#I can already feel the quality getting murdered..

[fence-time]

🎵chill lofi-cyberpunk beats to eat soup to🎵

[triglycercule]

murder time trio come back from killing some guy (me) and dust just pulls out a rainbow cleaning duster and starts dusting himself off. horror questions him. he says it's self care

[techmomma]

Facts about your body after you turn 25, AKA things I wish someone had told me:

you will get hair in fun new places. this is normal and fine.

these places include (but are not limited to) if you don't already have them: your asscrack, your back, your ears, and moles. it's fine.

some of you, dick or not, will also lose hair. this is normal, but also if you have ovaries maybe get this checked out for PCOS.

your acne will probably change. some people get better. some people get worse. it's fine.

your nails will probably get an infection or a fungus at least once in your life. this is fine. (but also let your doc know).

how you gain and lose fat and where you do so will change. this is fine.

how you smell will change. this is fine. (fishy or rotten smells mean doctor time though)

if you have a prostate: it gets harder to pee. prostates enlarge as you age (get this checked regularly). this is fine.

if you do not have a prostate: it gets easier to pee but not in a good way. as in as you get older, your pelvic floor muscles tend to lose some of their strength. this makes it harder to keep pee in. this is fine.

all breasts and pectorals eventually sag, with the rest of your body. this is fine.

a decent percent of the population will experience a cyst at least once. some of you will make up for the rest with multiple. this is fine, but keep them checked out by a doctor. (sometimes this is a condition! get checked for that too!)

almost half of everyone gets hemorrhoids. it's a good idea to just expect them since your chances of getting them get higher the older you are. your toilet will look like a murder scene. definitely get your booty checked out BUT this is almost always perfectly normal. just eat more fiber. "but I already-" eat more fiber. and maybe suck it up and buy some hemorrhoid cream, you'll thank me later.

yes, this means you will probably need to make an appointment for a doctor to see your butthole. it's okay. not only do they really not care but 1. they've seen weirder that day and 2. they'd far rather you see them now than later when it's been going on for forty years and now it might be colon cancer. it's okay. consider it a rite of passage.

adults need more sleep than children. don't believe the myth that you need less than they do. that is capitalist propaganda to make you give up more of your life to the work grind, comrade.

vitamins and medicine, something you are more likely to take as you get older, sometimes make the toilet turn weird colors. it's okay.

if you still have your tonsils and get those little stones and get sore throats more than once a year you should plan on getting those suckers out before the tonsils cause an infection and go septic. if you're getting stones at all you should get those reevaluated every year, especially if the stones are bigger than a needlehead (or get bigger over time). it's gross and yucky. I don't care. get them looked at before you end up in the hospital.

you'll probably need to add foot support to your shoes if you don't already do. this is fine.

your body changes. sometimes it can feel sorta weird and upsetting that it isn't what it used to be. that is okay, and it is okay to be upset. just know that this is normal, it's normal to be upset or not upset, but don't let it hinder your quality of life. trans or cis, there is a certain level of acceptance you just gotta give your body and forgive your body for as you get older. it's okay.

it's okay. I promise.

[shaisuki]

Hiii, I read your chubby concubine work and I saw your requests were open so I wanted to ask for Sukuna x Concubine reader where she's very compliant and stays collected most of the time but she doesn't want him touching her clit and when he does she gets very vocal and sensitive please ? 🙏🏻

ONE'S PLEASURE

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ content warnings true form! sukuna, blow jobs, clit slapping, talks about murder, blood, penetrative sex, double penetration.

sukuna gets his meek and obedient concubine to get vocal.

the dark hallways are illuminated with the torches placed in the pillars. guiding you to your master's private chambers. you were called for the night to accompany him and tend to his pleasures. the moon bright and full. the breeze cold as you paved your way.

you smoothed your kimono with your palms when you arrived in his chambers before raising your fist to knock, warning him of your arrival and you entered the door.

“sukuna-sama.” you briefly greeted him. head hung low as you waited for him to permit you to look at him. one thing you know of your master is you never look at his eyes until he allows you to. a painful death is imminent when he catches you looking at him.

“woman.” he calls you and that was your cue to look at him but you didn't dare to meet his gaze. anywhere your eyes can look but never at his eyes.

he sat upon his bed. legs spread and he's resting his chin in one of his arms. the black haori is the only thing that is covering his nakedness.

you slowly approached him and you're in front of him. even he's seated while you stand in front of him, he easily dwarfs you of his muscular body despite you being bigger than his other concubines.

“may i remove your haori, sukuna-sama?” in which he responds with a hum. his gaze never leaving you as he follows your every moment. you reach out for his haori. gently grabbing it as you slowly removed it from him. biting your lips and your gaze briefly meets the two eyes in the right side of his face. the brief look on his eyes got your heart rate spiking up and you hear him chuckle.

he smell the fear dancing around you along with the arousal between your thighs. it was a delight for him when he have that effect. striking fear in everyone enticing his palate with their flesh in his tongue. sukuna have already had you devoured if it wasn't for the reason you're his favorite concubine even that he can suppress the greed for the woman in front of him. the plumpness of your body and the taste of it in his tongue mingling and he's willing to let you live until you have no use for him. it will take a long time for that to happen and before that he's going to make a use out of you to be his cocksleeve.

he watches as you placed his haori beside him and your hands reach out for the obi of your kimono. delicately untying the knot before it falls to the floor along with your kimono. baring your body in front of him and he watch as your gaze drops to the two large cocks of his. hard and twitching. kneeling, your hands wrapped around them. giving it a firm squeeze before enveloping one of his cock around your mouth. the other being stroked with your hand.

“mmm—ah” the tip of his cock and your lips are connected with your spit. squeezing his lengths with your hand you went back to suck one his cocks. glistening as you gave it a suck before disconnect your mouth from it to kiss the tip and giving it kitten licks before sucking it with your mouth. your cheeks hollowing a bit to take his length deeper. you know how much sukuna likes you to take more of his cocks.

you bobbed your head. going back and forth until you're almost choking on your lord sukuna-sama's cock. it feels good. so good that you don't want to let go and just fully engulf his cocks to your mouth. you really loved the taste of it.

sukuna have you summoned for tonight and the previous nights. he won't say it but he have taken a fondness to you. a quality that once in a blue moon joins his harem. a meekly obedient mortal who have graced with a body an embodiment of wealth and fertility.

“stop.” he orders you and you halted your movements. “come and show me what you're made of, mortal.” his voice deep and that strikes a fear to your heart. you oblige without a second thought. walking towards him until your body is in front of him. the plate in the right side of his face where two of his eyes moves in a synchronized manner. one of his hands reach out to move the hair covering your chest to side. exposing you bare to him and grazing the skin with his sharp nails. droplets of blood surfaces in the teared skin. the smell of blood enticing him to take a taste of you and when you meet his gaze, you were done for.

it is said that no other concubines that laid in his bed had the privileged to ride him. it was the talk among your fellow concubines while they rouge their cheeks and combed their hair in the room where all of you gathered as concubines. you paid no mind to it and maybe you should have.

your legs burn while your holes squeezed around his cocks. you have been bouncing for hours more like minutes to say. biting your lower lip to contain the moans wanting to spill out from your mouth. it burns and it hurts. you didn't even dare to complain or voice out the difficulty of riding his two huge cocks that is swelling and definitely getting bigger inside of you. you were grateful for the support of your arms holding the cap of his knees while you ride him. it definitely helped you to ease the added burn and the stretch of his cock destroying your pussy and rearranging your guts.

it was always a question to him. how you stay collected and calm when you're being impaled by his cocks. he looks at your fat pussy between your legs. his cocks glistening as it went deeper inside you and your cunt gushes with your slick. he knows you are feeling good from the wetness between your thighs and coating his lengths. he hopes for a reaction besides the expression of your face contorting in pleasure and he wants to hear more aside from the breathless moans and the silent gasps you're emitting. it doesn't occur when a concubine of his stays this silent. they're loud and the shrill voice they make when he fucks them sends him to a irritation that they doesn't leave the room alive no matter how they suppressed it and there comes you. following every order and keeping his cocks nice and warm while being silent throughout the whole time. he ought to find on how to break you out of that collected persona of yours.

“ahh!” you squeaked out. a look of horror painted to your face as the pads of his fingers reached to rub your clit. a deep chuckle is followed. “there it is, can you still keep your voice low, human?” he challenges you and the tears swell to your eyes. face burning in embarrassment. you continued to bounce in his cocks but sukuna have other plans to you.

“please, sukuna-sama. don't touch m-me there.” you stutter out. “who are you to order me, mortal?” you shaked your head before gasping for air. choking on your moans.

he hears you squeal and your cunt gushes more slick that it was almost flowing. a pinch of your clit and your cunt convulses around his cocks. milking them and he growls in response. flicking your poor little clit and you were crying. begging for him to stop, your thighs trembling from your orgasm and another incoming one.

bored of the position, he places you on your back. your wrists are pinned above your head. “sukuna-sama?” he hears you call for him. your eyes glistening with tears. whining as he folds you. your stomach rolls are folded like dough being stacked. your knees are on the level of your chest and he stares at your puffy cunt before plunging his two cocks inside knocking the air in your lungs before pummeling your abused cunt with his length and it gotten worst when he comes to give your swollen clit with attention. slapping it while he thrusts his cocks to your fat pussy.

you laid there helplessly, you didn't know if you can still speak or it was the blunt force of his cocks are keeping your from speaking. you were too tired to speak out while he used you as his fleshlight.

sukuna watched in amusement as you came undone for his cocks the nth time. you can't even speak now seconds after you were screaming. moaning his name in desperation while he plows deeply inside you. you are truly a fascinating creature in his eyes and too bad you passed out before he can dump his load to you. he's willing to make an exception to you for now but there will be no next time. you better be sure to stay awake the next time he's giving your needy clit the attention it desperately needs.

[ozzgin]

Girl I love Daitou but I'm ngl I need more of Yazuya😭 if you can, can you write headcanons about him please? I'd appreciate it thank you <3

Yandere!Yakuza x Reader Headcanons

Ultimate dating guide and palate cleanser featuring the gangster boys (Kazuya and Daitou). For those that have been left hanging for proper romance.

Content: gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW

Tags: @swagbucksjester @lucienbarkbark @moonieper @nu-vino @vee-love @tamaki-simp @pinkazelma

[Yakuza Masterlist]

Kazuya

Kazuya was raised in a brothel, surrounded by women, so he is much more knowledgeable than the average man when it comes to feminine matters. Similar to someone who grew up having sisters, you can talk to him about anything and everything and not only will he be empathetic towards your problems, but he might offer tips and tricks you didn’t even know about. Not too shocking when he’s already heard multiple variations of whatever is bothering you.

The downside to his upbringing is that intercourse has always felt terribly transactional to him. He has a hard time associating it with intimate relationships. He will flirt a lot with you, but despite all the sexual innuendos, he won’t actually do anything until later in the relationship. He struggles with the irrational worry that sex will somehow taint the quality of your bond, making it feel cheap. Dating you has helped him realize that such things can be done out of love as well.

