#one of us feels such an intense need for the other

[my-beloved-idol]

idk if you do like suggestive things like this but can i request make out headcanons w saja and huntrix?? 😅😅

K-POP DEMON HUNTERS HEADCANONS ✦ MAKING OUT

includes: saja boys & huntrix.

warning: very suggestive, shoo minors.

✦ JINU

At first, it is all shy little pecks and giggles. You’ll think “oh he’s adorable—”. But Jinu is full of surprises.  He gets bold. Real bold, real quick. Sits you on a counter or his lap and gets lost in it. You feel his smile between kisses and his hands trembling a little when they hold your waist, but he doesn’t stop. He kisses you like he’s waited FOREVER.  Pulls away with flushed cheeks, saying “I… I need a second.” before diving back in with more confidence.

✦ ABBY

Abby makeout sessions are like a performance and a game at the same time. He knows exactly how to tilt his head, where to press his body, when to tease. Touchy. His hands are always moving on your tights or your back, sometimes even tangling on your hair. He’ll pull away just when you’re craving more. “What? You look desperate.” But the second you get annoyed, he grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again to make up? (It works). His tongue is often involved. You’ll be dizzy and grinning by the end of it. If you pull him closer by his belt loops? You’re never getting rid of him.

✦ ROMANCE

Romance is slow and dreamy, like something out of a damn movie.  His kisses are deep, drawn out, laced with whispered compliments between each one — “You’re so beautiful like this”.   He’s all about soft sighs, fingers interlaced with yours, pulling you closer until there’s not even a sliver of air between you.  If you sigh his name? He’ll whisper yours back like a vow. Expect to be left completely melted. 

✦ MYSTERY

Mystery making out is so intense. It starts hesitating, like he’s asking a silent question, and once you lean closer to respond, he deepens it slowly but so deeply. Makes your knees weak. He cups your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks, like he's grounding himself. He growls softly against your lips when he gets lost in it, his breath trembling just a bit.  He doesn’t say much, but after a long makeout, he’ll press his forehead to yours and whisper a soft “Don’t go.”

✦ BABY SAJA

Baby Saja kisses like he’s trying to ruin you.  Leans in slowly, just to mess with you. You’ll feel his breath on your lips for a good ten seconds before he actually kisses you.  One of his hands is always on your jaw, neck or around your throat. The other one either slips under your clothes to make you shiver, or stays on your rear.  He is rough and cocky, but somewhere along the line, he’s the one breathless. He bites, not hard, just enough to make you gasp, and he always smirks when you do.  Likes when you tug his hoodie to pull him closer. Might let out a low groan if you do.  “You can’t even breathe without me, huh?”  When he breaks the kiss, he looks at your lips like he wants more — and spoiler: he does.

✦ ZOEY

You’re not ready. Like never. She pounces. “Can I kiss you?” is said milliseconds before her lips are already on yours.  Straddles your lap. Moves her hips slightly.  Her arms are completely wrapped around you like a koala.  She gasps or makes little noises against your lips when you do something she likes. Sometimes she even moans just to see you react. Pulls back only to say “Holy crap, we’re good at this”.   Constantly breaks the kiss just to look at you, biting her lip.

✦ MIRA

She grabs your collar. Always. That’s how it starts. Mira kisses like she owns you. There’s nothing hesitant in the way she leans in — it’s smooth, confident, always catching you off guard. Uses just enough tongue to make you forget how to breathe.  Her nails lightly graze your neck or thigh if she’s feeling bold. After a long one, she rests her forehead on yours and murmurs “Still breathing?” with a smug little smile. But if you flip it on her — if you pull her in — her expression shatters. And she likes it. Don’t even think about moving until she’s done with you.

✦ RUMI

She is incredibly sweet.  Her touch is featherlight at first — hands ghosting over your skin, lips barely brushing yours. She makes you crave it.  And when you finally close that space? Her mouth is slow, warm and teasing.  She smiles into the kiss when she feels you melt, her hands resting on your waist or chest affectionately Would moan softly if the kiss deepens, and murmur your name warningly.  Whispers “Let me take care of you…” if she senses hesitation. She’ll pull back with a dazed look, already leaning in for more.

NOTE: pretty sure now y'all know who is my favourite boy and girl. (no regrets)

[butilovemymirror]

Well, most of those things are meant to be taught in K-12 as well (if your state has a reasonably well funded public school system), but much like math or science; skills like art appreciation and critical thinking and teamwork build on themselves. Teamwork, for instance, started out with “sharing is caring” and “apologize when you hurt people” (and I work at a college, believe me when I tell you MANY freshman need a refresher in that), but by high school you should be able to balance conflicting ideas and goals in a group trying to complete and assignment.

In art appreciation, we start by teaching about making art for other people to appreciate. The macaroni necklaces and handmade birthday cards and what not show small children that they have the ability to create something that incites joy in other people, but by high school we want people to be able to point at a particular kind of art (theater, photography, music, etc. all count btw) and express what they like about it, some of its history, and how it reflects broader society, and ideally we want them to feel empowered to be an amateur at it. (Yes a significant part of art at the early level is also about motor skills development and keeping kids busy without making them be classroom learning at all times.)

Critical thinking in history is a real failing of the K-12 system. Most, if not all, K-12 history classes focus on memorization of dates, names, and locations. If a student takes an AP history class then you at least know they’ve been required to learn how to make connections and draw conclusions, but most students in AP classes take them to prepare for college (according to collegeboard, who facilitates the classes and testing). Honestly history classes are one of the things that need the most reform at the K-12 level, but with the current US Administration we’re going to have to wait quite a bit on that.

So now, your question is probably “if it’s taught in K-12, why do college students need it?” (I’m not going to talk about the history one since K-12 history is a cesspit the majority of the time and everyone in college admin knows it). Another name for postsecondary education is “continuing education.” If a person is in a robust school system (which is a big if), the average high school graduate should have sufficient skills at team work and art appreciation for their day to day life, the majority of jobs, and to facilitate their own mental health and stable family environment. (These are often some of the listed goals on public high schools charters if you look at them.)

So why do we include it in continuing education?

Again there are multiple reasons:

1. Standardized education is not actually standard, and in many places it’s poorly administered. On top of that, the presence of international students in many institutions means colleges like to touch on those standardized points to compensate for students who may not have received them in their K-12 experience. This is why most institutions allow you to test out of some, if not all, gen-ed courses, for instance by applying an AP test you passed in high school, or taking a placement test. Often, any non-departmental gen-eds can be achieved in the course of your degree (eg most degree tracks have sufficient writing intensive or research intensive classes to meet those requirements without having to take a different class.)

2. Colleges offer continuing education, which means continuing with those less tangible, or “soft” skills you started developing in your K-12 experience. Also, and this is purely from my observation, a great deal of the conflict in high schools group projects is conflicting IDEAS, where a great deal of conflict in college group projects is conflicting EXPERIENCES, which I’ve found to be more common in everyday life, but that mostly applies outside of your degree path. It’s a bit like the difference between being a software engineer in a meeting filled with software engineers vs being a software engineer in a meeting with Dana from marketing who wants you to make a TikTok. Sometimes you have a group mate with experiences and expertise so alien to you that their suggestions never would have occurred to you, and that’s an EXTREMELY valuable experience that, quite frankly, is one of the few class related things that doesn’t loose value if you don’t complete your degree.

As far as the attendance thing, I’m not sure what school you’re at or how they do gen eds, but typically there’s a catalog of classes that fulfill them. Like there are regular ones (you know, “American history” or “WW1 and 2”) that are taught every year or semester, but there are also “special offers” listed randomly (For example “Great shakers of the Harlem renaissance” or “decolonial perspective on colonization”) that are projected to have lower enrollment and have thus been opened up outside the degree path. I often find the “special offers” to be more interesting (both the ones I listed are actual classes that have been offered as gen eds). So the school isn’t requiring a specific class that they’re using you to fill seats in, but quite frankly they’re often more fun than the usual ones. Some schools might even require a placement test before allowing you to take those because they’re typically upper level classes.

One of the things you have to take into account is that many colleges are not only selling a degree, they’re selling an experience. Colleges are directly competing for students and while some have a reputation that speaks for them, many are attempting to draw students by offering the most comprehensive program with the most degree of freedom (or as I like to say, everyone wants to be a liberal arts school.) Community colleges often have programs where you don’t have to take gen eds, usually aimed at people who received a GED or are only taking classes for their interest rather than a degree, but most American colleges are compensating for a poor public education system, and that means gen-eds.

Also it sounds like you go somewhere that charges per class, which quite frankly is absurd to me. Where I work, there’s a flat rate tuition that covers up to 20 credits per semester, with an 11 credit minimum. Students aren’t paying extra for gen eds because there’s simply no way they’d be able to take that many classes in their major every semester, so they’re left with extra credits space to fill with things they find interesting after selecting the 2 or 3 that support their major or minor each semester.

[narcjsistx]

rin itoshi was born to wait, but especially for you

You were never the best in your crosscountry classes back in high school — your coach always complained about your slowness and lack of motivation. The way you’re running now, though, makes you certain that all you needed back then was a reason to do it — a reason to need to hurry

You don’t care that your clothes are soaked, that your hair you carefully washed this morning are now damp and ruined. You don’t even care about losing your job. You’re running with the awareness that you probably won’t even find him at home — already on a plane to Paris. That’s exactly why you’re running — because your only reason makes you hope he’s still in his apartment. You’re running because you know that if you don’t do it now, you’ll lose the chance of your life

You arrive at his apartment complex without even greeting the receptionist — the one who’s kept you company over the past few months while you waited for Rin to come back from the gym or his trips. You take the stairs without thinking, without even worrying about falling, just with a lot of anxiety. Your sister’s words are still running through your mind — so much so that you almost forgot she just found out she’s been cheated on by her almost-husband. As sorry as you are for her, you can’t let your first love slip away

“Why did it happen? What did I do wrong?”

“You did nothing. It’s him who… who couldn’t wait for you. Couldn’t understand that you didn’t want to rush things…”

“Then why is he waiting for you?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Rin Itoshi”

Waiting isn’t the right word to describe what Rin has done over the past 18 years. What he did was give you your time, set his rhythm alongside yours, and breathe at your pace. He never rushed you to understand something he had always known — at least until two weeks ago. The night before he told you he had received an offer for intensive training at a center in Paris, training that would probably keep him away from home for a year. The next morning, at your workplace, he finally voiced what he had kept inside for years

“I’ve loved you for basically forever. I don’t want to pressure you, but I need an answer before I leave”

The news had made you pull away a little — the thought of your best friend being in love with you all this time made you a bit anxious. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t say anything, that maybe you’d call him once he was already in France. But after tonight, something shifted inside you. You knock frantically on his door, even though you know it’s the middle of the night and it’s raining like Japan hasn’t seen water in months. You’re not in the best condition, but you don’t care

The door opens, and you let out a breath of relief without even realizing it. The sight of a sleepy, slightly disoriented Rin feels like a breath of fresh air — and it’s as if a weight has been lifted off your chest. You see his eyes widen in surprise, his mouth parting slightly

“What?-“

“I’ve loved you for basically forever. But I’ve been so used to seeing you as a shoulder to cry on that admitting I also wanted to fall asleep there made me a bit of an asshole”

Rin Itoshi — the champion of the most expressionless, lukewarm reactions ever — actually looks genuinely surprised. You see his eyes widen as he shakes his head “What?” he says confused, and you give him an awkward smile “I know, Rin. I know. I don’t even know how to explain it to you. It’s all really new to me, but…” you say, looking down

You think about all the moments you’ve shared — about how he’s always adjusted himself just to live alongside your presence. You think about how many times you’ve hugged, confided in each other, loved each other from a distance, but in different ways. You think about all the time you took from his main passion — time he never once held against you. You think about how Rin waited for something you could never promise him with absolute certainty — and yet, he still chose to chase after it. He chose to run after you even when you didn’t know you were the reason — the very force that’s brought you here now. Rin has always seen you as a reason, not a forced goal

“I know what my answer to your question is, even if it took me some time. I… I feel the same way about you. I don’t want to keep waiting for someone who has spent 18 years silently for me” you say, trembling as you try to take his hands. When you look up, the boy’s face looks at you like only someone who has waited for years knows how to — with a new light, a new hope, a new kind of affection. Maybe even a new kind of love

“I know you have a long flight tomorrow morning and that you should be sleeping, so goodnight and see you-“ you start to say quickly, trying to brush off the strange feeling of embarrassment building in your stomach. Before you can even realize it, two arms wrap around you, holding you tight as if this time he’s not afraid you’ll make his wait eternal “You’ve always been stupid. Extremely stupid” he says, but his tone and his embrace betray his words

For the first time in two weeks of tension, your muscles finally relax. You let out a breath of relief, holding him close as you allow yourself to be wrapped in the calm that has, thankfully, settled between you. Rin hesitates for a moment, then presses a kiss to your hair before pulling you back into his arms

Even now, with the certainty that his waiting has been rewarded, he doesn’t want to push you into the sudden discomfort of rushing things — like kissing you

✶ beautiful dividers by @uzmacchiato !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[tarotwithavi]

And I'm gonna serve exactly what you are.. CU*T

What does your energy say before you enter the room? The vibe you carry? What makes people obsessed with you?

