#I think it just cares too deeply about things that are out of its control

[welcometotheunknownlosers]

I think if yaelokre took a step back from interacting fully with the community it would be beneficial for everyone

[firstroseofspring]

thinking pondering to me john torres is like. what if u met a woman. with confidence and dignity and a strong moral backbone. you meet and she makes a distinct impression with her honesty and her frankness and she seems like she's always sure of what she wants and what she needs and she's so different from anyone else you know and thats exciting and she's exciting and she likes you specifically you. and you don't think much of you but it feels good to be liked by someone like that. you love her of course. you marry her. of course!

[bitterrfruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[whatsverstappeningnow]

better together

lando norris x oscar piastri x reader

You wanted them both. At once. You weren’t sure they’d say yes. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to ask.

-> cw: smut, DP, slightly subby Oscar, no reference to birth control but its there (wrap before you tap people), 18+ content (you are incharge of your own content consumption, not me)

“Feels so good, love,” Oscar whispers into the crook of your neck, voice hoarse and whinny against your skin. “So good.”

“You hear that, baby? You’re taking him so well he can barely speak,” Lando says from behind you, a lilt of mocking in his voice overshadowed by the soft touch of his hands over your bare waist.

You’re held up between the two of them, Lando behind and Oscar in front holding you up with a strong grip on your thighs—already settled deep inside you. Your arms are wrapped around Oscar‘s neck, head leaning back against Lando’s shoulder. All clothes have been discarded long ago.

The older boy laughs lightly at the glazed-over look in your eyes, mind dazed already simply from having Oscar deep inside you and both of them so close.

“You want to tell him how good he feels too?” Lando whispers to you before he dips down to press soft kisses to your neck. 

“’S Good. So deep, Osc,” is all you can manage to get out. Though Oscar can only moan in response, so you suppose you win. 

“You still wanna try, baby? Think you can take us both?” Lando asks, thumbs rubbing calming circles on your hips. "You want us to make you feel good together?”

You’ve already talked about it at length. The awkwardness you felt when summoning the courage to ask them to try taking both of them at once was quickly forgotten when you saw the dark look in their eyes at the request.

Oscar, terrified of hurting you, had been slightly hesitant. But he was reassured by the both of you: you’d go slow, you could always stop. There was no pressure.

A hand on the inside of his thigh and a soft don’t you want me? from you was enough to convince him completely. 

They wanted it. You wanted it. 

“Yes,” you mumbled softly, melting into their brace and feeling soft kisses against your neck and collarbone from the both of them.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Lando said again, pretending not to hear.

“Please. Yes, please.” 

It's Oscar who breaks first, one of his hands slipping from your thigh to grab Lando’s bicep, “Please Lan, no more teasing. Need you both.”

Somehow, impossible, the two press closer into you, the pressure between you three keeping you up in the air while Lando lines up at your entrance. You tense slightly, feeling him, a sudden unexpected pit of nerves settling in your stomach.

Lando is quick to calm you. “Breathe, love. You’ve got us. We’re right here.”

“Tell us if it’s too much. We’ll stop. Just say the word. Yeah?” Oscar adds, his voice soft and careful, but his touch hot against your skin. You can barely feel where you end and he begins. Your three bodies feel so connected and in tune, thatit’s hard to disguise one from the other. 

Then slowly, so, so slowly, Lando pushes in. Your whole world turns erupts in pleasure. Their words swirl around you, lost to the feeling of complete fullness. Complete pleasure.

“You’re being so good for us, love.”

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this, stuffed full and still asking for more.”

“That’s it, let us hear you. Wanna hear how we make you feel. Every little sound you make…”

“You’re shaking, love. Is it too much? Or just that good?” Lando says it right into your ear, unmistakable as he finally fully settles inside of you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I need you. Both of you.”

“You have us,” Oscar replies, kissing your shoulder once and shifting slightly inside you, causing you to moan low and long.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other, breathing deeply, whispering sweet things. Until eventually…

“Move,” you beg. And they do. 

It's all too much, and just right all at once. Quickly, they settle into a pace, a rhythm. The smell of sweat and love fills the air, hanging over the room. Hands roam and hold you tightly, gripping your waist, your thighs, your ass, your hands, pushing back your hair and caressing your jawline. 

Each time you think it's too much, their sweet words pull you back to yourself. Each touch feels perfect.

"Harder," you beg, lost to the feeling of them both spliting you open. It's better than you could have ever imagined.

Their speed picks up, ramming into you in unison and causing your breath to get stuck in your throat. You swear you can see stars. You're body twitches and squirms with each thrust, sentive to every little sensation.

“You're clenching so hard," Oscar groans out, his rhythm stuttering slightly, "I'm not, god, I'm not gonna last."

"Fuck, same," Lando admits, some of his earlier cockiness slipping away from him as you whine again at the feeling of both of their cocks bottoming out inside you at once.

"I can take it. Want to. Want both of you." You reassure them with breathy words, grabbing onto any part of them you can until.

"Fuck."

Their climax hits so suddenly that their groans are the only thing you can hear. The whole world seems to come to a stop as they hold you tightly, breathing deeply through their high. Time feels stuck in this moment. It's perfect.

"You still with us, love?" Lando asks, voice hoarse and tired. All you can do is hum lightly and lean into Oscar's touch as he cradles your cheek with his hand.

"Gonna pull out? Ok?" And once you nod slightly, you feel the emptiness fill you up soon after. You groan at the sudden loss.

Soon, you're moving. Strong arms cradle and place you softly down on the bed. One of them, Lando, you think, settles behind you, resting up against the headboard. He pulls you back till your back hits his chest. Hands glide across your body, tracking down your neck and chest and landing on the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart slightly. 

"You haven't come yet darling, can we help with that?" he whispers to you as Oscar settles in front of you, eyes shining and lips glossy with spit. You can only nod. 

After a sweet kiss to your lips, gentle and kind, Oscar goes down. 

You're still so sensitive from having both of them inside of you, it barely takes any time for your climax to hit. Your legs shake with pleasure, your muscles tighten and then suddenly, all at once, relax completely. You let out a breath of peace. 

Oscar collapses on top of you, his head on your chest and his hand interlocking with yours. The pressure feels like safety. You all lie there for a moment, breathing and tracing each other's skin with gentle hands. Soft kisses are pressed to your temple, and you can't help but smile at the feeling.

"I think I could stay right here forever," Oscar whispers, lips ticklish against your neck. 

“You okay? You with us?” Lando asks again, a hand running through Oscar's hair and then intertwining with your free hand.

“I don’t think I can walk," you joke, voice coming back to you as you feel the tiredness settle in you."

Oscar answers before Lando can. "We’ll carry you. Wherever you need.”

You laugh lightly at the words. You should have a bath, clean up, but you can't find it in you to care. Your limbs are too tired and your mind is completely at ease.

You let your eyes slip closed, your hand still wrapped in Oscar’s, your back pressed to Lando’s chest. They’re so close, so constant. It feels like they’re holding you together even as you start to drift off.

Sleep takes you slowly. It comes easily, wrapped in warmth, steady breaths, and the quiet thrum of being wanted completely, without question, without end. 

please be kind, this is my first ever attempt at smut! - ree

[cameatslemons]

mouthwashing post. jimmy is a raging narcissist and im tired of people trying to give him benefit of the doubt. his inability to see two feet beyond what immediately concerns him dooms everyone on the tulpar, and even in the end, he only really cares about himself.

big list of all his narcisstic bullshit below bc im here to motherfucking prove it (mouthwashing spoilers of course)

most obviously: everything is a personal attack on him. EVERYTHING. you can see it most clearly at the birthday party; while everyone else is understandably freaking out about being laid off, jimmy starts telling curly off and insulting both him and everyone else at the table, as if being laid off is a personal attack on jimmy specifically. it doesn’t matter that anya has nothing to go back to, that swansea’s life is thrown away- jimmy is the ONLY victim here, apparently. curly is personally responsible for getting laid off, in his eyes.

i don’t actually know the words for this but the way he’s constantly going “i have to do EVERYTHING around here”- again, feeling like its a personal attack to be asked anything at all. anya asks him to take care of curly because her entire fucking life is falling apart, its her end of days, but somehow shes the villain for struggling.

also the general antagonization of anya. she’s extremely competent for the hand she was dealt! shes too poor to attend med school yet shes very knoqledgable in medication and wound care! and yeah no shit shes struggling now, someone she cared deeply about is suffering immensely and now the ship is being “run” by a man who assaulted her. no fucking shit shes breaking down. but jimmy makes it clear time and time again that this is somehow her fault, all this shit of “shouldn’t nurses EARN their titles?” while she’s having a mental breakdown.

similarly, swansea being villainized for holding the cryopod for daisuke and killing him. like, i get it, but jimmy’s whole thing of saying he can fix daisuke is… c’mon man. he’s a hero to himself, he “always” fixes things the same way he “fixed” the ship, and he will fix daisuke and claim heroism even though it’s very clear nothing else can be done for him.

“someday you’ll thank me” while forcing curly to eat his own leg. the incredible confidence that he is in the right even when literally torturing someone.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: the final scene with curly burning. jimmy doesn’t earnestly believe he has anything to be sorry for. even when apologizing to curly he says “we can BOTH be heroes!” despite everything, he still thinks he’s in the right. he STILL thinks he’s a hero, because he’s right, he’s ALWAYS right, surely. he can apologize and grovel all he wants but in the end he still thinks he’s the hero of this story; he doesn’t genuinely think he has anything to right, he’s only doing this to be freed of consequence. and/or believes a simple “sorry” is enough, that it can fix completely ruining the lives of four people with his own inferiority complex.

i do think the choice to put curly in the pod instead of himself is the only time he recognizes his own guilt, if any. maybe it’s realizing that he DOES need something more than a simple “sorry” to even begin to try to fix things, maybe it’s that he thinks this will cement him even further as a hero. even then, does this fix anything? all it’s doing is making curly suffer more. is this actually a good thing?

to him, he’s the hero here. he always is. crashing the ship is a heroic thing, putting all his crewmates through hell is a heroic thing. all because something nobody can control is somehow a personal attack on jimmy.

not to mention all the “hallucinations” he has- it’s what he thinks should happen, it’s what he wants to hear. curly still calling him a friend, the dead corpses of his crewmates praising him, even in the final cutscene with curly burning where he says “no, YOU take the pod”. none of it’s real. it’s just what jimmy thinks is “right”. despite everything, he thinks everyone should thank and praise him, because he can do no wrong.

conclusion: jimmy is a narcisstic piece of shit.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me so I can write more :)

Doey & reckless player

★ Of course you are the kind of person to take chances, its why you came back to the factory after so long. Well, that and the note. By the time you met Doey, you have already taken many leaps of faith.

★ How he reacts honestly depends on his mood and what it is you did. If he's feeling playful and you didn't do anything too serious, he might just poke fun at you for taking so many risks. Putting his hand over where his heart would be and declaring "Oh no, don't do that! You'll give me a heart attack!"

★ Occasionally, Doey adopts a mock-serious tone, playing the role of a strict parent. "Now, what did I tell you about running off like that?" He wags his finger at you, like he was going to reprimand you. But the smirk on his face told you he wouldn't.

★ If the actions you take lead to success, he can't help but feel impressed. "Alright, alright, I'll admit, that was pretty good. But please, try not to give me a heart attack next time." He says with a goofy wink at the end.

★ When Doey is in a more nervous mood. Aka If the player is about to do something particularly stupid, Doey can't help but step in. "Hey, maybe we should think this through first?" Gently but firmly trying to guide them away from making a bad choice.

★ If you manage to find yourself in a risky situation, then get yourself out of it, he finds himself irritated at the lack of concern for your safety. And even more upset at the way you treat your life like it's not as precious as it is.

★What If you go off and do something dangerous and things don't turn out well? His usually controlled temper comes out when he thinks about it. And the frustration bubbles to the surface, "Do you even realize what could have happened?" he snaps, "It's like you don't even care!"

★ You need to be careful. Please. His temper isn't just about your safety. it's about how deeply he cares and the fear of losing you to something completely avoidable. He needs you to stay safe.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

unexpected consequences

words: 700

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, condoms breaking, pregnancy/breeding talk, unprotected p in v sex, established relationship, mention of marriage

“oh fuck, yeah.” you moan out, fingers gripping rafes shoulders. “right-right there.”

your moans are extra loud today, having been apart from rafe for nearly a week after he had business out of the country. rafe is just as pent up as you, thrusting harshly into your cunt to the chorus of his grunts.