He is extremely affectionate and well mannered when dealing with you. Which may sometimes cause you to forget there’s a reason him and Daitou are good friends. While he isn’t as ill-tempered as his younger self, it doesn’t take much to anger him still. It’s a rare occurrence for you to witness it, but when he has it out for someone, he nearly matches Daitou in ruthlessness. He's very prideful and protective and will not hesitate to crush whoever challenges him or messes with you.

If you have a group of (girl)friends, you can confidently bring him with you with the only risk being that he’ll steal your spotlight. He can charismatically slide his way into any kind of conversation and you can hardly believe that this is the same man cracking gross jokes over his latest murder to his fellow criminal buddies. You might consider him a social chameleon, having no trouble adapting to any environment.

Smokes like a chimney and you have to slap the cigarette out of his hand sometimes because he’ll just light one up anywhere (including your bedroom).

Now this one is for the ones that are into it: God forbid you accidentally call him Daddy because he’ll ride that high until the end of time. He loves the idea and will tease about it with every opportunity. “Terrible weather today. Should Daddy drive you to work instead?”, or “Is that any way to talk to Daddy?” for when you’re out in public.

Daitou

One neat detail about being with Daitou is that you get to see a lot of things you took for granted in a new light. Whatever you assumed was a common experience for everyone, like having a picnic or going to the amusement park, is utterly foreign to him. He was raised by the Yakuza and barely interacted with anyone before meeting Kazuya; civilian past times were never presented to him. So you get to witness his shocked and delighted expression as he tries all these things with you.

Thankfully you don’t have to worry about teaching him the…intimate aspects of a relationship. Kazuya has that covered. And Daitou seems to be a rather fast learner, because he’s incredibly gentle and careful with you. Part of it is due to his own fear of messing it up. He’s only ever been good at breaking and killing people. Despite that, he loves you so much. He has to be the best boyfriend for your sake. Surely these hands of his can do more than just damage.

He might actually be a little too eager to learn the ropes. More than once you’ve walked in on him reading a graphic manga and nearly choked, mumbling an apology for interrupting his…activity. He’ll look at you with a confused expression, completely unbothered and wondering why you’re so embarrassed. He was flipping through the pages for ideas, given he’s never had any kind of experience himself. Ah. That explains the random kinky gestures he’s started doing without shame or doubt. You’ll have to do some tweaking in the near future.

This may come as a surprise, but Daitou is exceptionally good at household chores like cleaning and cooking. Registering with the Yakuza involves a mandatory apprenticeship of several years where you do menial tasks for your higher ups. Additionally, the time he served in jail has left him with a lot of discipline and organization. Somewhere between adorable and comical is how you’d describe the sight of him kneeling on the floor and carefully folding the kitchen towels while waiting for the stew to simmer.

Daitou isn’t exactly what you’d traditionally call jealous. His only frame of reference is Boss, thus he will treat you with the same kind of loyalty and dedication. You wouldn’t expect a mere nobody to walk up to the Head of the Family, so anyone approaching you will, similarly, be violently kept away until their intentions are clear. You are his most prized possession, after all. He’d do anything for you.

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[ifimdreaming]

i don’t deserve you

//

Luke Hughes x Reader

authors note: i wrote this super quick and also on my phone so idk the word count or if this even makes sense because it is unedited lmaooo but I hope you enjoy it!

-

You had just hopped out of the shower and were putting on uour leggings and one of lukes hoodies to wear for the day.

You hadnt really been wearing anything besides for lukes hoodies when you have a day at home since you two started dating so honestly it was nothing new.

Going back to your room after cleaning up the rest of your stuff in the bathroom, you remembered you forgot to text Luke back last night. he always gets on you about that but you always forget how worried he gets when you don’t reply to his calls or texts.

And when you head to look at your phone that’s plugged into the charger on your bedside table, you see many missed notifications from your worried boyfriend.

(4 missed called from: Lukey @ 10:37am)

Lukey: hey you said you’d call me at 10?

Lukey: call me back pls

it was now nearing 12:00pm and you knew he would be more than a little bit pissed off that you weren’t answering him.

and you felt terrible about forgetting so you unplug your phone and called him back right away, sat on your bed with a towel around yojr hair as the phone rings in suspense.

“baby? ...let me guess? you forgot to check your phone again?..” he quickly says as you are getting more comfortable on the bed, relieved he had answered your call.

You just hum in response as he pours out his concern to you, knowing that all he’s saying is true.

“i’m so so sorry. i completely forgot. i know you’re looking out for me but i fell asleep without texting and i literally just got out of the shower.” You say and hear him sigh at your words.

“Luke i promise i’ll try to keep my phone close by cuz i know you worry...but i’m fine i promise” you say apologetically .

“i didn’t get murdered or anything..” you add jokingly but quickly follow up with an “i’m kidding...” before luke gets a chance to be a smart ass and tell you not to joke about that.

You laugh a little hearing him sigh with an unamused tone in his voice.

“anyway, how are you?” You ask trying to move on from the subject knowing he is already annoyed about you not answering his calls.

“i really miss you...” he sighs out and you hear the little bit of sadness in his voice and instantly feel exactly how he’s feeling.

“i miss you more bubs...trust me time will fly by way faster than you know it…we’ll see each other soon..i promise.” You reassure him, not trying to sound too cheesy but also trying to lift his spirits somewhat.

it’s been over 2 months since you’ve seen each other last. School has picked up and made it impossible to be able to visit him in jersey, even just for a weekend.

You were starting to forget a time where it actually was easy to see each other.

And you were getting so used to late night phone calls to one another, and luke sending you random long ass text messages about how much he misses you at random hours of the night. and you being so fed up with everything that you cave and just call him even when you know he’s busy or at practice, because you miss hearing his voice so much.

“it’s just been so long since i’ve seen your face. ugh i hate this shit so much. i’m just... so fucking over it.” Luke continues pouring out and his words are laced with a bit of anger, causing his voice to have a scratchy and dark quality.

he’s clearly getting more and more frustrated about the current situation the longer it goes on and you know he’s getting irritated with only being able to talk on the phone and over facetime. we both are.

“Luke i understand... i miss you and i love you so much. And look, i know you’re upset but there’s really not much we can do about it right now is there?” You say before luke interrupts you with a loud sigh.

“hey what can i do though? huh? ...how can i help you feel better?” You ask with as much reassurance in your voice as possible, trying hard to keep your voice high and uplifting even though youre feeling just as down and unhappy as he is right now.

he doesn’t answer and you are sat in silence for too long to still be expecting him to answer your question.

“what’s on your mind? Will u just talk to me?” You ask innocently.

“ugh. fuck! i don’t know! nothing i guess.” Luke sighs out, raising his voice and catching you off guard.

“i’m just trying to help … can you calm down a little..” you say quietly because you know he was probably wound up about a lot of stuff on his mind and you can tell that he is putting his anger in the wrong places.

“you don’t need to tell me to calm down...there’s nothing you can do ok? it’s fucking awful. i hate this...fuck..” he spits out at me. “can we just talk about something else?” he asks with his voice still raised.

“look, im not trying to force you to talk to me if you don’t want to but you called me and clearly something is on your mind..whether it’s the fact that we can’t be together right now or something else but you can’t just get angry with me for no reason.” You say sternly and hear him about to say something more but you interrupt him “just please lower your voice...” you add.

“i’m not getting angry. i’m just really fucking annoyed and you’re not helping” he says exasperatedly and you are taken by surprise with his words and a little pissed off that he’s taking out whatever he is angry about at you.

You stay silent on the other end of the phone as his words instantly put tears into yohr eyes and you don’t say anything because he is being so unnecessarily rude to you.

“i’m sorry, i’m just having a really fucking bad day...” he adds and you hold your breath trying to not make your shaky breathing noticeable as he keep talking.

You begin to feel the tears slowly start to stream down your face but you quickly blink them away knowing he’s only mad about the situation and not worth yours tears. but his words made you feel so so hurt.

there’s silence between the both of you for a few seconds as you try to get yourself together and acknowledge that he hurt you.

“Ok. Im not gonna sit here and listen to you complain about something that i literally cannot fix or change right now. i’m sorry you’re feeling upset and angry with what’s going on but you can’t just call me and take all your fucking anger out on me. it’s just not fair. i really miss you too ok? ...i’m sorry we can’t be together right now but i can’t do anything to help if you’re not going to tell me what’s actually wrong...just...call me back when you calm down a little” you say trying your hardest to not raise your voice and lash out exactly like he just did to you.

he’s quiet on the other side of the phone and you hear him about to reply as you hang up the phone before he has the chance to respond, knowing you are probably not going to like or want to hear what he has to say to you at this moment anyway.

this isn’t the first conversation that’s went like this recently. this past week luke has been getting more and more pissed off and angry rather than just upset about you not being able to see each other right now and it’s not doing you any good.

Youve been trying your hardest to just hear him out and be there for him but today’s conversation was different, usually you share a mutual sadness about not being able to see each other and talk about all the things you miss and then it cheers you both up hearing all the fun things you can do together once exams and the hockey season ends.

but today luke wouldn’t even tell you what was bothering him without getting mad and it didn’t help that he was putting his anger towards you.

Feeling really frustrated about that conversation, you plug your phone back into the charger and start to feel a slight sinking in your stomach.

You hated the fact that you just hung up on him and didn’t resolve your discussion. And you knkw it was his fault for getting angry at you but can’t help but feel a little guilty for just hanging up the phone without saying goodbye.

to get your mind off of it for a while you start tidying up your room and play some music to drown out the silence.

Now it’s almost nearing 2pm and luke hasn’t called back or even texted and it’s been almost an hour.

You begin to get more and more pissed off that he hasn’t said anything and consider just sending him a text but you remember the things he said to you . so you ignore the feeling and continue waiting for him to call you back.

-

After deciding to lay down and read a book to distract yourself, you accidentally fell asleep for a few hours. Waking up to see that it’s around 6pm...you definitely slept longer than you should have.

Surprisingly, you see that luke tried calling back and left a few texts as well.

Lukey: hi

Lukey: i’m really sorry about earlier

Lukey: can you call me back please? i need to apologize...i didn’t mean to get upset at you. i know none of this is your fault

Lukey: please call me back

You decide not to answer him right away and start making yourself some mac and cheese and sitting at the dining room table waiting as you wait for the water to boil.

You were beginning to get so impatient. Impatient with everything, but especially with luke. You wanted him to call you again. Do something, say something. Try harder.

Your thoughts were spiraling and you knew calling him back was really the only way to stop them.

After finishing making and eating your dinner you sit down at the couch to finally call luke back. at this point your stupid argument definitely didn’t feel worth all this and you felt a little guilty for ignoring him all day long.

You ultimately decide to facetime him so you can see his face and he answers you on the second ring.

immediately you see him laying down in his bed wearing no shirt and his wet hair hanging down his face on one side and his face slightly smushed against his pillow.

he smiles at you knowingly and waits for you to say something so that he knows if i’m still angry at him or not.

“why are you staring at me?” You blush a little, ignoring your anger for a moment. he just smiles back at you with his pretty little face and completely ignores the question.

