#like these things they point out as deceptions are so fucking minuscule it makes me think if you blink wrong that means youre a monster and

[fagrights]

if you say i swear to god its probaly cause youre lying: no i say it cause its an expression of speech these people are really funnt and make no sense imagine someone learning this from these freaks videos and then they apply that to people in their own lives... god bless

#like these things they point out as deceptions are so fucking minuscule it makes me think if you blink wrong that means youre a monster and #a liar #especially in a interrogation scenario is that not automatically going to skew things.. #not even accounting for the fact these people already know the outcome of these cases like theyve already been declared guilty in a court.. #so theyre going to use that to their own perceptions. it doesnt make any sense to me #if you do xyz youre a evil person if you dont do xyz youre crazy #i cant stand these types of analyses. and theyre lauded as like great psychological entertainment.. youre insane #and they get millions of views it doesnt even matter which random man with no fucking clue what hes talking about puts out these people #eat it up #oh and its 'educational'.. lmao ok...just because the random expert you claim to be talking to doesnt mean that any of this is educational #and then when direct connections to people with mental disabilities or addiction issues or psychiatric problems are brought up people in #comments will be like omg you are so considerate and careful with these issues<3 im so happy you mention not everyone with x and x thing #are evil people<3 when its literally built into the very analyses that theyre doing. #god can you tell i hate these body language interogation analysis videos so much #OR if theyre like this can indicate theyre telling the truth and it usually does BUT in this case...it could obviously be that shes lying

[kiridarling]

"𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒."

izuku midoriya | friends older brother!izuku + college student!reader + f!reader + squirting + size kink + more! minors dni! does this count? as dark content?

— 2.4k words

"It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

“[Y/N?]”

“Uh, hey Izuku!” You smile, grip tightening around the strap to your bag. Izuku fills the doorway, broad shoulders kissing both sides of the frame, and you can’t help but feel minuscule in comparison. “Kota around?”

Izuku shakes his head, peering over his shoulder for a second before returning his attention to you with a click of his tongue. "Uh, no I think he's out with Eri. They should be back soon though...it's been a few hours."

"Shit," you curse under your breath. Your friend's older brother smiles in apology, biceps straining under his white tee.

"You need something?"

"Yeah," you nod, forcing your eyes back onto his, instead of the broad chest presented at eye-level. "Just my precalc book."

Izuku waits a second, thinking, before his palm claps against the doorframe and he's walking deeper into the house. "Come on in, then! I'm sure he won't mind."

You step into the house after him, and it's...weird. Weird being with your Kota's older brother without Kota there, because despite the thousands of times you've been in your best friend's house and as well as you know the greenette, you and Izuku have never been alone.

"Find it?"

You've been rummaging through Kota's room for a solid ten minutes and somehow still empty-handed, moving slowly in fear you'll see something you can't unsee. And hey, with Kota and Eri dating, anything's possible.

"No," you sigh, ready to give up rather than find a strap-on. "It's fine. I can just come to get it tomorrow or something."

"How soon do you need it?" The greenette asks, his forearms leaning against his younger brother's dresser. You take a seat on Kota's comforter instead, silently hoping you'll find your book by accidentally breaking your tailbone against the damn thing; you're a little disappointed when all your ass comes in contact with is a plush mattress.

"Like, tonight," you grieve, knowing that tomorrow morning, your math grade will suffer severely. "'S fine though. There's always another test."

Izuku snorts at that, crossing the room to take a seat next to you. The bed whines under his weight but doesn't collapse, and you feel a little bad to say you're surprised. Voice full of reminiscence, he sighs, "Ah, the college days."

You giggle, "You act like they're lightyears behind you."

"They might as well be," the greenette shrugs, before reaching behind your waist to steal a pillow. "Couldn't tell you a thing I learned."

You shrug trying to remember the last time you’ve felt prepared for a test, “Neither can I.”

Izuku chuckles and nods, though you’re convinced it’s because he has nothing to say. An awkward silence takes possession of the room by the neck, and you shift awkwardly, unsure of what to say that could give you an excuse to leave, or at least redirect his strange yet heavy gaze. As Izuku licks his lips, you notice how close you two actually are, as he's big to the point where your shoulders almost brush, but not quite.

"How um, hows your boyfriend?"

You scoff at that, but you suppose it's been a while since you and the greenette have talked one on one—and the last time you had, you weren't single.

"Oh uh, he's fine, I guess," you brush it off with a shrug and a wave, cringing at the thought of how that ended. "I don't know. We broke up a while ago, so."

"Oh sorry!" Izuku flushes and throws a hand over his mouth, and you giggle.

"You're fine. He was an asshole anyway," you chuck a laugh, but it's not really that funny. Frankly, he's left too many emotional scars to count, along with the ones healing from past exes. "I...don't have a good reputation when it comes to picking boyfriends."

“So, I’ve heard—no offense,” he says sheepishly, though you don't blame him. You've definitely had a few surprise visits caused by a nasty break-up or two, knowing this is the place you'll probably find both of your best friends hiding out. When Izuku speaks again, it’s borderline awkward as his eyes dart around the room, cheeks puffed and lips pursed in apprehension. “Found...anyone new?”

You frown, “Anyone new.”

“Yeah!” Izuku exclaims, and it’s almost encouraging. “Like a new boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Um, no. Like I said, I don’t have much luck with that type of stuff.”

Izuku snorts, rolling his eyes before he’s adjusting himself to lay on the pillow, half of his body upright. “I bet you do. You might not realize it, but you do.”

Now it’s your turn to snort and roll your eyes, leaning back on your hands with a huff. "You're just being nice, Izuku."

"No, seriously!" He props himself higher so you can see he really is serious, evergreen eyes locked and deadset, "Like—okay, and this might be a TMI or something, but how do they, y'know, and then be dicks, y'know?"

"They don't."

"They don't...what?"

"They don't...make me cum," you heave with great depression, despite the seemingly surface-level complaint. With wrists tightening around your ankles, you hate uncomfortably in the silence, and watch Izuku's mouth open and close, before it opens and closes again.

"Like...never?"

"No." You give him a weird look.

"But what about your last boyfriend? I thought he—"

"I don't know what you're looking for, Izuku," you chuckle, shaking your head. The greenette seems more pained than he is shocked, eyes wide with a big fat pout in place of a neutral face. "It's not like I haven't had an orgasm before. Just...not with someone else."

"That's not the same!" Izuku defends, slowly becoming more animated than you've ever seen him. "It's like...more passionate with another person, you know? And that makes everything a whole lot hotter."

"Thanks," you huff, mood souring more than it already has. Izuku's mouth stills once he realizes what he's essentially bragging, guilt clouding his face. As you exhale out of your nose, you can't escape feeling bad for snapping. "Look. I'm perfectly fine with being the only person to be able to make myself cum. It's not that deep."