Feel free to leave a tip to support this reader… or not, I will love you regardless

TIP JAR

PAID READING

MASTERLIST

Pile 1

You know you’re THAT BITCH, and no one can tell you otherwise. You know exactly what you bring into people’s lives, and you won’t hesitate to take it back if someone tries to disrespect you. The moment you walk into a room, people can feel your presence. It’s not just the way you look, it's the energy you carry. Bold. Powerful. Magnetic. You are assertive, spontaneous, talented, and surprisingly friendly when you choose to be. You know who you are, and you’re not afraid of being seen. There was a time, maybe at some party or in certain friend groups, when you dimmed your light just to make others feel comfortable. But not anymore. You’ve stopped shrinking yourself for the sake of others. You’ve stopped watering yourself down just to let someone else feel like they’re blooming. Now, you’re confident, comfortable in your own skin and fully aware of what you bring to the table. You were never meant to be the “pick me” girl. You’re not here to be liked by everyone. You’re here to break hearts, shake foundations, and own every damn room you step into. You’re here to be that bitch, unapologetically. In the past, maybe you used to seek validation from others not because you were weak, but because it was just what you were used to. It’s how you were conditioned. But not anymore. Now? You couldn't care less about what people think. You don’t crave validation. The only approval you need is your own. You’re focused on yourself, your goals, your craft, and your own damn peace. I’m hearing “Three things I don’t play about myself, my money, or my man. Mention one of them and best believe I’m gonna be at your head.” You’re talented as hell. You're skilled, sharp, and scary-good at whatever you do. And when people realize that you're their real competition, they get nervous. They know deep down they can’t beat you even when they try to copy, compete, or compare. You don’t even look their way because there is no comparison. There’s only one you. People might try to paint you as arrogant, egoistic, or even call you narcissistic but they have no idea. You’re actually deeply kind, soft-hearted, and real but only for the people who deserve to see that side of you. You’re not for everyone, and you’re okay with that. Only a chosen few get to know the real you, and that’s how it should be. When you enter a room, it’s like a thunderstorm just rolled in. You shake things up. You challenge people’s beliefs, their fake confidence, their illusions and that makes people uncomfortable. You trigger people without even trying. That’s probably why you faced a lot of hate, jealousy, or even bullying growing up. But the tables have turned. Now, no one would dare speak against you. You keep evolving. You keep learning. You never stop growing. And honestly? That’s one of your most powerful traits. You’re not afraid to be a student of life. Whether it’s through experience or knowledge, you absorb and transform. That’s where your real magic lies. Some of you might be artists, painters, writers, poets, singers. You’re gifted with words and hands. You might have Libra, Gemini or Virgo sun, moon, or rising placements or even Mercury in the 1st, 7th or 10th house which makes you incredibly articulate, clever, and expressive. You’re unstoppable. And you’re just getting started.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

Pile 2

You’re not afraid to call people out on their bullshit. You’re not afraid to be the “bad guy” in someone’s story if it means standing up for what’s right. You’re not scared of being seen as “too intense” or “too much.” You know your words hold weight like sharp swords that cut through lies, illusions, and fake energy. When you speak, it's not just talk, it's wisdom. It’s truth. You may not be the loudest person in the room, but when you do speak, people stop and listen. There’s something about your energy that feels powerful, ancient almost. You come across as someone who’s been through hell and back and turned every scar into a source of strength. You’re intelligent, intuitive, and deeply experienced. That’s why people naturally turn to you when they’re lost or going through something. They trust your judgment. They know you see things others miss. You have this uncanny ability to sense people’s intentions. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve predicted someone’s actions before they even did it and then watched it unfold exactly the way you said it would. That’s the level of awareness and sharp perception you hold. When you walk into a room, you bring a sense of stability and balance. You’re the grounding energy in a chaotic world. You don’t treat people differently based on status or appearance. It doesn’t matter how rich, pretty, loud, or privileged someone is in your eyes, everyone’s the same. You treat people based on who they are, not what they have. And honestly, that kind of energy is rare. Some people might find you intimidating or hard to approach at first, but those who get close know how kind and loyal you truly are. You may not always express your emotions in words, and you might struggle to explain how you feel, but your actions say it all. You show your love in what you do, not in what you say and that makes your presence feel safe and real. People are obsessed with your nonchalant, IDGAF attitude. You move like you don’t need validation. You don’t chase. You attract. You don’t wait around for opportunities to come to you if the door’s closed, you build your own. You’re the type of person who says, “If nobody’s going to do it, I will.” your energy is addicting . It’s powerful. And people can’t get enough of it. You might have strong earth placements especially Capricorn or Taurus or a stellium in the 10th or 2nd house. You give off rich as fuck energy, and honestly, it’s not just about money. It’s the way you carry yourself. Your aura screams abundance, success, and self-made glory. People might even assume you come from a wealthy or famous family like you're some nepo baby or something but the truth is far from that. You’ve worked hard for every ounce of stability you now have. You earned this. I’m also picking up that you might be multi-lingual or someone who has deep knowledge about different cultures. Maybe you speak two, three, or even more languages and people are fascinated by that. You’re the type of person others want to be around not just because you’re magnetic, but because being around you feels valuable. You’re resourceful, wise, and full of depth. And the people around you? They know it. You’re the calm before the storm, the storm itself, and the safe place after it’s over. And people are obsessed with all of it.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

Pile 3

You are not afraid to try something new. You’re not scared of taking risks, you embrace them. You’re probably the friend who’s always got a new hobby, a fresh idea, or a spontaneous plan every other day. Or maybe you're the one who's constantly starting new projects, chasing after new experiences. Why? Because you’re genuinely passionate about living. You’re fascinated by life and all the possibilities it has to offer. You don’t want to look back one day filled with regrets, thinking about all the chances you didn’t take. You want to live fully, freely, and with purpose while you’re still young, while you’ve still got all this incredible energy inside you. You live by the idea that life is meant to be enjoyed now. And that makes you such a joy to be around. You’re the friend who cheers others up, who hypes people up, who reminds everyone that it’s okay to just live. You’re supportive. You’re loving. You’re that warm, golden soul that brightens up any room just by walking into it. You might not realize it, but strangers can feel that energy on you. Maybe you’ve noticed people randomly smiling at you, approaching you for directions or help, or just gravitating toward you. That’s your aura, babe. It radiates kindness and approachability. You’re also incredibly resilient. Life may not have always been easy, but your mindset? Powerful. You’ve decided that even if you don’t receive love or kindness from others, you’ll become love. You’ll become kindness and offer it to the world anyway. That’s the kind of energy this world needs more of, and honestly, I appreciate you for that. (Also, side note: If you were drawn to Pile 1 too, make sure to check it out.) I also see that you receive karma fast. Like, instantly. If you do something bad or out of alignment even by mistake it reflects back to you almost immediately. But strangely enough, this keeps you humble. It’s like the universe checks you lovingly in real-time, and you’ve learned to see that as a blessing. You might be a Leo or Aquarius sun, moon, or rising. I’m also getting a strong sense that you either have red or uniquely styled hair, or you’ve been thinking about doing something new with your appearance, maybe a hair color change or bold cut. Go for it. It suits your vibe completely. A lot of people have mixed opinions about you. Some think you’re full of yourself, while others think you’re too kind. And honestly? That’s their problem. The truth is: people can’t put you in a box. You don’t fit into one personality. You’re full of contrasts: soft and strong, kind and fierce, playful yet wise. You’re a mystery, and that confuses people who want to label everything. But that’s also what makes you so unforgettable. You’re the life of the party. You don’t just enter the room you shift the whole vibe. People notice your presence physically too. You might have features that stand out, maybe short, colored hair, a bold style, or something about you that always catches people’s attention without you even trying. Colors like red, yellow, and purple might be significant for you; they could be your favorite colors, part of your wardrobe.

Thank you so much for reading this, please show support by liking or rebloging.

TIP JAR

[coriihanniee]

OOPS! MY EX IS AN IDOL! ⊹˚. ♡ . ݁ ˖

۶ৎ PAIRING : idol!taesan x new stylist!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : exes to lovers, forced proximity, fluff ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : just mild angst! ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 2k words

۶ৎ A/N : tq to the anon who requested this, I really enjoyed writing this!~ 💕

You adjust your badge for the fifth time, staring at the sleek HYBE building towering above you. Three years of fashion school, two years of freelance styling, and countless nights perfecting your portfolio have led to this moment. Your first day as an official stylist for one of the hottest fifth-generation K-pop groups.

BOYNEXTDOOR. You've heard their songs on the radio, seen their faces blur past on billboards, but honestly? You couldn't pick them out of a lineup if your career depended on it. Which, considering your new job, it literally does.

"You've got this," you mutter, pushing through the glass doors into the lobby.

The styling department buzzes with organized chaos. Racks of clothes roll past like fashionable tumbleweeds, assistants dart between rooms with armfuls of accessories, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the distinct sound of a steamer hissing.

"You must be our new hire!" A woman with perfectly styled hair and a clipboard approaches. "I'm Manager Kim. Ready to jump in?"

Before you can answer, she's already guiding you down a hallway lined with posters of various artists. Your stomach does a little flip of excitement mixed with terror.

"The boys are in room 304 for their music show preparation. You'll be working with Taesan today, he should be arriving any minute."

Taesan. The name means nothing to you, which is probably for the best. Professional distance and all that.

Room 304 is a controlled storm of activity. Five guys in various states of styling occupy chairs while makeup artists and stylists buzz around them. You recognize the organized chaos from your freelance days, but this feels bigger, more intense.

"Everyone, meet our newest team member!" Manager Kim announces. "She'll be taking over some of Taesan's styling duties."

A chorus of hellos greets you, and you bow politely, trying to memorize faces and names as they're thrown at you. Sungho, Riwoo, Jaehyun, Leehan, Woonhak, they all seem friendly enough, though Woonhak looks barely old enough to be out of high school.

"Where is Taesan, anyway?" Jaehyun asks, checking his phone. "He's usually early."

"Probably overslept again," Woonhak grins. "Should we call him?"

The door swings open behind you. "No need, I'm here. Sorry I'm—"

The voice stops mid-sentence.

You turn around, and your world tilts off its axis.

Standing in the doorway, coffee cup frozen halfway to his lips, hair slightly mussed from running, is Han Dongmin. Your Han Dongmin. Except he's taller now, his jawline sharper, and he's staring at you like he's seen a ghost.

Which, considering how he left things, is probably accurate.

"Oh," you breathe, then immediately hate yourself for the sound.

His coffee cup slips. Hot liquid splashes across the floor, and the paper cup bounces once before settling in a sad, caffeinated puddle.

"Taesan hyung!" Woonhak jumps up. "Dude, are you okay?"

Taesan. Of course. Because your ex boyfriend isn't just Han Dongmin anymore, he's Taesan from BOYNEXTDOOR. The same group you're now working for. The same idol who's apparently your assigned client.

Your brain short circuits somewhere between professional panic and personal fury.

"I'm fine," Dongmin—Taesan—says, but his eyes haven't left yours. "Just... clumsy."

The room falls into an awkward silence that stretches like taffy. The other members glance between you two, clearly sensing something but not sure what.

Manager Kim clears her throat. "Well, now that everyone's here, let's get started. Taesan, meet your new stylist."

You force your face into what you hope resembles a professional expression. "Nice to meet you."

Taesan's mouth quirks up at one corner, that familiar half-smile that used to make your stomach flutter and now makes you want to throw something at his head. "Likewise."

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Fifteen minutes later, you're alone with him in a smaller dressing room, a rack of stage outfits between you like a fashionable shield. Your hands shake slightly as you flip through hangers, trying to focus on anything except the way he's watching you in the mirror.

"The black jacket with the silver detailing," you say, your voice crisp and professional. "It'll complement the stage lighting for the choreo."

He nods, starting to unbutton his shirt, and you quickly turn away. Two years ago, this wouldn't have been a problem. Two years ago, you knew every freckle on his shoulder, every scar from childhood mishaps.

Two years ago, he didn't disappear from your life without a single word of explanation.

"You can look," he says, and the amusement in his voice makes your jaw clench. "It's your job now."

You turn back, keeping your expression neutral as you help him into the jacket. Your fingers brush his wrist as you adjust the cuff, and he inhales sharply.

"You look good," he says quietly.

The professional mask slips for just a second. "You look ghosty."

His laugh is short and sharp. "Still have that mouth on you."

"Still have that habit of running away when things get complicated?"

The words hang in the air between you like a challenge. Taesan goes very still, his reflection meeting your eyes in the mirror.

"That's not—"

"Arms up," you interrupt, reaching for the steamer. "We need to get these wrinkles out."

He raises his arms obediently, and you work in tense silence, sending puffs of steam across the expensive fabric. The intimacy of it, being this close to him again, taking care of him, makes your chest ache.

"I kept it," he says suddenly.

You freeze, steamer hovering inches from his sleeve. "Kept what?"

Instead of answering, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small photo strip from those old school photo booths. Four pictures of you and him from your six month anniversary, faces squished together, laughing and making ridiculous expressions.

You feel an explicable ache in your chest.

"Why?" The word comes out smaller than you intended.

He shrugs, but there's nothing casual about the way his thumb traces the edge of the photos. "Couldn't throw it away."

"But you could throw me away." The words slip out before you can stop them.

Taesan flinches like you've slapped him. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" You set the steamer down harder than necessary. "Because from where I was standing, everything was perfect until you decided to ghost me completely. No call, no text, no 'hey, this isn't working.' Just... nothing."

"I wanted to explain—"

"When? It's been two years, Dongmin."

"Taesan," he corrects automatically, then immediately looks like he regrets it.

