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art-from-within · 3 days

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ER hc: Demigods in Love

(TW its long. Long.)

If they had a big fat crush on you and fell in love with you, they wouldn't say it outright at first but there would be signs

Morgott:

He becomes more catty-chatty. He usually cloaks his feelings of extreme self loathing(leading him to believe he deserves nothing and distance himself from things that bring joy, fear of rejection etc) with a rain of sour quips and old age scoldings, a technique he would definitely utilize all the same(and fail horribly) to suppress new trifling emotions arising within him, feelings he dare not indulge in for his own sake and everyone else's.

But despite his harsh words and taunts, the fact is not missed on you, that he is there. He is there, and for all his talk of finding you so lowly, he bothers to address you and your 'meager flame'

"I see thee little tarnished," he will say "smould'ring with that wretched flame of ambition" he will repeat this often, but the emphasis on 'little' changes with time. It is those little things, those minute slip ups, that itches a part of your brain.

Malenia:

She becomes more stiff around you. She is already taciturn enough, but around you she becomes stiffer than every statue in haligtree combined. But in those rare moments when she does address you, her voice becomes more softer than usual. Sometimes you catch her head nodding towards you gently. Other times you find her standing guard outside your door, though she will refuse to admit it was nothing else but that. Keeping you safe is her love language.

She will also make sure to always have the most fresh med needles stuck in her before she ever steps foot into your vicinity. Anything to make sure you don't get even the slightest WHIFF of her rot...poor valkyrie. She really tries.

Mohg:

He becomes more...clingy. And by clingy I meant he stalks you (a mogh classic).

He isn't audaciously obvious with it, no he is never obvious with anything. But as I said, there are signs. Bushes and trees seem to rustle more than usual. Warm beverages left on your table with no owner in sight, roses blooming during the wrong seasons and WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT??? Somebody who is TOTALLY NOT MOHG just healed your student rune debts?? Ahh! Good heavens!!! Who could have done this??? Definitely not the rich demigod omen who lives 2 broken buildings away that seemingly always knows when you need a heat pad hmmmm

Despite all this though, it seems this amount of clinginess is inversely proportional to the lines of dialogue he will spare you i.e. the harder he falls for you, the more he stalks and the less he talks (tldr of another hc post, that welcome guest speech of his is totally scripted and he can’t function outside said script). His confidence leaves him when he sees someone he cannot risk losing. He also love bombs you, with all intentions meant. Anything material, you have it. Its almost like he can read your mind (he is in your bloodstream).

He functions on the mindset that nothing in this world is selfless, and that love can only be bought and not earned. He 'bought' the love of his sanguine nobles through promise of power...he straight up kidnaps his 'doctors', who now love him(they are all mad with bloodlust). The albinaurics are there (for miquella). He is truly convinced that he cannot be loved without reason, so he does all this extra crap to cook up said reasons. Local omen has yet to discover consent out of the shunning grounds. Maybe u can change him 👍or make him worse.

Godwyn:

He gives you golden privileges….Godwyn wouldn’t outright confess his love for you on first sight, but I imagine he would be the SECOND (Rykard being first) most forthright man in this sea of bashful tsundere personages. Aside from his flirtiness increasing by 10 folds, He will let you ride Fortisaxx. Must I even elaborate further? There are noble men in Leyndell who would sell their cock and balls for that opportunity, but he straight up goes “hey you wanna ride my dragon” wink. Fortisaxx is best wingman, drops hints to help his brother/friend/(lover?😏) out. Considering he has a whole lineage, and i really doubt the omen twins received any action in the lore, he is the most experienced when it comes to love, and he has learned the best way to deal with it is just be chill.

Bonus points if you catch him drunk, the comedy you would play witness to would be legendary.

Godrick:

He will let you touch him. …

Pre grafted Godrick:

would be a total tsundere straight up. He has 0 confidence in himself, and his old and wrinkly ass has only known rejection by that point to not have any qualms about confessing. Throw in an odd sense of aristocratic pride into the mix and you have got a noble who looks and acts like he is competing his way into a guillotine. He is quite rude, and if he is got a single talent up his sleeve, it is without a doubt his ability to drive anyone into a frenzy(no three fingers needed) with his snarky quips alone. He is physically not up there, but by words alone he could burn bridges (and he has). Perhaps he gets this talent from his great great great great great great great great great grand uncle who, rumors say, also rules over Leyndell! He is a small crooked paranoid little freekle frackle that clings onto what we would call Ancien régime mindset and lifestyle

Given this context, the first sign that something is awry is that he lets you be near his viscinty. He is still snarky, with all the thou-s and thee-s sprinkled in. But he lets you near him. Hmm that’s odd. You thought Ettiquette 6600038 stated no non royal was allowed to walk beside him-OH and he is staring right into your soul. Thats also weird. You thought he hated the commonfolk? Did he just hold your hand? Granted he was terrified by the lightening, but still…hm… and he just tried cooking for the first time?? Ended terribly he burnt the kitchen down. He did all that for himself he says…you hear a “yea right” from a very brave soldier of godrick, never to be seen again. He gives you a suspiciously customized hankerchief, embroidery of (insert your fav flower here) when you catch a cold. Never asks for it back.

Post grafted Godrick is mostly the same, but more crazy with a 10% increase in confidence. For one, its been 24 hours and he has yet to tear you apart from limb to limb which is something. “Unfit for grafting” he says. yea right.

...

He also shows you his gore Godfrey goon shrine, your quality of life depends on the tone of your laugh. He lets you bathe him (wow you touched him…or some dude’s entire torso which he stole.) and Gostoc doesn’t fuck with you like he does with others. Good. Good. He trusts you enough to complain abt some tantalizing trespasser omen loitering infront of his castle named ‘Margit’. Which sounds awful lot like Morgott. He hasn’t clicked the dots and he most likely never will.

Radahn:

He lets you ride Leonard.

Radahn is the type of guy who is beyond friendly with anyone, so when he does something which would so obviously be labelled affectionate coming from others, it is generally dismissed as an act of friendship. He remembers your birthday and holds a surprise party which is VERY COOL, but he also hosts birthday parties for everyone else….which is also cool… He suffers through the friendzone for a while with grace.

But when he offers you a ride on his dear Leonard, that darling steed of his that he treats like his heir apparent? Yup, that very horse, is when the gears in your mind unclog. His highness Prince Leonard has always been a boundary none dare cross, but here he is granting you a safe passage to jump right through. He lifts you up with ease, and places you on the saddle. And when you smile, he smiles even wider. Signs eventually bubble up to the surface. He laughs more often around you, completely at ease. When drunk he regails you with tales of bygone heroes and his own aspirations to be one. Reply with “but you already are one” and you will catch him lag for 5 seconds.