Luke sees you awkward laugh a little feeling a bit insecure with the way he’s staring at you, but he continues. and he laughs lightly as he sits up and turns the light on so that you can see him better.

“i’m really really sorry baby...” he starts “i’m sorry for getting upset at you. I shouldn’t have done that. i was just so fed up and tired of not being able to see you and i let my feelings get the best of me, i also was just having a really shitty day. Practice fucking sucked today and you already know how shitty our game has been lately.” He says with honest sincerity and regret in his voice.

“i took my anger out at you which i should not have done...and im really not trying to make any excuses because I know i hurt you. And i promise i won’t get mad at you about this ever again, especially since you did absolutely nothing wrong...” he spills out apologetically.

You say nothing at first and just wait for him to continue his apology. making it clear to him that he was completely out of hand and you are not gonna put up with his bitchy attitude. And he continues,

“... to be honest i’ve been feeling like you don’t miss me as much as i miss you which sounds stupid but i just got so angry because i didn’t understand. When you forget to call or text i just…i take it hard..” he says trailing off at the end.

“what? luke i’ve been trying so hard to keep it together for you because i know how upset this makes you. trust me when i tell you i miss you more than anything...i suck at remembering things like texting goodnight and stuff because I’ve just been so exhausted with work and school. You’re on my mind all the time and i promise you that i will try harder to not forget those things.” you quickly reply, making sure he understands just how much you mean it.

“i love you so much.” You add and smile at him as uou see his small smile on your phone screen.

“i love you too baby. i’m so sorry for getting mad..” he says quietly and puts his head down a little.

“it’s ok...i understand your frustration.” You add with a little laugh letting him know you’re over it.

“i saw your instagram story..” you change the subject and he smiles at you with his face getting a bit red.

“You posted us?” You say knowingly as he smirks at you and runs his hands through his hair.

Luke had posted a slightly blurry photo of the two of you on the boat last summer saying he misses both the summer and you. It made you melt to see him gush about you, especially because he was typically such a private person.

“You are so cute..” you say honestly. and youstart to laugh a little remembering that night on the boat together and how it was the night luke asked you to be his girlfriend.

Luke wasnt always the most romantic person but he put so much thought into that night, his words, every little thing he planned he put so much care into and it was such a beautiful moment.

You would never forget it.

“im glad you saw it. i wanted to show you how much you mean to me..and how sorry i was.” he chuckles and it makes you softly laugh, knowing the world would have no idea that post was technically an apology to you.

“will you stay on FaceTime with me tonight? i miss falling asleep with you…” you ask politely and luke nods his head and smiles at you.

“of course...” he replies.

“i’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore baby” He says quietly.

“I could never stay mad at you..” you say knowing how true of a statement it honestly was.

“...and I don’t deserve you” luke says almost in a whisper, seemingly more to himself as opposed to you

-

-

[anisangeldust]

Alter is my hips 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: After finally getting the meal he deserves, Panems president finds himself with an opportunity from a mistake.

Part: ← iii →

Warnings: coercion/dub-con, oral (f and m), smut, p in v, unprotected sex, Snows interesting internal monologue, dumbification, spanking, fingering, hair pulling, back scratching (all that good shit), misogyny, premeditated murderous intentions, domestic violence/abuse, slapping, punching, mentions of bruising, mentions of blood, mentions of broken bones.

A/N: DDDNE, please don’t read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable. Your internet consumption is not my responsibility.

When Coriolanus pulled away from your lips they were red and swollen, his eyes glazed with a dangerous mixture of lust and greed. He had kissed you, you had let him kiss you. This changed everything, because now he was aware that you wanted him too. The air in his office now felt thick, your dress was all that much tighter, your lips that much more plump. You were a tease, put on the earth to test his patience - a test he failed. Without another word he scooped you up and set you down on his desk, his grip on your waist was tight, and his gaze was predatory.

“So fucking beautiful, so pretty” The young president grumbled as he captured your lips again. Coriolanus’ hands traveled down and under your skirt. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties and tugged them down “hips up” he commanded as he pulled them down your legs. He broke the kiss and looked down, smirking at the obvious damp mark in your panties “oh pretty baby, so needy” he cooed and brought your panties up to his nose. The smell of your arousal almost made him cum, he’d done that, fuck he made you wet, Coriolanus balled up the fabric and shoved it in his pocket before gently pushing you onto your back and hiking up your little maid uniform.

“What.. what are you doing Coriolanus?” Your tone was almost cute, so endearing, so innocent

Young Snow looked at you like you were his death row meal. “What I should’ve done weeks ago” he growled and leaned over you “and if you don’t like it-“ he started kissing up your thighs “-you can get the fuck out of my office.” His icy blues were blown black as he met your gaze. A beat of silence went by, which he took as consent. “Oh you do want it? I should’ve known, such a patriotic whore.” He teased and kissed all around your aching pussy “so beautiful, all for me my precious dove..” he murmured as he used two fingers to spread open your folds.

The sight in front of him was almost too arousing for his already too-tight pants and rock hard length. Strings of your arousal all so pretty and ready for him to use, your swollen clit that peaked out from your pink folds, such a beautiful cunt he was about to savor. Coriolanus licked a fat stripe up from the bottom to the top of your slit, gently placing teasing kisses on your sensitive bud. One of his large fingers teased your entrance as he applied kitten licks to your clit.

“Coriolanus — oh! Mm.. oh my gods oh!” His ears soaked in the sounds of your moans, each shaky breath, every gasp and groan, all of it because of him. He used his free hand to explore up and down your bottom half, the other was prodding your desperate whole, eventually pushing in while he simultaneously sucked on your little pink bundle of nerves.

Coriolanus would never get over your taste, you were oh so sweet, a nectar of the highest quality, he thanked whatever god there was for the privilege to savor you. Every swipe of his muscle made you sticky and beautiful, as your cunt became deliciously glossy he become more insatiable. He lifted his head periodically, only to coo or groan. “Fuck me baby, taste so fucking good — feels good doesn’t it my little dove? Yes it does” he murmured as we dropped his head back down.

“Gods! Oh I’m gonna come Coriolanus!” You cried out, back arching off the sleek mahogany of his desk, nails hooked around the edge and head thrown back. This was ecstasy you could only dream of, no past boyfriend or stupid hookup could compete with the skilled tongue of Panems’ president. His fingers thrusted in and out of you, first one, then two, then three of his large and veiny fingers stretching out your little pussy and curling to hit that sponges spot inside you so deliciously.

The corners of his mouth curled up in a beautiful smirk. “C’mon, come for me, show me how much you love your president—mmmhh, patriotic slut, have you no shame? Having your pussy stretched on the presidents desk. Tsk tsk tsk” he half teased, half degraded. He slurped and sucked like you were an oasis in a desert, the words of degradation hit your ears like a pornographic tsunami, they snapped the tight coil in your abdomen, almost involuntarily making you buck your hips as you rode out your orgasm.

Coriolanus helped you through your intense pleasure, gently pulling his fingers out of your hole and using the three of them to rub soft circles against your clit. When your body had calmed, he took his fingers and gently sucked the cum off of them, groaning at the delicious taste of your release. “So sweet baby, so good” he praises and gently cupped your face in one of his hands. “But I haven’t had my fill yet..” he grumbles as he kissed and sucked on your hip bone, using both his hands to hold your thighs.

Making his way down to your sensitive cunt, he licked and kissed your throbbing clit. You whined something about being sensitive and while trying to push his head away, an action that pissed him off. He rose and caged you under him on his desk. “I decide when you’re done, I decide when you’ve come enough, and if you try to keep what’s mine away from me I’ll turn you over my lap and spank you raw.” He growled, eyes dark.

You should’ve been terrified, you should’ve got up and ran, yet something about his controlling made you even more wet. With a nod and a quiet “yes sir..” you submitted to his will. You couldn’t help but crave the danger, a fly willingly landing on a spiders web, a lamb lying on their back for a wolf. He eagerly started on your sensitive and wet pussy, drinking up every drop of you. The tenderness of your last orgasm made your next one wash over quickly, and despite your almost painful bouts of labored breaths, he didn’t stop. Coriolanus didn’t stop until it was unclear whether the thick sheen coating your thighs was your come or his spit, he didn’t stop until you were spasming in your hips and felt like your legs would fall off.

Coriolanus lifted his head once more, viscous drops that fell from his chin and a string of saliva connected to your cunt. He placed one last kiss on your puffy clit before using two fingers to scoop the wet mixture off his face. The young president then used his free arm to lift you back to a sitting position on his desk. The sight of your fucked out face with puffy lips and glossy eyes was indescribably satisfying.

He pushed his clean hand to play with your bottom lip. “Did that feel good dove? That was your treat for all your hard work, for being one of the few women I can tolerate” he cooed, almost mockingly. A small nod from you made him smile, you were so easy to please weren’t you? “On your knees now baby, I’m no where near done with you.” He urged gently. Coriolanus then carefully used his arm to help you on your knees, once again using his clean hand to tilt up your chin as he sat down in his chair, peering down at you. “Open your mouth.” He gently commanded again and he placed his slimy fingers on your tongue.

You eagerly sucked his fingers, letting out a said “mmm..” and swirling them around with your tongue, savoring the taste like it was the best lollipop on the market. Coriolanus groaned and held the back of your head with his other hand, raking your fingers through your soft hair. He let his fingers out with a *pop* and licked his lips. Such a good girl you were, following his rules so obediently, so pretty and perfect for him.

“Alright sweet girl, ready for my cock?” He cooed and tangled his hands in your hair, gently forcing you down onto his leaking shaft. You took it upon yourself to lick up the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, one hand gently fondling his balls and the other wrapped around the base. Coriolanus could have came on the spot from how good it felt to finally have someone who knew how to properly please a man, a woman who knew her place. As you took as much of him as you could, he started to really take control, giving you a few moments to adjust before he started to fuck your face. What a gentleman!

“Been dreaming about fucking those lips, you’ve got a throat made for bruising” he huffed, head thrown back and hand moving while he used you like a fleshlight. The sounds of you choking on him made him feel powerful, and the tears that pricked your big eyes aroused him impossibly more. The feeling of his fat tip bullying your throat should’ve raised red flags, but every choke, every gag, you felt yourself fallen deeper and deeper into his palm. The soft grunts of “fuck.. so.. good- ah; good fucking girl-“ drove you do take him deeper, faster, be better than Livia, though that was easy.

There was something so indescribably cathartic about coming down your throat he decided, sure he’d fucked his fist, came in an old rag, even fucked another woman all in attempt to relieve the ache that sat in his heavy dick. Finally having the real thing? Nothing compared, and nothing would compare to when he’d finally be all in the deep, wet, warm pussy. “Swallow it all baby, wouldn’t want it to go to waste now would you?” He teased and wiped up a bit of the salty dribble from the side of your mouth, forcing his tongue on your mouth and making sure you swallowed all of his cum.