"Right. Because you're a different person now." You gesture at the stage outfit, the makeup, the whole idol transformation. "I forgot."

The hurt in his eyes makes your anger falter for just a moment, but you push it down. You don't get to feel sorry for him, not when he's the one who left.

A knock on the door interrupts the tension. "Five minutes!" someone calls.

You both jump apart like you've been electrocuted, suddenly remembering where you are and why you're here.

"We should..." you start.

"Yeah." He clears his throat, checking his reflection one more time. "Professional. I can do professional."

As he moves toward the door, he pauses, looking back at you with an expression you can't quite read.

"For what it's worth," he says quietly, "I never wanted to leave."

He quickly walks away, and you're left alone with the lingering scent of his cologne and a chest full of questions you're not sure you want answered.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The next few hours pass in a blur of quick changes and touch ups between performances. You manage to maintain professional distance, treating Taesan like any other client, but you can feel his eyes on you whenever you're in the same room.

The other members have definitely noticed the tension. Woonhak keeps shooting curious glances between you two, and Jaehyun has been extra friendly, which only seems to make Taesan's jaw tick with annoyance.

"You're really good at this," Jaehyun says as you adjust his collar for the third time. "How long have you been styling?"

"A few years," you reply, smoothing down a stubborn piece of fabric. "Mostly freelance work before this."

"Well, we're lucky to have you." His smile is warm and genuine, and you can't help but smile back.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Taesan watching the interaction with poorly concealed irritation.

Good. Let him be annoyed.

But later, when you're packing up your kit after their final performance, Taesan approaches while the others are busy with interviews.

"Can we talk?" he asks.

"We are talking."

"You know what I mean."

You zip up your makeup case with more force than necessary. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please." The word is quiet, almost desperate. "Just... give me five minutes to explain."

Against your better judgment, you find yourself following him to an empty practice room down the hall. The space is small, mirrored walls reflecting your nervous energy back at you.

"I was a trainee," he starts without preamble. "When we were dating, I was already training, but I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure it would work out. Everything happened so fast, we got the debut confirmation, and management sat us down for 'the talk.'"

You cross your arms, waiting.

"They told us to cut ties with anything that could be a distraction. Focus completely on the group, on debut preparations. No dating, no relationships, no... nothing." He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the carefully styled strands. "I was scared and stupid, and I thought... I thought disappearing would be easier than explaining and having to choose."

"So you chose for both of us."

"I chose wrong." His voice cracks slightly. "I realized that about a week after debut, but by then... how do you come back from that? How do you explain that you threw away the best thing in your life because some executive told you to?"

The anger that's been simmering in your chest for two years suddenly feels exhausting. You lean back against the mirrored wall, studying his face.

"You could have tried."

"I know." He steps closer, and you can see the regret written in every line of his expression. "I should have fought for us and been honest from the beginning. I should have done a lot of things differently."

"Yeah, you should have."

The simple agreement seems to hit him harder than any anger could. His shoulders slump, and for a moment, he looks exactly like the boy you fell in love with.

"I know I don't deserve it," he says quietly, "but could we... could we start over? Not pick up where we left off, just... start fresh?"

You study his face, looking for any sign of the careless boy who broke your heart. Instead, you see someone who's grown up and learned from his mistakes, standing here asking for a chance instead of assuming he deserves one.

"If we do this," you say slowly, "if we try to be friends or whatever... no more running away when things get complicated. No more disappearing acts."

"I promise."

"And if you break that promise, I will personally ensure that every stage outfit you wear for the next year makes you look like a disco ball had a fight with a curtain."

Confusion lances his face for a moment, but he quickly laughs, the sound filling the small practice room.

"That's a terrifying threat coming from someone with your skills."

"Good. Fear keeps people honest."

You push off from the wall, heading towards the door, but his voice stops you.

"Just so you know, seeing you again... it's the best thing that's happened to me in two years."

You turn back to find him watching you with an expression so soft it makes your chest ache.

"Don't get sentimental on me, Han Dongmin. We're just starting over, remember?"

Because perhaps starting over might not be such a terrible idea after all.

After all, some things are worth the risk of a second chance.

Even if one of you happens to be an idol now.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist: @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @beomev @woonhakntaesansgf @perlleta

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Bucky Barnes NSFW alphabet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: NSFW alphabet of Bucky Barnes. Nothing more needs to be said ;)

Warning: MDNI, Smut things, PiV content, kinks, filthy language, sex talk

Author's notes: so here it is - my first ever SMUT alphabet and it's with Bucky... I have an idea to make something with this further, but I'll see if you guys even like this one :)

A - Aftercare

He’s exceptionally good at it. Warm bath. Gentle hands. Whispered affirmations. You always end up wrapped in his dog tags and arms, being fed water and forehead kisses.

He never leaves you drifting. Big hands hold your hips like he’s still inside you. He murmurs praise while cleaning you up, his voice all gravel and reverence. Wraps you in one of his shirts, strokes your back, makes you drink water from straw if you’re too dazed to lift a glass. “You did so good, doll… You with me? Still mine?”

---

B - Body Part

He worships your thighs like an altar, the softness, the strength, the way they tremble when he’s got his head buried between them. On himself? His hands. Not just the metal one - though that’s useful - but how you look when his fingers are inside you, slow and curling, watching your body open for him.

---

C - Cum

He lives to see the mess he makes. Thighs dripping, mouth glossed, skin painted. Pulls out just to finish on you and smear it in with his thumb. If he finishes inside? He stays buried deep, watches it leak out, pushes it back in with his fingers like it’s something sacred.

---

D - Dirty Secret

Sometimes he wants you to take control. Tie his wrists. Use his mouth. Ride his thigh. He wants to beg for it; for you. That’s the one thing he hasn’t said aloud yet… but it’s in the way his breath catches when you grip his hair and say, “Down.”

---

E - Experience

Oh, he knows what he’s doing. More than you’d expect. But with you? He still gets that hungry, almost shy look like he’s experiencing everything for the first time again.

---

F - Favourite Position

You in his lap. Legs open. Arms around his neck. He can thrust up into you while guiding your hips down hard. Loves watching you bounce, flushed and breathless, moaning into his mouth while he praises you between gritted teeth.

---

G - Goofy

He starts off serious, intense. But if you giggle or tease? He’ll smirk, play along, and whisper something filthy in your ear that makes you forget your own name.

---

H - Hair

Trimmed, neat, low maintenance. He lets you groom him sometimes, shave his face, run your hands through his chest hair. He doesn’t care about matching the drapes, he cares about how your fingers tug and scratch when you’re about to break apart.

---

I - Intimacy

Eye contact that borders on religious. He kisses every inch of you like he’s trying to learn you by heart. Says your name when he’s close. Whispers, “I love you” when he’s all the way in and holding himself still just to feel you.

---

J - Jack Off

He tries not to when you’re gone. But your hoodie, your scent, a voice note you left? He’ll wrap his hand around himself, eyes shut, imagining your mouth instead.

---

K - Kink

Praise kink. Control. Dirty talk. Loves holding your wrists, pulling your hair, pushing you to the edge until you're crying please. But what really unravels him? You whispering, “Good boy.”

---

L - Location

The couch. The kitchen. That one time against the door. Has a soft spot for the bathroom mirror. One hand on your throat, the other between your thighs, making you watch yourself fall apart. Anywhere with a surface to bend you over? A yes.

But his favorite? Somewhere soft and private where he can take his time.

---

M - Motivation

The way you look at him when you want him. That breath you take when he steps closer. One soft, needy sound from you and he’s already halfway gone.

But also your voice. Your scent. The way you stretch when you wake up. How you bite your lip when you're turned on. The needy way you say “Bucky…” when you want him? He could get hard from that alone.

---

N - NO

Anything non-consensual or degrading. He’s haunted by things he didn’t choose. Now? He needs trust, softness, and your voice guiding him back.

He won’t degrade you either, not really. He can play rough, can make it filthy, but he needs the connection. Needs to know you feel safe.

---

O - Oral

Devoted. Absolutely obsessed with eating you out. Slow and deep, tongue working like he’s memorizing your taste. Will tease you for hours with fingers and tongue, groaning against your skin when you start shaking. Giving > Receiving; every time.

---

P - Pace

Varies. Slow grind when he wants to savor you. Fast and bruising when he’s desperate. But always in control. Holds your hips down when you squirm, fucks you through every whimper like he owns them. However, push his buttons just right and he’ll snap - rough, breathless, relentless.

---

Q - Quickie

Loves them now, especially when you initiate. He pretended not to like them though - but now he lives for the risk. “You really want it right now?” he’ll whisper, fingers already unzipping his jeans. One hand over your mouth. Other gripping your waist. In and out with frantic precision. Back of a Quinjet, alley behind a gala, that one time in the elevator - just enough to take the edge off. Barely.

---

R - Risk

He’ll try anything once; with you, only with you. Restraints? Toys? Roleplay? You suggest it, and he’ll give you that sly nod and say, “Only if I get to pick next time.”

---

S - Stamina

Two rounds minimum. But if you’re up for it? He’s not stopping until you can’t say his name without trembling. He’ll edge you for hours if he has to. “One more. Just one more, baby. You can take it.”

---

T - Toys

He’s a fan of toys on you. He even owns a collection just for you. Remote plugs. Wands. Vibrating panties. Loves when he gets to control your pleasure without touching you, just watching you unravel, breath hitching, thighs clenching, begging him to finish it.

---

U - Unfair

Oh, he teases. Edges you until you’re sobbing, then holds still and says, “Tell me what you want.” Finger between your thighs at the worst moment. Whispering filthy things in your ear during dinner. Acting innocent while your knees buckle. Uses his metal fingers for contrast - warm breath, cold touch, cruelly slow rhythm. Loves hearing you break.

---

V - Volume

Low growls. Deep, broken moans. His voice turns gravelly, breathless when he’s close. But it’s your name, gasped in reverence, that always gives him away.

---

W - Wild Card

Bucky has a thing for your voice. Not just moaning - though that drives him wild - but when you talk him through it. Tell him he’s doing good, tell him you missed him, tell him how you want it. He’ll fall apart faster from your words than your touch. One whispered, “You’re mine, Bucky,” and he’s done for.

---

X - X-Ray

Thick. Heavy. Veiny. Curves just enough to hit every right spot. Bigger than average, yes, but it’s the way he uses it: deep strokes, slow drags, full body weight, making you feel every inch.

---

Z - ZZZ

Falls asleep with you curled on his chest, legs tangled, sweat drying between your bodies. He snores softly, arms locked around you like you might disappear. Smiles in his sleep if you kiss his jaw.

[michanvalentine]

Still on the subject of Astarion and the figure of the hero.

And lots of other lovely things that I really like.

There’s a moment, right after the battle, when Astarion comes face to face with his tormentor that I find particularly striking. It's probably a detail that often gets overlooked, since most of the discourse tends to focus on the ascension or the infamous persuasion roll to "convince" Astarion not to ascend. But to me, it’s such a beautiful scene that I even included it in my video “Astarion's Journey to Redemption.” I don’t just find it beautiful—I find it meaningful.

During the fight with Cazador, it’s possible to kill one or more of the sacrificial spawn. In that case, Astarion can no longer ascend. But don’t worry, he won’t make a tragedy out of it. Clearly, it wasn’t that essential after all, and the freedom he gains is enough for him. Yes, he’ll make a snarky comment during the fight, but after the initial reaction, he won’t voice any further complaints. BUT let’s take a closer look. Cazador is on his knees, Astarion stands before him, dagger in hand, ready to finally break his chains. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never had to fear you again." The vampire lord speaks, chilling in his clarity: "And then? What will you be without me? A shade? A spectre in the shadows? Devoid of all purpose?"

Cazador knows exactly what he's saying. He knows Astarion isn’t whole—he’s broken—and that his entire existence for the past 200 years has revolved around him: every thought, every action, every word. All of it, only and entirely for him. The abuser has been the very pillar upon which Astarion’s sense of self was built—his identity, his worth, his functioning, his purpose. Without that pillar, there’s nothing. Only emptiness. (Though we, the players, know that Astarion still has so much left to discover and rebuild—but that’s not the point right now.)

What is relevant, however, is Astarion’s expression—because it says far more than words ever could. There he is, dagger in hand, standing before the person who has hurt him more than anyone, the one he hates from the bottom of his heart—and yet he hesitates. His face clearly says: “You’re right. An abyss is opening before me, and I’m terrified.”

Without ascension to save him, to give him something to lean on—a ready-made path, a new identity to sink into and hide behind in order to face what comes next, or simply to fill that gaping void—Astarion doesn’t know how to answer that question. Astarion doesn’t know his own worth. He doesn’t recognize his strength, his resilience. And even if he has, in some ways, begun to glimpse his own value during his time with Tav/Durge, Cazador’s influence remains absolute. In front of him, Astarion becomes once more the “boy” who is worth nothing. Because that’s how Cazador has always made him feel.

And so, in silence, with a close-up of Astarion’s conflicted expression, the dialogue options for Tav/Durge appear. Once again, it falls to them to speak. Just like during the persuasion roll to “convince” him not to ascend—Astarion needs support to face his future.

Let’s start from the premise that each of these dialogue options opens a window onto a different and compelling perspective. The choices are:

He’ll be free. Nothing else matters.

He’ll be a hero.

He’ll be mine. And I’ll be his.

Hells, just kill him already!

Now, let’s leave the last one out—because answering like that in such an intense and meaningful moment is just plain cruel. Although I admit Astarion’s reaction to it cracks me up. Lol. I’m a terrible person, I can’t help it.