He keeps you close by during expeditions, and even during social gatherings. He uses his gravity magic to help you/your siblings indulge in some 0 gravity fun. And during less crowded evenings, he arranges fun getaways with friends, except its just you two this time...and here on out. Oddly enough though, the closer he gets to you the more you find yourself isolated at your job etc. You start finding your posts more empty. Which is odd since you did remember there were 2 other people assigned at this pla- AND its general Radahn with 2 roasted exalted flesh in hand! Wonderful.

One can only speculate how he uses his powers as head general...

Bonus point if you like cats. He will bring his cats for a wash to your house (another excuse to see you)

Ranni:

She spills tea.

This one is easy since we have in game canon content as reference. At first she is secretive. She introduces herself as "renna", and maintains a professional distance. But as time passes and she comes to warm up to you, that distance is chipped away by her own doing. She confesses to her many well hidden secrets, dark secrets like how she played a hand in the night of black knives or her more lesser secrets like stealing her mom's books, giving young Radahn a bobcut in his sleep, mischiefs with Rykard etc. Her trust in you, that you will keep her word between you two, is the sign. Anytime the topic steers towards anything remotely romantic though, she transforms into a bashful tsundere

"Noooo don't open that box from that chamber in this location you don't want to marry me noooo" (gives you the key to that box). Also "take not the ring from this place, the solitude beyond the night is better mine alone." Is code word for "please marry me I am very lonely".

Rykard:

ОНОНОНО

Pre Snake Rykard:

He shows you his sex dungeon

Yea. The most forthright admirer award goes to! PRAETOR RYKARD! Rykard seems like the type of guy who has this very thick professional exterior, that betrays his true perverse nature. You sit down with him and think

"wow, what a well rounded individual! Yes he is rough around the edges, but he dresses nice, he speaks well, he looks lordly enough albeit dark circles, he is good with machines (he doesn’t tell you that he names them 'abductor virgins' 💀) hmm surely he isn't some perverted freak with dungeons and torture rooms in his house"

and then he offers you a tour of his house and peels off his skin like a snake fresh out of hibernation and every fibre of your being tells you to run as fast as u can. Think Tywin Lannister but it's obvious somebody's been slipping drops of mercury into his coffee. His stern facade hides a lecherous mind

It would go something like this. He is wearing his tywin lannister inspired drip, while riding his very high horse. He bothers to look down from his very high horse at which point he sees you. Double take. He approaches you with the confidence of an absolute slut, but its coated with enough regal varnish to make them barely acceptable in public. Something like "Good evening Fair lady/good sir, I see thou art unchaperoned this low in the evening. May we escort you somewhere safe?". You don't really understand what he is getting at first, until he offers to give you a tour of his beautiful rich and lavish manor. And like, he isn't lying. It's beautiful. It's rich. It's lavish. On top of a fucking volcano? It’s always the fucked up bitches with tastes like look at Mohg?! 10/10 (I had rank him second to Mohg in dripmaxxing). But the deeper you venture into his abode, the crazier the tour becomes. And then you watch this man peel his layers of civility strata by strata, with each new chamber easing him into his true self until ultimately what is left is a crazed man with a crazed look pointing at a literal dungeon with very suggestive toys. Tanith is there.

The pros though is that he is a good lover, and father. Stressing on Father, because you are gonna make him one. (Magic world if you are a male reader. Anything is possible)

Post Snake Rykard:

Ooooohhh togethhhaaaaaa we prossspeeerrr untuu eterniteeeeeeeee become fameeelee?

( he is giving you a choice which is a show of love. Choose your next words very carefully)

Godfrey:

He lets you dress his scars.

He recognizes that familiar feeling of love, and his age and experience has taught him that fighting it will be more painful, so he just lets it be instead. Despite his bloodlust and barbarism, which resurfaces here and there, he is surprisingly courteous in casual settings. Being married to a goddess you find out, is a lonely existence. Is there any love between the two? Questions that will storm your mind as you do good on the honor of dressing his wounds. You can feel the eyes of his golden beast watching over you. Such an act had intimate undertones back in his homeland. Do you understand?

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Miquella:

He doesn't 'slip' up any 'signs' no he LITERALLY stabs you with it(out of desperation), but you are still oblivious because he looks like your 8 yrs old baby cousin with a bug addiction(Those wings are real y/n)!He tries to appear his real age by snatching every opportunity provided to show the vastness of his mind and wisdom, but ends up giving young Sheldon vibes. He tells you straight to your face that he loves you like "no other", but he just gets swaddled in your lap like a baby. Not enjoying this experience.

Messmer: Don't know anything about him to write 3 paras (for obv) but the vibes he is giving right now is that he is less pookie bear than imagined, and impaling isn't just a hobby but his way of life. Going off of the trailer, I had say if he had a crush on you, he would be as straight forward as Godwyn, but with a more sinister bent. He would let you play with his snakes...maybe burn you deep to leave his mark...?

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depravitycentral · 11 months

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Yandere! Phinks Magcub NSFW Profile

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, kidnapping, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, marking, spanking, anal, size kink but it's tall/bigger reader inclusive, mentions of somnophilia, praise, panty stealing, Phinks thinks your discharge is hot, breaking and entering, Phinks is vocal and you overhear him masturbating to you, marking, mentions of violence, pre-you Phinks is not a good hookup buddy, slight objectification, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Phinks is most certainly not a saint when it comes to anything involving sex; he’s had his fair share of hookups, nights spent in the arms of some random woman, only to slip out the door in the wee hours of the morning and never see them again.

He’s got experience, knows generally what he’s doing between the sheets, though only to a certain extent – he’s very much aware of how to fuck, how to prep a girl and get them creaming around his cock, but any of the other softer sides that sex has to offer? Yeah, Phinks has no fucking clue.

Pillow talk, sweet nothings, praise and eye contact meant for anything other than sexual tension are things that he’s more or less clueless about, having never really felt the need to try them or do them in any shape or form.

Why would he ever tell some random hookup that he loves them, that he’s so happy they’re in his life, that they’re perfect?

It’s just never been a thing for him, but this is, ironically, something that’s on Phinks’s mind constantly when it comes to you. He holds such intense devotion to you, such intense obsession and infatuation and yearning for you that the idea of being naked with you, feeling your skin and lovely body against his own is something that literally gives him goosebumps, pleasurable tingles running up and down his spine, making him flush lightly and clear his throat. It’s a thought that Phinks loves to entertain; the idea of holding you close, his arms caging in your head while his hips thrust into you gently and languidly, your pretty eyes staring up into his wide, teary yellow ones, you whispering that you love him…

It’s a guilty pleasure, and this leads to Phinks’s thoughts regarding you skewing a bit on the more lewd side, less innocent and wholesome. And while the thoughts of pillow talk and sweet words being exchanged between the two of you are things that frequently pass through his mind, so do the ideas of pinning you down and fucking you full of his cum, of having your legs thrown over his shoulders while he licks and sucks at your clit to make you come again and again and again, imagining you on your knees drooling and slobbering all over his cock.