Part of him, a deep, closed off part of Coriolanus almost felt guilty. You deserved soft and gentle, In a bed, as his fiancée, not as the other woman.. no, Livia was the other woman, every touch, every kiss, every look he shared with her felt like he was cheating on you, how was he supposed to touch the wretched woman after this? How are you supposed to go back to rotten fruit after being given nectar from the heavens? The more he looked down at your gorgeous face, the longer something unfriendly tugged at his chest. Love? No, he didn’t love you. He swore he’d never love another, love was a weakness. He did care about you, yes, he cared. He cared about you more than he’d ever cared about Livia, he looked forward to seeing you, you deserved to be Mrs Snow.

In a moment of weakness perhaps, Coriolanus gently lifted you up into his arms bridal style, laying you down on an adjoining sofa with a warm, crackling fire. “So beautiful..” he whispered in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, looking at you like some sort of irreparable treasure. Coriolanus sat down and started to slide his hands up your thighs, taking you by the waist so you were straddling him as he sat. “You’re gonna take me..” he started “and you’re gonna like it okay? I’ll stuff you full of my cum and then you’ll have to keep doing your job little dove” he mumbled as he slid down and gently nipped at your throat. “Words baby, I need words.” He softly commanded.

“Yes sir.. yes” you nodded shakily, your own cum still dripping down your thighs and now ruining the Presidents dress pants. You let out a soft groan as he bit and nipped at your jugular, tasting the saltiness of your delicate skin.

A satisfied smile crosses Coriolanus’ lips. “Such a good girl, I’ll make sure you get rewards for how well you listen to me.” He chuckled and gestured for you to kneel up “gonna help you ride me, don’t forget who’s in charge my little dove.” He drawled, voice laced with warning. As Coriolanus aligned his newly hard cock with your still dripping fold, he mentally shuddered. As you lowered down and the tip slid in, he growled with desire. Every inch more you took of his thick shaft was another piece of his resistance being chipped away. He fully growled out when you bottomed out, the little yelp sound was enough for him to finish right then and there. Coriolanus really had every intention of being soft, but a predator is still a predator. And what kind of lion would he be if he refused the soft underbelly of such a willing lamb? With little (no) warning, he snapped his hips up and started to fuck you hard.

“Oh! Ah! Too much! Coryo.. it’s—!” You yelped and he snickered under his breath. It would’ve taken a tranquilizer dart and a barrack of peacekeepers to pull him out of you, your warm, wet cunt. His cock buried in you was the solution to all the problems he could think of as of that very moment. Coriolanus had really never felt more peace than when he was guiding your body on and off his cock. If lust was truly a deadly sin then send him to the 2nd circle of hell, if there was a heaven then it paled in comparison to you. And if all else; this was the moment that he decided that you would take Livias place, even if it meant bloodshed.

The wet squelches and loud moans merged together in a symphony of desperate pleasure. Coriolanus shut you up with a sloppy, albeit slightly romantic, kiss full of tongues and teeth. Your nails raked down his back, so hard that if he wasn’t wearing a shirt it would’ve drawn blood, and his hands had your waist in a rib-crushing hold. His long shaft and pillowy tip hit that spongy spot inside you so deliciously, eliciting a harmony of moans from both of you. Your bodies fit together perfectly, though the scene was less romance and more sexual desperation, built up desire from over a month of unresolved sexual tension that finally got let go.

The pleasure was so good that you devolved into a thoughtless puddle of a woman, jaw hung open and head thrown back, only soft whimpers escaped your throat as you reached your climax. Coriolanus was grunting and groaning like an animal in heat. He would never get tired of this pussy, so wet and tight, all for him. Coriolanus’ climax came too soon, he wanted to spend eternity buried in your cunt, but he couldn’t deny how badly he needed to paint your insides with his seed. Deep moans turned into soft pants as Coriolanus drew closer “gonna fill you up you slut, you beautiful, sweet little slut.. gonna make you mine— have you dripping..” he croaked and landed a harsh spank to your butt, the action making you cum and squeeze around him. Feeling you grip him was what made the blonde lose it, bucking his hips as he shit ropes of his pearly cum into your eager cunt, making sure to ride out until he was satisfied.

Coriolanus felt your head on his shoulder as you both cooled down, labored breaths and the smell of sex filling the confines of his office. As much as he hated to let you go; any onlookers to this scene would mean bad press, so he gently laid you down on the couch and kissed the side of your lips. A small grumble leafy his chest as he murmured “you have to go back to work dove, and so do I..” he whispered.

“Then I’ll need my underwear back..” you mumbled and he almost growled. There was absolutely no way in any dimension that he’d give you back a pair of your soiled panties, not when they smelled so delicious. The president sighed and looked over you “I’ll go get some from Livia, don’t move from here.” He commanded while getting up and shoving his softening dick back into his boxers and, now ruined, dress pants. Coriolanus walked into his room and then closet, getting a new pair of pants and stealing a pair of Livias panties. He quickly changed and went back down to his office.

Like the good girl you were, you hadn’t moved a bit. Young Snow smiled and walked over to you, “such a good girl, didn’t love a muscle. Hips up” he commanded and slid the panties on, making sure to keep as much of his cum as possible inside your pussy. “So good, now give me a kiss and get back to work.” The words were both soft and authoritative, as you got up and stretched your muscles, he delivered a hard smack to your ass and chuckled “so good, always so good for me.”

——

As always, Coriolanus watched out his big window as you spent your lunch break in the presidential gardens. He leaned forward with brows furrowed as he watched you whiny pick up an animal by a patch of berries, he could tell by the saddened expression that crossed your face that the animal was dead. It looked to be a little white rabbit, feeding off what looked like the gardens blueberry plant. Coriolanus chuckled gently to himself, of course you’d be compassionate enough to care for an animal that served you no purpose. The young president knew that you’d run in after your lunch break and tell him how the bunny died, you always had a knack for telling him all about your day, no detail too minuet.

Just as anticipated, when you walked in with his tray of afternoon tea, you started immediately with the story. “I found a dead bunny in the gardens at lunch. Poor thing.” You shook your head solemnly while fixing up his tea “the gardener thinks it’s the berries. He grew a patch of nightshade berries and I think he accidentally planted poison nightshade instead.” Your story made him almost smile, it was very plausible, though he made a mental note to talk to the gardener to see if it was truly an accident. “And then..” you continued, setting the tea on a saucer and handing it to him “I found flowering hemlock weeds in the bed of the berries. He swore he weeded it all out last fall but he probably left some roots. So we’re both pretty sure they grew into each other and made some super poisonous deadly nightshade hemlock berries.” You rambled on.

“Super poisonous deadly nightshade hemlock berries? Well I’m glad you two caught it before we picked them. My smart little dove” He chuckled while sipping his tea “come, sit on my lap.” He patted his thigh and you complied, sitting down in his leg so he could wrap an arm around you. His large hand played with your hair absentmindedly. “I’m sure we’ll find some use for them, like a repellent to get rid of unwanted animals and keep them away from the garden plants..” he murmured. Something about that statement flickered a light in his mind. Keep away unwanted animals? Super poisonous and unassuming berries? This was perfect, almost too perfect. He looked down at you and was clearly lost in thought “What were you saying a few days ago about that flower? Baby’s breath?” He murmured at you.

“Gypsophila? It’s toxic and sometimes lethal for consumption?” You murmured back and leaned into him petting your hair “kinda reminds me of these weird hybrid berries” your smile was so cute, so innocent. How adorable. “Why do you ask?” You mumble as your face gently rests in the junction between his neck and shoulder.

What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Oh to kill my fiancée so I can marry you instead’? Though he was sure you reciprocated his feeling of lust and care, you had to. And what woman would say no to being his wife? He softly cupped your chin and kissed you softly “I refuse to spend the rest of my life with Livia.” He simply drawled between your lips. The words hung heavy with implication, he’s going to kill Livia. Coriolanus’ hand slipped down and patted your still cum filled pussy, reminding you of the days earlier activities. “I never intended for our rendezvous to be a one time thing. I don’t think you understand how deeply you’ve sunk your claws into me, my little dove. You’re mine now, but for that to happen I have to get rid of Livia.” He grumbled against your lips, looking down at you with both need and care.

Your eyes widened at his words, head lifting up to so you can look him in the face. “So.. wait. You- want.. me? To take her place? As your Fiancée?” You mumble, uncertainty painting your words. A small shiver ran down your spine, were you dreaming? This was a scenario you hadn’t dared to even humor, you could live with being his mistress, but wife? Your mouth hung open with shock.

“Yes. I do. You deserve the life of luxury she takes for granted. You’re a worker, and I care for you more than I’ve ever cared about her.” He said smoothly, hand starting to rub over your clothed cunt. “I can’t just break up with her, she’d spread some bullshit rumor about me. She has to go, and when she does I’ll make you the First Lady that Panem deserves.” His words were smooth and clear. Coriolanus’ middle and ring finger ghosted softly over your clothed pussy, making sure to get you wet and squirming again “I’d advise keeping this between us. I’d hate for you to meet the same fate I have planned for her.” He threatens as I kisses you softly, a walking contradiction with the voice of a siren. “Now get up, finish your work for the day and tell Marcus to pick the nightshade hemlock berries. Grab some hemlock flowers and babies breath too, tea and pastries with jam always pair nicely.” He leans back and continues on his work.

There was maybe 10 minutes of peace (impressive for the state of tension in the mansion) before the sound of broken glass and the screams he could only deduce were from Livia. A few quick strides and Coriolanus was met with one of his many hosting rooms, a bar area complete with his betrothed sobbing and screaming while you were sweeping up a broken champagne flute. “She.. she threw it at me! She hates me!” Livia sobbed, though any sane person recognized her crocodile tears. A quick once over confirmed that you were unharmed, which meant that 1. You had thrown the glass at her, which he wouldn’t blame you if you had. Or 2. She threw it at you and missed so she’s blaming you. Coriolanus was very much betting on the latter.

“Yes. I’m sure our presidential palaces maid threw a champagne flute at you for no reason. That sounds like something she’d do” He rolled his eyes “get up off the floor. You’re a grown woman who’s acting like a toddler.” The president scoffs and tilts your chin up to look at him “once you finish cleaning this mess just go home. You deserve it.” He mumbled gently before looking down at Livia and turning on his heel.

“You don’t believe me? Coriolanus! She attacked me!” Livia gets up and pulls at his jacket “please, fire her! She’s been nothing but rude to me since she got here!” She whines and pleads. Quite frankly, Coriolanus had been toeing the edge of insanity because of Livias lies and attitude. In a spur of the moment flash of anger, he grabbed Livia by her shirt collar and backhanded her harshly, his rings leaving an imprint and the mark already red.

“Know your place and shut the fuck up.” Coriolanus growls as he lets go and she drops to the floor, cradling her hurt cheek. He leaves before he can see your wide eyes, or before he can hear her soft cries of pain and confusion.

——

The bullshit started just as Coriolanus set out to go to bed. He shrugged off his jacket and shirt, setting his pin on a little dish and unbuckling his belt. He made sure to hide your used panties in the pocket of a different suit jacket for later, his boxers pooled as his ankles and he slipped on a robe for getting unready. Coriolanus didn’t like to be shirtless in front of his fiancee, he didn’t like having to remember that he was stabbed saving someone who would end up at the noose anyway, too vulnerable, too much. He swears he could hear her wretched voice from across the mansion as she made her presence known “Coriolanus!” She whined as he finished washing his face.