"You sound like you expect no one to be able to," Izuku snorts with a raised eyebrow, shoulders bumping against yours. "You've just...had bad boyfriend luck. That doesn't mean no one's capable of doing it."

"Well," you click your tongue bitterly, because you've heard all of this before, and you're utterly tired of hearing it. "They've been able to make all their exes orgasm. And it's not like it even matters, relationships aren't abou—"

"I could do it."

"I—" you blink, shaking your head at the pure audacity of his request? Suggestion? Comment? Whatever the fuck. "Excuse me?"

"I—wait, listen," Izuku rushes like you're getting ready to book it the fuck out of there, sitting upright so his body is turned to yours. "You're...it's...I've been told I'm good with my fingers, right?"

And what a way to start a story.

"Izuku, in the nicest way, every guy is like this," you scoff, "He thinks he's all that just because a chick or two said you made her feel really good. I don't need to fake another orgasm."

"You won't have to," Izuku purrs cockily, leaning forwards on his hands and making you wonder where all of this is coming from. "Let's play a game of simon says, yeah?"

"Simon—" your chest collapses with a giggle of pure disbelief, "I'm not that much younger than you, you know."

"I wouldn't be offering if you were," the greenette reasons, eyes growing dark slowly, if any. "Yes or no?"

"What's the catch?" You bargain and Izuku huffs a laugh. You can feel it on your face.

"No catch, Pretty," he hums, and you can feel the vibrations in your fingers. "It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

You gulp as Izuku lifts a hand—and a very large one, at that—and it's jagged and rough with scars and bulky knuckles. His free hand makes you grab his wrist and you're fingertips barely touch, but you’re pulling his hand south by your own volition.

“Gotta take your pants off first,” he chuckles, and you flush red. That would be helpful, yes.

It doesn't take long before they're off though, flung towards a corner somewhere—and this is when you realize that maybe, you shouldn't do this on Kota's bed.

"Izuku maybe we shoul—"

But before you can say anything else, he's pushing your panties to the side and shoving both fingers into you at once, eyebrows folding as he groans under his breath from the sensation.

"So wet already? Clearly, someone likes this more than they let on."

"I—what the fuck happened to simon says!" You yelp, but his fingers don't move. Izuku just beams like the deceptive asshole he is.

"Game starts now," is all he says, and you're huffing, propping yourself up on your elbows. Izuku's fingers might as well have knocked the wind out of you, lungs struggling to find room to breathe as he curls his fingers to tap directly onto your g-spot with worrying precision.

"Simon says um, move please," you grunt out. Izuku's fingers stay still, and you frown, kicking him in the thigh. "Hey, I sai—"

"You gotta be more specific than that, Pretty,” he says with a grin. You snarl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I..." you start, but it's fucking embarrassing, and you know Izuku feels you twitch around him when you say: "Can you um, fuck me with your fingers."

He doesn't move.

"Simon says fuck me with your fingers, asshole," you grunt with narrowed eyes, though they widen when he starts to pump his fingers in and out, chuckling when you shiver from the dexterity.

Except, his fingers move painfully slow, and you find yourself gritting your teeth at the speed when he doesn't make an effort to go any faster. You click your tongue—he's really going to make you request everything, isn't he?

"Simon says faster," you growl with a challenge burning in your eyes, and Izuku meets them with equal fire, fingers finally forgetting their torturous pace for a much quicker one. Finally.

"Fuck! Simo—simon says right t-there," your legs spread wider and Izuku makes more room for himself in between. He hums with dark eyes as you whimper and whine his name, writhing in his younger brother's sheets like they belong to him—like you belong to him.

"I wanna touch you all the time, you know," Izuku grunts before cursing at the sight of your wetness around his fingers. "Make you feel good, make you mine. I don't think Kota would approve, though."

"We don—" you wheeze and he places a hand next to your head, towering over you. The angle only gets better, your hands digging into the sheets as Izuku's fingers curl just right. "We don't have to tell him."

Izuku chuckles at that, chest rumbling as he leans in closer to the point where your noses nearly touch. "You dirty fucking girl."

You moan at that, hips bucking into his hand. You're so close and yet you need more, something else to push you over the edge for good. With a whimper behind a bitten lip, you say, "S-Simon says rub my clit."

Izuku's thumb falls upon your clit and you squeal from the amount of initial pressure, thighs jolting from the white-hot waves that pump through your bloodstream as his thumb moves in small, ever-quickening circles that have you gripping for Kota's comforter for dear life.

"Iz—Izuku I'm gonna—g-gonna cum," you pant, and he's ripping his hands away before you can even reach a hint of the edge. You glare at him out of pure and utter betrayal, and he beams.

"Simon didn't say, did he?"

Your mouth flies open before your brain has time to process it all, "Simon says make me cum, p-please, I need to—fuck!"

Izuku's stuffing you full with his fingers in an instant and his thumb returns to its rightful place.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, Pretty?" His hands somehow find the energy to speed up to the point where the clap of his palm against your pussy fills the room, slowly being replaced by a lewd squelch as you tighten around him. He chuckles when all you can do is whimper, grappling for his big shoulders as he says, "Oh, yes she is. So fucking close I can feel it."

You let out a broken moan and in a blink you're squirting, body buzzing as you make a big wet mess of Kota's sheets. It doesn't even register how screwed you two are because you're too busy wading waist-deep in the sea of Izuku's eyes, chest heaving in time with his as he gives you a look of pure awe. Not at what you've done, per se, but at you, and that's when you understand it—the passion.

"We should uh, probably clean up," Izuku flushes as he chuckles, cheeks pressing into the crescents of his face, and you find yourself smiling along with him. With a final click, he pulls his fingers out, gesturing to a circular wet spot on his now see-through shirt. "You made quite a mess."

Fuck the passion.

You shove your fists into his chest and Izuku laughs, pushing your hands away with his one dry free hand, wiping the wet one on Kota's sheets.

"Izuku!" You gasp, looking at the new and improved addition to your mess. The greenette shrugs.

"What? We're going to have to clean it anyway," he shrugs before assuming the dry spot to your right and nestling his forearms in the pillow to peck you on the forehead. Then he freezes.

"I uh...am I allowed to do that?"

You roll your eyes, grabbing him by his squirt-soaked shirt to pull him into a kiss. Izuku hums at that, suppressing the urge to smile as his big hands find their way to your waist. He's an annoyingly good kisser

"No, you're not," you say with swollen lips once you pull away. Izuku grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his eyes flutter to yours for a moment, before they're staring into your soul again.

"I like you," he boldly states, albeit quietly, like he's talking to your eyes and nothing else. "Like, a lot."

"I—" You start, but you're interrupted by a click of a lock and the sound of the front door opening. Shit.