The dirty thoughts do very much populate his mind as his obsession with you forms, so much so that he actually feels a bit guilty for how often he thinks of you nude and moaning his name – is it disrespectful to have wet dreams of you on a nightly basis, his sheets harboring permanent stains all because of you?

Is it tarnishing your image to be wringing himself dry to the thought of you on a daily basis, to be grunting and groaning your name so often that he’s sure the syllables are molded to his tongue, that your lovely name is being cried out while he does something so filthy?

He feels bad, but not enough to stop – no, not nearly enough, not when fucking his fist is the only possible solution to quelling the intense yearning and hunger he feels for you, if only slightly.

Phinks does, however, have one particular secret he feels really bad about – that is, while the thought of you is enough to get his cock throbbing, even just smelling you making him feel light headed and groaning lowly in his throat, he’s found that he really likes having an aid when he’s pleasuring himself.

He can come to the thought of you (easily, pathetically easily, once even without touching himself), but if he has something of yours, something soft and pretty and used, his orgasms come faster, harder, stronger.

That is, Phinks becomes something of a panty thief. The first time was genuinely accidental – he’d been snooping around your home, the front door’s lock carefully picked then relocked (he’d even taken off his shoes and neatly put them next to yours in the doorway, briefly staring at them side by side and letting the smallest of smiles flit across his lips).

He always saves your bedroom for last when he’s broken in – something about the excitement gets his face flushing, the idea of being in your room, surrounded by your things making him fiddle with his fingers a bit, cracking his knuckles idly because he has to be doing something with his hands. And once he finally reaches your room, he’ll stand in the doorway and take a deep, deep breath, letting his eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s Apple bob because god, it smells just like you.

He’s methodical and careful about the way he looks over all your things, staring at every little knick-knack and pen, carefully picking up any little bits of trash you may have on your drawers and throwing them away for you. He’s snooping through every drawer you have, looking over each piece of clothing and biting his lip as he imagines you wearing them, how your lovely body and curves would look with the fabric stretched across them.

And eventually, of course, he reaches a more intimate drawer, filled with things he’s sure you wouldn’t let just anyone see. Your panties are neatly tucked away in a corner, the different colors and styles making his throat feel dry, and for a moment he’ll only stare, his fingers frozen as he imagines the fabric sitting over your hips, laying across your ass, framing that perfect little pussy.

He’s gulping and carefully, oh so carefully, picking up a pair of black cotton ones, fingers gripping onto the edges, holding up and letting his eyes scan over every detail – a thread coming out here, discharge stains there, thinning fabric right over the padded area that must rub right against your cunt, the fabric maybe even bunching up, getting up in between your folds and getting drenched in your slick and tasting like you and smelling like you and fuck fuck fuck –

He’s hard before he knows it, cock angry and insistent in his trackpants, and he stares for a moment longer, his face on fire, before nearly flinging the pair down back onto the stack, bringing a hand up to cup at his chin, fingers pressing tightly against his mouth. He can’t.

God he wants to – to press them up to his face, licking and sucking at the fabric, letting any residual slick smear across his lips and skin, to revel in you, but he can’t. It would be too weird, crossing too many lines – plus, he doesn’t know how, but he feels like you’d know, like you’d somehow be aware of what he’d done with them.

Guilt brews in his chest, but he can’t tear his gaze away, his lower lip sucked between his teeth as tentative fingers reach out once more, tracing over that pulled seam, the thread spinning between his fingers.

Maybe you wouldn’t notice…?

Before he can really even decide, there’s a jiggling of the front door and soon he can hear your heavy sighs as you push it open, and all too soon he’s hauling himself out the window, having already known which ways to slide it open so that it’s silent, how to move to the screen so that you wouldn’t see any trace of him. His heart pounds, and it’s not until he returns back to wherever he’s calling home base that he notices the bulge in his pocket. In the safety of his bedroom, he furrows his brows and digs into the pocket, only to feel something soft, unfamiliar, warm…?

It’s those damn black panties; he must’ve grabbed them in his haste to escape your room, stuffing them absentmindedly in his pocket during his fleeing. Phinks gulps, staring down with wide eyes – what’s he supposed to do now?

He’s got them, and it’s not like he can go back and just return them – you’re home, and maybe you’d smell him on them. (The heavy scent of his cologne – smokey and minty – is difficult to mask, even when he tries.)

He’s not sure what to do, deciding to carefully fold them on his dresser and leave the room. It works, for a while – ignoring them, that is, until later that night when he’s got his TV on low, the poorly done action movie he’d thrown on getting to a part where the love interest and main character are alone.

The screen flashes to writhing bodies and obviously forced moans, and Phinks averts his eyes briefly, before snapping them back because that was weird, the actress looked just like you for a moment.

Truth be told, he’d put on this movie because the lead looked like you through the hair, but certainly not through the face. Yet when they throw their head back like that and gasp, it’s you – or, at least, the you that Phinks sees when he watches you stuff yourself full of your fingers and that damn vibrator you seem to love.

He bites his lip, watching as the sex montage only gets more explicit, the image of the man snapping his hips into the woman with enough fervor to get the bed shaking making him shake too. He’s palming himself, staring transfixed at the screen as the woman continues to moan and tremble under the man’s touch, Phink’s own voice mumbling your name as he reaches into his sweatpants to pull out his cock, already red and dribbling precum.

He hisses as his hand wraps around it, squeezing a bit and making him lick his lips. He’s lost in the moment, but it’s not until the screen flashes to a new scene that he pauses, realization hitting him square in the chest. On the screen lie the woman’s discarded red lace panties, strewn haphazardly across the hotel room chair. Her moans blast through the speakers as Phinks stands up, suddenly running to his bedroom and snatching up your panties from off the dresser.

Morals be damned, he’s hard – he’s hard and he needs you, and the closest thing to you he’s got is this stupid slip of cotton. He’s plopping back down onto the couch soon after, pressing the material up to his nose and letting a deep, strained groan tumble from his lips.

He’s set the movie to repeat the sex scene over and over again, and as his hand reaches down to grab a handful of his balls and squeeze, he can’t help but inhale at the panties again. They’ve been washed, but they still smell like you – a musky scent, like not all of you had quite been washed out. It’s good, but Phinks wants more, needs more, and soon his tongue is licking across the area that presses right up against your pretty folds and clit, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His fist is moving up and down so fast it’s nearly a blur, foreskin tugged and fondled as he brings himself steadily closer to his high. He can’t help but imagine you in the position of the woman on the screen – tits bouncing and face all screwed up in ecstasy, crying out like his cock is the single best thing you’ve ever felt. He grits his teeth as the trace edges of his orgasm approach, the tingling in his thighs and contraction of his abs.

It feels good, so damn good, and it’s only once he opens his eyes again after fluttering them closed that he sees it – a stain, and not just any stain. Your discharge.

The light color makes him choke back a gasp, his taste buds fooling him into thinking he's tasting you – he can taste it now, musky and intoxicating, and soon he’s biting back a yell, hips bucking up and into his hand desperately and unevenly, cum spurting from his tip in copious ropes.