“close.” rafe warns, but you could tell anyways by the swelling of his cock that he wouldn’t last long.

“oh my god, yes.” you moan out, back arching off the bed as your release pushes through your body, cumming with a final shout of your boyfriends name.

rafe drops his head into your neck as he cums inside of you, pushing as deeply as he can as your cunt pulses around him. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press soft kisses to his head while rafe pants through his orgasm, until you shift slightly and feel it inside of you.

“rafe, pull out.” you shove at his shoulder, causing him to look up in concern, but he slips his softening cock out.

“what is it baby?” rafe asks. you look down at the condom he always wears, where theres always a bit of white cum gathered at the tip, but this time it looks practically empty, like he just rolled it on.

“rafe.” you hit his shoulder, causing him to flinch and look down.

“wha-” rafe suddenly realizes the issue, rolling himself off the bed as he walks into the bathroom, no doubt to inspect the condom and tell you what you already know is true.

“it broke.” rafe says when he comes out a moment later.

“i know.” you admit, shifting your hips from side to side again. “i can tell.”

“im so sorry baby.” rafe says with a sigh, laying on the bed next to you but not pulling you into his arms, not sure if you want to be touched.

“its okay.” you hum softly, mind still reeling. “you didn’t know.”

“what are we gonna do?” rafe asks, knowing you’re not on birth control due to affecting other medication you’re on.

“well, i can take a plan b in the morning…” you say quietly. 

“or.” rafe encourages you to continue, able to tell that you aren’t finished.

“or we could wait and see. i mean i probably won’t get pregnant just from one time, right?” you shrug.

“what about if it does take? and you’re pregnant?” rafe asks, looking at your tummy.

as if you’re thinking the same thing, you lay your hand over your stomach, knowing that even if you are pregnant there is nothing in there yet, but the thought alone has you rubbing gently over your skin. “i don’t know.” you admit.

“i want to keep it.” rafe blurts out. “if-if you are pregnant.” rafe can’t take not touching you any longer, pulling you close to him and tangling your limbs together.

“are you sure?” you raise your eyebrows. you think rafe would be an amazing father, knowing how protective he is of you, and how he strives every day to take even better care of you. “we are so young.”

“i love you. i want to be with you, i want a family with you. why not start now?” rafe questions. he won’t admit it to you yet, but he’s been thinking about taking the next step, having even gone ring shopping to see his options. “besides-” rafe smiles, “why are you trying to talk me out of it? you’ve always wanted kids.”

you grin back at him. “i know.” you let a giggle free, feeling giddy about the possibility. you’ve always wanted to become a mom, especially because you have so many younger siblings. “so, are we doing this?”

“yes.” rafe says definitively, pulling you in for a kiss, a comforting one that you truly need.

“oh my god, im so excited.” you break the kiss to mumble against his lips.

rafe nods in agreement, lowering a hand between your bodies to touch your stomach. “probably too early to start talking to your tummy, huh?” 

“definitely. i mean, we don’t even know if i’m pregnant, it may take a couple tries…” you trail off, hoping rafe gets your intention.

“well, i will just have to keep cumming inside you.” rafe shrugs. “in fact, we shouldn’t take any chances and i should fill you up again right now.”

rafes hand lowers from your stomach to your thigh as he grabs your flesh and pulls your leg over his hip, spreading your thighs for him as your cunt rubs up against his quickly hardening cock.

“rafe!” you shout with a laugh, but don’t stop him as he begins to grind his cock into your core.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart

[mylovesstuffs]

Ot13 and what scares them about love

Request: Hey can u do a headcanon ot13: what scares them about being in love.. or love in general? (Like not being enough, losing control, potential heartbreak… smth like that) thanks a lot:)))

A/N: I added the little bullet notes under each member’s part just in case any of you have similar fears—so that you can be reassured that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Personally, I struggle with the fear of being hard to love. It’s something deeply ingrained in me, though I won’t elaborate further. I just wanted you all to feel a little better. At the end of the day, these notes aren’t really for the members (as if they'll see this lol)—they’re for you. This headcanon (sorta) felt surprisingly personal, and writing it made me reflect on so many things about life and love in general. To the anon who requested this, thank you. Your idea was truly unique, and it gave me a space to pause, think, and see things from a different perspective of svt and others.

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Seungcheol – The Fear of Failing as a Partner

How I see him is that, he carries a deep sense of responsibility, and that extends to love too. His biggest fear is not being able to protect or take care of his partner the way he wants to. He worries about not being emotionally available or strong enough when they need him most. The idea of letting someone down, especially someone he loves, weighs heavily on him.

Seungcheol, you’re doing your absolute best, and that’s more than enough. Your love is a safe space, and no one could ever doubt the strength you bring to those around you.

Jeonghan – The Fear of Losing Himself

Love is beautiful, but it’s also consuming. Jeonghan fears that being in love might make him lose parts of himself—his independence, his ability to make rational choices, or even his sense of control. He’s afraid of how much power someone else could have over his emotions, especially since he’s always the one in control of his own heart.

Love doesn’t mean losing yourself. The right person will embrace all of you, allowing you to be both independent and deeply connected. You don’t have to choose between the two.

Joshua – The Fear of Unreciprocated Effort

I feel like he’s the type to love deeply, wholeheartedly, and unconditionally. But what scares him is the possibility of loving someone more than they love him. He fears investing everything into a relationship, only to find out that his feelings are not returned in the same way. He doesn’t want to be left wondering if he was ever truly enough.

Shua, you are more than enough. Any love you give will be returned in full measure. You’re so kind and caring, and someone who sees you for who you are will love you deeply in return.

Jun – The Fear of Being Misunderstood

Jun is a deep thinker, and his emotions often run slowly beneath the surface. He worries that no matter how much he loves someone, they might never truly understand him. He’s scared of feeling alone in a relationship, of opening up completely and still not being seen for who he truly is.

The right person will understand you in ways you never imagined. Your depth is so precious, and there are people who will cherish every part of who you are.

Hoshi – The Fear of Love Fading

Love, to him, should always be full of passion and excitement. But he fears that over time, feelings might dull, routines might set in, and the relationship could become something ordinary. He wants love to always feel exhilarating, and the thought of it losing its spark terrifies him.

The most beautiful love grows even stronger with time, and the quiet moments are just as powerful as the loud ones.

Wonwoo – The Fear of Not Being Enough

Wonwoo is reserved, and deeply introspective. He worries that he won’t be able to express love in the way his partner needs. He’s afraid that his way of loving through actions rather than words, might not be enough. The idea of someone wanting more than he can give haunts him.

Wonwoo, your love is already enough. The way you care, through your actions and your presence, speaks volumes. Anyone who truly understands you will appreciate the depth of your heart.

Woozi – The Fear of Losing His Dreams for Love

As we all know, he’s very dedicated to his craft and his passion for music runs deep. While he’s capable of deep love, he fears that being in love might take away the time and energy he’s poured into his dreams. He doesn’t want to choose between love and ambition, but he’s afraid that, in the end, one might have to come before the other.

The right person will support and inspire you to keep chasing your passions while loving you in the most meaningful way.

Dokyeom – The Fear of Hurting or Disappointing Someone

Seokmin has such a big heart, and his worst fear is accidentally hurting someone he loves. He always wants to be a source of happiness, but relationships aren’t always perfect, and the thought of being the reason for someone’s pain is unbearable to him.

Kyeom, your heart is pure, and your love only brings joy to those around you. Anyone who is with you will feel lucky to have such a loving and kind soul in their life.

Mingyu – The Fear of Being Too Much

He loves intensely, and sometimes, that can feel overwhelming. Mingyu worries that his enthusiasm, his affection, and his deep emotions might be too much for someone to handle. He’s scared of loving someone with all his heart, only to be told that it’s suffocating.

Gyu :(( your love is perfect just the way it is. No one will ever think you’re too much. You are a warm, bright presence, and the right person will embrace all of that with open arms.

Minghao – The Fear of Losing Freedom

Love is beautiful (2), but Minghao values his independence. He worries about feeling trapped or restricted in a relationship, about losing the ability to chase his own passions freely. He wants to love without feeling like he has to compromise parts of himself.

The right person will love and respect your freedom while still sharing in your journey together.

Seungkwan – The Fear of Heartbreak

He loves hard, and he knows that means he has the most to lose. The thought of giving his whole heart to someone only to have it broken is terrifying. He’s scared of the kind of pain that lingers, the kind that changes a person forever.

Kwannie, your heart is strong enough to handle anything. Love will come with its ups and downs, but your ability to heal and grow will make you even stronger, and you will find a love that never breaks you.

Vernon – The Fear of Not Being Able to Express Himself

Vernon thinks deeply but doesn’t always voice everything he feels. He fears that his inability to always put his emotions into words might make his partner feel unappreciated or uncertain about his love. He doesn’t want to lose someone just because he couldn’t say the right things at the right time.

Anyone who truly cares for you will understand the depth of your feelings, even in silence. You don’t need to explain everything—you show it.

Dino – The Fear of Not Being Taken Seriously

As the youngest in svt, he’s used to being seen as playful and energetic and his partner will also know this persona just like we do. But in love, he wants to be seen as a dependable partner. He fears that no matter how much he matures, there will always be a part of him that people don’t take seriously. He doesn’t want to be seen as a ‘kid’ in love—he wants to be seen as someone who can love deeply and be a strong, steady presence in his partner’s life.

Dino, your maturity is not measured by age but by the love you give. Anyone who loves you will see the depth of your heart and appreciate the amazing, steady partner you are.

[dragonkeeper19600]

The Batter Is One of My Favorite Video Game Protagonists Ever

News of the upcoming remake recently got me back into OFF, and as I played through the game for the first time in years, I was struck anew by just how great a character the Batter is.

Not just for his role in the subversive meta-narrative, which was fairly new in video games at the time, but also for really being just a really nuanced and fascinating character.

Now, even knowing the twist and the way the game ends, it might be tempting to write off the Batter as a one-note character, like, "Oh, he's just an uncaring thug who wants to kill everyone," but no, I think that's a very shallow read. The Batter has a lot of depth if you take the time to really look.

So, because I've been chomping at the bit to gush about my favorite character, let's go down a list of some of the character traits that make the Batter great.

1. Doesn't Give a Fuck...or Does He?

Years ago, there was a post on Tumblr (that I won't even try to find now) that said of the Batter, "Man, this guy just does not give a fuck," featuring a bunch of screenshots of him saying things like this:

Don't get me wrong, his terseness and lack of reaction to some of the game's most outrageous or even harrowing moments is hilarious in a kind of black comedy way, but to imply that the Batter doesn't care about anything is inaccurate.

For one thing, he drops the blunt speaking style and becomes very eloquent and even passionate when confronting those he sees as "impure."

That the game acknowledges him to be a figure controlled by a player by no means necessitates that he's merely an automaton, passionlessly following orders. He's devoted himself to his mission with the zeal of a fanatic. He fervently believes that he is right and just and that anyone who opposes him must be cut down for the greater good.

Confronting what he perceives to be evil is the most surefire way to loosen his tongue and get him fired up, which brings me to my next point:

2. Has a Strong Moral Center...Too Strong

The Batter's main goal may be to wipe out every living thing in this world, including all of the Elsens, but that doesn't mean he's indifferent to the Elsens' suffering. Far from it. He's actually deeply offended by their mistreatment.

In Zone 1, the Batter decides that Dedan is hostile and must be destroyed before Dedan has even had the chance to interact with him, meaning that Dedan being hostile to the Elsen is what made the Batter decide he has to die.

He also conveys a sense of urgency during the timed mission in Zone 2, as though urged by the sight of the Elsens in immediate danger. I don't remember his exact dialogue if you run out of time during this part, but I recall him saying something like, "We're too late..." which (if I'm remembering the line correctly) would show that he's motivated not just by a bloodlust for the Specters but by the need to save the Elsens' lives.