"Oi! We're home, Izuku!"

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #deku smut #izuku smut #midoriya smut #bnha smut #bnha imagines

[fullsins]

fuck it i’ll just repost

pairing: dom!hyuck x sub!reader

genre: literally pwp (it’s a sex tape, for god’s sake), a decent amount of fluff

word count: 4.2k

warnings (in mostly chronological order): consensual filming during sex, the color system, lingerie, praise and degradation, overuse of terms of endearment, obvious dom-sub dynamics, blowjob and mouthfucking, spit-swallowing and general messy bodily fluids (you know the drill), thigh-riding, choking, edging/ruined orgasm, slight dacryphilia (crying kink), mild humiliation kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it and if you choose not to, be aware of the possible repercussions), fingering, eating out, probably less foreplay than necessary but there’s some foreplay, mild manhandling, donghyuck thick cock agenda is back i’m so sorry, some nipple play type things mentions, mild overstimulation, cumming inside

a/n: they stop to talk during sex a lot and yes it’s on purpose because communication is key. also the ending is shitty but whatever

inspired by an ask @junguws got and a convo i had with @ja3minz

“you can talk, you know, we haven’t gotten started yet.” your boyfriend remarks offhandedly, his words light and conversational as he sets up a tripod and camera near the corner of your shared bedroom. if you were in any other situation right now, if you were an outsider to your relationship, you’d assume that he’s just taking some pretty shots of you, in your cherry red robe and coy smile. after all, donghyuck looks relaxed as all hell, clothes still on to the point that it’s maddening for you.

you want nothing more than to feel his skin on yours, under your fingers and under your nails and between your teeth. dispelling this urge proves difficult.

“i don’t really know what to say,” you respond, words hoarser than expected because of how dry your throat is. you dart your tongue out to wet your lower lip as if it’ll help you any, and donghyuck, ever-observant, takes note of it with a small smirk on his face.

“how about reciting your colors for me?” his voice is uncharacteristically void of teasing, meaning that he really does want you to do as he asks. donghyuck’s tone is gentle for now, and you don’t want to jeopardize it. he may be rough, may be sadistic, may be trying, hell, he may even love to see you sob for him, but he has never put his pleasure above your comfort, and you know he never will. you’ve never felt safer than you do with hyuck.

“green for- for keep going, yellow for when i need a second, and red for stop.” they fall from your tongue easily, a second nature. your boyfriend smiles encouragingly at you, soft in his entirety for the moment.

“and if you can’t speak?”

“two taps for yes or keep going, three taps for no or slow down, and just keep tapping for stop.” you’re diligent in your recitation, and the way hyuck’s eyes fold in pride is enough for you to relax against the headboard of your bed. he turns back to the camera once more, making sure the set up will stand on its own and that it’s getting the entirety of the bed, before finally clicking it on so its recording and looking back at you.

“good girl,” he murmurs, almost as an afterthought as he steps away from the camera and trains his gaze on you entirely. donghyuck is surveying what’s his - that much is obvious as his eyelids sink slightly, his expression darkening. you don’t dare to move without his permission. “how about you open that robe for me, hm?”

you nod rapidly, already feeling yourself start to sink into yourself, mind empty save for the man at the foot of your bed. donghyuck, ultimately always fair, starts unbuttoning his shirt as you untie the ties of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall away from you to reveal a lingerie set in the exact same color. you watch, eyes hooded, as your boyfriend’s tan skin comes into view, soft and smooth and empyrean under the dimmed red LED lights that decorate the borders of the ceiling. donghyuck tosses his shirt aside, not registering how it lands on one corner of the bed. he doesn’t really care.

“knees.”

the single word has you scrambling, swinging your legs back underneath you and clasping your hands behind your back. it’s a position you know well, and you know that if you stray from it, you’ll have no respite from the teasing wrath you’ll have to endure. donghyuck unbuckles his jeans, only pushing them down low enough to expose the waistband of his boxers before he climbs onto the bed, moving so he’s directly in front of you. you don’t even have to be told as you shuffle backwards, the soles of your feet eventually hitting the base of the bed’s backboard.

donghyuck chuckles at this, enamored by how easily he has you eating out of the palm of his hand. he hasn’t even touched you yet.

once he’s in front of you, he stands up so you’re eye-level with his prominent bulge. hyuck shoves his boxers down just slightly, pulling his hardening cock from the cloth confines and tugging slightly on it once before leaning over and grasping the headboard with his other hand. he makes sure that he isn’t blocking the camera’s view by straightening himself slightly. you’re mentally grateful the ceiling fan is off, though you have no time to dwell on that as the tip of donghyuck’s cock bobs in front of your face.

without thinking, you reach up, though you don’t touch, not until hyuck gives a small nod, signalling for you to go ahead. gingerly, you wrap one hand around it as best you can, only tightening your grip once hyuck groans out loud, bucking into your hand ever-so-slightly. this gives you the confidence to drag your hand up towards the tip, watching, enraptured, as precum dribbles out of his slit and onto your hand. you smear the slick substance along his shaft on the downstroke, your pussy clenching at how much you find yourself wanting to take him into your mouth.

“can - can i...” you trail off, looking up at the man above you with the best doe eyes you can muster. he raises an eyebrow, and you find that you aren’t surprised. hyuck has never given you anything that easily.

“words, sweetheart. i need you to use your words. what do you want?” his tone is deceptively gentle, and you let out a soft, light sigh.

“i want... can i suck your cock, please, hyuck?” your hand moves of its own accord as you ask for permission, squeezing and tugging lightly along his shaft, thumbing over his tip in the way that makes him grind shallowly against your palm.

“i’ll do you one better,” he grunts out, the timbre of his voice forcing you to rub your thighs together to alleviate the pressure building in your lower stomach. “‘m going to fuck your mouth. open up, baby. wide, for the camera.”

how can you say no to that voice? on impulse, your lips part the moment he finishes his command, maneuvering so his cockhead rests against your lower lip. he pushes your fingers off of his dick, gripping it in his own hand and stroking once, twice, before shallowly thrusting into your mouth, testing the waters just a bit. when you show no perturbation at the intrusion, hyuck moves the hand at the base of his cock up to your hair, tangling it amongst your strands.

in no time at all, he’s set an inhuman pace on your throat, choking you with every thrust as you gargle around his dick. donghyuck’s grunts are music to your ears, even as the slick sounds of a blowjob fully permeate the air. your hands fly to his thighs to steady yourself and to keep your momentum forward so your head doesn’t continuously knock against the backboard behind you. you’re hyper-aware of his fingertips pressing against your scalp, your nails scraping against his jeans, the ache between your legs as your bed creaks with how hard donghyuck is rocking it. a mixture of precum and spit drool from your mouth, leaking at the sides, and your boyfriend must be well-aware of this because he pulls out of your mouth entirely, moving aside so you’re on show for the camera.

you’re gasping for air, tears budding at the corners of your eyes as you try to ease the burden of your abused throat. it’s just the way he likes it. the minuscule green light that’s staring directly at you brings you back to earth, and you know that when you inevitably rewatch the tape you’ll see a fucked out you, gaping at the camera, a mess on your face and over the tops of your breasts, eyes vacant of everything but lust.

