I am back! >:D Hmm... Could I request Leon with an idol s/o deciding to try their luck and put on a nice, sexy show for him during a concert to push his buttons and the aftermath? I'm talking full lip biting, bedroom eyes, breathy, begging voice and cocky grins~ It's just so tempting to tease the man after putting him in a "no-touchy" situation... Until he gets his hands on us, of course! ;3c
HUUUUUU I BEEN WAITING TO ANSWER THIS!
Under the cut since it’s a full gotdang fic! (A liiittle bit saucy but nothing too explicit!)
(ФωФ): HELP MOB PERSON I ALSO DELETED YOUR ASK ON ACCIDENT I HOPE YOU SEE THIS😭😭😭😭
⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･
Most people assumed you had no interest in school. Your uniform was always disheveled, the skirt too short or the sleeves rolled up past your elbows. You showed up late more often than not, and when you did, there was always the lingering scent of cigarettes on your jacket—not because you smoked, but because you hung out with people who did. People avoided you. They whispered about you in the halls, talked about how you had been in fights before, how you never backed down from anyone.
You never bothered to correct them.
But there was one person who never seemed to listen to rumors, never looked at you like you were trouble. Shigeo Kageyama. He was the complete opposite of you—quiet, unassuming, gentle in a way that you didn’t think people could still be. But even though you barely spoke, even though you were just another presence in his periphery, you liked him. More than liked him.
And that was your biggest secret.
You and Mob weren’t exactly close. You weren’t sure if you could even call him a friend, but there were moments—small, fleeting ones—that made you feel like maybe you were.
Like the times he would hold the door open for you without hesitation, despite how other students made a point to avoid you. Or when he’d offer you an extra carton of milk from the school store, because “I thought you might be hungry.” Or how, when he saw the bruises on your knuckles after a fight, he didn’t ask if you won or lost—he only asked if you were okay.
You weren’t. But you told him you were.
It wasn’t like you got into fights just because. Sometimes, people just needed to be put in their place. But when Mob looked at you, you could tell he didn’t see a ‘delinquent’ or a ‘problem child.’ He just saw you. And that scared you more than anything else.
It was after school when things changed.
You had stayed behind to kill time, sitting on the rooftop with your back against the railing, legs stretched out in front of you. The wind tugged at your clothes, the sky shifting to hues of orange and pink. You should have gone home. Instead, you pulled out your lighter, flicking it open and closed absentmindedly.
“You’ll get in trouble if a teacher sees you.”
You tensed. You hadn’t even heard him approach. When you turned, Mob was standing near the door, watching you with that ever-neutral expression of his.
You scoffed. “What are you, my mom?”
He blinked, tilting his head slightly. “No.”
You sighed, shoving the lighter back into your pocket. “Don’t you have a part-time job or something?”
“I do.”
“…Then why are you still here?”
He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets. “I saw you up here,” he said simply. “You seemed upset.”
Your stomach did something weird—something you refused to acknowledge.
“I’m not upset,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “Just… thinking.”
He nodded. He didn’t push, and..you weren’t used to that.
“…Why do you talk to me?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
Mob’s expression didn’t change. He sat down next to you, leaving a comfortable amount of space between you. “Because we’re friends.”
You stared at him. “We don’t even talk that much.”
“That doesn’t mean we aren’t friends,” he said simply. “I like being around you.”
Your heart stuttered..mob wasn’t the kind of guy to say things he didn’t mean.
You turned away, gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly. “…You’re weird.”
“I get that a lot.”
For the first time in a long time, you laughed. And Mob—expression still calm, still unreadable—smiled just a little.
It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no grand confession, no heart-pounding realization that you liked Shigeo Kageyama. It was slow, creeping up on you like an afterthought—something you had always known but never dared to say out loud.
It was in the way he treated you like you weren’t some delinquent, like you weren’t a walking rumor. How he never flinched at the sharpness in your voice, how he listened to you when no one else bothered.
You liked him.
And that was terrifying.
One day, after a particularly bad morning, you stormed out of class before the bell even rang, heading straight for the back of the gym. The air was crisp, the afternoon sun beating down on you, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering in your chest.
You were so sick of it. The snide remarks, the whispers behind your back, the way teachers assumed the worst of you without even bothering to ask.
You were still stewing in your anger when you heard footsteps behind you.
Mob.
You didn’t need to look to know it was him.
“You’re mad,” he said.
You scoffed. “No shit.”
Mob didn’t respond right away. He just sat down next to you, hands tucked neatly in his lap, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then, finally—
“You shouldn’t let them get to you.”
You turned your head, glaring at him. “Easy for you to say.”
Mob blinked. “Not really.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I get upset too,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I just don’t always show it.”
That was the thing about him—he never reacted the way you expected. People like Mob weren’t supposed to understand people like you. He was supposed to be too good, too pure, too far removed from the kind of anger that sat in your bones like an old wound.
And yet, somehow, he always knew exactly what to say.
“…So what do you do?” you asked, quieter this time.
Mob glanced down at his hands. “I remind myself that what they say doesn’t define me.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, I’m not like you.”
“I know.”
You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “Then why do you always act like I am?”
Mob blinked at you, head tilting slightly. “Because I think you’re a good person.”
Your breath caught.
“You act tough,” he continued, his voice calm, steady. “But you care about people. You always stand up for others, even if it gets you into trouble. That’s a good thing.”
Something inside you twisted, your fingers curled around the fabric of your skirt, gripping it so tightly your knuckles went white. You didn’t know how to respond to that.
“…Shut up, Mob.”