However, what makes this morality disturbing instead of redeeming is its lack of two things: empathy and nuance. While the Batter is able to understand that people being killed or mistreated or abused is bad, he isn't capable of empathizing with the victims. The knowledge that the people he's fighting so hard to save in Zone 2 are going to end up being killed anyway once he purifies Japhet doesn't give him pause for an instant. The inherent dissonance in that is beyond his ability to comprehend. He's so self-righteous that he sees each of his actions as good, even if they result in the same outcome for a particular individual as something he's trying to prevent. In simpler terms: When a Specter kills someone, it's bad and evil. When the Batter kills someone (even if it's the same damn person), it is right and just.

The lack of nuance in the Batter's moral compass manifests as a very simple worldview: Everything that is evil must be destroyed. This philosophy is key to the game's satire of morality in video games, where evil deeds and creatures are swiftly and violently punished by the main character, usually with death. By sticking to this worldview, the Batter is ignoring the nuance of the setting he's actually in. The Elsens whose mistreatment he's so outraged by don't want him to kill their leaders, and they don't want to be killed by the Batter anymore than they want to be killed by the Specters. But the Batter is so set in his worldview that he isn't willing to adjust. If the Zones operate in a way that he deems to be evil, then they too are inherently evil and must be destroyed. This chain of logic is taken to its natural conclusion when the Batter annihilates the whole world because, yeah, that's really the only way to eliminate evil, isn't it?

It may be tempting at this point to say that the Batter doesn't care about anything except his mission and punishing evildoers, but even that is oversimplifying the character.

3. Surprisingly Human

Mortis Ghost has very clearly stated that the Batter is not human, and I believe him. (Why wouldn't I? It's his game.) That being said, some of the ways the Batter reacts to the things he encounters strike me as surprisingly human.

It isn't true that the Batter doesn't care about anything outside of the mission. There is quite a lot that he doesn't care about, but he's also capable of forming opinions that have nothing to do with the mission. If you look out one of the windows in Zone 0, the Batter will say, "I think it's a nice day out," which is a line that really surprised me when I first found out about it because it's the only time I can think of where the Batter makes a positive comment about something.

There's also the way he insists on sitting in the front seat of the rollercoaster and always puts his arms in the air while on the incline. He's not obeying you when he does these things; he refuses to get on the coaster if you try to make him sit anywhere but the front, and there's no button prompt or anything to make him put his arms in the air; he just does it.

I also love his reaction to the "Panic in Ballville!" comic in the Room.

Not only is he decidedly unimpressed with this comic, he also refuses to read it again if you try to make him. Whether he realizes the implications of his own resemblance to the villain in the comic is unclear, but his refusal to even look at it again means that he might. Regardless, moments like these show that the Batter is more than just a single-minded puppet. He does have opinions and won't hesitate to put his foot down if you try to make him do something he doesn't want to do.

He's even capable of being taken aback, as Enoch's dialogue about the Specters being the souls of the dead appears to give him pause.

That brief moment is the only one in the game where the Batter shows any sign of hesitancy or uncertainty in what he's doing. He was very convinced up until this point that the Guardians were controlling the Specters (despite Dedan accusing him of the same thing in Zone 1). Not only that, but he's never taken the time to think about what the Specters actually are. I kind of interpret this as a rare introspective moment from the Batter, where he begins to realize there might be aspects of this situation and what he's doing that he hasn't considered.

However, he quickly recovers from this moment of doubt and hardens his resolve to eliminate Enoch because of his...

4. Unshakeable Faith...But in What?

A lot of the language the Batter uses to describe himself and his mission contains a lot of religious overtones, with adjectives like "holy," "sacred," "righteous," etc. His perception of his himself matches with portrayals in the Old Testament of God as a punisher of evil and a smiter of the wicked.

I don't think I need to list all the references to Christianity throughout the entire game because that would take way, way too long. Needless to say, everyone has noticed the religious motif in this game, and when an Elsen in Zone 1 straight up asks the Batter if he's religious, he doesn't deny it.

However, I don't think it would be quite right to call the Batter a Christian. While he uses a lot of language that's reminiscent of Christianity, his dialogue doesn't contain any references to specifically Christian practices or beliefs, such as Jesus, the Bible, the saints, angels, baptism, the Resurrection, etc., etc. The Batter may have devoted himself to his mission with a religious zeal, but is the mission alone all he worships? The kind of faith he exhibits is usually that associated with a deity.

Identifying the "who" at the center of the Batter's worship is not easy. When the same Elsen from Zone 1 asks who sent him, the Batter straight up says, "Nobody." I've seen it suggested that the deity the Batter "worships" may actually be the player, but I don't think that's right either, since he's pretty quick to turn on you, without any sign of hesitation or angst, if you side with the Judge in the final boss fight.

But I have another theory. If we're still using Christianity as a reference, then the Batter would presumably be worshipping some sort of creator deity. Who is the Batter's creator?

When the Batter meets the Queen, she tells him to go back home. His response?

He outright refers to Hugo as his father. As you may recall, "Father," is one of the aspects of the Trinity (Father, Son, Holy Ghost.) The Father is God the Creator, God the Progenitor, God the Origin of the World. This, I believe, is how the Batter sees Hugo.

Remember how the Queen attacks the Batter by saying, "You don't even know his first name"? Could that be because the Batter only knows Hugo as "Father" and not any other name?

This revelation becomes even more enlightening (and disturbing) when you take these lines into consideration:

What does the Batter see as the Queen's only important role? To care for Hugo. Why does the Batter feel compelled to complete his mission? Because of Hugo. Why did he come all this way? To see Hugo. Where is his home? With Hugo. Everything is for Hugo.

That the main goal of his mission is to kill Hugo fits the mold in a twisted way. After all, Christianity rather famously centers around a God who died. That death is believed to have saved the world.

Regardless of how exactly he came to that conclusion, the Batter truly believes that killing Hugo is what's best. Even his infanticide (patricide?) is driven by his twisted devotion to Hugo, his creator and his God.

All of this is why the Batter is my favorite character in this game and none of the others (as great and memorable as they are) can even come close. He's not just a brute in a baseball costume. Each time you peel back a layer of his motivations, you only see more layers underneath. He's an incredibly rewarding character to analyze, and I never get tired of talking about him. He's a fanatic, a devoted apostle, a self-righteous murderer.

And he always sits up front on the rollercoaster.

[k3n-dyll]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; 18+ interactions only, wlw, omg i wrote something SFW!

Sevika being "not good with kids" but kids loving her anyway. She doesn't hate children, of course - she's just awkward around them. Sevika's generally not much of a talker and kids tend to talk a lot, so being left alone with a kid to entertain isn't ideal for her. Not only that but she's big and has a (also big) mechanical arm modified with sharp weapons. The control she has over her arm is unmatched, obviously but the subconscious fear that it's going to malfunction or something too close to a little one is always in the back of her mind when they're around. It never does. Because duh.

Kids though? Oh, they love her. She's quiet, but she's great at "pretending to listen" (as she calls it). As much as she doesn't want to admit it, some of the things kids talk about are deeply entertaining. One time she was 'forced' to listen to a six-year-old daughter of one of Silco's goons talk to her about a game of house that went wrong and the drama between the kid who played the mom and the kid who played the dad was so intriguing she started asking questions like she was watching a reality TV show.

Her height, her strength, and her arm? To any other adult those qualities make her a lethal tank of a soldier. To a kid? Free jungle gym. Kids that sometimes come around her quickly figured out that the most she would do is scowl at them and gently place them back on the ground if they started climbing up onto her, and the scowling doesn't even happen often anymore because one time she made a little girl cry. Now she just rolls her eyes, and entertains it for a little bit before making them get down.

One of the funniest things she discovered she could do is straight up lie. Children lack that filter between their brains and their mouths that blocks adults from saying whatever the Hell they want so they frequently ask about her arm. At first she just dismissed the question, then one day she thought about it and realized...they don't know. She could say whatever she wanted and what were the kids gonna do? Tell her it didn't happen that way?

"Where'd your arm go?"

And then her answer would be something different for each kid:

"It got bitten off by a shark" "I lost it battling a dragon" "This is my arm...I was born with it" "It just didn't wanna be there anymore....seriously, just got up n' walked away from me one day." (a favorite she had to stop using because one day a kid spent the rest of the day clutching his arm in fear that his arm would decide it didn't like him anymore and walk off)

Have y'all ever seen those videos of dudes holding babies weird? Doctors will come on the internet and say it's good for the baby, which, slay, but it's still a weird way to hold a baby, right? That's how Sevika holds babies. She will do everything but hold them 'correctly' for some reason. I once saw this video of a guy carrying his baby by the back of its onesie like cats carry kittens by the scruff of their necks and I could 1000% see Sevika doing just that (obviously once the baby can like, hold its own head up). Or like carrying the baby on their stomach on her forearm (I think it's called a football hold?). It's always a little anxiety-inducing to see but also a little funny because the baby would just be chilling and looking around, not caring how precariously it's dangling in the air.

I dunno what made me do this at 7 in the morning but uh...yeah

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist; @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut @sevsbaby, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,  @strawberry-shortcakey , @abvisionss , @urbayolet,

@Sillygirl-lol

[eowynstwin]

I made a post about this earlier this month, but I think it was pretty unclear in its purpose, so here’s take two.

Dark romance—at lot of people don’t like it or don’t get it. Some very loud people believe that it shouldn’t exist, and should be purged and banned from all fandom platforms. I’m not here to tell you what to believe; I’m here because I know a lot of people who speak against dark romance probably, secretly, are very interested in it, and are deeply ashamed of that. (Source—I used to be one of those people.)

I believe that understanding the appeal of dark work, and the underlying desires that it addresses, can help bridge the gap.

The fact is, dark tropes are not about the things themselves; at their core, what they do is address our deepest desires to be known, to be wanted, and to receive pleasure without struggling to find it. They allow us to cling to our shame or our insecurity without allowing those inhibitions to preclude our desires being met. They also remove from us the pressure to make decisions about how and when to receive pleasure and intimacy, and allow us simply to sit back and enjoy what we are given.

In pursuit of understanding, I’m breaking it down. Below is every trope I can think of, and an explanation for its appeal. I highly recommend reading through all of them.

Dubcon - you are reluctant to say yes to a sexual encounter, out of discomfort or insecurity or shame. Your inhibitions are bypassed, and your desire is recognized beyond your protest. You receive the pleasure of sex anyway.

Noncon - a more intense version of dubcon. You may be actively afraid of sex for whatever reason; you may deny outright that you want it at all, even though you do. You may be inclined to vehemently reject it if it’s offered to you. The reason for that rejection is perceived, your inward desire is recognized, and again, you receive the pleasure of sex anyway.

Stalking - someone is so interested in you that they get to know every detail about you. Your likes, your dislikes, your habits. They discover every need you have and take it upon themself to meet those needs. They are obsessed with knowing you.

Kidnapping - they see you, and they know they want you. They’re not going to dance around it—they’re going to give you the relationship you want, and you don’t have to do anything to acquire it. It falls into your lap and stays there.

Captivity - you are not required to do anything other than be fucked. You stay home with all the free time in the world, and your only job is to receive pleasure.

Restraints - you are not required to do a single thing during sex to please your partner. In fact, you’re tied up, so you can’t do anything. All you have to do is lay there and take what they give you. You can literally do no wrong.

Somnophila - similar to restraints—you don’t have to do anything to receive pleasure, and what’s more, you receive it at your most relaxed. They are in control; they do not want you to do anything for them. They’ll handle it. You get to just enjoy it.

Infidelity - if you are performing infidelity, you are punishing the partner you’re cheating on for being a horrible partner with someone who will be a better partner to you. If they are performing infidelity, they are choosing you over someone else who is supposed to be important to them.

Baby trapping - they want a family with you, and they are ready to do anything to get it. They want you to be permanently connected to them. They want something that ties you to them forever. They are ready to be a caring partner and parent.

Slut shaming/Humiliation - you are ashamed of your desire, and you feel you should be punished for it. That desire for punishment is met, without going too far. Often your desire is affirmed, even if it’s denigrated at the same time. You experience catharsis for your shame without harm.

Mafia - wealth and power, with the singular focus of making your life easy and comfortable. They have no scruples doing whatever it takes to care for you and keep you safe, and they have all the ability in the world to do so.

Serial killer - the most dangerous thing in the world is safe for you, and you alone. No matter what, you are safe, and they are determined to keep you that way.

Sibling incest - someone you’ve known for longer than anyone, who knows every flaw you have and ever had, still wants you. They know you more intimately than anyone, and that intimacy only produces desire for you. You have a connection with them unlike any other. You are closer to them than anyone in the world. You will never not be connected to them.