Your panties are pressed flush with his face, leaving practically no room for air, and all he can smell and taste and feel is you.

The woman in the movie is still moaning, babbling something about feeling full, and Phinks can only stutter his hips, chest heaving as he tries to recover from his orgasm, letting the panties stay perched across his mouth as he leans his head back. He feels dirty, bad, because he knows that a good portion of what got him to his finish was the presence of the cotton – of you, really.

But somehow, he doesn’t feel as guilty as he thought he would – rather, he feels this strange, indescribable sense of excitement, of satisfaction, because this is the closest he’s ever gotten to actually fucking you. He’s never had anything of yours to work with, and it felt so, so damn good – which is why he’s washing them and returning them, only to carefully pluck out a new pair the next week, gulping and – this time – purposefully stuffing them in his pocket, making a point to choose the one with the most stains on it.

And the week after that? Well, when the dirty panties are sitting right on the rim of the hamper, still glistening slightly with the caked in slick on them?

Fuck, he’s never come so much in his life.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your ass

Phinks likes to think of himself as relatively respectful towards women – he may be a murderer and a thief, but he’s never harassed or assaulted a woman. And he thinks that counts for something, saying at least something about his moral character. Consequently, he’s tried his best to stay away from objectifying women; or at least, belittling them down to their physical attributes.

And yet, there’s just something about you that makes it really, really fucking difficult for Phinks to not obsess over your physical appearance, to not be constantly fantasizing about how pretty you are. It’s incredibly difficult to not imagine the way your chest would feel against his, your nipples pebbled and brushing against the hard planes of his pectorals.

It’s extremely hard to not notice how your neck is the perfect size for his fingers to wrap around lightly, the soft skin so very squeezable, bruisable... He doesn’t actively try to objectify you, but he can’t help himself from gravitating towards certain parts of your body. It makes him feel dirty, disgusting, but Phinks can’t help but let his eyes linger on your ass every single time he sees you.

He’s not even doing it on purpose – his gaze is trailing down over your shoulders, along your spine, stopping right underneath your tailbone, his mouth suddenly going dry. It doesn’t matter whether you’re particularly endowed or not; Phinks has never felt such an urge to reach out and squeeze, to mindlessly grab and grope.

He’s never wanted so fervently to reach out and smack, to see the way it jiggles and hear you yelp and smack his hand away, looking all flustered and embarrassed and aroused. He doesn’t, of course; he may force you into a multitude of other undesirable situations (stalking you and kidnapping you, for example), but he’ll never lewdly touch you without your consent, even as badly as his body (and mind) beg him to.

And so, Phinks suffers in silence as you walk around, sneaking glances and then immediately feeling guilty, trying to fight the way his fingers twitch and fidget, practically aching to just brush against the soft fat, to smack, to spread your pretty cheeks and feel you shiver as cold air hits your folds. It makes him feel like a creep, so he tries his best to be inconspicuous with it – he doesn’t want you to notice him noticing you.

He doesn’t want to be caught red handed, to be confronted by you and asked why he’s ogling you like you’re some slab of meat, like you’re something for him to put his cock into.

(He wishes he could – he’d trade years of his life just to only once feel your warm cunt wrapped around him, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, to feel your kisses against his neck.)

But despite his efforts, Phinks is not nearly as subtle as he seems to think he is – you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and while it initially scared you, as you grow more and more complacent, the more you’ll tolerate it.

In fact, once your sexual relationship starts, you’re the one to sit yourself in his lap, scooping your hips and grinding down on his very noticeable bulge, even going so far as to grab his hands and place them on your ass. It makes Phinks splutter, because while he’s touched many women like this, it’s you – and it’s just as soft as he imagined it would be.

He’ll spend a very long time with his hands idly groping and squeezing, the pressure behind his fingers becoming more and more the longer he’s got you perched on top of him, until you fear you’ll find finger shaped bruises the next morning.

Once the floodgates are open, Phinks finds himself always gravitating towards your ass anytime you’re intimate with each other. His hands are finding purchase as he kisses you, cupping your thighs and pulling you upwards to wrap your legs around his waist, practically sprinting as he rushes to get you onto the bed to absolutely destroy you.

He’s smacking your ass as your face pushes into the mattress, pretty moans and cries of his name slipping past your lips with each smack and thrust, the pleasure mixing with the pain. He likes it when you wear shorts around the house; his favorites are the kind that ride up as you move, bunching up bit by bit, until eventually the entire curve of your lower ass is visible for his prying eyes.

(The way he slowly licks his lips as he stares is almost comical to you, looking like some horny cartoon character. And yet, it’s strangely flattering – because you can see his erection from across the room when this happens, it’s just too insistent to hide.)

He likes to take baths with you (this takes a while to happen, however, because the idea of it gets his head spinning and his cock involuntarily hard, even though he desperately wants the moment to be innocent, loving), pulling your back flush against his body, your ass pressed up right against his cock.

You can always feel the way it slowly grows hard, his voice slowly getting deeper, his movements more fidgety and nervous. (You can feel it in the way his fingers – which had been drawing soft circles on the skin of your shoulders – freeze up if you move even slightly, the bob of his length in time with the little gust of air he breathes out.)

There’s just something about how soft and warm you always are that makes Phinks melt, and anytime he’s in bed with you, something is touching your ass – be it his hand or hips.

His hands

While Phinks has never purposefully not given a hook-up an orgasm, it’s never been his top priority. He’s engaging in the hookup because he wants to get off, and if his partner doesn’t get there, is it really his problem? He doesn’t think it’s his responsibility to help them finish, and this philosophy has become pretty ingrained in him over the years. If they happen to get off before he does, great - if not, well, who’s fault is that, really?

And yet, when he first starts fantasizing about becoming intimate with you, everything changes. He wants to make you feel good, to get you squirming and trembling under his touch. He wants to make you cry out his name and gush for him, to be left with a slick, sticky mess between your legs.

He wants to make you gasp and writhe, and while he’s most definitely fingered a woman or eaten her out, he’s approaching these activities with you with a renewed fervor. He has to make you come – he won’t let the sex be over until you’ve reached your high at least once, and as time goes on he decides his favorite way to do this is by fingering you.

His hands are rough; calloused and full of scars, evidence of the hard life he’s lived. Those hands cause so much pain and suffering, and yet when they touch you, they’re nothing but gentle, caring, eager. He likes the difference between his hands and your own body when he’s touching you in your most sensitive areas – you’re so soft and warm while he’s so hard and rough, and he’ll often spend time simply touching you.

He’s letting his fingers run along the insides of your thighs, occasionally pressing down on the soft flesh a little too hard, sometimes leaving bruises in their wake. He’ll press his thumb along the curve of your pelvic bone, right above your clit, tracing down to ever so lightly run along your slit.