“you like this? you like having how much of a whore you are for my cock recorded for forever?” donghyuck coos, telling moreso than he’s asking. he sinks down to his knees, jeans sliding down his thighs slightly, and cups your face with a gentleness you don’t expect. his cock is angry, harder than ever, and you suddenly want it back in your mouth. you want nothing more than to make hyuck cum.

“answer me.” this time he really does command you, eyes boring into yours, and you nod your head vigorously, not wanting to be reprimanded. you’re good for donghyuck, you’re always good for him.

“pretty baby’s all fucked out without even being touched,” he smirks, shuffling so he’s leaning over you, mouth directly over your own. “pathetic little sweetheart. at least you’re my pathetic darling. open.”

you comply, already too far gone to do anything else. donghyuck chuckles at how pliant you are before squeezing your cheeks together slightly, forcing your lips closer to his. you only see his eyes, his dark, blown-wide pupils as he lets a droplet of his spit fall onto your waiting tongue. you don’t move, knowing full well what he’ll want you to do next.

“look at the camera before you swallow. there you go, that’s a good slut,” he murmurs approvingly as you do as he tells, going so far as to lean forward as you swallow to show off how great your tits look from the top from your lingerie set. hyuck places a hand on your covered ass, and you tense immediately simply because of how badly you want him. still, you feel him falter, drawing his hand away from you slightly, before softly turning your face back to face him. when he speaks again, he sounds like everyday donghyuck, the one you love outside of the bedroom. “color, princess?”

“green,” you respond immediately, mustering up your sweetest smile. “i’m all good, love.”

“good,” your boyfriend mirrors your look for a moment before his features settle back into his teasing demeanor, and you watch as he presses his back against the backboard and spreads his legs slightly. “then you’re going to ride my thigh. take the camera off it’s stand and c’mere.”

it’s all you can do to get up on your shaky legs and grab the camera before crawling over to him, swallowing to moisten your drying throat before settling on top of one of his jean-clad thighs. donghyuck’s dick is still out and still very much hard, but he says nothing of it, only holding his hand out silently for you to give him the recording device that’s currently capturing his hooded eyes. donghyuck gestures for you to situate yourself on his thigh as he takes the camera from you, and once he’s got the camera pointed where he wants it, he flexes his thigh and taps your ass - hard - to force you to rut against the denim.

much to your chagrin, his free hand soon finds purchase in your waist rather than around your throat, and he controls your grinding as best he can. the friction between the denim, the cloth of your panties, and your clit is delicious, and you find that the faster donghyuck forces you against his thigh the less you can even speak, only capable of letting out whimpers and whines and broken chants of his name.

“take your bra off, darling.” your boyfriend eventually murmurs, his grip on your waist not letting up. you take a moment to process his command before stuttering out an affirmation and reaching back to undo your lingerie top. you allow it to fall off you, landing in between you and donghyuck, the lace brushing against his cock when it lands in a way that has him groaning. you pick it up and toss it somewhere - you have no clue where it lands - before resting your hands against hyuck’s chest and quickening your pace. he reaches up, twisting one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger in a way that always has you keening.

the moan you let out on instinct is one of the most depraved noises you’ve ever made. your head falls back immediately as your eyes slide shut, and even though you aren’t surprised when donghyuck’s free hand climbs your body to press against the sides of your throat once more, you still let out a whimper at the contact. donghyuck, for his part, is panning the camera down, down your fucked out face and his hand on your throat and your heaving chest and your soaked lingerie-clad core rubbing deliciously against his thigh. your eyes well up from all of it: the friction, the breathplay. you’re almost at your breaking point.

by the way your moans grow raspier and breathier, by the way you can’t even fully say his name anymore, your boyfriend knows that you’re close. it’s obvious, especially considering how well he knows your body.

it’s for this reason that he forcefully grabs one side of your hips and grinds you down against his jeans only one more time before halting you, his fingertips digging into the soft skin of your waist to ensure that you don’t move any more.

“fuck!” you cry out in immediate indignance, unable to stop yourself from glaring at donghyuck as a tear finally drops from your waterline, sliding down your face at having been denied your orgasm. “fuck, please,” you whine out, more tears slipping down your face. “i’ve been good.”

hyuck says nothing, only chuckling slightly as he brings the camera up to your face. you always look so beautiful when you’re in tears for him. the realization that you’re being recorded in such a state has you whimpering, sobbing even harder. through your haze of tears, you try to rut yourself down on his thigh again to bring back your quickly fading orgasm, but donghyuck stops you easily, even going so far as to tut at you as if you should know better.

you suppose you should.

“do that again and i’ll spank you,” he says, shifting and gently pushing you off of his thigh. “but maybe baby would like that, hm? rewatching video of your pretty ass bent over my lap?”

you say nothing, only sniffling over your ruined orgasm. donghyuck finds this either adorable or hilarious, you aren’t sure which, and can’t keep himself from grinning slightly at the way you’re acting. it’s bratty of you to stay upset, you know this, but for whatever reason, you can’t stop yourself from furrowing your brows at your boyfriend. on his part, he only quirks an eyebrow in tandem with one corner of his mouth before languidly wiping your face free of tears.

the camera is still trained on your face. you must look like an absolute mess - there’s tears in your eyes, staining your cheeks. there’s some drool still around the corners of your mouth from when you’d sucked his cock, some of his precum still sticky around your lips. you look filthy, but you know that, too hyuck, you also look beautiful.

he says something, but you miss it. donghyuck reaches out and squeezes your cheeks in his free hand, forcing your lips to part from each other and pucker out. it catches you off guard, but you can’t lie and say that it doesn’t cause you to whine out in arousal.

“i said,” he reiterates, pulling your face closer to his easily with the grip he has on you. “will you be good for me?”

your bratty demeanor fades instantly as you gaze into his eyes, and you find that all you want in the moment is him. no more teasing, or playing, just him. you must appear the slightest bit unfocused, though, and taking into consideration the fact that you haven’t answered him yet, donghyuck lets go of your face, instead thumbing over your bottom lip gently as he cups your cheek.

“color, baby?”

“green,” you breathe out, though it’s obvious that you’re needier now than you were moments before - a feat in and of itself. “i just- i just want you. please? i’ve been good. mostly good. i’ve been okayish, and- ”

“you’ve been very good, darling,” donghyuck interrupts before you ramble, his eyes softening entirely. “tired of playing? do you want me to turn off the camera?”