Parent/child incest - similar to sibling incest, along with: the person whose approval you want the most gives you that approval and then some. They know how to take care of you better than anyone, and they provide that care. You never have to go looking for anyone to be with; they’ve been there from the beginning, and they’re not going anywhere.

People who enjoy this work often find that explicit scenes of consent can interrupt their immersion into pleasure. It confers on them a responsibility to think critically about the potential sexual encounter facing them, and to consider all of the risks of consenting to it—emotional and physical. All you’re thinking about is STIs, the weird way your body looks at different angles, and having to acknowledge that this person you’re about to be intimate with might not actually know how to please you at all.

That’s an enormous amount of pressure; suddenly, every fear and inhibition you’ve ever had rears its head, and you end up not wanting to bother at all.

So, if consent is not a factor, immersion is not broken. There is no pressure. You have no responsibility to think about the risks, because the choice to have sex or not is not in your hands. That frees you to enjoy the pleasure to the absolute fullest, with nothing whatsoever holding you back.

I think, if you can understand that, you can understand why dark romance is so appealing.

[devilsudon]

Checkout

Sylus finally got you to be comfortable with spending his money. He loves taking care of you and spoiling you, so he’s glad you’re finally taking advantage of it. Except, he enjoys it a little too much. And you love teasing him about it.

tags: sub!sylus, gn!reader, edging, begging, handjob, smut, might be ooc

a/n: I haven’t written anything in so long but I arrived at the airport so early I just wanted to write. I think Sylus is a switch, he literally wants MC to claim him. Also, in night of secrecy he said he’s not ready to give us control YET. And I’m banking on that “yet” so hard we need more sub!sylus in this world.

You and Sylus are laying in his bed, your head on his chest with his arm around you as you both stare at your phone in his hand. It all started when you were scrolling and got an ad for some cute clothes and sent it to Sylus. You clicked the link for the brand, and ended up sending him more and more links because everything looked so cute! Then you got another ad for another store and.. now you’re here.

“But what is it made of? I don’t want something that’ll be scratchy, I want it soft.”

“I know,” Sylus drawled amused, “Although my shirts that you steal aren’t very soft, you know.” He looks down at his sweater on YOUR body, and nothing else. Even though he got you pajamas, his sweater found its way into your claws hands.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, “I hope it’s 100% cotton.” Sylus focused back on the phone to check.

“I can get this made for you if it’s not.” Your hand snuck its way to his chest, rubbing soothingly and gently over his open chest from his robe. His breath hitches. “Would you… like that, sweetie?”

“Yeah, maybe if they don’t have a color I want too..” You absently say, still looking at the screen as he continued to scroll.

But that, that planted a seed of deep satisfaction in Sylus. It took him so long to get you to be comfortable with using his money, with asking for things unapologetically. There’s still room for improvement, especially emotionally, but you agreeing to custom made clothing because a store doesn’t have what you want is making his body hum.

That, and your hand started dipping lower and lower, ’till it’s basically under his robe, playing with his lower abs. It’s a bit sensitive, especially all the touches on his chest, so he flinches away. “Kitten, just where are you touching?”

“Hmmm??” You give him an “innocent” wide eyed stare, like you have no idea what he’s talking about.

He stares at you a little longer, soaking in the playfulness of your gaze. “Provoking me is unwise.”

“But I’m not doing anything?” You reply in the sweetest voice you can, as you still rub over his v line and hold back a grin.

“Mhmmmm…” Sylus’ soft agreement is interrupted by another hitch in his breath as you let your hand wrap around the base of his cock.

“Wait, click on that one.” Sylus looks back at his phone screen, totally forgetting what he was doing for a second.

“Which,” he lets out a shaky breath as you drag your fist up, “which one?”

“The burgundy one.” He clicks on the picture of a cute burgundy hoodie, and immediately clicks your size and scrolls to the materials. “Oh good! Cotton.” At your approval, he adds to cart as you continue to stroke his dick. “Scroll down, I wanna see if there’s matching sweatpants.”

At your demand, he does as he’s told, and finds the matching sweatpants. He clicks it, gets your size, checks the material, and adds to cart, all without you saying anything. “Just that color, sweetie? Or,” he breathes deeply, “another color?”

“Hmmm let me see.” Scrolling back up to the color options, you end up getting three more colors of both the hoodie and the sweatpants. And with each item he added to the cart, you stroked him faster.

You ended up getting 10 pairs of socks, 6 tops, 4 jackets, and now you’re looking at jeans when Sylus finally speaks up.

“Sweetie,” Sylus breathes out, “please just..”

“Hold on, should I get the one with rips or no rips?” The wet sounds of how much precum leaking from him fills the room alongside your voice.

“Both, just- just get both.” He’s close to hyperventilating at how desperate he is, and he’s trying to hold in his grunts and moans as best as possible.

“Orrrrr how about the barrel jeans? You draw out your question, squeezing Sylus’s tip.

“That too, come on kitten please,” Holding onto the last bit of dominance he has, he holds onto your forearm with the arm that’s wrapped around you. As if that’s gonna do anything.

“Shhhhh. Light or dark blue?” At that, Sylus lets out a whine. He throws his head back against the pillow, where he slumped down lower and lower through the process. “Aww, what are you whining about? Hmm?”

He lets go of your arm to put it back on the phone. He looks at you, pleading with his eyes to just finish him off, let him fuck you good, but huffs and looks away when he’s met with a teasing glance from you. “I’ll get all of the colors, sweetie. Just finish.. finish what you’re doing, ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ.”

“Well hurry up and add to cart then!” He does just that, and goes to the check out page. The information should automatically fill out, except.. it doesn’t.

“Oops, looks like I forgot to add your card to my phone.” He looks at you in disbelief and you’re smirking as you squeeze his cock.

“Sweetie, come on, I-“ He looks at the phone again. “I’m sure I put it in here for you, I-“ He desperately taps around the phone, going to your wallet app, and finding nothing.

“Noo.. when it updated it deleted for some reason and I didn’t put it back in….” Your voice is full of mock remorse.

“My- my wallet, uhm,” Sylus really has to think, his brain is so scrambled and he was so close, and oh god this is gonna take so long, “It’s uh…” He looks to his left, and oh thank god, he left it by his phone on the nightstand. He quickly grabs it and takes out his black card, just for you to snatch it away from him with your free hand.

“Here, I’ll read it for you.” You slowed down your strokes, and Sylus pushed his head back again in a small tantrum. “Come on.”

He looks at the phone and goes to the numbers part of the keypad.

“Threeeee…… Fourrrrr….. Sixxxxx……”

“I can type faster than-“

“Uh uh. No talking back! I need to make sure it’s correct.” He grumbles and furrows his eyebrows. At each number you draw out, he diligently types. Same thing for the expiration date, and all he needs is the security code before he can-

“Read it out to me.”

“What, kitten it’s correct, I recognize it, come on this is ridicul-“

You squeeze really hard at the base of his cock, which gets him to shut up and squeeze his eyes shut and hold in a whine. “What did I say.”

Sylus catches his breath again, before he reads out the numbers he typed. Except he only gets half way before you stop him again.

“Wait, that was too fast, start over.” Sylus takes his hand that’s not wrapped around you to cover his eyes.

“Kitten, this torture that you’re bestowing on me is cruel.”

“Well it’ll only last longer if you don’t read it again.”

“You’ll regret antagonizing me so.”

“Mhm. Hurry up.”

With a shaky breath, he reads out the numbers, slower this time. With each number, you begin to stroke faster and faster.

Finally, you read out the security code and he puts it in, thank god his address is saved, and he quickly clicks and clicks until he gets to the review order section. He’s about to click past when you stop him. He’s panting, hard, his chest moving up and down as you read the screen to make sure everything is correct while still stroking him fast and hard.

“Please, please sweetie… I’m so close, please.”

“Mmmm.. Go ahead.” At that, he takes that as the green light to finally click the checkout button and permission to come. And he does, his seed soaking your hard and getting on his robe, as he thrusts into your hand, chasing the pleasure as a reward for being a good boy and buying you everything you want. He lets out a broken moan, a little shout of relief from the tension that was building.

He comes down from his high, and can clearly see the order confirmation page. He looks down at you, with all your satisfaction, and lets out a sigh. “I spoiled you rotten, huh?”

You only giggle at his words, as he pushes you down onto the bed and gets in between your legs. “Well, it’s my turn to be indulged, kitten.”

[ponyisle]

I'm so curious, do you consider Daybreak a bad pony for all she has done? Does Daybreak consider herself a bad pony? To Wish, to Twi? How much has she been forgiven by others, how much has she forgiven herself? There's also themes of disability to all three of them. Day's stress-induced migraines from overwork. The blindness, vocal atrophy, wing atrophy, chronic illness and the mental toll that comes from a millenia of isolation. Twilight's wing deformities and migraines upon being forcibly turned. Obviously, sickness is not a moral trait (I write this as a disabled woman myself) but I can't help but untangle Day's responsibility in both of their conditions. Although she was not intentionally malicious in her actions, and although she must have grown, repeatedly she was selfish. Repeatedly, she irreparably changed the fate of someone who trusted her.

Just thoughts. I love this project!

i have SO many thoughts about Daybreak, shes one of my favorite ponies to write, and i know this is probably the most asked question about my AU. idk how to explain a lot of it without spoiling what i have planned.

from my perspective: i didn't write Daybreak to be a "bad person" or a villain(doesn't make what she's done right in any capacity mind you). She has been selfish, arrogant, and downright neglectful at times. She's a pony who, much like twilight, was given little to no choice in her life. and when she DID make her own choices with the limited knowledge she had, it always ended up hurting somepony she deeply cared for. She views herself as almost entirely irredeemable. Burdened with the responsibility of an entire species while feeling like she is doomed to fail them. She's put the ponies at the forefront of her concerns, which in earlier years meant neglecting the only other pony who could possibly understand her position(Wish). She does not think she's worthy of her sisters forgiveness despite all her attempts to make things right.

Wish ultimately forgives her sister after many years of silence and making up(this will be expanded upon in comics i don't wanna give away too much but its a lengthy process). She doesn't see Daybreak as a bad pony, and after Day actually starts listening to how Wish feels and opening up herself, they both start to actually understand each other.

While Day thought what she was giving to Twilight was a gift, after seeing her reaction to her transformation Day regresses in her progress Big Time. Daybreak cared for Twilight, but just like with Wish, she thought she knew what was best, thought she could "fix" things. Twilight and Day's relationship is never quite the same, they don't really "make up" the way she and Wish did. For the first few years Twi DESPISES Day, but she doesn't see her as a bad person per say. She definitely resents her for being just another pony that's taken away an incredibly important choice from her. Realizing she will live on as her friends pass away, outliving everyone around her, its horrifying to grapple with that newfound knowledge. Twi realizes that Day isn't the all knowing deity that everypony seemed to think she is. They have a professional relationship later on, and maybe as the story progresses I'll expand more on that, but for now they're on extremely rocky terms.

The central theme in cantergale is acceptance and forgiveness, that doesn't mean each character with receive both from everyone. The sisters are a reflection of my own relationship with my sibling(projection<3). Day has to come to terms with the fact that no amount of apologies and change can reverse what she's done. She has to learn to forgive herself and accept her actions. Everything else is out of her control.

Its hard for me to describe any character as strictly bad or good, its not smth i think about when writing, i try to leave it up for the viewer to decide for themselves. My main goal is to inspire some sort of emotion. You feel however the story makes you feel. As always i love these sort of comments, i enjoy seeing how everyone interprets the story.

[elliespassagerprincess]

Idk if you watched yellowjackets but i really think you would like it!

It got me thinking about ellie who lost her bestfriend (secret crush/love of her life) reader and cant part with her body and breaksdown when people find out she has it and take it away from her

Dont take her from me - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i haven't watched it yet but its been on my watchlist... I've heard good things about it. Once again i got carried away... i hope you enjoy:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: grief, delusion, breakdown, body transport, psychological decay, corpses/dead bodies, disturbing comfort, jealousy, paranoia, anxiety, mental health strain, grave raiding, corpse handling, delusion, isolation, obsession, gore implied, graphic descriptions, blood, unsettling behaviour

Summary: Ellie’s always had control—until someone threatens to take the one person she can’t live without

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

The blood had dried on Ellie’s hands hours ago.