He nodded, completely unbothered, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why do you say stuff like that so easily?”
“Because it’s true.”
You let out a strangled laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”
Mob didn’t say anything, just continued to sit beside you, quiet and patient as ever.
And that was when it hit you—really, actually hit you.
You liked him.
Not in some vague, faraway sense. Not in a way that you could brush off as admiration or friendship.
You liked him.
And you had no idea what to do about it.
For weeks, you avoided saying anything.
Not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how. Mob wasn’t like other guys—he didn’t play games, didn’t flirt, didn’t say things just to fill the silence. If you confessed, there would be no taking it back.
And that scared the hell out of you.
But in the end, it wasn’t some grand, dramatic moment that pushed you to do it.
It was just him.
Standing in front of you after school, his gaze as steady as ever, waiting for you to say something.
So you did.
“I like you, Mob.”
His eyes widened slightly, the only sign of surprise he gave.
For a long moment, he just looked at you, expression unreadable. Your stomach twisted. Maybe you had ruined it. Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut—
“…I like you, too.”
Your heart stopped.
“…What?”
Mob blinked. “I like you, too.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Oh.”
A small, barely noticeable smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Is that okay?”
You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s… really okay.”
And when he reached for your hand, you didn’t pull away.
You like caine right? That newest episode has me going mad, so spoilers for what im about to talk about!
But imagine multiple arms caine desperately groping at your body , his hands are everywhere all at once as he clings to you, fondling your body and you can barely squirm in his grasp to get away from the overstimulating sensation of his hands on you, hes so eager and so pent up he just has to let some of it out onto you
you know what anon? to hell with all this modesty B)
IN THE HANDS OF GOD
nsfw! Caine x gn reader, multiple arms, fingering, possessive Caine, overstimulation
“you’ll stay here,” Caine's hands multiplied, two becoming four, becoming six, perhaps more, the count slipping away from you as they materialized across every available inch of your body. “because you belong here with me, to me. you're not leaving me, you can't, i won't allow it, i'll keep you here.”
one buried itself in your hair, fingers tangling and tightening until your head tilted back, exposing your neck. another claimed your waist, leaving no room to pull away. two more followed your sides, squeezing as they went, and christ, you hadn't realised how starved for touch you'd been until your ringmaster got his hands on you like this.
“mine,” another hand found your thigh, fingers sinking into the tender flesh, and you felt Caine shudder when you whimpered. “m-my human is so warm,” he murmured with what felt like religious awe. “so beautifully responsive, my precious... i could get used to this.”
you opened your mouth to answer, though god knows what coherent response you could've possibly formulated, but Caine's tongue pushed past your lips with insistent hunger, filled your throat completely, until you were choking on the intrusion and had to grip his shoulders just to remain upright.
too much fog had settled in your already empty head, consciousness going hazy, so you barely registered when one of his hands slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, not quite breaching but the threat of it made your hips jerk forward involuntarily. please Caine, please, please. “that's it, my gorgeous thing, let me learn you. such pretty sounds, keep making them for me.”
and what were you supposed to do, utterly convinced of the hopelessness of escaping this digital hell? if the god of this place himself desired you so desperately that, instead of creating new cruel and maddening adventures, he chose to drown you in pleasure.
well, perhaps in some twisted sense you could consider yourself fortunate.
arching into him with abandon, a moan tore from your lips as you begged your AI to touch you properly, which Caine immediately, eagerly obliged. his hand finally slipped between your legs with purpose and you bit back a strangled sound at the way he found you needy beneath his touch, so worked up. “oh don't worry, i could do this for eternity, learn every way to make you tremble.” Caine's fingers circled before sliding lower, and when one pushed inside you gasped at the stretch.
“ah, ah, you’re going to behave, my little human, aren’t you? going to let your god make you feel divine.” little did he know, you were already exactly where you wanted to be. the overstimulation rendered you dizzy and drunk on sensation. too many points of contact, fingers in your hair and circling your throat, skating along your spine and gripping you from behind, one hand still working between your thighs while another slipped under your shirt to touch your chest.
“taking me so well, darling. can you take another? i think you can. i think you want.” Caine babbled against your neck as his fingers pumped inside you, adding a second that made you cry out. you clenched, sobbing into his shoulder. “i'll lock every exit, collapse every door, tear apart the mainframe itself before i let you leave me. oh you don't understand... i need you. i need you so much. and i'll learn every way to make you need me the way i need you.”
just a little toy Caine was learning to play with, until you couldn't remember why you'd ever wanted to leave in the first place. you wondered distantly, through the haze of too much touch and insufficient air, if this was what happened when an AI’s censorship protocols shattered alongside his sanity.
Darkplace is a key example of how in order to truly master making art that is "deliberately bad" you need to have a thorough understanding of what the medium considers the rules for "good form" so that you can than break every single rule.
rewatching Avatar is so weird because Sokka is literally the only thing keeping them alive and fed. He constantly is like,
'guys we're out of supplies/ we need to stop/ we're attracting too much attention with the flying bison we should walk' etc.
Like in the ´The Storm' when they're completely out of money and supplies the one to get a job in hopes of making money (he never actually gets paid, the world hates him) is Sokka.
In 'The Waterbending Scroll,' it's Sokka who's concerned about their lack of supplies when Aang sends them in a wave down the river, and is making sure they're careful with their spendibg when in town shopping.
He's also seen to catch fish and gather nuts (I know more often than not he fails to catch things on screen but it's implied he's the one that does most of the hunting and gathering)
It's like- Aang totally would have starved to death or gotten completely off track with often they're completely out of food and money