Aaaaanyway—if you choose to say that Astarion will be free, Cazador immediately and firmly reasserts his ownership of the spawn. He created him, raised him, and his shadow will never stop haunting him for all eternity. A bit like how, we can imagine, Cazador himself—despite his elevated position—never really forgot about Vellioth.

And yet Astarion surprises us here, because unlike his predecessor, he’s no longer there to follow in anyone’s footsteps: "You might’ve made me what I am, but I can be so much more than what you created me to be." With this statement, Astarion acknowledges that to become more than what he was destined to be, he doesn’t need to ascend. And as we’ll see later, that idea runs even deeper and is more complex than it seems.

If you choose to step in by emphasizing the romantic bond between Astarion and Tav/Durge, Cazador again pushes back and reaffirms his ownership—but in an especially insidious way. Let’s give credit where it’s due: the voice actor manages to sound utterly vile, smug, and infuriating with just the way he says “know it is a lie.”

And here Astarion does something equally powerful—he admits, both to himself and his companions, that in some way, Cazador is right. "He's not wrong. There's always going to be a part of him in me." Something of Cazador will always remain. It’s inside him. It’s part of him. Acknowledging that shows vulnerability, maturity, and a painful kind of awareness. He doesn’t scream, lash out, or reject what hurts him like he does when Tav/Durge compares him to Cazador in his Ascended ending. This time, he’s the first to admit the tragic truth—and to accept it.

Cazador’s death won’t change the bond that once existed between them or what it left behind. But Astarion can live with it without necessarily feeling diminished because of it — and in that simple admission lies immense strength.

BUT let’s get to my favorite one: “He’ll be a hero.” Cazador’s response here reflects not only his desire to belittle the figure of the hero and Tav/Durge’s words—it also perfectly echoes the general worldview when it comes to vampires. These are two archetypes that are, by definition, incompatible. A vampire can’t be a hero. A vampire is a monster. A vampire is the thing heroes slay to save the good people, earning songs and praise in return. Gandrel calls them godless parasites that must be destroyed—no justification needed.

Cazador sneers: “Hero? You think they will sing songs of the blood-drinking saviour? The one who lurks in the shadows?” But Astarion’s response is simply astonishing: “Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

BOOM. Five stars to this vampire spawn. One small step for a spawn, one giant leap for vampirekind—if we can quote Neil Armstrong.

First of all, Astarion does not reject the idea of being a hero. Maybe he’ll be the first ever to walk that path. A bold, difficult, perhaps even impossible choice—one that goes against every expectation. And more than that: maybe it will be recognized and celebrated. Or maybe not. The point is: it doesn’t matter. It’s not the praise, the songs, the glory that define the value of his actions. The reward isn’t the point.

The sheer firmness of that line, thrown directly into his abuser’s face, carries unimaginable weight. And it hides within it the true meaning of what Astarion becomes when he chooses not to ascend—whether by his own will or due to circumstance. Astarion becomes a symbol. An idea. A concept. One that shines and burns and ignites the hearts of others like him. His seven siblings, for starters. And almost all the spawn he frees from Cazador’s grip. Even the Gur monster hunters… and who knows who else in the future.

The Gur’s letter says it best:

"To the spawn Astarion,Greetings from the family of Ulma, hunters of monsters and keepers of peace across Faerûn.We know this letter finds you well, for although we hunt you no longer, we do sometimes keep a watch. Your restraint and control over your bloodlust has been admirable. Indeed, it has been an inspiration for our children, who have struggled with their own hunger.These last months have been a difficult time for our people. We have protected and nurtured our children as best we can, and we have learned much. Herbs we once used to dull our foes' minds are now sedatives to ease hunger and pain, restraints built to hold the undead now protect them from themselves. There has been a lot of pain, but a lot of progress too. Our children learned discipline and control, while we learned compassion and patience.There was a time when we would have destroyed any undead creature, our own blood or not, and called it a mercy. But then we met you. We saw that redemption was possible. Difficult, yes. Painful. But possible.You saved our children first from Cazador, and then from us. For that, we thank you.We will watch you still, but with more admiration than fear.Walk in peace, Astarion."

Up until that moment—until Astarion made the impossible possible by showing the world (and those who hate and fear his kind) that vampires can be good people, capable of integrating and doing the right thing—no one had ever thought to alleviate their suffering in any way that didn’t involve a stake to the heart or a trial by fire.

The Gur’s message, and the way they describe how much they’ve learned over the past months about vampirism and compassion, proves this: Astarion didn’t just change his fate—he changed the fate of all his kind. Because from now on, yes, vampires will still be met with prejudice—but as people. Some good, some evil. Not all monsters by default.

It’s a significant step. A turning point. A revolution within the world of vampires itself.

That’s how important, how enormous, Astarion’s choice truly is. (Yes, lol, I copy-pasted a part from one of my old posts.)

At this point, I’d like to expand a bit on the concept of “being more than what I was created to be”, which many players associate with the act of Ascension. For some, only through Ascension does Astarion seem to break free from the frame Cazador built around him. However, if we listen closely to what he tells his siblings after rejecting Ascension (the same applies if he’s “persuaded” not to go through with it, after all), it’s precisely there—in his spawn form—that Astarion reaffirms that very idea.

They’re lost, confused, used to bowing their heads and obeying. They don’t know what to do with their newfound freedom. Much like Astarion himself in several moments throughout the game. And here comes the empathy of our favorite spawn—he steps up as a voice, a guide:

“‘You can do whatever you wants sounds terrifying – and it is – but there’s opportunity in it too. You can hide here, living in the shadows like parasites, or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course, but the consequences are on your head.”

Ascension is the safe path. The known path. The one that stays within the same frame. Every vampire lord is eventually replaced by a spawn, and so on—it’s a natural and endless cycle, a patriarchal structure that governs vampire covens. In the game, there’s quite a long list of vampire lords who were taken out in a flash. The very cycle of power and terror that Astarion-the-spawn speaks of the morning after defeating Cazador. In a way, Ascension is just the logical next step for a successful spawn within that system—just with a few extra perks, courtesy of Mephistopheles.

But doing whatever you want—stepping outside of the frame—is something else entirely. That’s what truly terrifies them all. It’s the weight of real freedom and the unknown that comes with it. Why are we afraid of the dark? Simply because we don’t know what’s in it. The same principle applies here.

And yet that’s exactly where the opportunity lies: the chance to truly become more than what Cazador—or the system that created all of them, including the lords—meant them to be. To be anything outside the coven and its rules, to live among countless other possibilities.

Astarion invites his brothers and sisters to be more than mere parasites, just as Gandrel described them in Act 1. He invites them toward a life that is more righteous, more just—perhaps harder, yes—but one that can make a difference for the better.

And for the first time, he speaks of responsibility. Now that they are free from their master’s control, from this point on, if they choose a different path the consequences of their choices and actions will fall on them alone.

But as we mentioned earlier, after the incredible feat Astarion has just accomplished (because, honestly, a vampire rejecting power is a Guinness World Record moment—it completely breaks the typical Baldur’s Gate and D&D trope), his siblings nod, smile, and follow the lead of someone who has become, in every sense, a role model and a beacon of hope.

I swear, this time I had promised myself I'd keep it short—just the four key points… but then, as usual, I was possessed by the demon of wild rambling! I have a problem. Send help.

Anyway, here's the video below, if you're interested in exploring further.

[jareaufiles]

i saw ur jack abbot headcanons for how he fucks u & was wondering if u could do one for dr. robby?

ROBBY ROBINAVITCH – NSFW HEADCANONS

MASTERLIST

Robby watches you constantly—like he’s studying you.

Not in a romantic way. In a clinical, feral way. Like he’s trying to figure out how your body works, how to push you to the edge and keep you there. The intensity of his gaze alone makes you clench around nothing—he undresses you with his eyes, and then reconstructs you in his mind. Every look says, “I wonder how you sound when you break.”

He’s quiet when he fucks—but commanding.

He doesn’t need to shout. Robby’s voice drops to this low, gravel-thick whisper right against your ear: “Don’t move unless I say. You want to come? Then earn it.” His calm control is almost scarier than rage—you don’t know if he’s going to finger you until you cry or make you beg for hours and walk away.

He’s a control freak in bed—your pleasure is his experiment.

Robby wants to know what makes your legs shake. What makes you scream. What makes you squirt. He’ll eat your pussy like it’s a test—tongue fucking into you while two fingers curl up and press into your g-spot, over and over, until your whole body spasms. Then he pulls back, dark eyes locked on yours, and asks, “Tell me exactly what you felt.”

He’s rough without losing precision.

When he fucks you, he doesn’t just pound into you blindly. No—he studies the angle. He knows exactly how to roll his hips to hit the spot that has your nails clawing at the sheets. His thrusts are deep, slow, punishingly consistent, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing into the pillow and he’s still not satisfied.

Degrading praise is his go-to.

“Look at you, soaking my cock like a filthy little mess.” “You were made to be ruined, weren’t you?” “This pussy is mine. Say it.” And when you cry or whimper? That smirk just curls at the edge of his lips. He lives for it.

He loves eye contact during everything.

Whether he’s buried inside you or has you on your knees licking his cum off your own tits, he’ll keep his hand on your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “No looking away. I want you to see what you do to me.” When he’s close, he’ll stare at you like he’s falling apart and putting you back together at the same time.

He’s obsessed with mess.

His cum on your face. His spit in your mouth. Your slick dripping down his cock. He’ll pull out just to smear it across your folds, rub the head of his dick on your clit, slap it against your soaked cunt while whispering, “So fucking wet. Just from me looking at you?” He makes you taste it. Makes you thank him for it.

Robby doesn’t stop after one round.

You come, shaking, and he just shifts you onto your stomach, lifts your hips, and slides back in—deeper. He’ll use you until your thighs are trembling, your voice is gone, your body boneless and pliant. He wants you ruined, limp, brainless, stuffed full of cum and still begging for more.

He gets harder the messier you get.

Sweaty. Crying. Mascara running. Bite marks on your throat. That’s when he really starts losing it. He’ll fuck you into the mattress, one hand buried in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard there’ll be bruises. The sounds of you—choked moans, gasping breaths, your pussy squelching around him—make him feral.

Finishing inside you is non-negotiable.

He wants to feel your walls milking him. Wants to watch his cum drip out of you. Sometimes he’ll press his fingers into your slit right after and push it back in, soft voice in your ear: “Don’t waste a drop.” Then he makes you ride him again with his cum inside you. Over and over. Until it’s leaking down your thighs and he’s licking it off.

Aftercare is darkly tender.

He’ll wash you gently, towel warm and folded. He’ll kiss your back, your jaw, your thighs, murmuring, “You did so well, baby.” He’s calm again—almost sweet. But his grip never leaves you. He needs to hold you. Needs to know you’re his. And as you drift off, sore and used, you hear him whisper: “Next time, I won’t go easy on you.”

dividers by @cafekitsune

[paramythas]

𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍 realizes a few things about Nakahara Chuuya all at once. The first is that he really does have more restraint than she gives him credit for, because if she were him, she'd be petty about the bastard for hours to come. The second is that he has very little grasp on actual psychological warfare against others. The third, and most amusing, is that he's decidedly more pure-hearted (in comparison to what one might expect) than she'd imagined. It makes her mouth twitch with a slightly disbelieving smile, but she doesn't say anything about it, simply tucks the information into the back of her mind for a later time.

She knows she's going to get some good mileage out of it.

Honestly, even if Chuuya's clueless though, it's probably for the best to sit like this- that way, in case anything no one else needs to hear is said, it doesn't need to be said too loudly.

Neo sips her drink again, and listens, watching Chuuya with a flicker of too-intense curiosity. At his refusal of a drink of his own, she only shrugs- and wonders if Chuuya doesn't handle his alcohol well. He'd refused her before too- though understandably so then, given they'd been... 'negotiating'.

'Technically, for as far back as I remember' is an interesting way to answer. Which means that before then... he's not sure. Semblances can activate at strange times, so abilities being spontaneous wouldn't be surprising. However, they're not, according to him, so the fact that he'd only started using his own so late- again, just what in the world is that thing Chuuya's hiding?

Neo isn't stupid- or she doesn't think she is- she knows he's careful about the answers she gets because whatever it is, it's serious. From what little she'd felt of the pull on her copy, even 'serious' might be a complete understatement. From what else he's told her- all that stuff about Singularities and the like- it's along those veins, but she thinks if it were just that, then he would have said as much when he told her about those.

However, she's making an educated guess as she takes her scroll back to type something else, crossed ankles swinging slightly.

No, that's not what I mean. In the event something goes wrong, I'm assuming there's something in place? I don't expect you to tell me, I just want to know how far out of dodge to get if it happens.

Then, because she feels it's only fair, she adds:

I've had my Semblance since I was a kid. Though I only used to use it to piss off my parents.

And to get away with sneaking out, but that more or less fell under the same umbrella, really.

Hard to keep your kid locked in the house when she can turn into any of the help and escape.

He doesn't terribly mind if she wants to sit next to him he supposes, but if Neo is hoping for a good put-on act, he's probably not delivering very well with how he just gives her a glance of question at her light elbow nudge.

Unless the act she was going for was completely lost and clueless. Which is still a look.

He takes the nudge to mean maybe she's prodding him to answer her earlier questions, or maybe a small reprimand as if he's pretending to have forgotten already? Or maybe its just to divert his attention away from annoying people, in case he might pop off worse.

Ah, well... back to business either way.