But she still sat there, legs numb from being folded too long, your lifeless form cradled in her arms like you might wake up if she held you tight enough.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

She didn’t even get the chance to tell you how she felt—how the thing in her chest wasn’t just a crush. Wasn’t just longing. It was hunger. Ached for you so deeply that she sometimes had to grip the edge of her desk just to stop from running to your house and spilling every ugly truth in her head.

Now she was sitting on the cold floor of an abandoned cabin, in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood and sweat and dirt—and none of it mattered. None of it compared to the way your body had gone still. Your breath, your light… extinguished like it was never there.

She pressed her cheek to your forehead. Still faintly warm.

“Don’t go cold,” she whispered, voice shredded from hours of screaming your name into nothingness. “Just stay a little longer. Just stay with me.”

She rocked slightly. Back and forth. Like she could lull you into staying. Like you were just sleeping off a long night.

And when the others came—Jesse, Dina, a couple others from Jackson—Ellie didn’t even flinch.

They saw her first. Then you. No one spoke. For a moment, all they did was stare.

Then Jesse stepped forward. “Ellie,” he said softly, eyes wide with horror, “we have to take her.”

She didn’t look up. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“No.”

Her voice cracked, sharp and shrill, and her grip around your torso tightened.

“She’s not—she’s not ready. She’s not cold yet. She’s not—” Her breath hitched. “You can’t just take her.”

Dina’s face twisted in pain. “El… we need to bury her. It’s not safe out here, there’s—”

“You don’t get to touch her!” Ellie roared, head snapping up. Her eyes were wild—bloodshot, soaked with grief and rage. “You didn’t know her like I did. You don’t even get it.”

She scrambled back as Jesse reached again, shielding your body like a wounded animal. Her fingers trembled where they clung to your clothes.

“She was mine,” she whispered. “I never got to say it—but she was. She was. And you’re not gonna put her in the fucking ground like she’s just gone. She’s not.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple. Desperate. Cracked. “I can keep her warm. I swear. I’ll—I’ll keep her safe. Don’t take her from me. Please.”

But your skin was cooling.

No amount of warmth from her hands, no matter how feverishly she held you, could stop the inevitable.

She had memorized every scar, every laugh, every stupid joke you told just to see her crack a smile. And now you were quiet. Hollow. Just an echo.

They had to sedate her.

It took three of them. She fought like a hellhound, screaming your name, kicking, crying, biting, even when the needle sank into her neck. Even when her body slumped in Jesse’s arms, unconscious… her fingers were still twisted in your shirt.

When she woke up in Jackson days later, you were gone. She lost it.

They wouldn’t tell her where they buried you. Said she wasn’t stable. Said she needed rest, time, healing.

She screamed until her voice gave out. Tore her room apart looking for anything you touched. Burned a hole through your favorite hoodie just trying to breathe it in.

She sneaks out that night. Finds the grave. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The dirt’s still fresh.

Ellie drops to her knees, hands shaking, and begins to dig. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t care. She needs to see your face again.

Needs to kiss you, one more time, even if your lips are cold. Needs to apologize for all the time she wasted. Needs to ask if you’d have said yes—if she had asked you out. If you’d have smiled, taken her hand, told her you felt it too.

When they find her in the morning, she’s curled up beside the half-opened grave, fingers bloodied, dirt under her nails, your name on her lips. She doesn’t even look up.

“She was the only good thing,” she whispers, to no one. “And I didn’t get to keep her.”

It had been six days since you died. No one had found the cabin. Not yet. She made sure of it.

The windows were boarded. The door—barred with a chair wedged under the knob. Every possible crack sealed tight. She'd left bloodied handprints on the wood floor from moving you again, and again, and again—trying to find the right spot, the one you’d be most comfortable in.

You were laid out on a mattress in the center of the room, tucked under a worn blanket she stole from your house weeks ago. Your hair combed back gently. Lips touched with rose balm. She even painted your nails.

“See?” Ellie murmured, sitting beside you, her knees folded tightly under her. Her fingers brushed the edge of your arm—skin pale, but not blue. Not yet. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

She hadn’t eaten in two days. Barely drank water. Her eyes were sunken, red-rimmed, skin tight across her cheekbones. But her gaze never left you.

Sometimes, she imagined you blinking. Sometimes, she swore you did.

Sometimes, she dreamed you whispered her name, and when she woke up, her ear would be inches from your mouth, waiting. Just waiting for it again.

It wasn’t decomposition. It was transition. That’s what she told herself. That the smell wasn’t decay—it was your soul trying to root itself in her.

That the darkening under your eyes wasn’t rot—it was exhaustion from everything you’d been through.

That the way your body stiffened wasn’t rigor mortis—it was just you being shy. You’d always been shy.

They came looking for her on the ninth day. A knock at the cabin.

“Ellie? Are you in there?”

Jesse.

Ellie blinked, gaze pulling from your face. She didn’t answer.

“Ellie, please. We just want to help.”

Help?

They didn’t understand.

They wanted to take you.

She stood slowly, reaching for the axe near the doorway. The one she'd been using to chop firewood—and threaten the shadows when they got too loud.

She looked down at you one last time. Her expression soft, loving, doting.

“They don’t get to have you,” she whispered, eyes glassy. “You’re mine.” Then she went to the door.

The floorboards are stained now. Not from you. From the others.

They tried to come in. They didn’t leave.

She had to do it. She had to. They would’ve taken you. Put you in the ground like you were nothing more than meat and memory.

You weren’t. You were everything. Still are.

Now it’s just the two of you again. The way it should be.

Ellie sleeps curled up at the foot of your mattress, arm across your ankle like a child holding a stuffed toy. She tells you stories. She sings to you—soft lullabies she remembers her mom humming, or songs she once heard you hum absentmindedly in the kitchen.

Sometimes she kisses your hand. Sometimes she cries and begs you not to leave her.

“I love you,” she whispers again and again. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I won’t let them bury you. You’re mine.”

The backseat of the truck smelled like copper and perfume. The perfume was yours. A bottle she stole from your bathroom before the blood dried. She sprayed it on you each morning like ritual. Like prayer.

The copper was blood. Not yours, mostly.

She had to kill the man who owned the truck.

He tried to take it—you. Said it wasn’t “right.” Said you were a body, not a person anymore. Said she needed help.

He didn’t understand. None of them did.

Ellie adjusted the blanket over your face again, tucking it neatly beneath your chin. The fabric clung wetly to your skin, the heat of the day making it damp. Your body… was changing. But she didn’t look at the changes. She looked at your eyes, still closed, eyelashes dark and perfect.

She turned the engine and drove.

You were going west. She didn’t have a destination. Not a real one. Just the vague echo of hope in the back of her skull that somewhere, someone out there could bring you back. Fix it.

There had to be a way. Science. Magic. Something. People resurrect dogs all the time in books, right?

So why not you? You were better than a dog. You were her.

Day 4

The desert was hot.

Your skin started to blister.

Ellie cried while wiping you down with a cool rag, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve covered you better. You don’t like the sun, remember? You always said it makes you dizzy. I should’ve known.”

She stuffed ice in a towel and placed it under your neck. It melted within an hour.

Day 7

She changed your clothes.

It took two hours. Your limbs were stiff now, resistant, like you were mad at her. She apologized over and over again, kissing your hands, your face, your knees.

“You’re so cold,” she whispered, wrapping you in a hoodie that once belonged to her. “But I’ll warm you up. We just need to keep moving.”

Day 9

She saw the lights in the sky. Or maybe imagined them.

A roadside church with the word “HEALING” painted in blood-red letters drew her attention. She pulled over. Inside, there were no people. Just old books, dry flowers, and a candlelit altar.

She laid you there, right in the center, brushing your hair from your forehead. Then she got on her knees.

Prayed.

For the first time in her life.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please. I love her. I didn’t get to say it. Please just… give her back. I’ll do anything.”

The candles flickered. Her heart stopped. You didn’t move.

Day 12

You smelled worse now.

She lined the truck bed with herbs. Lavender. Mint. Anything she could find.

She kept the windows cracked so you could breathe. She never admitted—never—that you couldn’t. That maybe your lungs had stopped working long ago. Because you still looked peaceful. Still looked like you were sleeping. Still looked like you might say her name if she leaned close enough.

Sometimes she imagined you turning to her. Smiling. She started answering for you. Making conversations in the dark.

“Do you think we’ll find someone?”

Yeah, El. I think so.

“Should I stop driving tonight?”

I like the sound of the road. Keep going.

“Okay. I’ll keep going.”

Day 15

The truck ran out of gas in Arizona.

Ellie dragged your body through the sand, arms bruised and bleeding, sunburnt to hell. She tied you to a door she ripped off an abandoned house and pulled it like a sled. Her boots left deep tracks behind her. Buzzards circled above. But she didn’t look up. Didn’t cry.

Didn’t slow down.

“I’m taking you to the ocean,” she told you. “You always wanted to see it. We’ll go together. We’ll walk into the waves. Maybe that’s what you need.”

Your lips were cracked. Hollow.

But she smiled at you like you’d just said “thank you.”

Day 20

She made it to the coast. Somehow.

Body bruised, fingers blackened, lips crusted and bleeding, Ellie stood barefoot in the surf, your body laid out beside her on the wet sand. The tide rolled in. Foam kissed your toes.

She knelt beside you, her voice shaking. “This is it. If you’re gonna come back… it’ll be here.”

The moon hung above like an unblinking eye.

She took your hand, held it to her chest, pressed her lips to your temple one last time.

“Please.”

Silence.

“Please, wake up.”

Nothing.

The water rose. The stars flickered. Ellie’s tears slid down your dead face.

And then—

In the wind, she heard it.

Faint. Echoing. Gentle.

“I missed you too, El.”

Her mouth broke into a smile.

And when the waves swallowed you both whole, she didn’t fight it.

When Ellie opened her eyes, there was no pain. No sand. No salt. No hunger. No rotting flesh between her fingers. Just warmth. A low golden hum.

And you.

Sitting on the edge of a bed, hair glowing in the soft light. Wearing that shirt she loved on you, the one you always slept in. Your legs curled beneath you, a book open in your lap. You looked up, smiled.

“Hey.” Her breath hitched.

She looked down. Her hands were clean. No blood, no dirt. Her boots were gone. She was barefoot, the floor beneath her soft and cloud-warm.

“…Where…?” she croaked.

You tilted your head. “You’re home.”

Ellie staggered forward like a child learning to walk again, eyes wide, unblinking. “Is this—am I dreaming?”

You didn’t answer. Just opened your arms. She collapsed into them.

The scent of you—pure, unchanged—drenched her brain like a drug. Your skin was warm. Your breath against her ear as you whispered her name made her sob.

“I missed you,” she choked. “I missed you so fucking much.”

You stroked her hair. “I know. I waited.”

The house had no doors. No clocks. No sky. Just soft white light that never dimmed. It existed outside of time. And so did you.

You cooked together. Slept curled in one another’s arms. Sang songs in the silence. She traced your face every night, whispering prayers of thanks to whatever cruel or merciful god had made this possible.

But some things weren’t quite right.

You never left the house.

Never asked her questions.

Never said “I love you” first.

Sometimes, Ellie caught glimpses—your reflection in the window lagging behind, your voice echoing before you spoke, your heartbeat silent when her ear pressed to your chest.

But she ignored it.

Because she had you.

One Day…

She woke up and you weren’t there. The bed was cold. Empty.

She searched the house—every corner, every drawer. Screaming your name until her voice gave out. In the mirror above the sink, her reflection stared at her. But it wasn’t her.

Its eyes were black. Hollow. Its skin cracked. Decaying.

“You took her,” she whispered to it.

“You lost her,” the mirror answered.

She shattered it with her fists.

Later, she found you again. Sitting in the bedroom, combing your hair.

Like nothing had happened.

Ellie fell to her knees. “Please don’t leave again.”

You turned, eyes soft. “I didn’t leave. You just forgot where I was.”

Her hands shook as she touched your cheek. You were still cold.

Colder than before.

As the days passed—if you could call them days—you began to fade.

Literally.

Your edges blurred. Your voice softened into whispers. Your body, once warm, became translucent in the light. Ellie wrapped herself around you each night like armor, like a chain.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed into your hair. “I won’t let you go again.” You didn’t respond. But you wept in your sleep.