“I’m still not happy with you.” He grumbles and dries off with a towel. “Shes been nothing but kind to you and you’ve been a bitch.” He scoffs out at her pleading puppy eyes. How pathetic was she?

“I know, but I thought I could make up for it..?” She pulled the string of her robe to reveal a lingerie set. Livias eyes, full of lust and want, trailed up and down his body, yet Coriolanus felt nothing but disgust as he looked at his fiancées body. His dick, which was already semi hard the whole day due to your activities, became harder as he remembered how you looked with your uniform hiked up. His erection sat heavily on his thigh, barely visible through his robe.

“Put some clothes on. I don’t want pity sex, or sex at all for that matter.” He grumbled and pushed her out of the way, moving to their closet as he filed through potential sleepwear.

But Livia was dedicated if nothing else, coming up to him and trying to strike a sexy pose against the wall “but I can see that you’re hard, please? Let me make it up to you..” she smiled and tried to reach out and touch his hard cock.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, scoffed, and smacked her hand away. “No. And that’s not because of you. I can’t control my dick 24/7, I’m not sleeping with you. Now get half decent and stop being a pain in my ass.” He scowled, putting on some boxers before shedding his robe.

“This is about her isn’t! She’s poisoning you against me!” Livia pouts out her bottom lip, immediately blaming you for her shortcomings, though she wasn’t completely off. “You don’t understand! When you’re away.. she— well she just hates me!” She starts her crocodile tears again. “And I’m not a pain in the ass! Shes a skank! She’s trying to make herself look good and make me look bad! She’s trying to take you away from me!” Livia cries out, acting like she hadn’t hurt you for no reason on multiple occasions, including multiple bruises and several scars.

Coriolanus was at his breaking point. “Yeah? And you’re just a saint aren’t you? God you’ve been a pain in my ass since this whole proposal deal! She’s just cleaning the manor!” He scathes while shoving Livia against the wall. “You’re trying to frame her, she’s done nothing wrong. Stop being a bitch or I’ll correct your attitude.” He growls and lets go of Livias shirt. She opens her mouth to protest and he physically can’t stop himself, he punches his fiancee right in the face. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that her nose starts bleeding.

“Doesn’t feel good does it? Being pushed around. Next time I’ll crack your fucking nose. You tell anyone and I’ll ruin you.” He seethes out, momentarily remembering that he had plans to kill her on the days following. “Now get the fuck out of my room. Go sleep somewhere else. I don’t want to see your fucking face.” The young blonde let her fall to the floor and tuned out her sobs.

After she got up and left the room, blood dripping form her cupped hand and tears streaming down her face, Coriolanus shut and locked the door. He went to the closet and pulled out your used panties, god how good they smelled.. Putting them up to his nose, he breathed in and moaned. President snow sat down on the bed, pulled off his boxers, and immediately wrapped his fist around his erection. “Fuck.. mphff.. oh fuck..” he groaned out as he started to work up and down his angry cock, the tip red and oozing pre. Coriolanus took a large breath in of your panties, imagining in was your cunt sat on his large nose. It didn’t take long before her was bucking up his hips and holding your underwear against his face as he came all on his hand. Usually he would be ashamed of masturbation, but this marked a new beginning, a reality that he would no longer have to deal with Livia. And as he washed off his hand and abs, he almost let out a sigh of relief. Coriolanus had never slept better than when he knew your panties were under his pillow.

Taglist!

@daenerysqueenofhearts @caramelandvenus @yoursrosie @wearemadeofstardust0 @kay-lla @mrsriddlenott @sleekervae @ianales @qoopeeya @arzua10 @matcha-muses @jitsuki12 @nojeicintjzonfhw @poppyflower-22 @lustforrush @jefferson-in-the-tardis @aurabambi @royal-sunflower @rovckwells @rubys-rere @iydImsydxoxo @lucyisdoingfine @nyxxoxo @paradisepoisons @miserableblood @poppyflower-22 @anonymous14261703170309 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sqct @anakinluvr4ever @tmblrsexyw0man (comment if you wanna be added🫶)

[astrachigo]

Alright, I've addressed this on my other socials already, but I feel like I even have to say this here so that people finally open their eyes.

I can't even BELIEVE that it has to be said, but ANIMATION TAKES TIME. I am so embarrassed to be in the MD fandom because of how impatient you all are. The fact that you go out of your way to harass GLITCH because of the episode 8 delay is RIDICULOUS. We have the privilege to watch the show for FREE, which, mind you, has better quality than some shows produced by bigger companies.

Do you realise how annoying you have to be to even have the VA OF SERIAL DESIGNATION N, MICHAEL KOVACH, call you out on your shitty behaviour? TADC is NOT replacing MD. MD is as loved by GLITCH as TADC is. TADC literally helps GLITCH fund their other shows. Why is it so hard for you to understand?

This fandom is at its lowest point already. Stop destroying our remaining reputation with harassment toward GLITCH. They are the reason we can watch MD for free in the first place. They are behind all of the animation and many other things that make Murder Drones so unique and special.

Please be patient. Stop bombing GLITCH with the stupid phrases like "Episode 8 is cancelled," it's not. It's a major episode that GLITCH has been working on for over a year. It needs time before it gets uploaded.

Thank you for reading.

[volturissideslut]

Hello. Can youwrite lovesick Aro Volturi ? 🥺

𝕬𝖗𝖔 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

For the other versions with different characters, head to my masterlist.

Lovesick Aro who practically drowns you in jewels, from rubies to emeralds, diamonds to sapphires, amethyst to aquamarine. He loves to make you sparkle, you just look so ethereal in his eyes. You should totally pose for him like that, wearing everything he got you and the most intricate and ornate of dresses he got you. Caius may be known as the painter of the three but he can still try. Though no painting or picture could ever do you justice.

Lovesick Aro who pampers you daily. He loves to brush your hair and upkeep your makeup, even if it is just your lip balm. Let him bathe with you in bubble baths and rosewater, let him care for you please.

Lovesick Aro who loves physical touch. Not many touch him winningly now because of his gift, but the man gets butterflies every time you kiss. Stroke his hair, hold his hand, kiss his cheek and interlock your arms. He adores it, plain and simple. His day is made when you lay with him, he has hearts for eyes when you rest your little head on his chest. He could ascend from just holding you close to him, truly.

Lovesick Aro who takes interest in your interests. You enjoy painting? Here is a room dedicated, more spectacular than that of Caius. You like opera or theatre? Any ticket you want is yours. More botanical at heart? There is a greenhouse being constructed for you at this very moment. Unusual interests such as poisons or arachnids? Anything you want is yours. I think you get the gist.

Lovesick Aro who, despite already being a little bit insane, would absolutely lose his shit if anything were to happen to you. I mean it in every sense of the word when i say he would go ballistic, rampaging and murderous through anyone innocent or guilty, friend or foe, anyone who was in his path and blocking him from getting to you. When it comes to the case of the Romanians or any other potential wars, you will be promptly taken out of any nearby country and sent to the other side of the world with the best of his guards. He would rather die and not have their help than leave you without at least three.

Lovesick Aro who worships thee ground you walk on. Human or vampire, you are the most amazing thing to ever exist in his eyes. Anything to get you to smile at him is on his mind constantly, from fresh flowers and expensive trips out, to quality time in comfortable clothes. His main love languages are physical touch and quality time, and he could almost cry from the peace he feels just spending some much needed quiet time with you.

[amoscontorta]

Roleplay, Undercurrents, and Rising Curtain: Sylus's POV

It really bothers me in the game that the clearly traumatic experiences MC undergoes in the canon storyline don't seem to have any consequences for MC's character development. Yes, yes, this is a self-insert gacha mobile game, blah blah. MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's issues.

Third person POV (Sylus), second person POV (gender-neutral reader/MC) CWs: violence, murder, foul language, cursing, mentions of trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, Sylus is giddy being able to be near MC again even though MC is still mean to him

SFW if you think murder and Sylus's singing is SFW

ao3 link here

He is watching you from the shadowed doorway as you examine yourself in the mirror. He can almost see your mind tick, tick, ticking away, evaluating the quality of your costume for tonight, the slight frown on your face betraying your uncertainty that you, and he, will be able to pull tonight off and emerge on the other side in one piece.

He is used to this type of soirée, a viper’s den wrapped in velvet and silk, the veneer of civility paper-thin, where one wrong look or clumsy response can cost you your reputation, or much, much more. And as a betting man, he’d gamble that you, on the other hand, are not used to this type of gathering at all. You who are straightforward, with your fangs bared and guns blazing, the honesty palpable in your bright eyes and laughter, in your scowl and impatience and eagerness.

He steps into the light, revealing his presence to you through the mirror, and watches as you turn to him, draped in scarlet, and a pulse of satisfaction has his lips lifting. You look delicious, with your head tilted haughtily, the red jewels flashing from your neck and wrists. Your outfits match, and you’re dripping in stones and fabric the color of his eyes. He hasn’t felt this sense of satiation in a long, long time. He pins the brooch above your heart and looks into your eyes, and it doesn’t matter that even though you know the truth now, you are still looking at him with the cold unfamiliarity of someone constantly assessing the possible threat in every gesture he makes. It doesn’t matter that even though he’s helping you, you’re still treating him like the enemy, when it is everyone outside these walls who threaten you, and he is currently the only one defending the gates and preparing to shatter the siege.

None of that matters. Because you’re right here, finally. You’re allowing him to touch you, as he smooths the fabric around where he has just pinned the brooch, your heartbeat strong and steady under his palm—you’re reaching out to him, sliding your hand in his; he can’t feel your skin through your gloves but he can feel your heat at his side, in his palm. He will ensure that, with time, the look in your eyes changes when you feel him appear behind you, when your palms touch.

You say something biting to him, full of doubt, the wariness and spite palpable, and he revels in how safe you must feel with him already to extend your claws around him like this, to be reckless and treat him like an insufferable puppy that you’re forced to indulge instead of the half-feral wolf that he is to so many others. The progress from hate and fear from just a few days ago, to this snarky impatience is intoxicating, better than any gin fizz or successful wager—it’s faster than he had calculated as the blood poured from his heart and you spitefully jammed your palms into his chest in an attempt to stem the flow.

In short, Sylus is in a great mood tonight and he’s looking forward to exterminating the rest of the vermin that have been gnawing away at the foundations of his house in his long absence. And he’s going to make damn well sure that he gets to dance with you before the fireworks truly begin.

***

Things are going according to plan—he snickers, recalling that this plan is the one you accused him of not having. He will show you, in time, that he always has plans, with backup plans, and backups to the backup plans. He can forgive you for not knowing that about him yet. But you’re the only person he’s in a forgiving mood toward tonight. He has deposited you safely at the bidding room of the auction, the subtle glow of the protocores illuminating the lovely line of your haughtily upturned nose as you sauntered away from him clutching his black card, the other guests whispering in a painfully unsubtle manner behind their hands, speculating about who you are and the nature of your relationship to him. Mine, he had declared, as he handed over his proverbial wallet and told you to have fun.