He’s drawing careful circles on your clit, eyes flicking up between your cunt and your face over and over, checking for every possible reaction to see what you like most, what makes your eyebrows twitch and your lips part into that pretty little ‘o’.

He’ll carefully slip a finger inside, shallowly thrusting and exploring in every direction, seeing which spot makes you bite your lip or clutch onto him. He’ll slowly work it deeper, rubbing against your walls and feeling the way you clench down on him, beads of precum streaming down his length in anticipation of it being him inside you, fucking you like you deserve.

He’ll slip a second finger inside, working into you and curling them forward, to the side, straight, anything it takes to get you sighing, anything to get you keening out a o-oh, right there Phinks, mmm!

He likes watching you slowly fall apart on his fingers, and his stamina is good enough that he can keep up the same motion for hours, no matter how complicated or strenuous. His fall back is always to finger you, and once he learns the pattern you like, it’s over – he’s slipping his fingers inside any time he thinks he can get away with it (once you’ve consented to his sexual advances, of course – a mistake, really, as once the floodgates are opened, he’s insatiable).

And oh – the way you look when your lips around his fingers makes him nearly cream his pants, the wet feeling and the way your lashes bat up at him making him so hard it hurts.

He’s committed to making you feel as good as he possibly can, and once he notices your affinity for his fingers, he’s eager to get you creaming and gasping in any way he possibly can – just make sure he cuts his nails, because once he gets into the groove of it, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop until you’ve come all over his fingers so many times that you’re brain dead and just begging for something bigger to fill you up.

And who would Phinks be to decline such a frantic request?

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Phinks’s sex drive is average – he’s had his fair share of hookups over the years, women he’d pick up in a drunken stupor or while on the high of a completing a job, spend the evening between the sheets, only to disappear when the rays of the morning sun peek through the low-class motel windows.

He’s not especially ashamed of his history of fucking and running; he honestly doesn’t care – who’s business is it that he’s balls deep inside someone who’s name he doesn’t even know? Surely not a stranger’s, surely not even anyone else in the Troupe.

Fucking is just fucking, after all – nothing more, nothing less. His sex life is something he’s a bit private about, and while he’s not embarrassed, he is actually a bit of a prude. Not enough to stop him from actively engaging in casual sex, but enough to make him a little hesitant to openly discuss it, especially when women are present.

And so, while he very much enjoys getting his dick wet, feeling something warm and wet clenching down on his cock so tightly he thinks he might explode, he’ll keep his rather insistent horniness dormant for most parts of his life. Sex talk is reserved for the bedroom, and that’s that. But that dormancy starts slipping once you show up, bringing with you all of your curves and softness and beauty.

To be honest, Phinks is absolutely done for the minute his obsession forms with you, if only because all those perverted thoughts and sexual desires that were swept under the rug in non-sexual situations are suddenly overflowing now that he has a target with which to fantasize. No longer is he swinging by the nearest dive bar and picking up a girl drunk enough to pass out, but instead he’s imagining your plush, wonderful thighs clamping around his waist as he fucks into you deeper.

He’s not fucking his fist, hoping for a quick orgasm to get him to sleep, instead fantasizing about you caging in his head as he sucks and licks at your cute cunt displayed above him as you ride his face.

No longer is he pleasuring himself to just the general thought of sex or receiving quality head, but instead he’s thinking of how you’d give him head, how your pretty lips would wrap so perfectly around his girth, how your little gagging noises would have his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips moving on their own, his tip ramming against the back of your throat as he loses control and uses your mouth as his personal cocksleeve.

His desires for you come to light remarkably fast; he feels dirty, disgusting for sexualizing you so frequently and fervently, but Phinks honestly can’t help it – he can’t not think about what your body looks like beneath your clothes, how your curves and soft skin look when you’re laid bare and spread out on your tiny little bed.

(He’s spent hours stalking you and watching outside your window with flushed cheeks and ragged breaths, so the question is really a moot point.)

He can’t not think about how you’d sound moaning and crying out his name when you’re gushing all over his fingers.

(He’d be more than happy to bring those fingers up to his lips and suck every bit of your slick off, the taste of you driving him forward and practically forcing his cock into your tight little hole, too frantic to even consider going slow for you.)

He can’t not think about how you’d squeal and bite your lip as he pounds into you hard enough to leave you limping. (He’ll feel a bit guilty the morning after, but there’s this swell of pride settling in his chest because he did that, and the cum sitting inside you is proof of that.)

He can’t not imagine getting intimate with you, and while he’s embarrassed beyond words to admit how often he’s humped your pillow or left cum stains on your panties all because of you you you, he also can’t deny it – because really, when your body calls to him on such an animalistic, raw level, how can Phinks deny anything?

However, when it comes to actually initiating anything sexual with you, Phinks absolutely refuses unless he has your explicit and eager verbal consent.

He’ll never force you into anything in the bedroom, partially because he holds a certain amount of respect for women and for consent in general, and because he absolutely does not want you to be any more afraid of him than you already are.

He’s terrified that you’ll think of him as a monster if he were to try to force himself onto you, and while Phinks heavily tends to overthink and blow things out of proportion, he may honestly be right with this one. Because quite frankly, you will realize early on that he gets horny quite easily, and you will understand that if Phinks Magcub really wanted to, he could have you pinned down and skewered on his cock in a matter of seconds without you being able to land a single defensive blow.

You’re both aware of this, to the point where Phinks actively avoids anything intimate between you both, even for things as simple as holding your hand or pressing a kiss to your jaw or neck. He’s just too nervous to scare you, and – though he’ll never admit it – he’s just nervous of you.

He tends to get in his head, hyper fixating and worrying to an extreme degree about everything regarding you, and that natural awkwardness that he exhibits in nearly every other aspect of his obsession with you applies here as well.

He wants to have the confidence to kiss you and touch you, but he really doesn’t – he wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you like an animal in heat and claim you as his, but he just can’t bring himself to, for fear of freezing up, looking like an idiot, doing something wrong, or oh god, what if he can’t make you come, if you’re unsatisfied and never want to sleep with him again oh god oh god oh god no –

It’s a downward spiral, which leads to one clear-cut solution in Phinks’s mind – don’t try anything with you, and instead relieve the intense urges you inspire within him by himself.

Which would be a wonderful plan, if it were to go as smoothly as he thinks it does.

The reality, of course, is that the moment Phinks feels even the slightest bit of pressure in his pants, any sort of a rush of blood below the belt, he’s immediately spluttering, pulling some excuse out of his ass about how he needs to piss, I’ll uh – I’ll be back, no don’t pause the movie, um, I’m gonna go now and practically bolting away to the nearest restroom.

He doesn’t feel proud as he locks the door behind him, chest heaving as his pants fall to his ankles, the eager and insistent erection pressing against his underwear making him curse and shut his eyes tightly, praying that he comes quickly so he can return to you.

He hopes he’ll come fast so that he can look at you and think of you and hear you and smell you and imagine you – his hand gets the job done, for the most part, as he quickly and near violently begins jerking his fist up and down, the sensitive skin of his length making him hiss through clenched teeth.