One night, she woke up alone again. This time, you didn’t come back.

Ellie searched every room, howling like an animal. Her skin began to flake. Her nails fell off. She bled from the gums. The house, once warm, was now cold stone. Shadows whispered your name, mockingly, again and again and again. She clawed at the walls until they bled with her.

Then she saw the door. The first and only door. At the end of the hallway, pulsing like a wound. She stepped through.

On the other side: Both your bodies washed up by the ocean.

Her body, lying beside it. Rotting. Clutching your arm. And a figure, dressed in black, speaking gently.

“You can’t stay with her forever,” Death murmured. “This was your mind's lie. Your denial. It’s time to go.”

Ellie laughed. “Fuck off.”

She turned around, walked back into the house. Back into the version of you that smiled when she arrived. That never asked her to change. That didn’t cry when she kissed your cold mouth.

She never left again.

Ellie stayed in the house—forever rotting, forever hallucinating. Holding your fading, flickering ghost and convincing herself you were real. And in her head, in her twisted, love-drunk eternity, you always whispered the same thing before sleep:

“I’ll never leave you again.”

And even if it was a lie—

Ellie believed it.

When they eventually found your bodies, the costal shore reeked of sweet sick rot.

Ellie was thin. Hollow. Nails broken. Eyes vacant. But Ellie’s smile is peaceful.

She’s lying beside you, one hand holding your arm, the other clutched around a knife driven straight into her own heart. A blood trail leading from her chest to the outline of your body, as if she were trying to bleed into you. Return to you. Merge with you.

There’s a note, scrawled on the sand:

“She waited for me. I’ll stay with her now.”

[xomarzz]

nocturnal

sylus doing lovey things for his fiancée (mc)

~4.2k words, sylus x fem!reader, not proof-read, FLUFF, smut, just more so suggestive smut, they have sex but nothing crazy, loverboy sylus, sylus just really loves his fiancée, so he makes her tea and a bouquet, tiny angst if you squint, no identifying characteristics in this, it’s mostly sylus, but my fics are always written with a black reader in mind! minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT!

a/n: almost all the lads out of my system,,i had this sitting for a while but i needed to finish it as burnout prevention while im studyinggg for an important exam, i also think i hate writing smut but think i prefer suggestiveness in certain circumstances, so hopefully it’s fine here :P

sylus quietly slipped out of the california king-sized bed, careful not to disturb her. [name] lay asleep beneath the sheets, her face soft with dreams, serene, despite the world he inhabited. her breath came slow and steady, chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm that contrasted with the chaos he lived in.

his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, something flickering in the depths of his gaze, something tender, almost unrecognizable compared to the sharpness he showed the rest of the world. the leader of onychinus, infamous for his ruthlessness, had spent countless nights awake in darkness, but tonight, he was the quiet observer, watching the woman he loved sleep, fiddling with the silver engagement ring encasing the garnet gemstone that matched his eyes, as [name] says.

with one last lingering glance, sylus stepped away, moving with stealth. the base was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath his weight. he moved through the house as if it were an extension of his own body, quiet, measured, and in control.

sylus first made his way into the kitchen, his movements fluid, almost second nature. there was no rush. time felt slow in the stillness of the house.

the kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of the full moon, streaming through the window above the sink.

he moved toward the counter with a purpose, his eyes flicking over the well-worn teakettle sitting on the stove. it was old, probably older than he was, but it was hers, something simple and comforting that had stayed with her over the years. he reached for it, fingers brushing against the cool metal, his touch gentle, almost reverent. there was a familiarity in this gesture, a comforting rhythm he had come to know well.

he filled the kettle with water, the sound of the faucet’s stream breaking the stillness of the room. his hands moved carefully, the stream running steadily as he watched the water flow. he didn’t need to rush this, she wasn’t awake yet.

once the kettle was filled, he set it down on the stove, the soft clink of its bottom against the metal burner echoing in the quiet room. his movements were precise, measured, as he adjusted the burner’s knob to a low flame. he didn’t want to boil the water too quickly-it needed to heat slowly, gently, like the careful way he loved her.

while the water heated, he turned his attention to the tea itself. he knew her preferences by heart, how she liked it, how much sweetness she needed, and the exact way to steep it for the perfect flavor. he walked over to the small cabinet where her tea tins were stored. the light from the window caught the dusty lids, each one a different color and shape, a quiet reflection of her tastes.

he reached for the tin of the tea she preferred, his fingers brushing over the smooth metal before he twisted the lid off. the fragrant aroma of dried leaves and spices instantly filled the air, the scent rich and warm. he inhaled deeply, humming, letting the earthy smell wash over him, there was something grounding about it, something undeniably her. he pulled out the small metal scoop from the tin, and, with a practiced hand, measured out exactly two teaspoons of the tea leaves.

he tilted the tin just slightly, the loose leaves falling with a soft rustling sound, settling into the small silver scoop. the aroma was stronger now, filling the kitchen with a comforting warmth. he placed the scoop carefully into the small ceramic tea infuser, his fingers brushing against the cool ceramic as he closed the lid of the infuser with a soft click.

by now, the kettle had started to hum faintly, a sign the water was warming. the sound was almost hypnotic. he paused, staring at the faint wisp of steam rising from the spout, taking a moment to simply watch the kettle.

he turned the knob on the stove just a little more, watching the steam begin to grow more pronounced, swirling in the air. when the steam began to curl more steadily from the kettle, he lifted it with ease, his hand steady as he held it to the teapot. the sound of the water pouring was soft, steady, a soothing rhythm in the quiet room. the stream of hot water hit the metal of the infuser gently, the tea leaves unfurling slowly in the heat. he tilted the kettle slightly, just enough to allow the water to flow with purpose, but without splashing.

he watched as the water began to darken, the deep amber hue of the tea seeping into the liquid, swirling in delicate, graceful movements. the leaves danced slowly inside the metal infuser, expanding and twisting as they released their flavor into the water. he let it steep, counting the seconds in his mind, measuring the perfect time. not too long, not too short. just enough for the tea to reach that ideal balance of flavor.

he set the kettle back on the stove, his fingers resting lightly on the ceramic handle as the steam rose once again. a small smile flickered at the corner of his lips, something almost tender in the way he watched the tea take shape. for all the power he held in his hands, this was where he felt the most grounded.

after a few minutes, when the color had deepened to the perfect shade, he lifted the infuser carefully from the teapot and set it aside, a small drip of water falling from the edge. the tea was now dark, smooth, and rich, exactly as she liked it.

next, he reached for the honey jar, another small ritual that had become second nature. he unscrewed the lid, his fingers gently curling around the smooth glass. the honey was thick and golden, its sweetness filling the air as he drizzled just the right amount into the tea, watching it swirl in the dark liquid like a river of gold.

he gave it a gentle stir with the small silver spoon, the metal softly scraping against the edges of the cup, the motion rhythmic, soothing. the honey dissolved effortlessly, leaving the tea a perfect shade of amber with a slight gleam to it, like sunlight on a calm sea.

finally, he reached for the milk, taking care as he poured it into the cup, watching the milk swirl into the tea, softening the color and creating a smooth, creamy texture.

he set the milk back down, and then, as the final step, he carefully placed the cup on the saucer, the porcelain making a soft, satisfying click as it rested against the smooth surface.

with the tea prepared, he glanced one more time toward the bedroom, where she still lay asleep. he didn’t need to wake her yet. he walked over to the table, setting the cup down.

he set the tea on the counter, then moved to the closet to carefully fold her clothes, arranging them in the drawers with a precision he’d learned over the years. his hands moved with the same care as he adjusted the throw on the couch, smoothing the fabric from their earlier presence.

he took one more glance at [name] and the [jewelry color] ring sat around her left ring finger. he couldn’t shake the need to do something more. something that felt like a declaration of his devotion, aside from the present engagement.

sylus paused at the door, glancing back once more toward the bedroom. the faintest sound of her snoring reached him. she was still asleep. without a sound, he turned the knob, stepping out into the cool night air.

the air outside was crisp, sharp with the bite of the night, as he stood by his motorcycle in the driveway. everyone but him unaware of the mission he was about to undertake. sylus adjusted his leather gloves, the cool leather creaking softly, and then his eyes turned toward the sleek black and red yamaha motorcycle parked just inches away, waiting for him.

the motorcycle was as much a part of him as his own skin. every line of the machine was built for precision, for speed. it was powerful, dark, and capable of slicing through the quiet night with ease.

he ran a hand along the cold metal, feeling its smooth curves under his touch. there was something almost sacred about these moments, something intimate about riding through the empty streets, alone, with nothing but the hum of the engine and the wind in his face.

with a swift motion, he threw a leg over the seat, settling himself behind the handlebars. the engine growled to life under his touch, and he revved it once just a low, threatening growl that vibrated in his chest.

the was no need for a helmet tonight, he would be out of the city for only a short while, but the sense of freedom was already taking over him. with a twist of the throttle, the motorcycle shot forward, and the streets of the city seemed to vanish behind him.

the rush of the wind against his face was invigorating, a sharp contrast to the stillness that had settled in the house only moments ago. the n-109 zone blurred into the background as he sped through the deserted streets. his focus was razor-sharp, but there was a feeling of exhilaration in his chest, a quiet thrill that came from the sheer speed. the hum of the motorcycle’s engine beneath him was his only companion, its growl a steady reminder that he was alive, in control, and on a mission.

the streets of the n-109 zone soon faded behind him, replaced by darkened highways stretching out like endless ribbons of black. the closer he got to the outskirts of town, to linkon, the quieter the roads became. the hum of his motorcycle was the only sound that filled the air, broken only by the occasional passing of headlights from an unseen car in the distance.

he shifted gears smoothly, his body in perfect sync with the machine. the bike leaned gently into each curve of the road, carving through the dark like it was part of him.

as the n-109 zone disappeared completely replaced by the darkness of the open road, he felt a calm settle over him. the only sounds now were the thrum of the engine, the wind rushing past his ears, and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures in the night.

eventually, the road took a sharp bend, and in the distance, he saw the silhouette of a small greenhouse nestled at the foot of a hill, its glass windows glowing softly under the moonlight. he slowed as he approached, the low growl of his engine reverberating against the stillness of the night.

the greenhouse was a secret place, known only to few the flowers he sought were not the typical blooms found in a shop, but delicate, exotic flowers that required special care. these were the kind of flowers that would be perfect for her-rare, beautiful, something that couldn’t be easily replicated.

he parked the motorcycle just outside the greenhouse, the faint screech of the kickstand breaking the night’s silence. stepping off the bike, he removed his gloves, his fingers grazing the cool metal of the handlebar one last time before he moved toward the greenhouse.

the door creaked softly as he pushed it open. the soft scent of flowers, earthy and sweet, filled his senses as he stepped inside. the greenhouse was dimly lit by hanging lanterns, casting an ethereal glow over the rows of plants, their petals glowing faintly in the soft light. it was a small world of quiet beauty, tucked away from the world. you’d love it, and he vowed he’d bring you here, one day.

the florist, an elderly man who rarely spoke, was already waiting for him. he didn’t ask questions, he never did. sylus wasn’t here for small talk, he was here for the flowers. the ones that would take his fiancée by surprise. the ones that would remind her that, no matter how dangerous his world was, there was always room for beauty.

sylus made his selection carefully, examining the blooms with the same precision and thoughtfulness he put into everything he did. each flower was chosen with a quiet reverence, like it was a treasure meant just for her. the colors, the texture, the softness of the petals, they all had to be perfect.

the old man carefully wrapped the flowers in brown paper, securing them with twine, and handed them over. no need for words. sylus nodded once, his hand brushing lightly against the flowers as he took them, feeling their delicate weight in his hands.

with the bouquet carefully secured, he made his way back to the motorcycle, his movements as smooth and deliberate as ever. he climbed back onto the bike, the flowers resting gently in the compartment behind him. the engine roared to life with a twist of the throttle, and he sped off into the night once more, heading back toward the city, the road ahead still open and endless.

the road stretched out before him, but now, he wasn’t just escaping into the night. no, he was racing back toward her. toward the place where, in the quiet of the early morning, he would leave a simple bouquet as a promise.

he parked the motorcycle just outside the door, the engine’s hum slowly fading into the quiet. as he approached the door, he moved with the utmost care, his footsteps soft on the wooden floors, he didn’t want to wake her. she needed her rest, and he was content with the silence between them. the n-109 zone might be filled with noise and chaos, but here, in this space, there was peace.