"Nah, I'm good. Annoyance and drinking don't exactly mix well," he sighs a little, closing his eyes briefly like he's suddenly terribly inconvenienced, if for but a split second.

"Anyway, about your questions. Technically I've had it for as long back as I can remember." Which isn't really a lie. "You're either just born with an Ability or you're not. Buuut I didn't start getting to properly use it until I was like... nine... or ten?"

He didn't exactly count that one little incident where he accidentally blew a crater into the city to be using it. Not of his volition, anyway.

"I had to figure it all out and learn on my own. At the time I was the only person around who even had an Ability at all, so it was just touch-and-go and messing around until I had a good grasp of things."

The smallest beat of pause, trading which leg crossed the other as he looked over her last question with a thoughtful hum, trying to figure out exactly what she meant for a moment.

"And no... I wouldn't worry about it. Like I said when we met, I know how to use my Ability safely, all the ins and outs of it and its limitations and pitfalls, but you don't. It's never really been a problem for me."

Not without interference from another Ability user, anyway. One of which was dead, and the other was both legally dead and without the Singularity that had allowed him to tamper with Chuuya's own, so neither were worth worrying about anymore.

[lowkeylaufeysons]

ritual sacrifice

rafayel x f!mc | qi yu x f!mc

summary: marriage is a serious affair and rafayel lets you know just how much it means to him. direct sequel to "ceremonial offering".

cw: 18+, mdni, this is more drama than it is smut. spanking. fingering. p in v. do not read if any of the above is not to your taste.

"Trying to upstage the groom?"

You don't miss the way Rafayel’s jaw clenches. The wind outside picks up, howling an aria of betrayal for all the world to hear.

The unease you feel takes a back seat as Captain Jenna’s voice crackles over the intercom. It’s time.

Rafayel is mostly well-behaved during the ceremony. The cream and blue suit clings to him like water, iridescent, showy, sharp— an unsubtle predatory assertion of presence, the kind that intimidates others into silence. A placid, polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes (it rarely did at events like this anyway). An intense stare that could be misconstrued as just another eclectic artist trait. Weren’t all creatives weird anyway?

But you know that he’s seething.

The clouds outside turn oppressively grayer. The staff start passing out umbrellas.

As soon as the chapel doors open you feel it. Your bones scream at you not to take another step, to not profane your connection to the divine.

Never one to be bound by fate, you do it anyday.

Thankfully, the farce of a ceremony doesn't last long. Ever the professional, you play your part, and take care not to catch Rafayel's gaze. Despite the dryness in your mouth and the tremble in your hands, you say what you need to say and do what you need to do. There's a collective sigh of relief when the ceremony ends and the rain clouds start to disperse.

The operation goes off without a hitch. It's the single biggest Protocore bust you've been a part of in quite some time. It had been something out of a movie, pulling a gun from your thigh holster right as the target got up to give a congratulatory speech. The sandy feeling in your mouth persists and your colleague's congratulations ring hallow.

A horrific sensation crawls up your spine, and suddenly the dress, the lace, the veil, all of it suddenly reach an uncomfortable fever pitch, pricking your skin with unease. You hear yourself make a flimsy excuse about doing a final sweep of the hotel suites and step away eager to get out of the suffocating gown and find Rafayel so you two can go home.

Rafayel.

What was going on through his mind?

You barge into the empty suite with all the grace of a caught turtle, scratching at your neck, pulling the pins out of your hair in a haphazard dance.

"Need some help cutie?"

Rafayel has always had a gift for blending in utter stillness. Traits befitting an apex predator, you teased once, useful for moonlighting as an assassin. You don't feel like teasing him now.

His eyes are stormy, mouth curved into a downward grimace, muscles coiled tight with tension as he saunters from the chair to you. The Hunter in you wants to run, knows that this is not a fight you can win. The other part of you, the one that kissed a strange god one fateful evening, knows she must pay the price.

You will yourself to stillness— a middle ground between cowering in fear at your God's anger and throwing yourself at His feet, begging for a forgiveness you can't name, for a line you didn't know you had crossed.

Rafayel scowls as his eyes flicker up and down your gown in distaste.

"Take it off." he commands.

A rebuttal dies on your tongue when you feel Rafayel's cool hands on your neck, unclasping the necklace at your throat. As if he couldn't wait a moment longer for you to do it yourself. As if seeing you like this was a personal and spiritual affront.

"Ugh I would never—" he trails off as he crumbles the veil in his fist. Whether he's talking about the veil that he would've made you or what, you're unsure.

Rafayel's fingers are frenzied, making deft work of the buttons on your backside, muttering to himself the whole time. "This isn't even the right—" and "the undertone is all wrong, all wrong—".

He clicks his tongue seeing the marks on your torso from the cheap boning. In a matter of moments, you're bare in front of him save for your undergarments.

"And for the final piece de resistance…" his lithe fingers ghost over yours, and Rafayel yanks the fake wedding band off your finger, carelessly flinging it over his shoulder like it personally insulted him.

The burn catches you by surprise, but Rafayel silences you with a kiss. His kisses have always buoyed you, reassured you. But this one is cold, calculated, performed, buying time to decide what to do with an unfaithful believer.

"I can only ever be yours." he looks at you with cold eyes, reflecting in the gloom like the pale inside of a shell.

You don't notice the blue in his eyes until it's too late. Not until long after he pounces, pushing you unceremoniously onto the bed, the altar for the night, flinging off his tie and jacket.

Lemuria has no need for flames that burn quickly and fade, and their Sea God is no different. Rafayel's rage can only be characterized as cold— the kind of cold that freezes seawater and festers in absolute darkness. A by-product of being Lemurian, you suppose, a species that lives to love certainly has the same capacity for anger.

Rafayel makes good use of his rage, the storm within finally given freedom. Evidence of him decorates your body, hickies in the most unabashedly prominent places, like he's trying to reshape your body, bend your existence to his will. The next morning you'll realize the bruises form a pattern across your chest and along your hips, the ceremonial garb of your God.

"My bride has gone on to marry someone else—" The gravel in his voice lets you know he isn't entirely there. He speaks to himself like he's in a trance, like he does often while painting. This time his monologue is not about colors or inspiration, but a list of your sins as he pinches and tugs on your nipples, your cries a form of erotic penance.

"I-it was for work!" you whine. He has you practically folded in half, knees to your chest.

"My bride…" he continues as if he hasn't heard you, "what sort of Sea God would I be to let that slide?"

"I will have your complete and utter devotion," he warns. "You will think of no one but me."

—

The moon hangs low on the horizon by the time he deems you worthy of a reprieve. The sheets are stained with sweat and slick, your makeup streaky with tears, wrists burning from his one-handed grip as he reddens your rear.

Rafayel's cool gaze does nothing to calm the fire within— the twisted warmth that he had spent the better part of the night stoking. It's your turn to be a live wire, trembling with impotent desire as he dangles you over the edge, ever at his mercy.

You used to think his hand on your bottom was the worst. "It's embarrassing," you had whined, squirming on his as you gleamed with want.

Now you know it's his fingers that can cause infinitely more agony and pleasure. From your position, draped over his lap, he can do both, hand alternating between slaps and diving into your hole knuckles deep. The dichotomy of sensations has you begging for completion. The audacity of you to ask earns you several more harsh slaps and you collapse onto the bed,sobbing.

Rafayel pulls his fingers out, and through your tears you see his ears redden as he tastes you on his tongue. Gently, he maneuvers your exhausted body onto your back, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, a soft adoring kiss on your cheek before he stands up.

"Recite it." he growls as he looms over you, one hand fisting his cock, sliding it up and down your slit, a loud involuntary inhale everytime it catches at your entrance, as if he too were on the precipice of falling, and just needed your permission.

Recite? What? You're so unmoored by the sensation of his fingers stuffed in you and longing for his cocks that all you muster out is an approximation of a question.

He pays you no mind, peering at you under his lashes, stubbornly unhelpful as his thumb sweeps over your clit. The intensity of his behavior, his responses all night, it must all be for something.

A wave of realization hits you— the intensity of his behavior, his responses all night, you understand now.

He only ever wanted to be yours.

You don't know the words, but you will yourself to speak.

"The tides ebb and flow," you whisper.

Rafayel freezes.

You reach for him, hands cupping his face.

"With every setting sun—" his voice, raspy with desire and affection, joins yours, "— is a new moon rising."

You feel the slide of his cock (finally, finally!) in you, and for the first time in a while, you finally feel right.

"T-til times end," you croak. He hums approvingly, arms caging your face for balance, placing loving, adoring kisses all over you as he slowly pistons in and out.

"You should occupy my every thought." A hard thrust has him swallowing your gasp with a kiss.

"I must—" no, not quite right, you think as you gulp in air. Rafayel's movements are slow and deep as he holds you in his arms, clutching your shoulders as he pulls you down onto him, making you see white.

"I will—"

"I do—"

Rafayel gasps, eyes meeting yours, insecurity washing away with your words and touch.

"I believe in Rafayel, and Rafayel alone," you wail as you let your climax pull you under, at peace under the tide.

note: happiest of bdays to Rafayel's favorite @sungodnika5 <3 this is more...drama than smut but i hope you enjoy!!

divider: @/vivianstur

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Times are hard right now financially. The Big Beautiful Bill has been signed and where I live my way of living is at risk... Due to my autism and anxiety getting a job is hard since I get overstimulated and have some trauma from retail during high school so I was qualified for food stamps and social security, but now with this bill I might not even pay rent or buy groceries all cause the rich want more money...

So I'm opening fanfic/fanart commissions.

I HATE asking you guys for favors with money, I rarely push my Patreon or the previous commission attempt with fanart since I hate feeling like I'm demanding or pushing anyone, but honestly this is the only thing I can think of. Now, I realize when debating what to do that a majority of you followed me for my writing than my art, and after being inspired by ColeyDoesThings's video shorts of and main video of the Fanfic Cafe and her video of the Fanic Parlor, I decided to open my own:

Found the template here on Twitter just edited the stuff I can't/am not well good at and my fandoms

These are the fandoms I'm going to work on for now since it's my most comfort point/where I'm most confident on writing in, but other fandoms will be added one day.

Pricing Range: <1,000 words $10 < 5,000 words $25 < 10,000 words $45 < 20,000 words $80 < 50,000 words $180 $5–$15 per add-on trope $15–$20 for explicit scenes $10–$30 for high-intensity angst, slow burn, or heavy themes like Hanahaki or unrequited love (These pricing are more based on hours/days (if days are slow) I'll spend with the fic especially if I'm going to do research if it's in a special setting or if I'm not used to a trope)

If you have a OC you want me to add in the fic just give me a very in-dept look of the OC from description, backstory, and even habits so I would make them perfect.

Also if you want a special Spotify (it'd be private with QR code in the story) to help submerse you into your fic better it'd be 5 songs for $5 and 10–15 songs for $10.

Every work will be PDF with a watermark.

As for the Art Commissions they're similar to my art commissions last time's but different!

There will be premade backgrounds you can pick that's free, and I'll tweak/edit only a bit if it if you have a specific look. (The backgrounds will have a watermark when I share them for you to pick them so when you get the official art it'll be watermark free).

Prices: Bust Sketch: $10 Clean Bust Lineart: $15 Colored Bust: $20 Half-body Color: $25 Full-body Color: $30–40+ (These are prices based off how many hours and characters I will spend)

The fandoms will be the same as the writing commissions but I will sadly exclude TF2, Sally Face, Invader Zim, Creepypasta, and Gravedale High since I am not confident enough to draw those fandom justice just yet, maybe I'll open them up if the request is simple but for now it's sadly not happening.

If you have a OC from a fandom you'd like me to draw, just like with the writing commissions I'll need a in-dept look of them but also a somewhat reference of there look/aesthetic so I can be as accurate as possible but if you rather send a moodboard with a in-dept paragraph instead that's good too.

I WILL NOT: So sexual scenes (I am not comfortable and not experienced on that kind of art yet, even for my adult graphic novels I am not yet confident of it) Full blown furry art (No judgment by any means, I just suck at drawing it. But characters like werewolves and satyrs are on the table) Hate on a character or ship Insane gore intended to hurt a character, person, ship, or fandom Drug Use (week and smoking is okay though) And for comics I will only make four-five-six pages

Each commission will be sent to you via PM, signed, and watermarked

I have right to turn down any order based on problematic ships like SebaCiel, Claudois, any of the teachers in NRC with the students, incest, stuff like that. (Your rare ships will be accepted, don't you worry boo!) I will also refuse the order/cancel it if no proper payment will be submitted within 24 hours.

If you're willing to do a commission with me, just hit me up in the inbox with your order, we'll chat for a bit about your cafe order and I'll start once the payment is submitted. I will accept Venmo for the time being. Since it'll be inbox/ordering I will turn off the anon option for right now

The inbox will ONLY BE FOR COMMISSIONS, for right now at least. BUT! You can still drop your ask in my Google Form, it'll be looked at and answered. If you do put a ask in the inbox by accident, it's fine, but I'll put it to the side for a different time.

[ultravioletreyswrites]

𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌, robert reynolds!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Faith had lodged its way into his heart. When you moved, you did it with genuine purpose. You navigated his space and handled his belongings with a kind of care he had never known. Whatever was going through your head was just as trustworthy as he found your soul to be.”

Summary — Pain is briefly washed away with the help of a soft presence and some eucalyptus soap. or, You wake Bob up from a nightmare. Comfort ensues.