“no!” you respond a little over-excitedly, face heating up as you realize how hasty you sound. donghyuck’s smirk tells you that he’s realized the same thing, so you rush to explain yourself. “i mean, i kind of like it, and i want to rewatch it someday. i want to film you too, though. can we just do missionary?”

“we can do whatever you want.” your boyfriend agrees readily, pulling you down to him to press a soft kiss, one that you rarely get in the bedroom, against your lips. he hands you the camera a moment later, and you shuffle backwards slightly so you can capture him as he shoves his jeans off, his boxers following seconds later. the sight of his erect cock, tip flushed and achingly hard, has your mouth drying out. without thinking, you lean over, suckling the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue over his head on instinct.

one of hyuck’s hands flies to your hair, and the other takes the camera back from you, intent on capturing your ministrations. you force yourself to take all of him into your mouth - the hand massaging your scalp helps push you down - and suction before coming back up for air, a rivulet of drool creating a steady stream down your chin.

“shit,” donghyuck groans out, zooming in on the mess he’s made of your mouth. “you’re everything, baby. get situated or i’ll put you in position myself.”

you don’t hesitate to listen, crawling over to the center of the bed like always. donghyuck gets up off of the bed, and you know if you don’t move towards the edge of the bed he’ll pull you down by the ankles. he’s always preferred to keep his feet on solid ground. as you expect, he walks over to stand at the foot of the bed, cock standing proud in front of him. when you finally lay down on your back, exactly in the position he wants you, donghyuck sinks to his knees, making sure both him and the camera are eye-level with your soaked underwear. typically, he would tease you, maybe even make you cum in your panties first before even thinking about coming on his cock. tonight, though, he only pulls them off of your legs, throwing them out of your line of sight.  

he leans up and places the camera on your stomach, and that’s when you realize he isn’t quite done with foreplay just yet. you grab ahold of the recording device and fumble it into such a way that it’s filming your boyfriend perfectly as he leans in and simultaneously takes your clit between his tongue and upper teeth and presses two of his fingers into your core.

“d- shit, hyuck!” you cry out, hips arching off of the bed without much stimulation. donghyuck doesn’t let up, doesn’t even bother to pin your hips down as you begin grinding against his face of your own accord. his fingers continue to work you open as you shakily film his light brown mop of hair moving between your legs. he glances up, eyes meeting the camera, and has the audacity to wink at it before diving back in, tongue lapping at your wet heat as if it’s donghyuck’s last meal on earth.

just as you’re about to finally cum, he pulls away, dragging his two wet fingers across your inner thigh and removing his mouth from where you need it most. the whine you let out is high and pathetic, and donghyuck laps up the arousal he’s just spread across your skin as a show of pity. he bites down, tugging the skin between his teeth once he’s finished, drawing forth another, desperate moan from between your lips.

“i take it that you’re ready for me, then?” he asks cheekily, rocking back up on the balls of his feet and straightening himself up to standing until he looks like he’s towering over you. you can’t even speak, you’re so pent up: instead, you nod frantically and spread your legs in tandem. “you don’t need any more foreplay, princess?”

“fuck foreplay,” you manage to grit out, desperately in need of your boyfriend inside of you. “just put your goddamn dick-”

he shoves himself into you without warning, forcing you to cut your own tirade off with a choked moan. donghyuck allows you to get used to the stretch, only grinding very, very shallowly as you get both yourself and the camera situated. once you give him a go ahead, he gently pulls one of your legs over his shoulders, causes you to tighten impossibly around his thick cock. your boyfriend hisses at how warm, how wet, how impossibly vice-like you are, his hips stuttering as he starts thrusting into you at a pace that makes it very evident that he, too, is pent up.  

you use the leg not hooked over his shoulder to wrap around his waist, forcing him even deeper than you thought possible. the string of swears that falls from donghyuck’s mouth at this is music to your ears, and you’re on cloud nine even as he slaps at the inside of your thigh as a reprimand for seeking any semblance of control.

“i’m in charge here, baby,” he grunts out, voice managing to be both sugary sweet and dangerous at the same time. “don’t forget it.” with this, he leans close, jackrabbiting into you as best he can in the position you’re both in. you’re about to cum - you can feel it, spreading through your body as if you’re on fire. usually, you would last longer, but you’ve been on edge long enough, having been soaked since your boyfriend first stuffed his cock down your throat.

now that his dick is finally inside of you, veins scraping deliciously against your walls in a way that reminds you his girth is both a blessing and a curse, but mostly a blessing, you can’t help but start to clench erratically around him, your breathing picking up as you near your orgasm. donghyuck, for his part, wets one of his thumbs on his tongue and presses it against your clit, rubbing in quick circles as his thrusts start to speed up, matching his raspy pants of breath. he moves your calf off his shoulder, causing both of your legs to lock around his waist as he fucks into you like there’s no tomorrow.

donghyuck leans in close, close enough to place his lips right at your ear. just as your body shows signs of beginning to seize up in pleasure, he whispers a ‘come for me, love. now.’ before biting down sharply on your earlobe. that’s all it takes for your pleasure to overcome you, your back arching off of the bed and forcing your chest up into your lover’s face, something he welcomes wholeheartedly. donghyuck, not having reached his peak yet, continues to grind into you.

you can sense he’s getting closer by the way his hips seem to move of their own accord, donghyuck mindless in pleasure. as you do your best to clench around him once more, to coax his orgasm out of him, he mouths over your breasts, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth right as his hips finally, finally stutter to a standstill inside of you, cum spurting into your warm walls. you can’t help the long, low moan you let out at the mild overstimulation you’re feeling, and donghyuck reaching up to flick at your other nipple does nothing to help the sensations that are overcoming you.

once he’s done slowly grinding his cum back into you, , hyuck forces you to unlock your legs from his waist. wordlessly, he takes the camera from you, stepping back to aim it at your abused, sopping core, eagerly filming the way his cum drips out between your swollen lips and onto the bedspread. he supposes he’ll have to run a washer/dryer cycle soon.

“my pretty baby,” he coos, looking up at your fucked out expression once he’s done. “took me so well.” with a final zoom in on your face, a testament to how good you’ve been for him and how good he’s made you feel, he turns the camera off, making sure that all of the footage from today has been saved. once he puts it up, he goes to the bathroom and returns with a damp rag, and you let your legs fall open so he can wipe at the mess he’s made of you. he runs the other side of the rag gently over your face, picking up on whatever fluids are still left on you. once he’s down, donghyuck leans in, pressing the softest of kisses against your lips.

“want me to run a bath?” he asks, though, judging by the way he says the words you can tell he’s at least mildly tired. you shake your head, holding your arms out instead. your boyfriend chuckles at you, though you notice that he doesn’t hesitate to clamber into bed beside you, pulling your naked form close to his own after tossing the rag.