the bouquet was placed gently on the dining table, its fragrance filling the air, competing only with the soft glow of the moonlight streaming in from the window. he admired the way the light bathed the flowers in a soft, ethereal glow. perfect. just like her.

his hands moved with precision as he arranged the flowers, his fingers brushing lightly over the delicate petals. each bloom was positioned just so, every stem cut to the perfect length. his eyes were focused entirely on the task, the quiet sound of his breath mingling with the rustling of the petals as he worked. but his mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of her.

he thought of the way she would smile when she awoke, the warmth of her touch, the way her laughter filled the dark space like a melody. sage was his light in a world of shadows, her presence grounding him, steadying him.

he hummed as he set the last flower into place, ensuring the arrangement was perfect. his fingers hovered over the petals, smoothing them gently, making sure everything was aligned with the same precision he applied to every aspect of his life.

his eyes lingered on the arrangement for a moment longer, before returning to her sleeping form in his bed, bathed in the same gentle light from the window.

she was so peaceful, so beautiful, her chest still rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

he stood there for a long moment, simply watching her sleep, his heart beating steadily in the quiet of the night. a part of him wanted to stay, to be close to her, to allow her to wake up and see the flowers. but for now, he was content to leave her to her rest, the bouquet serving as his silent message to her.

with a final glance, his eyes softened, and he stepped back into the living room. his footsteps faded into the quiet night, leaving the bouquet as his only mark. he knew she would find it in the morning. she’d wake, and she would see the flowers. and in them, she would the love he gave her, wrapped in petals and leaves, as constant as the night itself.

the morning light seeped in through the blinds, its golden hue painting the room with a soft warmth. it felt different from the usual harsh light of daybreak, like the sun itself was coaxing her awake, rather than pulling her from the depths of sleep.

[name] stirred beneath the raven-colored covers, the familiar weight of the blankets feeling like a protective cocoon around her. her body moved in lazy stretches, muscles loosening after the quiet night. a soft yawn escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. she let the moment stretch, disdaining having to leave the bed.

her gaze shifted toward the edge of the room, expecting to see the familiar, dark silhouette of sylus still sleeping beside her. but the bed was empty. she hadn’t heard him leave, and his side of the bed was cold, the sheets undisturbed except for the small imprint where he’d been. she didn’t feel alarmed, he was often, if not always, woke before her, slipping away quietly to start his night-day, a habit she had grown used to over time. but still, it was sometimes strange to wake up alone. especially without him alerting her beforehand.

for a moment, she just lay there, covering her entire body back with the large black comforter. the quiet of the room wrapped around her like a soft blanket, her mind still half-dreaming. her thoughts drifted, lingering on the odd feeling of absence before she shifted, her feet meeting the cool wood of the floor.

she stretched her legs, the muscles a little sore from the long hours spent in bed, but a smile tugged at her lips as she rose. she could hear nothing but the faint hum of the house, its vastness almost suffocating at times. their home, this enormous place that seemed to swallow up the sound of footsteps, was still and silent, like the world had forgotten it.

as she walked toward the kitchen, the floor beneath her feet creaked in protest, a familiar sound, and she paused for a moment to listen. the place felt hollow without his presence nearby, the distance between them almost tangible despite the house’s overwhelming size.

it was then, as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, that she saw the flowers. a small, delicate arrangement sat on the dining table beneath the window, next to a pitcher of chamomile tea, bathed in the soft light of the early morning. her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked, momentarily confused. the flowers hadn’t been there the night before.

she moved closer, her bare feet padding softly across the cool, dark wood, the air around her smelling faintly of floral sweetness. each bloom was carefully arranged, and the bright, vibrant colors stood out vividly against the simple backdrop of the dark table. she could feel her pulse quicken, a sense of warmth rushing over her.

she reached out, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals. she hadn’t needed to see him to know he had been here. the arrangement, the quiet care with which it had been placed, spoke volumes.

her fingers gently lifted the small card tucked among the flowers, and her heart fluttered again as she read the simple words:

“for my kitten”

she smiled a soft smile, she had left so much behind when she had come to him, her old life, including the hunter’s association which she had once been loyal to.

and here she was now, standing in the onychinus base, her fingers brushing the soft petals of the flowers she’d received from the most dangerous man around, a silent reminder that despite the dangers of the world, despite the chaos and darkness that came with it, he was here with her always.

a final glance at the bouquet, and she exhaled softly, a feeling of peace washing over her.

her mind wandered back over the past few weeks, no, months. she let herself drift through the memories, each one unfolding slowly in her mind like a delicate scroll as she fiddled with the [jewelry color] ring.

the door creaked open later into the morning, and just like that, he was there. she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. his presence filled the room, solid and unwavering.

he didn’t speak at first. he simply stood in the doorway, watching her with those intense crimson eyes of his. those eyes softened as they met hers, and she felt the pulse of something shift in the air between them.

a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and her heart fluttered in response to his gaze. "i love them," she said softly, her voice warm, filled with affection that flowed between them like an unspoken bond.

his gaze deepened, that sharpness in his eyes mixing with something softer, something more vulnerable. he closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound of it final, sealing them in this moment. then, with deliberate quietness, he stepped forward, his movements fluid, pulling him closer to her.

as he approached, he reached out, his hand brushing against hers, intertwining their fingers. the contact sent a shiver down her spine.

"you know, you deserve so much more than just flowers," he murmured, his voice low and rough, brushing against her.

he said it like he meant it, like he had a thousand things he wanted to give her, none of them wrapped in paper or tied with a bow. just him, all of him.

the space between them disappeared. the air growing thick, almost too much to breathe, but neither of them pulled away. his hand caressed her jaw, tilting her face to meet his, and the way he looked at her made her knees soften, her heart stutter.

when he kissed her, it wasn’t a question. it was a claim. soft at first, yes, but only because he was savoring her. like he’d waited long enough, and now that he had her, he refused to rush. his lips moved against hers with slow heat, coaxing her open, drawing her in until her hands found his shoulders, anchoring herself to him like she might float away.

the kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against hers, and the sound she made was small and involuntary intimate. he swallowed it with a groan that vibrated through his, and her, chest.

their bodies aligned like puzzle pieces rediscovering one another, every curve and plane syncing with ease. his hands roamed with purpose, sliding down her sides, over the swell of her hips, thumbs teasing the edge of her waistband. there was something reverend in his touch, like he was worshipping her with his fingertips. beneath the tenderness was heat and need, restrained only by his respect for her…barely.

clothes became an afterthought, peeled away with kisses and soft gasps, discarded between hungry touches and whispered affirmations.

his hands were big, veined and warm, mapping her body like he was memorizing her all over again, like each inch of skin was sacred. she arched into his palms, into his mouth, into the weight of him pressing her down just enough to feel owned, not overpowered.

he took his time. there was no rush, only indulgence.

her body moved beneath his in the kitchen like it had been waiting for this. the way his fingers traced her inner thigh. the way his mouth traveled the line of her collarbone, slow, open-mouthed kisses leaving fire in their path. the way he moaned her name like it was the only word that ever mattered.

and when he finally slid his thick length into her slowly, with a groan muffled into her shoulder, it felt like something inside her cracked open. she gasped, clinging to him, as they both stilled for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

after a nod of reassurance from [name], sylus slid the rest of himself into her hole. they moved together, finding rhythm and intention. every thrust, every soft bite was a confession.

every whisper,

“yes”

“don’t stop”

“god, you feel so good”

she gave herself to him fully, not just her body, but her trust, her love, her vulnerability. and he received it like he’d been waiting a lifetime to be worthy of it.

his hand cradled her face even as his hips moved with a strength that made her tremble. he kissed her through her moans. he whispered things he’d never said to anyone else.

she cried out his name, as she unraveled, clinging to him as he followed, shuddering with a breathless groan that spilled against her lips.

in the quiet aftermath, her bare skin draped over his chest, one leg hooked around his, her fingers tracing lazy spirals along the lines of muscles. his arm held her tight, grounding her like gravity. the only light came from the afternoon sun spilling in through the windows, casting them in a golden glow.

his eyes lingered on her face as if trying to remember every detail for the rest of his life.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, voice rough and honest, a sigh, as if he almost didn’t believe it himself.

she chuckled, smiling against his skin. “i know.”

and in that moment, he closed his eyes, his heart full, knowing that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

~gg ♡

[moeitsu]

for the ask game :)

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon. But could you give us more on your chubby Arthur HC? I need more of that! Like right now! (But no rush, I just love big boy Arthur as much as you do)  🙏❣️

Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh I would absolutely love to dive into more chubby!Arthur HC's. He is so dear to me.

I got carried away with this, and sorta poured my heart into it. It’s basically just a love letter to my favorite husky cowboy <3

WC: ~3k

TW: self-esteem issues, body dysmorphia, ED, alcoholism, some NSFW at the end so minors beware.

I also want to add, these are all just personal self-indulgent headcanons. So some might seem ooc. Take it up with the council if that bothers you :)

When I say chubby/fat Arthur I mean that with my full chest. I'm talking a big boy— a soft curved belly, thighs as big as tree trunks, and a smooth jawline.

I want to point out, muscle and fat are not mutually exclusive. He can be fat and incredibly strong.

Standing at 6'0", Arthur is already an imposing figure. His healthy weight in the game is around 210-220 lbs, but let’s add 30 more—making him a solid 250 lbs (give or take).

Even in the game, his healthy weight would still be considered a giant of a man for that time period. So keep that in mind.

Most of that weight? Pure muscle. Beneath his soft exterior are abs of steel, and those biceps could crush skulls and give the best hugs.

He is simply just a very husky man.

Deeply, deeply insecure as all hell about his weight though. Especially with you.

Especially in the bedroom.

Arthur knows he is strong and muscular, but he fixates on the “softness” of his body. Believing it makes him less capable and less desirable.

But more personally, it serves as a constant reminder of his failures and guilt.

The gang’s comments about his appetite and size don’t help. He pretends not to care, but every jab chips away at his confidence.

He’s often seen as the "muscle," a human shield, or an intimidating force, hearing terms like “big oaf” and “dumb brute” far too often.

Absolutely hates the way his presence fills a small room.

These insecurities run so deep that Arthur refuses to take his shirt off in front of others. Always making excuses to keep it on.

His body is marked by lots of stretch marks. They trace around his sides, under his belly, thighs and shoulders. He’s grateful that his body hair covers most of them.

Some are so deep they’ve become scars.

Hyper aware and very self-conscious of them. He thinks they’re a sign of weakness and being too “soft”.

Always avoids looking at himself in the mirror. He struggles with feeling undesirable as it is, and his body only adds to that torment.

Arthur has an unhealthy relationship with food and struggles with control. His eating habits are tied closely to his emotions.

He tends to overeat to cope with intense stress, loneliness and guilt. Food is used as a comfort in these moments—but he doesn’t enjoy it.

Trying to fill an emotional void rather than physical hunger.

At other times, food feels like a reminder of his lack of control. And he deprives himself of a meal or two. Using hunger as a punishment.

Alcohol has played a part in his weight too.

Often seeking its numbness to drown out the hunger and the noise of his own thoughts.

The heavy drinking dulls his appetite and gives him an excuse to skip meals.

Though he’s known to engage in binge cycles when things start to get really bad. Overindulging in both food and alcohol to the point where he’s physically sick and emotionally raw.

Moments like this tend to isolate him from the gang. He’s unwilling to face questions and judgement so he withdraws and wanders off.

Sometimes he feels more confident after having a drink or two, the alcohol dulling his self consciousness. He hates himself for needing it, and when the false confidence fades he feels exposed.

Okay goddamn those were really sad, moving on now!

Arthur worries that his size intimidates women. Some admire his strength, while others hurl insults, leaving him to quietly fear his body might never be truly loved.

He’s too big, too rough, too much.

Sweats a lot too, he can’t help it. He’s hyper aware of his odor when he hasn’t had the time for a proper wash. And feels immensely embarrassed when other people comment on it or make a face.

Spends a lot of time comparing himself to other men. Especially ones more “acceptable” in the eyes of a woman.

Because of his size and his looks he goes out of his way to be gentle and soft-spoken around women.