CW/Tags — Established Relationship, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Showering Together, Light Making Out, Really Tender, Domestic Fluff by the end of it, Yelena cameo because she’s my girl, Implications of past self harm + drug use, Gender-Neutral Reader, No Use of Y/N.

A/N — I wrote this with a lot of time on my hands and a dream.

2.6k words | ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The rhythm of sleep had been kinder to you recently, mind no longer conjuring up night terrors like it used to.

You blamed the absolute exhaustion that now racked your bones after constant missions. That and the enveloping warmth of arms that you could crawl home to every night.

You could feel him against you now—warm breath whispering down the side of your neck, lax arm resting beneath your head, a firm hand curled onto the skin of your stomach. Bob always seemed to fall asleep holding onto you, as if you could vanish between his fingers like sand if he didn’t keep himself tethered. You didn’t mind. He kept you steady.

But for all your peace, the night had pulled you awake. Eyes blinked apart slowly in the darkened room. The shadows felt to be more prominent than usual, hugging up the walls with a desperate intensity. You stared. Bob’s muscles twitched against you.

Instinctively, your fingers slipped to his wrist, thumb sliding against his pulse point. His heart was racing. He spasmed again, an unintelligible collection of words falling from his lips.

You listened—hyperaware of his body’s movements despite being half awake. Quick puffs of air tickled the back of your head, evidence of quickened breathing. Then he began to fidget, fingers digging sharply near the bottom of your ribs.

“Bob,” You murmured, hand jostling against his own.

He didn’t relent. In fact, he quivered.

Vowels escaped his lungs once again. This time it was just one simple word: “…No”. The emotions attached to it were shaken, terrified, a nightmare clawing at the edges of his brain.

Despite his tight hold, you managed to nudge his grip and twist to your other side. Your palm caught his shoulder and shook him gently.

“Bob,” You said again.

Knuckles brushed the frame of his cheek. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. Not the soft warmth you’ve grown familiar with but rather violent and feverish. Whatever was chasing him in his unconsciousness was consuming him whole.

Once more you rocked his shoulder, this time with a little more force. He stirred. Then there was a sound in the back of his throat—a pained one, like a wounded animal.

You sat up for both of your sakes, fumbling with the bedside lamp until it flickered on. It bathed the room in a dull orange. Sweat gleamed on Bob’s forehead.

“Bob,” You called firmly, hand finding its way back to his shoulder. “Bob, you need to wake up.”

You watched the lines of his face contort into panic, your own worry rising. You gave him another shake just as his eyes snapped open with a torn gasp.

He shifted back, trying to find oxygen. You let him go.

“Hey,” You soothed. “You’re alright.”

“I’m…” Bob mumbled, wearily tugging off the sheets and sitting up. “Shit… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” You assured, gaze searching his. “Are you okay?”

He scrubbed his hands across his face, trying to reground himself in reality. “Just another nightmare.”

“I could tell,” You replied softly.

Turning your head back to the table, you saw the red numbers of Bob’s digital alarm clock: 4:02 AM. You absentmindedly wiped away whatever sleep had accumulated in the corner of your eyes.

When you looked back, Bob was sitting with his back to you, his legs swung over his side of the bed. You scooted forward and softly drew a hand up the path of his spine.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked gently.

He tensed ever so slightly. “It was… about you.”

A frown curled its way across your lips. Your fingers rested at the juncture where his shoulder met his arm, lightly squeezing.

“Losing you,” Bob elaborated, words trembling, “because of me.”

You rubbed subtle tender circles against his skin, exhaling your own anxiety. “Sometimes our mind lies to us.”

“It felt real.”

“It wasn’t,” You replied. “Could never be.”

Bob deflated slightly at that. You took the moment of relaxation to lean forward and kiss him delicately on the back of his head. He shuddered, the adrenaline fleeing his body.

You found your feet reaching the hard wood floor of his room, quietly padding over to one of the nearby windows overlooking the city. The sun was slowly beginning to seep into the world—yellow and blue distantly clashing. You slipped the lock out of place and cracked open the window. The crisp morning air flowed in gracefully.

Behind you, Bob tried to collect his bearings. His sweatshirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin, remnants of the bad dream. He shuffled his hands against the fabric of the sleeve. An old habit to keep things from slipping away.

You noticed. The lowered head, the slightly labored breaths, the slight bounce of his knee—all of it was evidence of distress. Even now with his eyes wide open and existence made known.

Wordlessly you opened the drawers of his dresser, pulling out the softest sweatpants you knew he owned.

Bob glanced up, trying to deduce what exactly you were doing. He registered the double pair of boxers you took out, eyes tracking you as you pulled two shirts of his from their hangers. All of it was collected on the top of his dresser in a pile.

He didn’t question you outwardly, he simply let you work.

Faith had lodged its way into his heart. When you moved, you did it with genuine purpose. You navigated his space and handled his belongings with a kind of care he had never known. Whatever was going through your head was just as trustworthy as he found your soul to be.

So when you held out your hand he simply took it.

When you led him to the bathroom he allowed you to steal a sweet kiss from his lips. And when you disappeared to fetch the bundle of clothes he freed himself from his damp sweatshirt without a word.

Bob didn’t dare look in the mirror. It was too early and he was far too anxious to start spiraling now. Glancing at his arms was out of the question too, they were covered in faint scars from needles and other sharp things alike. Everything surrounding him felt to be reasons as to why you deserved better. Giving into it felt to be a sinkhole and he refused to be pulled under. 

He found himself staring at a blank spot on the wall as he leaned against the sink. Until your hand sweeping against his bare side comfortingly brought him back down to Earth. You set the clothes down behind him and Bob tried to remember how he had become so lucky. 

You leaned into the walk-in shower and twisted the handle, backing up just before the water was able to spray down on you. A slight laugh escaped you. Bob relished the sound. 

There was mutual silence as both of you peeled off your respective pajamas. The fog from the condensation began to cover the ceiling and fill in the gaps that would otherwise be filled with talking. The feeling of sleep was still being dragged away.

The idea of a shower was appeasing in more ways than one. It would wash away the burden from Bob’s mind, remove the sweat from his body, and give him a moment to breathe. 

So he followed after you, stepping under the hot stream. He traced the water droplets falling down your bare back as you fumbled to set the temperature to a more lukewarm setting. Intimacy that once felt terrifying now seemed natural.

You had both fallen into the routine of simply being closer. A painful crush had turned into requinated liking to a gentle kind of love. The type where Bob could confess his past wounds and you would just listen, quietly promising not to love him any less.

He’d seen you open like a flower beneath him, something he honored each time he was given the privilege. Bob figured he could draw the curves that made you up from memory alone if he really wanted to.

But the level of devotion that he now carried went beyond just physical, his emotions were as intertwined with you as his hands could be upon your skin. That was something completely unknown to him until now.

The current situation was innocent and both of you knew that well enough. Your fingers weaved shampoo through strands of his hair, jokingly scolding him when his face tilted forward and suds fell towards his eyes.

He welcomed the sensations—of the running water, of the soap, of you.

Whatever darkness that had been seeping into Bob’s mind as he slept was fading away now. The whispers of self-deprecation and fear seemed far away now. The smell of eucalyptus encompassed him now. It felt like something close to home.

When you took the washcloth to his chest, his heart stuttered. The marks of memories long past that littered him were visible and yet there was no hesitance in your touch.

Body wash decorated his skin and rinsed off in the overhead flood. You began placing the soap on your own limbs and when Bob caught sight, he gently took the cloth from your hands.

“Let me.”

It was all so simple—the weight of his hand dragging the material against you, the murmur of his words. Yet it felt like everything.

Eventually the both of you stepped out, fluffy towels encircling each of your frames. You pulled on the clothes you had gotten for yourself and dried off the excess droplets from your face.

Bob sighed as he placed the white cotton shirt over his head, feeling snug in his newfound clothing. Contentment reached him as he watched you softly apply lotion to your arms.

His arms bound around your waist, head finding purchase against your own. Finally, he willed himself to look into the mirror ahead of him.

All he saw was… himself. And you. Beautiful, inspiring, caring you with that smile on your face as he kissed that spot behind your ear.

It evolved. Suddenly you turned to kiss him fully and he shifted you back towards the sink. He was careful not to let the surface dig into the base of your spine as he held you. Though you could’ve cared less if it was on fire, because he was here and happy and so very kind.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your mouth.

“‘Course,” You responded, breath hitching as his kisses traveled down to your neck.

A chuckle left you as he brushed over your collarbone, the two words he told you being repeated over and over again. You caught him by the jaw and dragged him back to meet you.

“It’ll all be alright, you know?” You said. “It just takes time.”

“Time,” Bob agreed, seeing his reflection grin at you out of the corner of his eye.

There was still heaviness somewhere inside him, but he let it slink away for now. His lips went back to yours and that was really all he cared to focus on.

The movement got a little more hurried. Not any less tender, just quick. Both of your hands cupped the back of his neck to pull him closer, if that was even possible, and Bob let out a slight hum.

His palms found the underside of your thighs, carefully gripping the flesh beneath your boxers—correction, his boxers. The notion made his head spin.

You just barely skimmed the pulse point on his throat and that’s all it took to find yourself sat atop the bathroom sink.

Bob was between the gap of your legs, bracing you against the cool marble. Your fingers carded through strands of his wet hair, the same tuffs you had helped to dye from blonde back to his brunette only months ago. Though that was before either of you had said an inkling about being into the other.

You wondered now if he would have thanked you then the same way as he was now—all lips, hands, and fervor.

His hands had slipped up the back of your shirt, warm palms sending goosebumps flying your back. A kiss landed on your chin and you finally found the means to speak.

“We should make coffee,” You mumbled. “It’s early.”

“Coffee, yeah—that’s…” Bob cleared his throat, pressing one final peck to your cheek before pulling away. “That’s a good idea.”

He carefully lifted you down, the maneuver smooth and easy due to the powers of the Sentry. When your feet hit the ground you brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. His pupils were blown wide.

“Come on,” You beckoned, stepping back into the light of his bedroom. “Since there’s no one else up to claim the pot first.”

Sunrise was beginning to pour in through the living room windows. You hit the switch to the kitchen overhead, heading towards the coffee maker nearby.

Bob placed a hand on your shoulder. “I got it.”

When you tried to deny he just shook his head. In a tower full of heroes, he was the only one who refused to use his abilities. So he kept himself busy with other things by means of being helpful. Mundane tasks that didn’t seem to hold as much meaning until he came along.

You knew he wanted to provide, hell—he was asking. You were more than willing to allow him that.

So you made your way to the couch and picked up the remote. Switching off the news channel and finding an early morning cartoon—something lost in both your childhoods.

The coffee machine was gurgling. Its ambience backed Bob as he took two mugs down from the cabinet as the voice of Roger Rabbit quietly filled the room.

He smiled. You caught it just before throwing a blanket around yourself and sinking into the couch cushions.

A few minutes later, Bob wandered over to you, with a steaming cup held firmly in his hand. You took it from him with gratitude and he lowered himself next to you. You curled into the crook of his shoulder without another thought.

It was a little past six when someone else finally made their way into the living quarters. By then you had abandoned your mug taken to sprawling across Bob’s body as you both laid down against the sofa. You lifted your head up from where it had been nestled in his neck, spotting Yelena come out from the hallway.

“Good morning,” You chimed.

“Morning,” she replied through a yawn.

At the sound of both your voices Bob titled his head back to look over the arm of the couch.

“Oh, Bob’s under you,” Yelena remarked, taking a moment to stretch her arms in front of her. “No wonder you’re so giddy.”

Bob’s cheeks flushed at the words, averting his gaze back to the television. “We’re just resting.”

“And I’m just observing,” Yelena shot back. She adjusted the collar of her baggy sleep shirt as she approached the kitchen counter. “Did you two make coffee?”

“It might be cold,” You informed.

“I’ve had worse. Walkers’ brews should be a biohazard.”

You laughed and pressed your cheek to the fabric of Bob’s shirt. He exhaled deeply as you snuggled against his chest. Both of you listened as Yelena filled up her own mug and came over, freehand resting on the back of the couch.

She took an obnoxious sip of her drink. “Are you both just going to lay there all day?”

“It’s only six,” You shrugged, not bothering to look up.

“Yeah but Bob’s got that look in his eyes,” she countered, “like he’s about to fall asleep.”

“I’m content,” Bob said simply.

Your heart warmed.

Yelena gave a considerate hum before strolling away. “If you're sleepy now I hate to see you after training.”

“That’s not until seven,” You groaned. “Leave us to peace.”

There was a distant cackle. “Never.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

thank you for reading! requests are open. ♡

[quiteros]

How do you feel about Caleb attempting (maybe subconsciously, he's tracking her cycle just because he cares he swears) to babytrap mc

Cw: 18+, Minors Dni, Noncon/Dubcon, Female!Reader, Baby trapping [Mc -> Caleb] yuppp sorry I can’t acc see Caleb doing it, Mc on da other hand … heh, meta yapping under the cut…

I feel like that would have to be a last resort thing for Caleb, since to me, I don’t think he wants kids at all. When it comes to Mc, his focus is so specific and isolated, it doesn’t feel like there is even room for him to think of another. Even when it’s to keep Mc put, it feels he’d have reservations around baby trapping particularly because it does come with the inherent need to share her.

Tbh I see Mc being more likely to baby trap him lmfao 😭 When under the same intensity as Caleb [the toring chip], Mc doesn’t even try to justify her selfishness, her insanity, she just does whatever she wants. Her desires can sometimes be even more reckless and spiteful, I can see that crossing over into baby trapping Caleb herself.