“just want you right now,” you say once he’s shifted so that your head rests against his chest. he hums in agreement, lifting a hand to gently run it through your hair.

“just want you always.”

#first #five #tags #don't #work #haechan #haechan smut #donghyuck #donghyuck smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut

[boonki]

Kiss prompts: no. 48? 🥰🥰

48. kisses with trembling lips from these prompts! 

HI FRIEND HOPE YOURE READY TO BE SAD

this takes place right after the deception/rako hardeen arc, right after obi-wan gets his real face back. because what the FUCK was that whole arc. anyways, hope you’re having a wonderful day! thank you for the ask ❤️❤️ here you go love: 

______

Anakin can hardly feel the sharp edges of the chair beneath him, his anguish and rage drowning out his senses as he waits for Obi-wan to return to their quarters. 

Nothing has changed, of course. Anakin hadn’t had the heart to move his stained and loved mug, his inherited and half-dead plants, his discarded robes, and treasured books, rare and precious, much like their owner. He felt a pang of solidarity for them: he, too, was one of Obi-wan’s forgotten things, abandoned in death. 

When Obi-wan opens that door, it’ll be like he never left. 

Except that’s not quite true: how can Anakin even begin to explain what havoc Obi-wan’s wreaked on his heart? 

The kitchen is sterile, devoid of Anakin’s habitual mess, and poorly lit. He doesn’t want to face Obi-wan in the light; he’d rather be able to hide his grief in the shoulder of his dear friend, the shadow, who has seen so many of Anakin’s hot, quivering tears. Only the emergency lights that backlight the sink have been left on, solely because Anakin can’t turn them off without tripping the alarms. The place glows a bleak, navy blue, like the rain that falls from a weeping sky. 

Their door creeps open, hesitant. The face that follows is so familiar Anakin can’t help the minuscule gasp that rips out of his throat. 

“Anakin?” Obi-wan asks, genuinely surprised. Guilt laces through every feature, tugging on upturned eyebrows, pleading eyes, and pressed lips, pulling his entire body taunt. 

“What, did you think I’d be asleep?” Anakin scoffs, malevolent. 

Obi-wan doesn’t respond, but the downturn of his mouth tells him the truth: he did think Anakin would be sleeping. 

“How could you do that to me?” Anakin whispers, each word violent, a dagger that Anakin wants to tear into Obi-wan with. He’s holding onto his rage like it’s the only thing keeping him together, and in a way, it is. If he lets go, all the grief and yearning will come pouring through and empty him out completely.

Obi-wan closes the door and treads lightly over to Anakin, pulling out a chair and taking a nervous seat next to him, knees close enough to touch. His face is cast in shades of blue from the emergency lights, full of sorrow. 

“It was wrong of me. Please forgive me.” 

Anakin takes in his apology, but there’s so much anger left, a sickness he needs to spew before he can heal. 

“Obi-wan, I”—he whimpers, emotion clogging his throat—“I held your dead body. I grieved for you. I watched them bury you.” His nose stings with unshed tears, vision going blurry. “And for what? So you could...could use me in some plan? I mean, how did you think I would feel? Huh?”

Obi-wan looks anywhere but his face, studying the fine grain of their standard issue tabletop. 

Anakin has been sitting still up until this point, hands in his lap, but now he turns to Obi-wan, shifting in his seat so that their knees are interlaced. He leans into the man’s space, and with each inch closer, the sharp tendrils of fury melt into the all-encompassing ache of heartbreak and suffering. Of longing. Of regret. Of a keen and simple yearning for more.

Or, blending them all together, the messy and complicated condition of unrequited love. 

He’s waited too long to tell Obi-wan, and has learned the hard way that the regret of unspoken feelings is a ravenous beast, waiting to devour the hopeless.

“And I never got to tell you that I loved you.” He corrects himself: “That I love you.” With shaking hands, he ghosts his palms over Obi-wan’s cheeks, cupping his face. “Do you know how much that haunted me?” 

Obi-wan’s eyes are blown wide, and he’s holding perfectly still, his lips parted in disbelief. When he doesn’t respond, Anakin takes the opportunity to skim his fingers over Obi-wan’s forehead, into his hairline, over the curves of his ears, into the soft skin of his lips. He runs his palms down Obi-wan’s shoulders, his athletic and sturdy arms, and into the calloused skin of his hands, where he holds tight. Obi-wan’s fingers fold around his: their lifeline. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive.” He says to Obi-wan’s hands, to himself. 

He hears Obi-wan swallow and breathe in through his nose. 

“I thought you wouldn’t…” Obi-wan trails off, his voice tight with emotion. “I thought you didn’t…” 

“What? Care?” Anakin looks up at Obi-wan with leaking eyes. “Are you kidding me?” 

Obi-wan feebly shakes his head, and breathes out his response. “Notice.” 

Anakin just stares at him, looking from one eye to the other as Obi-wan formulates the rest of his thought. The cool air swims like a pool of blue between them, the somber lighting paling Obi-wan’s skin out. 

“I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.” 

The entirety of Anakin’s face crumbles at the thought. But before he can answer, Obi-wan continues: 

“I didn’t think I was important to you anymore. You’re not my padawan—you don’t need an old man like me anymore.” His voice cracks, and for the first time since Anakin was a child, he sees water pool in the corners of Obi-wan’s eyes, glistening, staining the murky whites a painful red. A droplet escapes onto his lower lashes, and traces over the curve of his cheek. 

Anakin is heartbroken, indignant, and devastated all at once. He abandons his chair in favor of straddling Obi-wan’s thighs, bringing his hands up to Obi-wan’s face again. With trembling lips and tears, he peppers soft kisses to the lines of Obi-wan’s features: the salty, tear-stained crinkle of his eyes, the worried creases in his forehead, the edges of his wobbling lips.

“Of course I need you,” he keens. “I’ve always needed you.” He rests his forehead against Obi-wan’s, closing his eyes. “I’ll need you as long as I live.” 

Obi-wan takes a few breaths, his exhales hot on Anakin’s lips. “Oh,” he says, softly. 

Anakin closes the distance and kisses him deeply, the feeling of Obi-wan’s pliant lips a salve to Anakin’s hurts. It’s barely a start to what Anakin wants to do with him, but he pulls back and instead gathers Obi-wan up in his arms, cradling the back of his head in one hand, shuffling his hips forwards so that he’s completely enveloping Obi-wan’s torso in his own. They melt together, Obi-wan threading his arms around Anakin’s waist and squishing his face into the hard space of Anakin’s shoulder. 

“I love you, Obi-wan. Never do that to me again.” He mumbles into Obi-wan’s hair, feeling like he might crack under the weight of his own heart, his own love. It’s so much, and he’s had to carry it alone for so long. 