(^^^this especially is so so so canon to me. He is ALWAYS respectful and gentle with women)

Constantly aware of his own strength, and oftentimes has to reel himself in so he doesn’t unintentionally hurt somebody.

Arthur is

without a doubt

the sweetest gentle giant when you get to know him.

It will take time, but when he finds a woman who accepts his body, he can be a very loving partner.

He sees you as something he can protect and comfort and care for. Someone who needs him not for his size, but for his heart.

Feeling comfortable in his own skin around you is one of the greatest things you could ever give him.

Very touch starved (ill talk more on that later) and loves to give you the softest warmest hugs.

Regardless of his reputation, he has very tender hands. Whether he’s sketching you in delicate strokes, petting his horse’s neck, tracing his thumb over your cheek, or holding your baby.

The same hands that safely cradle you every night.

Despite his relationship with food, cooking and eating are still things he genuinely enjoys.

Love to hunt and cook over an open flame. Nothing better than the taste of woodsmoke in fresh meat.

He also loves to share his food. He will always make sure you have enough to eat, and even offer his own plate if you are still hungry.

It brings him great joy to be able to provide for you.

Let’s move on to some silly sweet and smutty ones shall we? ;)

The fastest way to this man’s heart is when you cook for him.

Especially baked goods. Bake him a sweet homemade apple-pie with a thick vanilla cream on top and he's getting you pregnant. going to marry you.

You could literally be an idiot sandwhich in the kitchen and he would still praise your cooking through the roof.

Why? Because he’s already head over heels in love with you for making the effort.

He also has a huge sweet tooth. Peppermint candies are his kryptonite.

Arthur’s laughter is a full-body experience. His chest trembles, his belly shakes, his voice booms. It’s impossible not to smile and laugh along with him. His eyes crinkle in the brightest way, making his joy contagious.

His real smile is rare, but when it comes it makes your heart flutter because he is so unguarded and in the moment you can glimpse the man beneath the hardened outlaw.

Man is the ultimate heater!!!

He makes the best personal blanket. His body runs hot, and he’s the fastest way to warm your freezing hands—though he might grumble when you tuck them under his shirt, directly onto his soft chest.

Your fingers feel like damn icicles. But he just adores the way you melt into him.

Loves when you ask him to warm you up. Like yes please, let this man just hold you in a big hug and rub your arms, your legs, your back. Everywhere.

Until there isn’t a trace of your body left that hasn’t felt his loving touch.

On this topic ^

Arthur loves physical affection with you. He is so so touch starved, and he craves it more than he'll ever admit.

With others he tends to flinch away or shrug off their touch. It’s not necessarily a distrust, but more of a defense.

Freezes up the first few times you do touch him. Always afraid of ruining the moment.

You have to be patient with Arthur, touch means trust. And physical affection becomes a deeply emotional act for him—things he rarely felt in his life.

Every hug, kiss, touch (and sex) is very sacred to him.

Smell gestures mean everything to him, especially in the camp. He is not a big fan of PDA, mostly due to his own insecurities. But he is not afraid to hold your hand, kiss your temple, or playfully flick your hat.

Protective gestures when you’re out in public.

Such as resting his large hand on your back as you walk. Positioning himself so he’s always close to you. Moving you behind him when strangers approach. Holding you tightly at night.

Completely melts under your touch.

Loves when you play with his hair, kiss his forehead, run your fingers through his beard, and oh god please please touch his belly.

Tracing slow circles on his chest and down the soft curve is a surefire way to get this man on!top!of!you!

The first time your fingertips trail down his stomach he’s caught off guard by how sensitive it feels. He might be soft, but your touch sets his skin on fire.

Something about it makes him nervous yet excited. The way your hands glide over him with such care and adoration makes his doubts disappear.

For the first time, Arthur feels comfortable being shirtless. It takes him awhile to work up the courage, your words and reassurance helps enormously.

But ultimately he just craves the feeling of your hands on his bare body.

It feel like a sanctuary.

Where a woman praises a man.

Because she loved him something holy.

He loves to be skin to skin. Didn’t realize how much he needed it until you offered it to him. He finds himself seeking it out whenever he can.

Adores the feeling of your bare chest against his. The way your nipples peak and harden when they brush over his chest hairs.

Your warm breath against his neck puts him at ease and helps him relax.

SMUTTT!!!

This man is easily aroused.

He’s often overwhelmed with desire, feeling like a lovesick teenager. (He just wants to be loved so goddamn bad)

Whether it’s watching the curve of your ass as you bend over, eyes lingering on your lips while you talk, or catching the scent of your hair as you lean in to kiss him, Arthur is hopelessly smitten.

There’s really nothing you can do that won’t stir this man's cock.

Just watching you ride a horse makes the blood flow.

Arthur is nervous and very insecure about his size when it comes to sex. It would take awhile for him to work up to it. But these doubts can be kissed away with gentle patience and praise.

Personally, I think the ‘first time’ with you would be very hard for him. He is not a sex god (yet) and he’s a nervous wreck when it comes to being intimate.

I wouldn’t blame him if struggled with losing an erection when his doubts and insecurities became too loud. He would be so embarrassed and apologize a million times.

If he’s had any alcohol it only makes things worse.

Compliment him, tell him how much you love his body. How his arms make you feel safe, how his chest feels like home against your cheek.

Remind him that you accept and love every inch of him.

He loves to be praised. Arthur needs to be praised. It is his weakness and it makes him feel cherished and confident.

The love language he wants to receive is words of affirmation 1000000%

But don’t let him fool you, for as much as he loves it he will always out praise you. In the bedroom, in the kitchen, on a job. It never ends. That deep soft spoken timbre of his voice never fails to make your knees weak.

This boy is putty in your hands. Mold him into whatever you need him to be, as long as he’s yours.

When he feels your lips trace down his chest and stomach he is gone. He is completely owned by you.

His breath quickens. Cock twitching helplessly, thick and dripping with arousal. Just aching to be inside.

Once Arthur gets you below him it’s suffocating in the best possible way. Your body is completely consumed by him, like nothing exists beyond the two of you.

It's like he’s trapped you in his world and every mewl, moan and whimper you make below him is for his ears alone. When he groans into your neck you feel it in your soul.

You thought he was a big man?

Wait till he’s rubbing his cock along your folds and prodding your entrance. Wait till he’s breathing sharply through his teeth as he pushes the thick swollen head inside. Letting out a long, low groan as he carves out a space for himself within your body.

It burns white hot as he pushes in. The pain mingling with a pleasure that was born from an aching need for connection and trust.

A kind of fullness that just feels so right.

Oh but he’s kissing you and praising you and stopping to make sure you’re okay. Arthur studies your face, for any sign of discomfort. But when you give him the ‘ok’, he loses himself in your embrace.

Eager to show you the same love and devotion you’ve so freely given him. Sex is divine. It’s a moment of surrender. He lets go and he lets himself just be.

He’s not an outlaw, a gunman, a survivor—he’s just a man. Deeply in love with a woman.

Arthur spent his whole life putting up walls to protect himself. Being intimate with you means tearing them down, letting his darkest parts be seen. Scars and all.

Sex with a big man can also be awkward if you let it. Arthur is large, he takes up a lot of space. Certain positions can be hard. And softer body parts tend to move more during the act.

And that’s okay! Because you love every moment of it.

Every time you moan, kiss his neck, tug on his hair, rake your nails down his back, tighten your walls, cry out his name—he’s reminded that he is worthy of love.

Arthur never rushes through sex (unless absolutely necessary) It’s a time for him to show his adoration, to dote on you. To bring you to the edge of euphoria again and again until nothing else matters.

Those ocean blue eyes will tell you everything. His love, his fear, his gratitude. Holding his gaze is not only a huge turn on but very emotional.

You can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, and simultaneously his lip curls. Learn to read his face and you’ll know exactly when he’s about to come.

Not only will you feel it, you’ll see it in the way he loses control.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, and his length has a lot to show for it. Arthur knows this, and he’ll spend his time getting you ready for him with his tongue and fingers.

Let the man eat you out as!much!as!he!wants!

There is no such thing as taking turns. Sit on his face, ride his goddamn nose. Squeeze his head with those beautiful thighs. Let him get drunk off that pretty pussy. The man fucking needs it.

Arthur is also a natural giver, but we all know that.

Big fan of slow, rough sex. Watching his cock slide out of your tight pussy, leaving just the tip before snapping his hips back into you.

Intoxication with how it steals your breath away with each thrust. The creamy sounds of your arousal mingled with your shaky moans make him go absolutely feral.

He has to grip the head board just to keep himself from breaking your spine with his strength.

Favorite positions are the ones where he can watch your face contort with pleasure. Often missionary or cowgirl. Sometimes doggy if he can put you in front of a mirror and make you watch.

Arthur’s vocal in bed, but only when there is little chance of being heard. He’ll sing for you when you’re alone in the wild, or cozied up in a hotel, he throws caution to the wind when you finally have your own home.

He whimpers too, and he stopped fighting them once he realized how much your cunt tightened around his cock in response.

Hear me out, after things are established between you and you’re both comfortable in bed. Sex becomes a very fun activity as much as it is a vulnerable one.

I’m not saying y’all would tell jokes in the middle (I think Arthur would be very serious) but the act itself is just fun.

Arthur’s watching your face twist in pleasure as you ride him. Sapphire blue eyes gleaming in the firelight, full of lust and hunger and something more playful. He’s gripping your bottom, initially helping your pace but now you’ve taken complete control. Using his body for your own pleasure, setting your own rhythm. Getting off on his cock.

“Yeah, you like that, huh sweet girl?” He coo’s, smacking a hand against your ass and gripping the flesh as it pillows beneath his fingers. “Like ridin’ my cock huh?”

You can only nod, and whimper out a broken “y—yes” mind too focused on not losing that pressure that’s steadily building in your belly. Rising with every bounce of your hips. Threatening to spill over at any moment.

“Yeah?” He repeats. A wicked chuckle escapes his lips. His large hands run down your chest and over your thighs, before crossing an arm behind his head. One hand still kneading the soft flesh of your waist. A smug grin tugging at his lips as he watches his cock disappear inside you. “Well go on darlin’, have your fun with me.”

Every deep groan rumbles freely from his chest as he watches you panting above him. Eyes full of love and adoration, he can feel you getting close. Gripping him so deliciously. “Fuck—Keep going baby. Keep fucking my cock with that tight pussy. You gonna come for me?”

Those words open the floodgates, your vision going blank as pleasure and stars exploded behind your eyes. Crying out his name. You hear Arthur’s stained voice as he finishes in you with a needy groan. “Th-that’s it. That’s m-my good girl.”

Aftercare king!

Arthur will wait for your breathing to slow before disturbing the peace. Letting you rest your head on his chest as he strokes your hair. He can feel your heartbeat in his belly and the feeling grounds him more than anything.

Will get you food, water, wet cloth, whatever you need. He knows you’ll be sore and exhausted the next day. It’s also his way of saying thank you for trusting him with your body.

Sex with Arthur comes with a great deal of emotion and trust. It’s one of the only moments he truly lets his guard down and lets the vulnerability’s surface.

It’s deeply personal, and he craves that connection more than anything. It’s his sacred right, his holy devotion.

Arthur loves being close with you, and he just loves you.

Over time he begins to see himself differently. He’ll never seem himself through your eyes. But instead of looking in the mirror and seeing a large, ugly, and broken man. He’ll see one worthy of love.

Instead of looking at his body and feeling shame, he’ll look at his belly and remember the tingling feeling of your lips. The soft pads of your fingers as you traced his sides, sending shivers that reached the base of his spine.

When he sees those stretch marks he’ll be reminded of how easily he can carry you. How he can provide food and shelter for you. How you’ll never have to worry because he will always shield you from the storm.

With time, he begins to take care of himself more. Drinking less, eating more regularly, and finding solace in his lover when he feels like he is slipping again. Trusting her to let him be broken and held.

Falling in love with you teaches him that healing isn’t a linear path. But your loyalty, love and kindness guide him far better than when he had been on his own.

Arthur’s finally found a place where he belongs.

And it’s with you.

That’s it folks, as you can see I’m very passionate about this subject. Ahem, if anyone would like a part 2 I would be much obliged :)

I touched on some of these HC’s in my Arthur x oc fic, if anyone is interested. I didn’t have time to dedicate the entire work to his body and self esteem issues. So this was very enjoyable for me!