As he strides down the dimly lit hall of the hotel in which the auction is being held, the deep carpet shushing his purposeful steps, he spots one of Sherman’s minions standing at attention at a closed door and can’t prevent the excitement rushing through him. He is so close to the craven idiot who dared act in his name, who sowed discord in his ranks, who hurt you so terribly and deprived you of your ‘family’, who, regardless of Sylus’s opinion of them, you clearly loved deeply. He is eager to kill two birds with one stone (apologies to Mephisto): wipe Sherman’s existential stain off this plane of existence, clean his house, avenge your loss, and be back to dance with you in a matter of minutes. The lackey finally notices him, begins lifting his wrist to speak into his earpiece, but unfortunately for him, he is little too late, as Sylus’ evol jerks him into the air by his neck—he is about to tighten it to snap the fuck’s spine in two when he hears your gorgeous voice through his own earpiece.

He pauses, suddenly anxious that something has gone wrong for you that and you’re in danger and that he’s not there, when he hears you say, “Do you mind if I use your card to buy one of these protocores?”

He shakes his head a little. Did he just hear you correctly? He might have to re-evaluate his estimation of your intelligence. He will continue to adore you even if you’re a little slow; your other qualities more than make up for any deficiencies in the intelligence department. Because why the fuck else would he hand you the equivalent of unfettered access to his bank account and tell you to have fun? Of course you can buy whatever the hell you want with it. But he knows you’re clever; the way you meet and counter his sarcasm, taunts and challenges without hesitation makes that clear. And you wouldn’t have survived for this long, risen to one of the elite teams in the Association’s ranks, if you were an imbecile. But he is busy, your sudden question made him anxious for you, and he's frothing at the mouth to get back to you to claim his dance.

“Do not bother me with such trivial matters!” he hisses into his own earpiece, and watches as the eyes of the idiot, who he still has by the throat, bulge further in response to his assailant angry-whispering into the empty hallway.

He’s about to finish this when he hears your voice again, offering an offensively low sum for the highest grade protocore this pretentious establishment has to offer.

“5 million!” he counters in a whisper-shout. He is not going to let these clowns think that your man is broke. He waits to hear your response, finally noticing that the guard he still has suspended in the air has passed out. When he hears you double the amount he had ordered you to offer, and then proceed to demand the rest of the items up for bid, Sylus laughs so hard that he momentarily loses control of his evol and the unconscious goon falls with an unceremonious, muffled thump onto the richly carpeted floor. Sylus contemplates his crumpled form for a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes. Suddenly he doesn’t have it in him to kill a guy who is probably only here for a paycheck, even if he does have atrocious taste in employers.

“You can thank my charming guest for your life tonight, if you manage to get through it alive,” he murmurs to the lump on the floor, before punching the door open with his evol-wrapped fist and striding in to find Sherman turning with a look of horror on his face as he recognizes who, precisely, was just laughing like a madman on the other side of the now ruined door.

After, once Sylus has successfully avenged himself and more importantly, you, he hums a little tune as he picks up Sherman’s detonator and saunters back to the ballroom. Maybe, if things keep going as well as they’re going now, and you like him a little better, he’ll sing it to you as a treat. Because of you, he's having so much fun.

***

And now, finally, he is going to claim his own treat before the action really begins. The utter boredom he was forced to endure while interrogating Sherman and uncovering his trite motivations is replaced by an eagerness bordering on mania to get back to his interesting little Hunter. He watches in amusement as a man sidles up to you and shows interest in your brooch, after having thoroughly shown interest in the rest of you before mustering the courage to actually speak to you.

He watches with slightly less amusement as your curiosity is piqued and you ask with your customary eagerness to learn new things, “Hightower? What’s that?” The man’s eyes light up at this apparent interest of yours, seeing an in with you and assertively requesting that you join him for the banquet dance.

Aaaand that’s enough. Sylus steps into the light and slides his hand around your waist, pulling you decisively into his side and feeling that dangerously seductive calm wash over him, as it always does, when he’s allowed to touch you. He knows it makes him weak. He does not care. His other strengths more than compensate for the crack in his armor you represent. Unlike Achilles, he knows exactly how to protect his vulnerability. His hand flexes involuntarily, fingers pressing a little too hard into your hip, until he is able to will it relaxed again.

“A Hightower is a type of gun. Just one can level this entire building,” he answers your question, fingering the detonator in his other pocket. He doesn’t need a Hightower to finish what he started tonight, and the thought translates into an the intense smugness as you frown at him for interrupting your conversation with your luckless suitor. “The brooch is a gift from me, I’m afraid,” he says smoothly, more than ready to send this guy scurrying along his way and draw your entire focus back to him, where he likes it best.

“You weren’t trying to sell it now, were you, kitten?” he goads you, just to see how you’ll respond to this blatant mischaracterization of the situation.

You don’t disappoint him: with your tight jaw belying your coy tone of voice, you run your hands  up his chest, underneath the coat draped over his shoulders, and pretend to be a spoiled, thrill seeking brat testing a sugar daddy’s patience. Finally, the insignificant obstacle standing between him and the dance he has been looking forward to all evening gets the hint and slinks back into the crowded shadows.

And finally, finally, the music begins, bodies are moving around the two of you, and you’re in his arms as he gracefully leads you through the steps of the dance. He soaks in the feeling of his arm around your waist, your hand in his, your chests brushing against each other as you sway together across the dance floor. He notices that your attention is split between expressing doubt about whether he’s telling the truth regarding knowing the aether core’s location and constantly assessing potential threats—but Sylus does not want your eyes drifting elsewhere. He smoothly draws your eyes back to his, where they belong, and ensures that the only thing you can see is him by tightening his arm around your waist, drawing you in closer, and refusing to give you a direct answer to all of your questions. He sees your little scowl, the frustration in the line of your mouth, suppresses a wince when you deliberately stomp on his foot—but he doesn’t mind. Just as he doesn’t mind that you might not believe that he’s fulfilled his part of the deal, that he knows exactly where the aether core is, and that he has his own house’s situation finally under control with Sherman’s demise. In time, you’ll learn that you can trust him. And he has all the time in the world, now that you’re finally here and not trying to kill him.

He's in such a good mood he’s floating like a feather, until you mention the protocore bombs and something changes in the expression on your face. If he hadn’t been staring at your lovely face for weeks now, from afar through Mephisto and hacked security cameras, and while you were sleeping under his roof (if you have an objection to him exploiting your proximity by watching you as you sleep when you’re right there, under his roof, then sue him), and if he wasn’t currently in the process of soaking in every microexpression flitting across your upturned face from this close as you dance together, he might have missed it. But he doesn’t miss it. And he certainly doesn’t miss the involuntary shudder that runs through your body pressed to his. He realizes in a flash of intuition that the idea of the bombs bothers you—

He watches your throat as you swallow, and the very light sheen of sweat gathering at your temples, he watches your eyes begin to dart around again, your hand flexing with what is likely the need to grab your gun from underneath the fabric of your outfit, and he realizes that you’re starting to panic. Or have a panic attack. At the thought of bombs—

Like the bomb that destroyed your family and came so close to killing you too

He has watched you for weeks, seen the way you’ve worked almost non-stop, taking on assignment after assignment with hardly any rest in between except for when you were on the brink of collapse. When you weren’t working, you were training, kilometer after kilometer on the treadmill, heavier and heavier weight sets. And when you weren’t training, you were trying to orchestrate a way to infiltrate his territory, to hunt him and the aether core down. You weren’t sleeping, and you weren’t attending counseling. You haven’t processed what happened to you at all, and no one around you has forced you to confront what you have been avoiding this whole time. The dark circles under your precious eyes, the short fuse and oh so transparent mask of a smile plastered across your lovely, exhausted face—how they just let you continue as you have been infuriates him, and only the thought that he’s here now, in your life, whether you like it or not, is the only thing that stops him from adding new names to his extermination list. He will succeed where they have failed to care for you, even if you hate him for it.

However, he takes a moment to reproach himself, as just a few hours ago he was gloating to himself that soon you’d learn that his contingency plans have contingencies, that you could trust him to think of all the variables and know how to dismantle any obstacles. Yet he has been missing something so obvious while making his calculations of how tonight would go. Of course you’d have remaining trauma from what you have survived and what has been taken from you.

He recalculates—it’s too late to change the state of play now, but instead of the fireworks he has been looking forward to unleashing into chaos, this is now going to have to be a controlled demolition.

He lifts his hand and runs his fingertips along the curve of your jaw to return your focus to him. Once your too wide eyes are locked on his, he tightens his hold around your waist again.

“Look at me. Look only at me.” He waits, and something inside of him crows in triumph as, your hands tightening on him, you follow his directions and stare into his eyes, letting him continue speaking without struggle.

“We are going to detonate the bombs now that were originally intended later for me, kitten. It’s going to be loud, and most of this place will be rubble when we’re done.”

Before you can ask the how and why, he continues. “I have the detonator. I know you’re frightened. I’m sorry this is the method that I have tonight. But keep your eyes on me, and breathe. We’ll get through this together, do you understand?”

He can sense the shift in the energy of the room, the metaflux fluctuations and the increasing violent mood of the crowd, but he will make time for this and deal with any fallout from this slight delay. He will ensure that you get through this without spiraling into a panic attack and possibly getting hurt.

“Do you understand?” he asks again. And that same satisfaction, the sense of calm, that only you seem to be able to give him floods through him as you take a shuddering breath and nod, ever so slightly, eyes never leaving his.

He lets his fingers drift down your face, takes your hand in his and slips both of them into his pocket, pulling you even closer, your cheek coming to rest against his chest. He guides your hand around the detonator in his pocket, squeezing your hand gently in reassurance. “We’ll do this together. You’re in control,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the crowd now, having utter faith that you will have the courage to press the button despite the dread that must be filling you right now.

And you, with your cheek pressed against his warm chest, his steady heartbeat drowning out all the other sounds, including the ringing in your ears, your own thundering heartbeat, flashes of memory, a door closing, Caleb’s last words to you—you close your eyes and press, and the world explodes around the two of you. But you’re breathing, and Sylus is still holding you tight, and you’re alive, and you’ll deal with the terror threatening to drown you after you’ve gotten what you came for.

After you take one deep, slow breath, you reach for your gun, shove Sylus to the side and shoot the wanderer that was about to stab him in the back.

[fear-is-truth]

‘𝑪𝑨𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑰’𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑱𝑨𝒁𝒁 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼’𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝒀 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹 — kai anderson

✧. headcanon tags: fem! reader. mention of murder. ꒰ dating kai anderson headcanons ꒱ ⨾

kai enjoys reading in his free time, (when he’s not plotting world domination)

his favourites are by machiavelli, tolstoy, nietzsche and shakespeare. he often quotes them in fucked up situations.