“I love you too, dear one. And I’m so sorry.” Obi-wan confesses.

And in each other’s arms, Anakin sees the path forward; he’s been lost in the desert, stumbling around for a future, ready to hit the hard sand and crumble to dust, but now he sees Obi-wan on the horizon, and he’s running, slipping, bounding towards the man as if he held life in his hands. The terrain might be rocky, forsaken, depleted, but together, they’ll make it out okay. 

Because Obi-wan is still alive, folded neatly into Anakin’s arms, resting against and inside of his beating heart, forever, where he’s always belonged and always will remain.

#obikin #boonki writes #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #swcw #sw: tcw #deception arc #two prompts answered in one day? more likely than you think #those episodes fucked me up #like really what were they going for there if not obikin #anyways #i wont rant in the tags #star wars #fanfic #writing

[crowsent]

Whumptober 2019 Shackled

Yusuke Kitagawa, Persona 5, Shackled

CW: child abuse, minuscule gore (barely there but just in case), Madarame’s existence, Madarame’s shitty parenting

=

Madarame had been everywhere. There were statues of him, paintings of him, photographs taped to every wall. Madarame’s voice echoed somewhere high above in the shrine. The obsessive desire to please and venerate permeating the very air until Joker suffocated in it.

It had been an accident, discovering that Madarame’s pupil, Yusuke Kitagawa, had a Palace. It had only been at Ann’s insistence that they even bothered to explore at all. They were still looking for potential targets for the Phantom Thieves’ next heist and maybe, Kitagawa might be their key there. Sheer coincidence and fate’s guiding hand had led them here.

But Kitagawa’s Palace, his Shrine, was far more unnerving than anything Joker had seen in Kamoshida’s Palace.

Some part of Joker still refused to believe that a run-down shack could turn into something like this.

The run-down shack had transformed into a traditional Japanese temple with pointed spires and multiple floors. A torii gate bound with shimenawa served as the entrance to a well-lit foyer. Like any other shrine in the real world, there was an aura of calm in the air, of serenity. Distantly, Akira heard the soft click of a tsuzumi somewhere, along with gentle strums of a shamisen and the rhythmic beat of a wadaiko.

Kitagawa’s Palace was breathtaking.

And terrifying.

The walls of the shrine were vividly painted with moving images. Kanou-style tigers and cranes stalked along the walls. Heavy, ink-lined tides swept over everything and replaced the walls with simplistic landscapes only to have that in turn shift into gorgeous ukiyo-e portraits.

But, Joker noticed, the scenic paintings on the shrine walls showed something more sinister. The paint would depict monsters that writhed in screamed, hellfire ravaging entire forests, demons and ghosts and terrifying pictures of death and ruin. Then it would return to normal. As if the horrors Joker noticed were nothing more than passing thoughts. An insignificant pebble thrown into a tumultuous river, carried by the rapids for a time before sinking to the bottom.

What could Kitagawa’s cognition be like, to have his subconscious depict such a peaceful, colourful place plagued by such disturbing imagery?

Panther shivered, stepping in between Skull and Joker. “Do those pictures move!? Ugh. They’re so creepy.”

A breeze blew in from nowhere, rustling the trees and making Panther hug herself for comfort. The wind was cold. Biting. Frigid. Skull grumbled. “This dude is seriously effed in the head. I mean. This entire Palace is just.” He gestured angrily to the walls of the temple, now displaying an angry demon ripping apart the arms and legs of a human. It changed to show a lotus flower floating on a pond. “What kind of person even is this Kitagawa guy?”

Joker steeled himself and stepped forward. “We’ll never know if we don’t take a look around.”

“Right!” Mona chimed in. “Let’s get going.”

And now that they had traversed the inside of the Palace and reached the final room all the way at the top, Joker could confidently say that he absolutely detested every inch of this place. It was beautiful, but wrought with distortions so twisted it was difficult navigating up the shrine at all.

After every level, Madarame’s voice would ring out, harsher than the frigid winds they had to face, sharper than any blade they could ever find.

This isn’t good enough. See these brush strokes? Pathetic. Do it again and do it right, or you’ll face the consequences.

What did I tell you!? This piece is fucking garbage! I can’t show this at the exhibition! Is this how you’ll repay after all these years? You’re worth less than nothing.

You did a fine job Yusuke. This is good enough for this month’s exhibition. I’ll be expecting a new piece from you soon.

On.

And on.

And on.

Joker can’t take any more.

The topmost floor, wrought with a blizzard so cold Panther had to walk sandwiched between Skull and Joker, was nothing compared to Madarame’s voice.

Useless.

Again!

Can’t do anything right.

What do I even keep you here for?

Smile for the cameras, Yusuke. You’re my star pupil. What will people think of me if you look like death? Smile. Smile goddammit.

After Kitagawa, Joker was going to change Madarame’s heart or die trying. Just hearing those words from a man Kitagawa clearly admired made Akira’s blood boil.

“Last door.” Joker looked at his companions. Panther beside him, Skull on her other side, Mona tucked in Joker’s collar where the cold wind would hit him less. All three of them nodded. Joker smiled thinly though his lips felt as though they would fall off.

“Let’s go in.”

The doors to the final room, despite their size, gave way easily. The four of them pushed their way inside and with a thunderous roar, the doors slammed shut. The icy wind howled outside. The inside of the last room, the very heart of the shrine, was deceptively warm. Mona crawled out from Joker’s collar to perch at his shoulder.

“Is that a Shadow?”

At the centre of the square room, was a small Shadow, the size of a human. It wore a sheet white kimono, stained with blood. It knelt facing the door with thick golden manacles around its wrists, shackled to the floor. Both of its legs were nailed to the floor by its ankles. Behind it towered a giant golden statue of Madarame with his hand outstretched.

A ring on Madarame’s right hand connected to the Shadow in the centre of the room. To a collar around its neck, tight enough that the Shadow’s face turned almost as blue as its hair.

“Oh my God,” Panther gasped. She gripped onto Joker and Skull’s arms, trembling. Skull radiated anger. Mona muttered silent prayers for Kitagawa in the real life. Joker just stood frozen.

Kitagawa’s Shadow was literally trapped in the shrine. Even if he tore free of the stake pinning his bloody ankles to the floor, even if he ripped the manacles off, he would forever be trapped in the shrine. Collared to Madarame like a dog.

“This is how Kitagawa views himself. His distorted heart thinks of the shack as a Shrine to Madarame.” Mona’s voice was sad. “Kitagawa must think that would live and die as nothing more than a glorified pet.”

Sprouting from Shadow Kitagawa’s back were nine bushy fox tails, far too large for his frail, gaunt body to support. Kitagawa had hunched over from the weight of the nine tails with inked tips. The tails painted portrait after portrait, landscape after landscape, and meekly laid them at the feet of Madarame’s statue.