Caleb would fully be aware of what you’re doing though btw and rather than acknowledge it explicitly, he’d probably let you have your fun. Tracking your cycle helps him prepare to counter any of your attempts. Making sure he’s only using condoms he knows are good or slipping contraceptive pills in your food if he needs to.

If push came to shove I think Caleb could be made to finally cave, but even then it feels an extreme he ironically would hesitate on. Yk despite the fact he canonically has taken other drastic measures to keep Mc in place lol.

Okayyyy, this is very meta yap now but I really don’t ever think about CalebMc having children because personally I don’t even view them as two separate beings symbolically to even think of them creating life. Yaaaa I know baby trapping isn’t really abt kids and more abt abuse but stillllll idk close enough.

To me CalebMc are two halves of the same being, so when they come together, rather than creating something new, something pre-existing is finally made whole… if dat makes sense.

Obviously this is completely metaphorical and about the narrative not the actual plot— because they literally are separate human beings who could probably conceive— but most my thoughts around the two follow the symbolic idea of them being inseparable because they are one whole. Where there is no room for another.

Tldr: My writing subconsciously follows the idea of Caleb and Mc symbolically being the same entity, even in the modern/current [human??] timelines. So the idea of kids w them doesn’t really cross my mind? Omg I should say I’m not particularly sensitive to this topic or anything tho!!

[mustyrosewater]

❛ i know you have one more for me. come on, i'm not done yet.❜ and ❛ oh no, i'm not finished with you yet. ❜ with Erik Campbell if that’s okay

this one was really fun to write! i took a slightly different approach to the usual rough, mean erik! thank you for requesting pookie! 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: erik campbell (final destination 6) x afab!reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,457 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT, overstimulation, toys, soft dom erik, words of encouragment, multiple orgasms

You would say that you were lucky to have a boyfriend who knew you and your body as well as Erik did, the way he was able to tease things out of you with minimal effort, his ability to make you see stars and barely lift a finger.

At least you were lucky until he used it against you. 

When he’d asked if you wanted to use your wand, you’d been more than accepting, always loving the way that he used it when he fucked you, the perfect addition to his cock inside you. 

It had started out so nice, when he’d made you lay down on your back in his bed and kissed you so sweetly, getting you all worked up by barely touching you initially, ghosting his fingertips over your body and giving you nothing. 

You knew it was all in an attempt to get you needy and desperate, so that you were craving his touch by the time he was finally done resting your patient, he liked it when you were keening for him. 

Part of you thought it was a little bit cruel, while the other part relished in the way he just let you go brain dead and focus on nothing except the pleasure he was capable of giving you. 

So you let him tease you with his kisses, stayed on your back and ran your fingers through his hair while he let his own fingers slide down your body and begin to play with your clit slowly. 

He’d gotten to know your body intimately, he knew every little nerve like the back of his hand, and knew exactly how to elicit deeply charged reactions out of you. 

“Stop it, baby, please..” you begged, whispering against his cheek as you peppered his face with kisses. 

“I know.. I know you need it.. just be patient.” he ordered, leaning up to kiss your forehead as he continued to work on you painfully slowly.

At this rate, he was going to have you over the edge before he even got the wand out, maybe he knew that, and that was exactly why he was doing it. 

Without any warning, he slipped his middle and ring finger inside of you, your own wetness being more than enough lubrication, covering his knuckles within seconds. 

You let out a soft cry and shut your eyes, feeling the way your pussy pulsed around his fingers desperately, the way that he curved them inside of you and touched at that spot that always had you seeing stars.

“Fuck.. Erik..” you whimpered, trying hard to keep yourself together and not fall apart on his fingers less than ten minutes in, not that it hasn’t happened before. 

“Shh, Shh, it’s okay.” he whispered against the top of your head, pulling you against his chest so that you could feel the warmth of his body and keep yourself grounded with the feeling of his skin against yours. 

As you felt your entire body tighten into a knot, you snapped your thighs together and clenched them around his hand, feeling the way that your pussy pulsed around his fingers while you came, it was intense, it made you feel lightheaded.

He’d been so meticulous in the way he touched you, taken his time to the point that the build up of it all had left you speechless.

You sat there with your eyes closed, whimpering when he pulled his fingers out of you and patted your hair softly, shushing you and whispering words of encouragement.

It was always so funny how your boyfriend was like night and day, going from fucking you until you were crying out his name and pulling your hair, all the way to being so soft and caring for you all while taking his time to absolutely ruin you. 

It was like a peaceful bliss initially, laying there in the after glow of your orgasm, smiling with your cheek against his chest. 

That’s when you heard it.

When you heard the click of the switch and vibration starting up, you opened your eyes just in time to see Erik holding your wand, leaning his arm over to press it against your clit without warning.

“Aagh!” you cried out, trying to close your legs only for Erik to shoot forward and hold them open, moving so that his body was in between them leaving you open for him.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet.” he spoke with a smirk, running the end of the wand over your pussy slowly, up and down, it had you trying to reach forward and pull his arm away.

Of course you knew that he’d stop with one uttering of your agreed upon safe word, ready to go in case you truly were getting pushed over your limit.

Crying out softly seemed to be the only thing that you could do, the vibrations against your already sensitive clit making you tear up as your cheeks flushed. 

“You look so cute like this, baby.” he practically cooed at you, loving the way that your face changed expressions and your body was writhing underneath him. 

You could feel the vibrations all the way through to your pelvis, to the point that you almost felt like your toes were beginning to go numb. 

It was too much and not enough all at the same time, a cruel punishment that was just as much a reward at the same time.

The degree of trust that you put into him to be able to keep an eye on you and know when it was too much even if you didn’t voice it, you knew he was capable of keeping you safe and happy even when the two of you partook in activities like this.

The overstimulation was already getting to you, your sensitivity making it so that your body was soon rocked with a second orgasm, your head tipping back and your hands gripping the sheets so tightly that your knuckles began to lighten.

Yet Erik didn’t stop, he only turned the wand up higher, leading to a deep guttural sound from within your throat, whispers of blabber on your lips as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“I can’t- I can’t baby-“

“I know you have one more for me. Come on, I’m not done yet.” 

His softly worded whispers were only making you cry more, feeling the tears beginning to prick at your eyes and drop down your cheeks.

Erik only kissed them away, peppering your entire face with kisses as you looked up at him, your reddened eyes and upturned brows only being received with a loving smile from him. 

“You’re doing so good baby, you’re nearly there.” 

He encouraged you and turned the wand up even higher, your volume being at its peak as you felt your thighs begin to shake. 

“That’s it, god you’re so pretty..” Erik spoke, half to you and half to himself, not that you would have been able to respond intelligently either way, you were now at a stage where you’d fallen completely non verbal, only able to babble softly. 

It only took you another few seconds before you reached your peak, your third and final orgasm sending you over a peak you didn’t even think possible, like an out of body experience.

There was such a feeling of release, like your entire body had seized up and then let go all at once, like hours and seconds all at the same time.

Erik stopped the vibrator as soon as it was clear you were cumming, tossing it aside to take you in his arms and help you ride it out as you gripped his arm so hard you were digging your nails into his skin.

At that point you didn’t even care if you broke his skin and made him bleed, you were just laying there panting and curling into a ball in his arms, shutting your eyes and tucking your face into his chest.

Every little movement you made sent shockwaves over your body, shivering in Erik’s arms as he rubbed your back and whispered soft praises to you.

“You did so good, baby, it’s okay, it’s over.”

He was used to the way you got after putting you through this, he always knew exactly what you needed.

Pulling the blanket over the two of you, he let you lay against his chest and sleep, your exhaustion taking hold the moment your head hit the pillow and you got as comfortable as you could muster yourself to be, still clinging to him tightly.

He wiped your tears away with his thumb, admiring your sleeping face as he held you in his arms.

[waywardangel-wilds]

Half-baked shower thoughts: Sydney was the last person with whom Carmy didn't have to talk about Mikey.

Think about it, in Goodbye, when Sydney brings up the 'elephant in the restaurant,' Carmy freaks out. He gets extremely emotional and begs her over and over again to stop talking. Sydney was the one person in Carmy's orbit who didn't know a version of Carmy that existed when Mikey was alive. All his people know a different version of him, a version that is somehow impacted by Mikey. Natalie knows him as her baby brother who adored Mikey; Richie also sees him as the kid of the family, but in a different way. The entire back-of-house staff didn't even meet Carmy as an individual; they probably heard about him through Mikey for years. Most annoyingly (for me), Claire knows Carmy almost entirely through the way Carmy used to be when he was between Mikey and Richie. No one really knows him as Carmy, the individual adult separate from Mikey, first. That is, until Sydney enters the fold.

Now, you can bring up Carmy's former co-workers from when he lived away from home as examples, but I think we can all agree that is not what we are talking about here. We are talking about the people who, honest to God, know Carmy and are a part of his actual life - the intimate part of life, which contains people you actually give a real shit about. Those people. There's Luca, sure, but Luca is more of an old friend who lives far away. He's not really family like Sydney is.

So, anyway, where was I going with this? Sydney is the one person in Carmy's life who gets to know him first as Carmy, period. Not as Mikey's and Nat's kid brother. Not as one of Donna's three kids. Not as Richie's dumbass cousin. Nothing like that, she meets him with a predisposition to like him. She thinks he's accomplished, she looks up to him, and she sees him first and foremost as this interesting character in the field they both care about. The guy who made the best meal she's ever had. She enters the relationship already liking him. Lucky boy.

So why does it matter that she brings up Mikey? Well, I think that it matters for two reasons. One, the fact that Carmy didn't have to talk about this with her, and two, the fact that her bringing it up breaks an illusion between them.

So first, Carmy didn't have to talk about Mikey with Sydney, and that matters. There is no other character on the show that looks through Carmy the way that Sydney does. That's just an actual fact. Natalie is probably the only other character who knows Carmy deeply enough to be able to pick up on his cues, but it's different with Sydney. Natalie's knowledge of Carmy comes from this maternal place, and it doesn't always capture everything - it's mostly focused on family matters. Sydney's knowledge of Carmy picks up on everything, despite those vibes not necessarily coming with clear explanations. As she literally says in Season 3, she can feel it when he pulls away.

So they didn't have to talk about Mikey. Sydney and Carmy's relationship is still young, and Sydney came into it knowing pretty early on that Carmy was actively mourning the recent death of his brother. It's too sensitive a topic to just bring up just, baseline, right there, especially in a new friendship. But also, it didn't need to be talked about because Sydney already knew. She could already tell, from their weird telepathic bond alone, that it was a painful thing and something Carmy wasn't ready to talk about yet. Sydney lost a parent, too. She gets it. There was no need to talk about it.

Then, on that same train of thought, there was also the acknowledgment that maybe they shouldn't talk about it. Why? Because how do you talk about something that raw with the only person who can literally see you with 20/20 vision? That's intense, extremely so, especially for two people who seem to run for the hills when things get real. They weren't going to touch that pile of knots unless they had to.

Then there was the breaking of the illusion. There's been a lot of pretending between Carmy and Sydney - which I, by the way, think is idiotic - because they were both aware that they understood each other deeply but were also unwilling to come to terms with it like freaking adults. It was a two-way street: Carmy would fail Sydney constantly because he was not okay, but he would promise to try to get better and never break the same promises again. Sydney, on her end, was (to some extent, depending on the period) aware that things were bad for Camy and that his promises weren't going to always work out. But she was choosing to stay. They were pretending things could be fine if they just kept going. That was an illusion.

They knew each other too well for that shit, but they went for it anyway.

So then here we are, with Carmy freaking the hell out because Sydney dared bring their ignored pile of laundry into the middle of the biggest fight they've ever had.

So, why do I think this matters? Because these things permanently change the future of their relationship. It can go one of two ways: either bringing this up breaks the stalemate and they actually get closer for it, or they become repelled by how intense things got and grow further apart.

It they got closer, it wouldn't be right away, there would definitely be a period of tense silence just because they are who they are, but by the time they ended up coming together again, the friendship would be different. Way more intimate, and requiring more of the other, which might be a lot for them, especially Sydney, to accept. I would like to see how that could play out, especially in this show, which seems hellbent on hurting my feelings.

But never speaking again? It seems both realistic and impossible at the same time. What? Would the family fucking fracture? How long could that go on for? I can't see this happening permanently; they are too connected at this point, and the love is too big. I can't imagine a world in which Sydney and Carmy aren't on good enough terms to like, smile at each other from across the room, even if they never see each other again. I feel like never speaking from this point on wouldn't give them space to still love each other openly from afar, and they need to be able to do that, so, not happening.

Anyway, yeah, those are my thoughts. There's something there in that interaction, and I wanna see where the show goes with it. What do you think?

[norel-ravenclaw]

Comfort Sex x One Piece

//Villain Set//

Fandom: One Piece

Featured characters: //Villain Set// Mihawk - Sir Crocodile - Buggy - Katakuri - King/Alber - Eustass Kid - Killer - Rob Lucci - Basil Hawkins - Doflamingo - Bartolomeo - Kalifa (CP9) - Daz Bones - Caesar - Kuro of the Black Cat Pirates - Enel God of Lightning - Sakazuki Akainu - Kizaru Borsalino x gn reader

Description: Tracing scars and tattoos, overcoming insecurities, vague self consciousness they help you with / fuck out of you~ (Thank you for all the interest in part one! I hope this one lives up to your expectations! Look forward to more favourites and rare characters in part 3.)