“good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

like when he tortured RJ with a nail gun, he quoted hamlet. that part killed me.)

so he expects you to read too so he can carry an intelligent conversation with you. quality time, like a two-person book club.

after all, the future mother of his messiah baby can’t be an ‘uneducated hoe’.

you should be grateful that at least he doesn’t demand you to hand in a five-page book report every week (yet).

x

super possessive and gets jealous very easily. if a cult member dared to look in your direction, well, too bad for them.

kai is very creative when it comes to punishments. in the cruelest, most horrific ways imaginable.

tolerant of pda. in public, he allows you to hold onto his arm. don’t expect him to reciprocate though, he doesn’t want to be regarded as a simp.

if he catches other men checking you out, he’ll put an arm around your waist or squeeze your ass in a possessive way. glaring daggers to remind those bastards that he owns you.

at home, he displays affection in the most subtle of ways: a hand on the small of your back, his chin resting on your shoulder as he inspects whatever food you’re cooking for him.

while watching cult documentaries together on the couch, his arms casually resting on the backrest, hand grazing against your shoulder.

idly playing with a strand of your hair during commercials.

you have each other’s initials tattooed on the inner side of your pinky fingers.

he took you to his dead parents’ bedroom and introduced you to his mother.

he lets you help dyeing/cutting his hair. only you and winter are allowed with that special‘privilege’.

x

dates with him always feel like they’re completely random and impromptu.

(that’s what he wants you to think. what would his followers think if they found out the divine ruler spends time planning out dates for his girlfriend?)

“get dressed. we’re leaving in five minutes.” is code for “i’m taking you out on a date but don’t you dare make a big deal out of it.”

if he gives you ten or fifteen minutes to prepare, it means he’s taking you somewhere upscale so you better look nice.

his eyes always give that slight flicker of approval when he sees you wearing that dress he loves seeing you in.

(already imagining that dress on the bedroom floor.)

“do i look okay in this dress?”

“i’d fuck you in it,”

“…”

x

kai is good at reading people, pinpointing their weaknesses and using them to his advantage. though with you, it's done in a less malicious manner. don’t get me wrong, he’s still controlling as hell, but it's his twisted way of showing care for you.

he remembers everything that you’ve ever told him about yourself. literally everything.

even though he generally appears to be disinterested or zoned out when you’re talking, he’s silently cataloging every piece of information about you in his head. for later use.

he plays dumb. pretends to know little about you, in hopes to extract more info.

but then he accidentally let slip the fact that remembers the name of your bitchy grade school teacher, whom you once mentioned ages ago.

“ugh, that old lady in the checkout line reminded me of-”

“your 3rd grade bitch teacher. mrs davenport.”

“Well yeah.. wait, how’d you even know-”

and he’s staring back at you with a blank expression like: ‘duh. you told me, stupid.’

x

winter is your number-one shipper.

you always manage to bring out the old kai. the brother she grew up with : sweet, awkward, and funny. those were fleeting moments, but better than nothing.

and she’s grateful that someone can actually put up with her screwed-up brother, so she’s constantly in dread that one day he’ll push too far and you’ll leave.

winter knows that kai cares a great deal about you, more than he’s ever willing to admit.

x

during fights, he can’t bring himself to yell at you for too long when you’re crying.

he’s witnessed the way his shitbag father had treated his mother. so he just stands there, jaw clenched, fists balled as he tries to control himself.

most of the time, he leaves the room quickly, for the both of you to calm down. which is probably for best.

on rare occasions, when winter is absolutely livid at his assholery and the way he treated you, he finally realises that he had went too far, so he comes looking for you, feeling a bit.. guilty.

when he sees your tear-stained face, he sighs, mumbles something like:

“ugh.. can’t believe you’re still crying.. c’mere.”

then he outstretches his arms to you, kiss the top of your head and holds tightly to you, as you sniffle into his chest.

that is when you know that he is truly sorry without saying the actual words.

that small gesture is the kai anderson equivalent of begging on his knees for your forgiveness.

it’s just that his ego won’t allow him to apologize like a normal person. so he makes up by being sweeter to you the rest of the day.

because if there’s anything that scares him more than bruising his ego, it’s the possibility of losing you.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[arandomdai]

Persephone Lost Herself To Marriage

⚠️ Warning: I'm just saying my opinions (and theories) like everyone else. So put your tin foil hats on, it's going to be a LONG read. Enjoy!!!⚠️

• The Realization

This was/is a cry for help. She's finally admitted something that we (some of us) already noticed. The fact that she's so worried about her blue corpse of a man's feelings, while in denial about killing hundreds if not thousands of mortals in seconds...is nasty work. Like okay you don't know yourself, good we are getting somewhere. But are you willing to change your ways like finally admitting that your Mom was right, Minthe was right (about you and your man), Zeus was right (where he says they didn't know each other long), finally realize your selfish and a murderer, etc. Like I wanna see the change, not this boohoo act. And speaking of Demeter, she is a little bit at fault for why Persephone acts like this. If she would've told her about being a FG, teach her how to defend herself, help her control her powers or help make her own decisions, none of this wouldn't happen. Now Persephone (this her own fault here)is trapped with guilt, a blu gru, and a whole population of shades coming in. Once this is over, I pray to God that she wakes up, and leave that man, live in the mortal realm, and hopefully come to terms/works on herself to know who she is because her being a Queen is not one of them.

•Hades Is Her Downfall

This man never loved her. He wanted to sleep with her knowing he had a girlfriend (Minthe at the time) and when she was only 19 years old !!!(smdh 🤢😒), somehow he shows up in her nightmare saying, "I Know That I Can Smell Your Ambitions As They Rot At Your Feet.", he didn't let Persephone tell him what happened, lies about everything, disrespects Demeter, never gave Thanatos a real apology, never actually going to therapy, etc, need I say more? This man genuinely hates powerful women. He sabotaged Demeter's right to rule the mortal realm, gets angry when women stand up for themselves, preys on the vulnerable and young, dangles money over them, had an affair with Hera behind his brothers back, etc, and Persephone still thinks he's husband material... chile. Like how come she doesn't see those horrible qualities and notice that he brings out the worst in her? Real men don't treat women like this. To be fair, that first genocide she caused was all her fault, like yes they were playing in her face, but she didn't need to start killing people. But you know what she did, she was willing to help the shades get into the Underworld (and he was mad about that 😒). Now we're on to our second genocide, and this man was the cause of this as well (mostly her fault but still). The fact he said "I can't stop her from trying." Like yes you can Blunocchio 🙄. I'm so tired of him, and his evil ways. Persephone really needs to understand that man was never in her corner, and if he was, he would've left her alone from the very beginning. The lesson is don't EVER let a man be your downfall and try to make you feel powerless. If he can't take how powerful you are, he was never the one and he's an insecure a**hole.

• There Was Always Someone

Hydros tried to warn Gaia

People thought Rhea was stupid for loving Kronos

Probably someone close to the Missing Goddess tried to warn her

Demeter warned Persephone

Do we see the pattern? Constantly losing yourself in love with abusive men, getting your powers drained because they wanted to prove that they were worth loving, and trying to prove the haters wrong (looking at you author)? Well, yes. Persephone had her twenties to look forward to (school, TOGEM, and starting her future), but made a man child the #1 priority. Had her thirties (self reflection, getting her shit together, realize she can do bad by herself.), but still managed to keep him in the #1 priority slot, instead of her and her own mother. Like does she not get that her mom is her real best friend? These fertility goddesses (excluding Metis 🤢) wish that they would've listened to those people/or families, and saw from their point of view that their men weren't no good, and go from there. Like did Persephone ever think about what Zeus told her ( his back story about what happened to Rhea), nope. Just ignored it because she never listens, and loves finding out the hard way 🙄😒. If the author wanted a real ('cause let's be honest, it's not) feminist retelling, she could've had Persephone look at the fertility goddesses differently, Seeing there struggles, learn that Demeter just didn't want to see her get hurt, and walk away from him (but in a perfect world I guess 🫤). Remember y'all there is always someone in your corner that is looking out for you and/or showing they love you.

• Persephone's Fate

Until she starts listening to the right people, know how to think for herself, and realize that man ain't crap, she's doomed. Years from now, she's going to be trapped in a marriage full of regrets and shattered dreams, sparkling and useless if you will. Hades will continue to use and abuse her. Hell, wouldn't be surprised if he started cheating on her like he cheated on Minthe. Also, wouldn't be shocked if she becomes the next Hera, after all she was just her stand in. Hades would take most of her powers, someone defeats him, and puts him in prison somewhere, she starts seeing him, and no one else can. Would that be something? I mean he was in her dreams telling her that her ambitions will rot. Also people wouldn't want to come around her, and she gotta live with that for the rest of her life. Demeter, lasion, and her son living life to the fullest, so who can she call? She is stuck in a tragic cautionary tale of a fertility goddess. Someone that wanted to prove the haters wrong, wanted to be worthy of loving, and a victim of a man's abuse and manipulations.

[tac-the-unseen]

hiiii how r u? ❤️

can you do alphabet SFW for hannigramx reader? 💕

Hannigram x Reader SFW alphabet 

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Hannibal is an acts of service kind of guy. He cooks, he cleans, he helps with work, But that's just surface level stuff he does for everyone he's around. When it comes to relationships Hannibal is more of words of affirmation and physical touch. 

Will has one setting, Quality time. Sitting down to watch a show, Fishing, Long walks, Puzzles and games. All stuff he enjoys and likes sharing with his partners!

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Hannibal and Will are tough nuts to crack. To have to prove yourself as trustful and reliable before they start a relationship with you. (Hannibal may or may not have had his sights set on you before he even spoke to you.)

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Hannibal enjoys occasional cuddles and hugs. He definitely needs them from time to time, but can go for a long while before he's desperate for affection.

Will simply doesn't like being touched. Tough

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Both men want a quite simple lives…. eventually…but they still have a little bit more murder in them 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Hannibal might kill you and eat you OR let you go on with your life (he will always be there, you just won't know it)

Will is a respectful gentleman and understands not all relationships work out. He'll have a long chat with you before parting ways.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

They Both want to get married. Simple as that! (Hannibal is totally a groomzilla)

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Yes and No. 

They do have Gentle moments with each other, but they do get covered in blood quite often. But surprisingly the Gore can be very soft and gentle from time to time. Even down right romantic if you catch them on the right occasion. 

But you're dating two cannibals, so you already knew that.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Sometimes, they like to keep the PDA to a minimum. 

Also hugs isn't always their kind of affection, They will absolutely give hugs if you ask, but they like words of affirmation a bit more.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

YEARS. These men use verbal word play to convey affection. If they outright say ‘I Love you’, you can expect them or you to be dying.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Absolutely. They do undoubtedly have confidence in you and the relationship, but they just can't help a guy testing their smooth moves on you. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses are pretty rare When it comes to Hannibal and Will. Kisses are saved for special occasions and bedroom activities. BUT, if it is to occur, they're pretty soft and sensual.

Hannibal Targets the lips, knuckles, shoulders, and chest.

Will Targets the lips, neck, face, and stomach.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

……Oh…..good?......RIP Abby….

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Hannibal is up bright and early at 4:00 am. He has a whole morning routine that takes him an hour to complete. At 5:00 he makes breakfast and goes through all the appointments he has that day. At 6:00 he's out the door and off to work.

Will wakes up, lays in bed for a few minutes, uses the bathroom, and goes downstairs to eat breakfast. He heads out for work around 6:30 ish.

