGHT! But the question is, how does your OC earn his trust? Why would he trust your OC, being the extremely private man that he is?

I feel like he's a person who wouldn't bat an eye/wouldn't care for anyone or anything -> That's why, this SO gotta have something/do something - A trait - that makes Ghost care for them ✨

In your case, a medic SO would very much make the SO care for Ghost, but making Ghost care for a medic is the part where you gotta work on.

How did the interaction start? How did they meet? What was the first impression (is it a BANG or is it just an ordinary meeting)?

What was the hook? At what point did Ghost start making an effort to get to know the SO better? What happened that made Ghost start to do that? Cuz it's EXTREMELY hard for someone to interest him, like he avoids people, it's gonna take something special -> what is it?

It is entirely up to your creativity and imagination to answer those questions!

Even further, usually a relationship/a pairing/a ship changes the character, in personality, emotionally, etc, either to the positive way, or negative way. It's a character development. Does your OC impact Ghost in positive or negative way? Your call 👀

Other than that, in order to make the story as authentic as possible, don't forget to search up what an army medic does! What does your OC do in their daily life? What differentiates them from a medic or an army surgeon? Do they go to the battlefield or stay back? What rank is your OC? These questions can make your character more believable and even help develop your stories as you pair your OC with Ghost.

So there it goes! Hope that answers it (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

#sleepy answers #simon ghost riley #I also remember this one thing my teacher said.#'Love at first sight is not love. It's 'infatuation' at first sight. This infatuation may go towards love.'#'Love is not a feeling. It's an act; a verb. It's the 'I want you to be happy so I did this. I care for you so I did that.'#AND IT STUCK WITH ME MANNN #It's basically what I stand for with Ghost and Jade #SO THAT'S THAT #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #ghost x oc #ghost x reader

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sincerely-sofie · 20 days

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no worries if you aren't sure/rather not answer, take as long as you need, public response over private is okay does schizophrenia come under dissociative disorders, and if not, what's the difference?

i know i have /some/ form of dissociative(-like?) thing, as many people with DID or similar have pointed it out. but i don't have the alters separate memory different people fronting thing. what i do have is myself, logic brain, emotion brain, possibly other stuff, and

the part(s) that's actually relevant here - what feels like a peanut gallery of cptsd-induced hecks reinforcing internalised stuff. why i'm asking is your description of the hallucinations sounds more like them than a lot of experiences i've read, so i'm wondering if it'd be worth me looking into (i'm already in the process of signing up for therapy, but more info for initial assessment always good)

it's definitely not identical because as far as i know i don't hallucinate images or sounds (besides that i used to hear my sibling calling my name when they weren't for some reason?), and i don't know how to identify anything distinctly let alone have mental images of any of them like your drawings, but.

i'd appreciate any insight you may have, but no obligation of course (i know you probably know that already but peanut gallery yells at me if i don't make it clear) thanks even just for reading even if not sure how to answer :)

Media portrayals of schizophrenia vs. dissociative disorders oftentimes blur the lines between them. It's very understandable to be uncertain on which you may or may not be experiencing period--- but throw in the public confusion on the differences and it's a muddy mess to understand their distinctions. ESPECIALLY Dissociative Identity Disorder, oh my goodness. You mentioned DID by name, so I'll be using it and schizophrenia as the main apples and oranges I compare. Keep in mind that there's various forms of schizophrenia and dissociative disorders, though.

(Obligatory disclaimer that I am not a medical professional and the only qualifications I have to answer this is that I'm a field researcher of sorts. Good on you for starting signing up for therapy, PLEASE keep that process going. Do not take my word for gospel. I'm one person with no degree or training. Anyone reading this and relating to the mental illnesses I'm describing here should seek out medical professionals and be particularly wary of self-diagnosis for these disorders.)

The DSM-5 (aka The Big Book of Mental Bad Vibes) classifies schizophrenia and DID under two different umbrellas: psychotic disorders vs. dissociative disorders. They're two distinct, but similar, conditions. Schizophrenia's diagnostic criteria centers on a disconnection from and altered perception of reality. DID's diagnostic criteria, meanwhile, revolves around a disconnection in identity, awareness, and memory. People with a textbook case of schizophrenia, while they likely experience delusions, do not display alters--- though there may be erratic behavior and moods in individuals that can come across to outsiders as such.

While they're very distinct, they have a number of similarities and a distinct amount of overlap between symptoms at times. I've seen statistics saying that anywhere up to 50% of schizophrenia patients meet the criteria for DID--- though I'm personally wary of that statistic, as DID's diagnosis criteria and treatment has been shifting all over the place in recent years and I'm not sure when the statistic was said. It also reeks to me of the fear-mongering a lot of classic horror movies used when lumping the two disorders into a scary boogeyman figure.

All of that context aside, I'm a very strange example of schizophrenia, and my doctor has said at times that the diagnosis was more so something I received because it checked enough boxes and less so because it was something I truly embodied. He's said that if Anxiety with Psychosis were in the books, he'd have given me that diagnosis in a heartbeat. It's not, though, so I got the shiny moniker of Early Onset Undifferentiated Schizophrenia--- which basically means "Your brain exploded while you were a teen and the aftermath sort of fits into this one psychotic disorder's box, but only sort of". My experience with schizophrenia is not typical, and knowing what I know now about my mental health background, I'd say that PTSD and C-PTSD is the strongest overlap with my experience--- just with added psychosis for extra spice. Ultimately, my hallucinations were largely manifestations of my various complexes and neuroses--- this makes them a lot more comparable to thought processes in patients with a form of post-traumatic stress than your average schizophrenia patient's hallucinations.

It's important to note that a small degree of hallucinations / psychosis is normal--- we've all thought we heard a notification from our phone when no such thing happened, and hearing someone call your name when they actually didn't is a pretty typical experience. It's not cause for immediate concern. Heck, I thought hypnagogic hallucinations were part of my diagnosis--- it turns out over half the population experience them!

TL:DR; if my description of my hallucinations resonates with you, you're more likely to have some form of trauma or anxiety disorder than straight up schizophrenia or DID. I'm a weird case, and the way my hallucinations formed was apparently very atypical. So I really would recommend looking into the anxiety disorder / trauma angles before you start gaslighting yourself into questioning your perception of reality. Check out Cognitive Behavioral Therapy strategies. The ones described in this workbook in particular ultimately did more for my recovery in the end than medication did--- and medication did a lot for my recovery. Absolutely keep seeking out therapy, because you need a medical professional to sift out whatever may be going on in your head--- ESPECIALLY if you suspect a psychotic or dissociative disorder is at play. Others with disorders might be able to identify someone with a similar condition, but they may also be only identifying symptoms which merely overlap with their own experiences. They are not professionals. Their word is valuable, but ultimately you need a doctor for this kind of thing.

#schizophrenia #psychosis #dissociation #dissociative identity disorder #ptsd #complex ptsd #mental illness #mental health #sofie answers asks

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