It would all be a good plan – except that Phinks tends to be a bit loud, the passion and pleasure gripping him and making hoarse groans of your name tumble from his lips, curses and praises of what he imagines you in his fantasies doing (there’s lots of good girl, oh fuck that’s a good girl, look so pretty all stuffed full, gonna – gonna make you come so fucking hard baby), to the point where even with a hand firmly pressed over his lips, his sounds are more than apparent to you.

You, who sits outside a distance away from the bathroom door and is forced to listen to the way he gasps and cries out your name so wantonly. You can even hear the wet squelching noises, rhythmic but getting less steady as he nears his finish.

If he’s quick about it (and has a fresh mental image of you bending over, leaning forward, licking your lips, stretching, really anything), Phinks can be grunting and whimpering your name as white stains his hands in as soon as two minutes, though the noises he makes when he comes will be difficult to ignore – as is the way he stumbles out of the room, legs slightly shaky and his cheeks still a violent shade of pink as he averts eye contact, clearing his throat and asking what you’d like for dinner, if you’re feeling alright, why you’re looking at him with such an embarrassed and shocked face while you clench your thighs together…

(His hands are still warm once he comes back, still a bit sweaty, and although he washed his hands afterwards, sometimes you think you even see a bit of cum left on his skin, evidence of how frantically he’d been trying to get off and return to you.)

He has no idea that you’re able to hear him, that his depraved confessions of love and desperation for you during the height of his pleasure are completely heard by you each and every time, but unless you want to see the blond near literally combust from sheer embarrassment and mortification, don’t mention it.

No, instead, the moment you see a tent forming in his trousers, his body growing stiff as he nervously glances at you from the corner of his eye, stop him – he may not be willing to initiate sexual encounters, but that does not mean he isn’t willing to let you sink to your knees and beg him to please let me taste you, ‘ve been wanting to for so long, please Phinks…

He won’t not let you climb into his lap and grind on him until he’s gasping and squeezing his eyes shut as his boxers are stained and sticky with his cum.

He may be hesitant and constantly asking for reassurance that you’re really okay with helping him out, but he won’t ever say no – because you’re a beautiful woman that he’s madly, desperately in love with, and who in their right mind would say no to you?

MAIN THREE KINKS

Size kink

For Phinks, this kink is really more about strength than actual physical size.

There’s something about you that’s so damn soft; your skin, your touch, your body, every physical part of you (and he knows every fucking nook and cranny of your body, even if you aren’t aware of it). Even your personality and voice are things that make him melt, the innocence that practically radiates off of you in waves making him flush and gulp. It doesn’t matter what your own past is – compared to him and his more alternative lifestyle, you are weak, laughably and worryingly incapable of defending yourself against others, like a bunny prancing around in a pack of wolves.

But that’s what Phinks likes about you – you’re so damn warm and soft and perfect to just grope at and squeeze that it nearly makes him drool, his hands often having a mind of their own and landing on your curves before he can even stop them.

You’re just so touchable, and Phinks really notices this when he’s got you underneath him, writhing under his fingers and moaning his name. He likes the difference in strength between the two of you; of course, it’s the root of many of his worries in the bedroom (like hurting you or fucking you too hard and breaking you), but it’s also one of the things he can’t stop thinking about when he’s got you wrapped around his cock, your walls fluttering and squeezing down on him hard enough to get him seeing stars.

He likes how your body is so cushiony, the perfect juxtaposition against his calloused, rough skin.

He likes how if he wanted to, he could hold you down with just a single hand, your pretty body open and vulnerable for him to do whatever he hell he wants with you - like you’re some sweet little toy all for him.

And while he very much cares about your own pleasure, there’s something about that thought - of you being something for him to use, to fuck and touch and shove his cock into - that makes him so hard it’s nearly painful, his mind spinning because god, how did he get so lucky?

He can’t help but marvel at the difference between you two once you’re even a bit undressed - every new inch of skin is something that makes him bite his tongue, suck in a sharp breath, gulp, palm at the growing bulge in his pants.

He can’t help but notice the way your arms aren’t corded with muscle like his - he can tell with how they tremble when you wrap them around his neck when he gets close to his end, his hips starting to stutter and move on of their own accord.

He can’t help but notice the way your fingers are so damn tiny, staring and muttering a small fuck under his breath when you wrap them around his girth, fingertips just barely touching, looking so very different from his own hands that seem to dwarf his cock when he’s gripping it.

He can’t help but notice the way your lips struggle to fit around him, your little mouth not big enough to get as much of him in as he’d like - though there’s something oddly hot about watching you struggle, about seeing the way you gag and choke on him when he goes just a hair too deep, his balls twitching and clenching because you can only fit a little over half of him in. He can’t help but notice the way your cunt desperately tries to make room for him, your walls squeezing down on him to the point where he feels like he can barely move, the grip so tight it’s mixing between pleasurable and painful.

You’re just so weak and tiny, even if you really aren’t that much smaller than him, and in Phinks’s mind, it only solidifies your roles in the bedroom. He likes to think of himself as the one in charge, the one making sure that you feel good, like he’s the one fucking you, and when you’re just so pathetically weak and easy to throw around like some ragdoll, how can he not feel that way?

He doesn’t manhandle you to the degree that he wishes he could, but he’s still insistent with moving your body the way he wants, switching positions where he’s doing all the work of arranging your body - all you have to do is look pretty and let him shove his cock back inside you, letting him work his way back up to an orgasm he hopes you’ll reciprocate.

(He wishes he could manhandle you more, but he doesn’t if only because he’s scared he’d hurt you, nervous he’d lose control and accidentally send you flying across the room. And despite him dialing it down a bit, you most definitely feel like you’re just some sex doll for him sometimes - the way he just effortlessly grasps your hips and shifts you into his lap, only to manually thrust up into you from below makes you feel like you’re just a hole for him to stuff, like he’s using you for his pleasure. Of course, the praise and the way he eagerly rubs at your clit with frantic motions tell you it’s not so, but damn do you feel like it when he’s lifted you up against the wall, holding you with one hand while he grunts and groans and nearly kisses your cervix with his tip.)

Phinks tends to lose himself during sex, your body and the pleasure you give him just too overwhelming for him to keep a clear head, but Phinks likes it. In fact, if you really want to get him in the mood (not a difficult task, but still), come up to him and press your tits against his chest, fluttering your lashes at him and tell him you feel empty, can you fill me up Phinks? Want you to stretch me out, I miss your cock…

He’ll stammer and blush, mentally imagining the way you always writhe and bite your lip when he first pushes inside you, your muscles clenching and sucking him in deeper and deeper, right up until his balls are flush with your ass, the warmth and wetness you cover him in making him hiss and suck a nipple into his mouth.

He just likes the idea that he’s your big, strong protector, and you’re his sweet little woman, desperately in need of his care and protection, desperately in need of the masculine, large cock hanging between his legs, always ready to plug you up with his cum.