If they have both managed to score a day off at the same time, breakfast is pushed back and hour. Not because Hannibal spends more time in bed, but because he gets to spend more time in his grooming routine. Hannibal spends an additional hour in the bathroom cleaning himself up. 

Will on the other hand does stay in bed. He waits until Hannibal is done, uses the bathroom, and goes back to bed until breakfast is ready. He's a very simple guy. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Hannibal has a Bedtime routine that also takes quite some time. (Yes, he will occasionally skip all of that to just hop into bed, but that's not often.) If you're all close enough (and there's room) He'll let you and Will get in the shower with him. At the end he slides into the far right side of the bed and lets you and will cuddle with him.

Will takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and get into the far left side of the bed. On occasion Hannibal will force him into his own routine (which involves a lot of oils and creams) that Will is not all that pleased to be doing. 

If you're a very cuddly person, cling to Hannibal. He loves feeling needed and in control. 

If you're not a cuddly person, turn and face Will. Will isn't the biggest fan of physical touch so you'll be (relatively) left alone.

O = Open  (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say  everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

HA. 

Hannibal HAS to be in your head first before he even considers opening up in the slightest. 

Will is closed off until Hannibal reassures him that you're trustworthy. 

This could takes years.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Do they get angry easily, yes. But they are in it for the long con. 

They have taken years playing with their prey before they kill them. Their patients is through the roof. 

Hannibal is the more patient one of course, but Will is also slow moving evil in a vest. 

Q = Quizzes  (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little  detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Hannibal remembers everything you tell him. He soaks up that information like a sponge. 

Will might forget a few things but over all remembers most of what you tell him.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Hannibal: 

Hannibal texts you later in the day to tell you he'll be home late. He feels bad and tries to get through the night as quickly as possible. 

When he eventually comes home he could smell a savory scent coming from the kitchen. He creeps up softly to the kitchen and peaks inside. 

There you are, doing your damn best to make dinner. He found it really sweet and let you work it out alone. 

Was it the best meal he ever had? No. Was it the one He loved the most? Yes!

Will: 

During one of the lowest points of his life He genuinely couldn't be alone. He felt like he could rely on anyone but desperately needed help, so he ended up calling you. 

You were there within an hour with an overnight bag. 

You stayed with him all night and the next day. You made sure he slept, ate, and showered. He's never forgotten that, and thinks of that act of kindness daily.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Both of them have killed for you, and will do it again.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Hannibal will put in maximum effort in all dates. He puts in the works, food, wine, place, timing, all of it 

Will will do his best, plan something nice, Wear something presentable. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

…. Despite the obvious…Hannibal can't stop staring into your soul. His gaze can pass through anyone. It's bone chilling at the best of times.

Will…. Will has one of the most infamous killers of all time in the palm of his hand. He absolutely uses that to his advantage.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Hannibal 90% sometimes He couldn't be bothered, most the time he is. 

Will 50%, He's been out and about missing some clothing. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Hannibal loves hard. Obsessively. He stalks, he creeps, he prowls, he peeps. There are no secrets, he already knows. He loves knowing, That's how he shows it.

Will needs support, well he could survive a while without you, after a few hours you will be bombarded with texts and calls. He'll be all pretty over the phone telling you he just needs to hear your voice. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Headcannons here 😘

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

•Undependable 

•bad punctuality 

•tied down 

•uneducated 

•non-adaptable 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Hannibal doesn't need any fancy stuff to sleep, But he loves to pretend he does. Face masks, thick pillows, soft heavy blankets, lotions, candles, sound machines, etc. It makes me feel high and mighty 

Will will fall asleep in his work clothes, Jeans and all.

They will of course cuddle you if you ask. 

Thanks for reading <3

[thehusbandoden]

MHA boys reacting to you torturing an Endeavor plushy.

(Izuku, Bakugou, Shoto, Hawks, and Dabi).

Umm yeah I don't know what happened.. lol can't ensure the quality, but they're all pretty short.

Giggling evily, you stabbed the other arm savagely. Taking a moment to twist the needle around, you admired your work. The Endeavor plushy had stuffing spilt out along his legs, arms and crotch. The weapon that caused such destruction was still in-between your thumb and index finger as you continued to poke holes throughout the plushy's body, making sure not to end his life.. yet. As you move to make the killing blow, you heard the door open.

Midoriya Izuku:

As the door opened, you turned to see your boyfriend: Izuku. Glancing at the time, you realized that it was already study time. "B-B-Baby?!" Izuku squeaked, eyeing the torn up plushy under needle point. "Oh! Hey Zuku! I'll be done in a minute! Ooh or I'll let him slowly bleed out!" You giggle, eyeing the plushy with disgust. "W-what are you doing to Endeavor san?" Izuku asked nervously, awkwardly sitting on the edge of your bed. "Making him pay. Todoroki san told me about him.. and he fired my (parent/guardian)." "O-oh.." "Would you like to try!?" "N-no thanks.. in fact... I'll see you tomorrow.. I'm gonna go.." I nodded, giving Izuku a smile before getting back to mercilessly murdering the scumbag.

Bakugou Katsuki:

"What are you doing." Bakugou grumbled, crimson eyes focused on the torn up doll on the ground. "Oh! Hey I'm just working on some hobbies while I wait for you." You reply, acting like it was completely normal. "What the actual f-" "Shh just be quiet about it! Let's start, I need to help you with your math!" "(Y/n). I'm the one helping you." "Pshh okay. We can say that."

Todoroki Shoto:

"Baby. This is unacceptable." I jumped at Shoto's disappointed voice. "But Shoto! He's a jerk!" "I'm very aware. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you were enjoying yourself without me." "Oh- Baby I'm so sorry! Here, let's burn all of his limbs off together." It took a few plushies to satisfy Shoto's hunger for vengeance, but we did get there.

Hawks: (🤣😂)

"(Y/N) (L/N)!" Hawks screeched, lunging toward the injured doll. "DON'T YOU DARE SAVE HIM! YOU HEARD WHAT THAT POOR BOY WENT THROUGH!" You yell, running away with the doll in your hands. "DO NOT KILL THAT DOLL." "I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" "NOOOOOOOO!"

Yeah I have 0 idea what that was

Dabi:

I squeal as I feel strong arms encircle my waist, lifting me up. Turning my head, I giggled as I saw Dabi. "Dabi?" Dabi just sat down on our shared bed and pulled me into his lap. "Marry me." Dabi whispered, kissing my face lovingly. "W-what?" "Marry me." Dabi repeated, making it sound close to a command. Before I could even answer Dabi was sweetly pecking my lips over and over again.

Masterlist | Tips <3

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.

[bibibbon]

The way Deku’s dynamics with the rest of the cast have taken a nosedive in act III is so depressing, there’s SO much missed potential.

He doesn’t reflect on Endeavor (beyond a brief moment protecting the Todoroki’s on PLW)

He doesn't reflect on Hawks actions being exposed for everyone to see, the safety commission conveniently evaporates so Hawks and Nagant’s roles on society have already been taken down, leaving his desire to change society feel shallow.

Hawks interacts with Deku on Villain Hunt but him murdering a Villain that was actually a good person isn’t explored, and neither is wanting to save Shigaraki or the way he’s gonna go about it when you could easily contrast what Hawks DID with what Deku should have done.

Endeavor’s reaction to Izuku having All Might’s power, his relationship with AM is ruined, his relationship with his own class is barebones besides Ochako, it’s so sad to see a character that was known for learning from everyone around him suddenly losing all of the wonderful dynamics he had and could have had in the last stretch of the story

I would say that Izuku's interactions with other characters and meaningful interactions+intropsection that can directly help his character development has decreased in both quantity and quality since the middle of act 2 or much more accurately since the bakugo Vs izuku fight part 2 (is when I noticed it tbh)

I say this because it is exactly after those acts that we see less of izuku and all might relationship being depicted in a meaningful way or we don't have all mights problems with his successor being addressed, take for example the vigilante arc where all might and izuku meet after their falling out is framed as a gag or joke and we never see them talking it out. Sure the introduction could be played for a bit of laughs but what rubs me the wrong way is that there isn't a slow meaningful talk about this between the two (also I have just come to the realisation that all might and izukus relationship should of been built up a lot more before this moment and they're quite shallow in terms of mentor and mentee)

There's also Izuku's relationship with enji todoroki that somehow does a complete 180 spin where he first went from hating on enji for what he did to shoto and his family to then defending enji infront of touya and telling shoto that he is ready to forgive enji somehow even though enji has done unforgivable deeds. This moment just seems ooc for izuku and even after everything is revealed in more gruesome details like you said we don't even get a scene of izuku thinking about it or actually acknowledging that enji is a bad person and that touya has a point.

Or when the dark corruptness of society is revealed we only see izuku exclaim and almost berate lady nagant for killing her boss (who drove her almost insane because of the amount of killing he made her do) and it's so convenient that HPSC doesn't exists anymore so horikoshi doesn't need to make Izuku think about it at all (ultimately this ends up being bad because Izuku's dream of ripping up the realms of good and evil like a rug become almost meaningless) he k izuku doesn't thunk abkut how it was the hpsc and UA that sent both him and his classmates to war as child soldiers (actually none of 1A or 1B think about this)

Izuku and hawks could of had a meaningful conversation about how to go around saving villains and how their ideologies may clash with hawks believing that Jin needed to be killed to prevent tragedy and izuku wanting to save shigaraki. Izuku and hawks share some interesting parallels with one another but they're not deeply explored especially when they can be and lead to more izuku and hawks intropsection. Ultimately Izuku and hawks do have similar thinking styles with both of them believing that because a villain wouldn't back down that they can't save them, both of them being used as weapons by society, both of them wanting to protect, both of them being great analyst and having great intelligence. These are just some things that they have in common.

Or Izuku and his somewhat superficial or shallow bond with his classmates. I can admit that izuku and some of his classmates had a strong build up for some interesting relationships like izuku and iida (but due to iida being sidelined the whole holding hands moment and reaching out kinda falls flat) or Izuku and shoto (but Izuku's view of enji ruins it a bit and it's a shame we dont see izuku spill the beans to shoto since shoto is always the first to notice izukus emotional distress) or izuku and ochako (but it got muddled a bit because of the whole shipping thing and the way the narrative frames some of their moments). I think Izuku also needed more time with other classmates to build a proper relationship with them that's not based on transactional things that he did for them like encouraging jiro for the school festival or standing up for ojirou (I would of liked there to be more in between all of that)

Heck there are overall more character relationships that I want Izuku to have in deeper depths like izuku and shigaraki are pretty underdeveloped or Izuku and mei who had great chemistry or Izuku and shota. heck established relationships like izuku and kora or Eri should get more screentime and depth as they can for sure help Izuku's character. Izuku and his relationship with his mother could of easily been turned into an arc where inko realises that she is neglectful and steps up as a parent. Etc etc.

Ultimately it's a shame that these things never happen because what made Izuku's character so compelling to me is his parallels and foils with the rest of the cast and that he is a character who learns, adapts and also should of been one that questions and influences change within society but he doesn't!