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2900 / ~160 per character

WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | all the sex | minor allusions to body image issues, scars, canon trauma | unhealthy relationships and vaguely yandere behaviour | not spoiler free but I try to keep it a bit vague |

//Primary Set// coming soon: //Secondary Set//

Mihawk

For all his coldness and apathy, he is prone to occasional bouts of loneliness - and even depression from lack of interest or challenge. When the world is spinning slowly, drawing his focus to you can be the best remedy. (Distracting him while he’s working in his garden is enough to spark his desire to discipline you.) You are his, and so he doesn’t let you say a word about your appearance, telling you it’s a waste of time, then spending hours drowning you in slow pleasure that will teach you what your body is for. He’ll analyse your reality and scold you for being foolish, then in line with his secret kindness, he will lavish you in attention until your unhappiness is wholly replaced by focus on him. Slow nights with wine and deep, intentional thrusts, making you melt under his intense gaze are pure sin and joy. He only ever does as he pleases, so if he pins you down and spends hours between your legs, you best know there is nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

Sir Crocodile

When he found you, he quickly swept you into his world, holding gold and tickets to exclusive parties and expensive clothes in front of your eyes to dazzle you into forgetting any other life - any other man. He has no patience for incompetence, so it’s easy to feel inferior and fearful he’ll leave you behind. But if you dare think such things, he’ll take you to RainDinners for the night and remind you who you belong to. To show you what you are to him, he’ll set aside the nagging paranoia surrounding water and draws a bath, fucking you until the floor is flooded. Then he’ll carry you to bed and make you forget your own name, not letting you rest for hours. If you’re delicate enough to feel the need to beg him to be softer, he’ll complain about it - while holding you to his chest, balls deep and muttering how you ought to be grateful for this special treatment, to have earned his trust - and respect.

Buggy

The man is rabidly insecure, desperate for loyalty, and god damn if he isn’t horny 24/7. So if you can be that for him? A safe place where he isn’t hated or abandoned or secretly laughed at? He’s going to be obsessed, feral, possessive, overprotective, and will need to make up for a lifetime of loneliness. He’ll put you in his shows, designing the best sexy outfits and fucking you in it afterwards. He’ll use his hard gained fortune to spoil you rotten. Laying in bed with boxes of opened gifts all around, laughing and lazily fucking? It fulfils every need - comfort and power and loyalty and conquest and fun. Of course he’s going to send you with a hand or his dick as often as he can get away with it, to feel you close and have something to get him through those brutal cross guild meetings. Be ready for a full force sex therapy session when he gets back - you’re his strength to go on.

Katakuri

Always being on the go and at some family member’s beck and call leaves the Sweet General wanting nothing more than to be still and actually rest. Doing so with you, his huge cock stuffed inside you, nowhere to be? It’s better than his mariendas. Holding you against his body, slowly worshiping you and marvelling that someone could accept him, could permit his softness and tenderness without calling it weakness. If ever you come to him with any kind of rainclouds in your head, he internally panics, wanting to help you and not make things worse. He’s used to comforting his siblings, but with you, he gets to do more. Your mind will be so melted from his overwhelming kisses and devotion that any stresses or insecurities will be the last thing you’re capable of thinking about. His big tongue laving at your body, savouring your sweetness, his low voice praising and comforting you, his dark eyes softer than ever as you cling to him for hours.

King

A lifetime of revenge, of being hunted and hated - he’d abandoned so many dreams, so many desires. Until you came into his life. He’s so big it feels sometimes like you’ll break if he touches you, so if you wrap around him to make him stay and try to get him to laugh, he’ll finally start to melt again. Free to live a life worth living, to be wanted for more than his strength. And he’ll do anything you need to help build yours, whether it’s physical or psychological. It takes a little time to undo his reflexive dismissals, and after the first few times, he feels so bad for hurting you that he spends hours in bed, apologising with his tongue between your legs. Now, with the mechanics worked out of the size difference, he gets excited to try new things, new positions. If you were to help him search for remnants of his heritage (or help rescue certain young half breeds), he’d love to start a new homeland with you. Outfitted with a big, strong bed, of course.

Eustass Kidd

The firebrand is more than capable of love, sure, but softness has never been one of his skills. He always grouses at you when you barge in and interrupt him, insisting on bandaging his scratches from the metal before he continues working. But if you grab his face, tell him you want to see the man you loved cared for, kiss him sloppy and promise more later, he’ll probably forgive you. Of course, his natural inclination when either of you is feeling off is to pound every thought out of both your heads. But when you need it soft, he eventually melts, his vulnerable side coming out and making him need you to hold him close. Kiss his scars and tell him he doesn’t have to prove anything to you - and let him convince you of the same. He’ll hold you so tight and tender after he’s done wrecking you, grinning like an idiot at the lipstick marks all over your skin.

Killer

His loyalty to his Captian is unmatched, but when you come along, suddenly he has someone else in his life that he’d give anything for. Keeping Kidd out of trouble is a full time job, but he’s by your side every other minute. He’ll cook you comfort foods when you’re feeling down, his level headed advice and unconditional love becoming your rock. Though of course comfort sex is the best medicine. He’s insecure himself, from his face, his scars, his laugh - he’s always afraid you’ll change your mind and find him repulsive, no matter how irrational the fear is. Holding him close in bed and worshipping his beautiful features breaks down those walls that come up - but he’s impatient too. Whether you need it or not, he’ll lavish you in praise and compliments and attention until you pass out beneath him. You’ve seen his true self, and he’s never letting you go.

Rob Lucci

He never thought he’d find someone to love, but you are his opposite and equal, and he fell hard. He’s clueless when it comes to relationships and doesn’t trust anyone, but over time of breaking his walls down again and again, he starts to let you in more. When he’s worn out after his zoan transformation, he trusts you to take care of him until he regains his strength. Though of course he’ll see you as the weak one - and since he can’t allow weakness, he’ll heal your self doubt by bullying you with backhanded compliments and pushing you to reach your goals. When something - or he - pushes you too hard, he’ll awkwardly try to comfort you, relying perhaps a bit too much on sex to do it. He loves pushing your limits in bed, but eventually he learns how to be soft, slow, taking his time making you fall apart again and again, until all you can say is his name - the sound he’s come to love most.

Basil Hawkins

Beneath the ambition and aura of all knowing intimidation, you see him for where he is - a man still fearful of a future he cant control. Getting him to focus on you and live in the present is a difficult task, but eventually your comforting presence begins to heal his paranoia. And he rewards you for it in bed, endlessly. For choosing him, for staying, for proving that you’re not going to give up on him and the future you’re building together. And whenever you doubt yourself, he’ll try to give you a reading to assuage your insecurities and pain, but finds often that his worshipful touch is more effective. He even decorates his captain’s quarters to better suit your taste to ensure you never regret spending time with him there. He finds healing and hope in your body, and hopes you find solace with his just as much.

Doflamingo

The fallen Celestial Dragon exists to spite and punish the world. You bother him, he hates you, yet he likes you, wants you, needs you. Sometimes - rarely, but sometimes - his rage and sadism break, letting in nihilism that leaves him drained and miserable. And then he understands the desire for comfort. To be held and have someone make you forget. And as time goes on of you doing this for him, his trust and obsession with you growing, eventually he’ll attempt to offer you pieces of that same comfort. Mostly in bed, of course. Taking you slower, not tugging your hair so hard, not belittling you for crying. You’re one of the few he’s ever let stay the night, knowing you won’t murder him in his sleep. And he doesn’t want to murder you in your sleep either. …And he likes it when you cling to him and stroke his hair when he fucks you softer. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll make it happen a little more.

Bartolomeo

He’s insane, he’s wild, he doesn’t give a shit. Except about you. And he feels so much and loves so obsessively, and writes bad poetry and gets sex toys as gifts. Somehow you like it all, somehow you like him, and he’s over the moon. He’s gleeful when you ask him to use them on you instead of just using them alone. He’s open to literally any kink. Try him. And if it makes you happy, he’ll indulge any of the soft things you want too. It’s sex, he’s a guy, he’s happy. He gets devastated when you’re sad or insecure, and is ready to go overboard cheering you up, or just hold you. Naked, preferably. On the rare occasions something gets to him, old nightmares and the rare regret, he needs you to help him get out of his head and remind him that you still love him. Preferably naked.

Kalifa of CP9

She’s always been enough. Strong enough, pretty enough, clever enough. So when her devil fruit turned out to be… less than inspiring, she was determined to make it just as deadly a tool as the rest of her body and mind. But then you came along, and she could just… relax. Have a normal bath. Nothing to prove, no lies to suss out - just someone who saw her as smart and beautiful and deserving of love. And she is as eager to prove that she is worthy as she’s always been to prove her usefulness. Being the recipient of her touch, her affection, when she’s working to be the best at it? It’s overwhelming in the best way, coming over and over until you have to beg her to stop. When you feel insecure, she tells you she loves your imperfection. It makes her free to be imperfect too. When you can persuade her that she doesn’t have to perform or make a challenge out of loving you, letting her relax in your arms, lazily touching each other in the bath - it frees you both.

Daz Bones

The infamous Mr One is doubtlessly ruthless, but he’s also always been strong enough to be soft - to love and be gentle. If you’re afraid of him when you first meet, and the forward-thinking fighter already knows he wants to win you over, he’ll be extra gentle to assuage your fears. He’s straightforward and honest, and when he takes you to bed, sex with him is much the same. For someone who could conquer countries if he wanted to, he’s very mindful of your desires and mood. He always knows when you’re stressed or insecure. And he wants to give you exactly what you need, nothing more, and certainly nothing less. And he’ll lock you away all night to spoil you as you deserve, going as many rounds as you can take. Life is dangerous and love is hard, and he’s determined to succeed in conquering and protecting your heart. He chose you, and he’ll get you so addicted to his touch, his enviable body, and his love that you’ll be ruined for anyone else.

Caesar

You always know when he’s down or stressed - his gas powers make him droopy. He’ll whine and complain to you, wanting you to take care of him, spoiling him after a long day of work with a luxurious bath, decadent lingerie, snacks and sex and praise. He likes the rich life after all, and if money isn’t flowing freely, then he demands your love to make up for it. He has no idea why you chose him, what you see in him, why you’d stay when all he can offer is the threat of death from his bosses. But he’ll love you unconditionally if you do. When he gets insecure, he’ll spoil you in return, anything to convince you to stay. He’ll be so good for you. And if you’re willing to indulge his kinks, well, he might just repurpose one of his labs old machines to make you a diamond. If not for a ring, then maybe for his collar. What?? Who said that??

Kuro of the Black Cat Pirates

The Grand Line is not kind. The former captain is traumatized, demoralised, plagued with nightmares. He tries to be too cold, too strong - but when he meets you, he finally finds relief from the shadows of his past and failures. To build a life with you instead, safe and secure and clean and free, it’s everything he’s dreamed of. At first, intimacy takes time. He finds it hard to trust, no matter how much he loves you. But eventually his walls break down, and you see new sides of him, soft and wild both. You free him from his chains. If you voice insecurities - chains of your own, he is insulted that you would insult yourself. He’ll tell you throughout a night of breathless passion that you’re the home he always wanted, that you’re perfect, that every plan led to you. He spent so much time serving, hating every second. But for you, he’d do anything, fulfil any request - especially for his touch - with endless enthusiasm.

Enel God of Lightning

Whether you meet him in his temple or once he’s fallen from grace, there are holes left unfilled in his soul. He wastes time with you, comforting you with your pitiful mortal woes because he’s just so benevolent. To suggest he’s seeking to comfort himself in doing so is insulting. …Surely he would never get sucked into the softness of your arms, your shared bed, your eyes. He scolds you when you mention weakness or insecurity, reminding you that you are the lover of a god. His approval and claim on you makes you a de facto deity. He spoils you with overwhelming riches and even better sex, often lazy and drawn out for hours on end, driving any thought of weakness or unhappiness away with bliss. He becomes more possessive over time, keeping you by his side, on his lap, in his bed. He can’t let go of you, but deep down he knows, god or not, you’ll never leave him. Your worship is more pure than any other’s.

Sakazuki Akainu

The only way to earn his attention is to make an enemy of him or gain his respect. And he never expected it of you. But once he found you, saw how well you fit into his extraordinary life of danger and authority, he couldn’t bring himself to go back. You force him to rest, to think of himself, and in turn he tries to make you into all you can be - while obsessively keeping you safe. He demands discipline of himself in all things, so when he first takes you to bed, his personal control is overwhelming, leaving you unable to walk from how thoroughly he fucked you. The first time you persuaded him to let loose, again you couldn’t walk. And you love it both ways. You make him see life in more than numbers and red, and learning softness with you - for you - threatens to change him forever.

Kizaru Borsalino

When he met you, your glow of passion and kindness, joy and laughter - it was dazzling. Radiant. And something made him want to follow you. He shows up on your island, whenever you pass through Sabaody. You inexplicably get an invite to a Marine gala. That night, he starts things with you, seducing you with his lackadaisical but intensely focused touch. Once you’re his, he takes you places you’ve never been, showing you fun at festivals and shows, then showing you his devotion at expensive hotels. When you’re down or stressed, he’ll comfort you all night, holding you close and rolling into you slow and deep. His odd sense of humour leads to a number of inside jokes, and whenever he brings one up that originated in bed, you know he has plans for the night. It’s hard to read him, but he’ll never let you doubt that you’re his north star - his guiding light in the darkness.