He just wants to provide for you, really, and would he be a good boyfriend, partner, lover, if he didn’t regularly show you just how big he truly is?

Praise

Between the sheets, Phinks is relatively vocal. He’s not too much of a talker, being able to, at most, get out a stuttered phrase or two, but that doesn’t mean he’s quiet. Oh no, it’s just the sounds - he’s constantly grunting and groaning, cursing under his breath and softly gasping when you get tighter or wetter or claw down his back. He’s always groaning in your ear, his voice strained and gravelly and weak, as if he’s one breath away from coming the moment he slips inside you.

(He is, most of the time, but he’s got enough self control to stave off his release. Most of the time.)

He’s vocal in the sense that there’s always some sort of noise slipping past him, but as time passes and your sexual relationship with him grows, he finds himself uttering more and more words, actual thoughts slipping past his lips rather than a low grunt as he ruts his hips against yours loud enough to make a clapping, smacking noise.

Before he knows it, there are praises slipping out when he’s buried inside you, his cheeks a light pink as he tells you it’s so good, his eyes fluttering closed and his lip caught between his teeth as you clench down on him.

He’s telling you you’re so fucking pretty when you’re on your knees in front of him, soft lips clasped around his tip and lightly suckling, your eyes blinking up at him.

He’s nearly whimpering as you slowly raise yourself up and sink down, cock dragging along your walls as you sit perched in his lap, gasping out a ‘s so fucking good, fuck baby, fuck!

He doesn’t know where the instinct to praise you is coming from - past hookups have not been so fortunate, instead getting either nothing or derogatory comments mid-fuck about how they’re a fucking slut, demanding that they go faster, arch their back more, suck me harder. He’s never been nice in the bedroom, and yet it’s subconscious the way the words are slipping from his lips, his hands grasping onto your hips or ass as he lays into you, wanting to mold your cunt to the shape of him.

And although he’s still a bit difficult to understand (his words are always a little rushed, a little slurred, a little stuttered), you’ll mostly know what he’s saying, hearing the way he’s always calling you pretty or warm or wet or perfect or telling you that he’s gonna come, fuck babe ‘m close, tell me I can come inside you - please, fuck tell me!

(He doesn’t really need your permission on that last point, but he likes hearing you say it, admitting that you want him to come inside, that you want his cum, your own voice sounding fucked out and airy, just as he likes it. Besides, feeling the way you clench down on him even tighter, constricting around his cock so hard he can barely thrust in and out is worth it - it makes him wonder if you’re really that turned on, if you’re really feeling that good because of him, because of his body and his touch and his length. It makes him shiver, and he’s spilling inside you just from hearing your little y-yes, come inside Phinks!)

It’ll make you feel good, honestly, and it only feels natural to extend the praise back - a development that Phinks really, really likes. His face turns red when you tell him that he feels good when he’s got his fingers rubbing against your walls, curling and rubbing against you with eagerness, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as soon as hears your voice.

(Often times you saying this will have him changing the pace slightly, excitement getting the best of him, leaving him to go faster, to rub harder, always getting embarrassed when you gently tell him like before, please, feels good when you do it like before.)

His breathing gets heavier when you whine his name and tangle your fingers into his hair as he licks and tongues at your clit, your voice ringing in his ears when you tell him you’re gonna come, Phinks you’re so good, please let me come for you!

(He’s groaning against your folds, hands squeezing at your thighs and nodding his head vigorously, his eyes squeezing closed as he focuses everything he has on getting you off, on making sure he feels the way your walls clench and flutter, the slick oozing out of you immediately slurped up with a moan.)

And when he’s fucking you? Oh. Well, the moment you say anything even remotely positive about his performance, about his body, about him, he’s staring at you with wide, blown out eyes, before immediately crushing you into an embrace, his lips on yours with an unbridled passion that leaves you breathless. The kiss will be harsh, desperate, his actions rushed and nearly half-assed, as if there’s so much he wants to do and taste and feel that he can’t decide where to start.

He loves when you tell him he’s so big, stretching me out so good Phinks! He growls when you run your nails down his back, whining about how it’s so good, right there, that’s it baby!

He’s thrusting into you with new vigor when you tell him that you’ve never been treated so well, that you’ve never been fucked so good, only you Phinks, only you!

He’s spasming and letting out these strained, embarrassed little whimpers when you throw your head back and moan his name, a rushed proclamation of ‘m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come-! Even compliments outside the bedroom have this effect on him; tell him his hair looks nice and he’s immediately trying to hide his face, his cheeks tinged pink and his heart hammering because you like his hair?

If you tell him he’s strong, that his muscles turn you on, Phinks is training harder, hitting the gym more often, doing everything he possibly can to get stronger, subtly trying to flex his arms everytime you’re around just so that you’ll notice him, that you’ll find him attractive and want him.

And when you run a finger down his chest, telling him he’s so handsome, I love that you’re mine? You’re on the bed quicker than you can process, clothes being torn off and eager hands groping at your tits, your ass, your hips while he spears you on his cock, sliding in with a wet pop and grunting out your name under his breath.

He’s just so very affected by you, and even after his hips have stilled, his softening cock still snug inside you, he’ll whisper your name, telling you that you’re perfect, letting his fingers trace your cheekbones and run over your hair, his lips softly, nervously pressing against yours, the kiss innocent and sweet and almost sad.

Because really, how can Phinks be displeased when he’s finally able to freely express how he feels about you, what he thinks about you?

It feels good to be honest, to tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and as time passes he grows less shy about it - besides, when your cunt takes him so well and your face screws up into that lovely, sexy expression you make when you’re coming, Phinks would tell you anything you want to hear.

Anything to get you screaming his name, anything to get you craving him just as he craves you. Anything at all.

Voyeurism

In general, Phinks wants to be an active part of your sexual pleasure. He wants to be the one touching you, slowly peeling off your layers of clothing as your pretty skin is revealed to him, looking so soft and touchable and fuckable.

He wants to be the one kissing you, stealing your breath away and leaving you weak-kneed and desperate, your lips all swollen and puffy when he’s through with you. He’ll even leave a few bite marks against the supple flesh, simply getting carried away when he’s got you in his arms and his tongue pushing into your mouth.

He wants to be the one that makes you shiver and rub your thighs together, your tits sitting in his palms as he squeezes and kneads, your nipples tweaked between his fingers or sucked into his mouth as he runs his tongue along your areola or very lightly nibbles on your nipple.

He wants to be the one spreading your legs, a thumb dipping down to press against your clit, rubbing circles along the sensitive nub and leaving you twitching and moaning his name, your pretty hips jerking and bucking as he keeps up the pace.

He wants to be the one who’s fingers are sinking into you, your little gasps and sighs all because of the way he curls his fingers and flicks his wrist just so, making you cream and gush so much that his entire hand is wet, fucking soaked.