It took an eternity for the Shadow to look up against the weight of its own tails. Its hair was strikingly blue, and snow-white fox ears twitched above its head. It had no eyes. The sockets where the eyes should have been were empty pools of nothingness crying a constant stream of tears. Or blood. Or ink. Joker didn’t fucking know.

And Shadow Kitagawa looked at them with a tormented expression. Haunted by the collar choking the life out of it, by the stakes that had ripped through its very bones, by the manacles keeping it bound to the Shrine, but the tails that forced it to paint and paint and paint.

“Thieves.” The Shadow spoke slowly, with a croaking voice. It tilted its head this way and that, trying in vain to see the intruders who have desecrated the Shrine. Obviously, it couldn’t see the four of them, and hung its head instead. “Why have you come into this Shrine? This Shrine for the Great Artist Madarame, who had given a lowly being such as myself shelter. Why have you come to steal from such a benevolent man?”

Panther gritted her teeth, fists clenching into a tight ball. “Benevolent? Madarame!? Don’t be ridiculous!” Smoke puffed out from Panther’s lips, a testament to her anger. “He’s using you! Don’t you see Kitagawa-kun? You and all the artists who studied under Madarame are being used for his own selfish gain!”

“The only thing I see is Lord Madarame’s generosity.” The Shadow grasped desperately for air. The collar was made with iron spikes, Joker realised belatedly. The sharp ends dug into Kitagawa’s skin, raining rivulets of blood down his neck, onto his already ruined kimono. “I am nothing without his guidance. All the artists who studied under him were happy to give their souls in his service. We are honoured to be used.”

“Why are you still defending him!?�� Skull screamed. “He’s hurt so many people. Countless artists whose hopes and dreams were broken by his selfishness!” Skull’s leg trembled. Panther switched places with him so he could lean on Joker as he fought to remain standing. “Madarame has driven a student to suicide and if you don’t open your goddamn eyes to the effing truth, then you’re going to let countless others be driven to the same fate!”

“LIES!”

The Shadow screamed. It echoed in the walls, reverberated in Joker’s very bones, rattled the whole building. But Kitagawa’s Shadow was not angry. It did not attack. Rather, it jerked its hands up as far as they could go to cover its ears which had folded down. There were red welts around its wrists where the manacles cut into its skin. Kitagawa’s tails were in a frenzy, painting frantic lines everywhere, turning the walls into a discordance of colours and shapes.

“Lord Madarame would never. He’s a good man. He would never!”

It was afraid. It was afraid of facing the truth.

“You knew, didn’t you?” It’s eyes, if it had any, would have been trained on Joker as it snarled viciously. Instead, all Joker saw was hollow emptiness, and a Shadow that trembled at the mere possibility of hearing the truth. “You knew what Madarame was doing all along. But you ignored it.” The Shadows tails, all nine of them curled over its body, as though that could protect it from Joker’s words. From the truth. “Why did you hide from the truth Yusuke?”

Quietly, so faint that it couldn’t have been more than a soft whimper, the Shadow said, “Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Oh, Kitagawa-kun.”

“Dude.”

“Kitagawa…”

“Where else am I supposed to go!?” The Shadow’s voice caused the walls to crack. Ink poured out, soaking the Shadow’s tails into a murky black. “Sensei is all that I have. My only tie to a world that has no place for me. Where will I be, if not by his side?”

Blood squirted from Kitagawa’s wrists, his neck, his ankles, and the Shadow howled in pain, in anger in desperation. A prisoner of his own mind.

“I am shackled.” As if to emphasise, the Shadow tried to move. Tried to free itself. The stake which had nailed its legs to the floor, and the cuffs that kept it from moving echoed with a metallic clink. “There is no hope for me outside of this place. This temple. This shrine to Sensei’s ambition, to his desire, is the only place where I can exist.”

It sounded desolate. Like the howls of a hapless fox, ensnared in a trap. Like a fox which had tried to gnaw its way out and failed, only to resign itself to fate.

If Kitagawa accepted the fact that his teacher, his mentor, the man he looked up to as his father, was nothing but a liar and a cheat, it would shatter the way he viewed the world. Everything would change. Kitagawa would have to live with the fact that he was complacent, meekly obeying everything Madarame ordered and turned a blind eye as one of Madarame’s students took their own life.

“I would leave if I could.”

The statue of Madarame, the one which had sat silently as Kitagawa screamed his throat hoarse, yanked its hand back.

The Shadow yelped, wheezing, pulled in two different directions. It’s neck was blood red now, and the manacles looked ready to cut both its hands off. Kitagawa’s tailed flailed wildly.

Madarame’s statue stretched its hand out again and the Shadow collapsed as low as its collar allowed it to. It trembled and hefted its burdensome tails once more to paint.

“Leave, profaner,” said the Shadow. “Leave me to my fate.”

The doors swung open once again, and a glacial wind tore into the room. The Shadow’s kimono did nothing to protect it from the cold and it trembled, muscles seizing, lips turning even bluer.

“I can’t believe this.” Panther quivered as she stepped outside along with the others. “We have to send a calling card. We have to. We can’t just let this happen.” Joker nodded.

They were going to save Yusuke Kitagawa, even if he did not want to be saved. Akira will fucking drag him kicking and screaming into the light if he had to.

----

A letter came.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t for Sensei. Rather, addressed to Yusuke himself. It was fortuitous that Sensei wasn’t home to see it.

Yusuke sat in the corner of the atelier like he often did as a child and opened the envelope.

Sir Yusuke Kitagawa,

You who have not committed any atrocities in life but have suffered a fate to be doomed forever into the servitude of an unjust man, have turned away from the truth. You have blinded yourself to the verity of the world, and have chosen to shroud yourself in a Shrine of lies. We have decided to uncover that which you have chosen to hide, and expose the truth to your very eyes. We will no longer allow you to blind yourself to the truth that lies before you. We will take your distorted heart without fail.

From, The Phantom Thieves Of Hearts

“What the hell is this?” Yusuke crumpled the letter into nothing more than a paper ball. He chucked it into a bin along with all his other failed ideas. It’s nothing more than a prank. Sensei won’t see it. Sensei can’t see it. Yusuke’s fine. It’s fine.

Everything’s going to be fine as long as he finishes his next piece.

Yusuke’s not going to pay attention to such nonsense. Madarame-sensei would never do any of the vile things he’s been accused of.

Surely not.

He would never.

…

At the highest floor of the Palace Shrine, a Shadow cried out with a broken voice. “Free me.”

“Free me.”

I would leave if I could.

I want to leave.

Let me leave.

Free me.

Please.

#whumptober 2019 #whumptober2019 #persona #persona 5 #p5 #yusuke kitagawa #no.9