He wants to be the one sinking inside you, cock stretching out your walls and molding you into his shape, like you were made for him, like your cunt was made for sucking him in and never letting him go.

He wants to be the reason for your pleasure, but there’s a strange, taboo sort of allure to watching you feel good, your body on display for him, all for his viewing pleasure. There’s something about the idea of you putting on a show for him that makes him gulp and palm himself, the idea that you want him to watch you fall apart in front of him enough to get him unbearably horny for hours. He likes the idea of watching you fuck yourself, of having you spread out before him with your body just out of his reach, just slightly too far for him to reach out and grab.

He wants you to sit him at the end of the bed while your sit at the head, spreading your legs and letting him see how your folds glisten in the light, the amount of slick absolutely depraved.

He wants you to tease yourself, rubbing along your inner thighs and all around that pretty pussy except for the spots he knows you really need it, your little whines and sighs making his cock twitch, already hard and aching to be touched by you.

He wants you to spread your folds a bit, biting your lip and letting him see exactly what he’s missing out on; the way your hole clenches around nothing, a bit of slick oozing out at the motion, makes him audibly groan your name, unable to look away as you slowly, so damn slowly sink a finger inside, all the way up to your knuckle. He’ll watch with wide, rapt attention as you let your head fall back, humming at the feeling, making a show of pulling your finger out only to thrust it right back in, the wet squelching noise making his head spin.

He wants to watch you add another finger, to go faster, to go harder, to finger you how he’d finger you – all firm motions and hesitant touches, so eager to pleasure you but not quite sure where to start.

He wants you to pull your fingers out with a popping noise, parting those pouty lips and letting your tongue roll out to lick and suck the slick right off your fingers, jealousy and arousal pooling in his gut because god, he wants a taste too.

He wants you to talk to him, to tell him how good you’re feeling, how you love it when there’s something inside you, how you need something big and strong and thick to fuck you like you need, like you deserve.

He wants you to detail how you’re feeling, describing the pleasure as you draw shapes onto your clit, licking your lips and moaning about how it’s so good, ‘m gonna come soon Phinks!

He especially likes it when you change positions, moving from sitting up and facing him to getting on your knees, spreading your legs and letting your face rest against the mattress, an arm coming up to clumsily sink back into your hole, the new angle making him imagine all the time he’s fucked you like this, absolutely pounding into you over and over until your ass was nearly bruised from the intensity of his thrusts.

He can’t stop staring, seeing the way your thighs shake, the wet schlucking noises as you fuck yourself making him suck in sharp breaths, the slight bit of drool coming from your lips as you writhe and gasp making him want to stuff his cock into your mouth so you’ll stop being so messy.

He just likes the idea of watching and putting on something so intimate and vulnerable for him, all while he has to sit there, unmoving, not even touching himself and instead just having to take it, to watch and stare and wish with every fiber of his being that it was his fingers and tongue making you cream and moan and cry out for more more more!

It’s like some sweet kind of torture, reminiscent of the early days of his obsession when he was reduced to just watching you masturbate through windows or screens, unable to be present with you and help you out the way he knows he can.

It’s exciting, taboo, dirty in a way that makes Phinks’ gut tingle with excitement, his balls clenching and tightening up, his fingers twitching because god, when you finally cave at the end, begging him to finally just touch you, he’s practically sprinting to you, jumping on you while his hands wander and grab onto every piece of you they can find.

He’s all over you like some wild animal, a madman as he tries to get inside you only to be so excited and frantic that he’s slipping out, curses falling past his lips because all he really needs is to just fuck you, to be inside you, to be as close to you as he physically can be.

He’s pathetic, really, and if you were to put on a show for him like this, he may even end up coming before you cave – untouched, too, the white cum splattering along his chest and thighs a reminder that even without stimulation, just the mere sight of you can have him blowing his load before it can even sit inside you.

Wasting it, really, but if you were to sigh softly and kiss his cheek, leaning down and licking up every drop decorating his body?

Well, he's sure he could fuck you hard enough to squirt if you’d just let him try. Please let him, he’s begging you.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Anal

Now, this isn’t something Phinks actively fantasizes about – he’s watched some porn featuring it before, and while it wasn’t something he would seek out again, he was oddly fascinated by it.

There’s something arousing about the idea of stretching out something so, so incredibly tight, fueling his size kink and making him feel proud of just how big he is. But he’s never gotten a girl to agree to it before, and he’s not cared enough to press the issue – and even once you step into his life, he’s not desperate to enact this particular fantasy.

He’d much rather partake in the thousands of other things he wants to do to you – and have you do to him, too. But once he’s been sexual with you for long enough, fleeting thoughts and curiosities are eating away at him.

Would you like it? He knows most women don’t, but maybe you’re the exception, or maybe you’d be willing to let him indulge?

He’ll bring it up after a very long time of debating, mentally rehearsing his words over and over to make sure he’s got them right, so that they aren’t forceful or demanding.

He’s nearing stumbling over his own voice as he asks you if you’d like to uh, you know, use the other hole…?

He makes it more awkward than it needs to be, but if you say yes, he’s gulping and nodding, already telling you he’s done research, that you need to avoid these foods while he goes out and buys enough lube to lasts you both years, all the while trying to ignore the steadily growing erection in his pants.

You’re so damn tight like this - even more than your cunt, something Phinks didn’t think was possible. You’re warm, and the sight of him sinking into you, into the wrong hole, makes his head spin, every shitty porno he’s ever watched paling in comparison because god, who knew you’d take it in the ass so well?

If you say no, he’ll be understanding, vowing to not bring up the topic again – except, his curiosity doesn’t just go away. Instead, it’ll manifest itself in other ways; you’re on your knees, ass in the air and face resting on your pillow as he fucks into you hard enough to leave you gasping and clutching onto the seats?

Well, he’s pulling your cheeks apart, his eyes fixing on your clenched hole the whole time, his hand smacking against your cheek and idly moving his thumb to lightly, gently brush over your asshole, lightly pushing and feeling the way you squirm under him.

He’ll find himself between your legs, slick smeared all along his lips and chin, eating you out so frantically that his tongue is starting to hurt, only to – without even thinking, really – dip his tongue down, tracing lightly over your lower hole, fluttering his eyes closed when your hips jerk and you let out a Phinks!

He won’t ever force you into anal, but you’ll be able to tell what he wants from the way he’s always letting his gaze linger on your ass, his fingers dipping dangerously close, his hands spreading your cheeks and licking his lips at the sight.

He’s not exactly subtle, so unless you want to run the risk of getting a finger up the ass with no warning, you might as well give into his desires – once couldn’t hurt, right?

Besides, you never know until you try – just be careful, because Phinks wants to claim every single part of you, and that pert, tight little hole is no different.

Marking

He’s possessive, every part of him yearning to own you, and in the bedroom this isn’t exactly a secret. He’s still desperate to stake his claim on you, to make sure you understand that you are his, that your heart and body and soul belong to him.

And while it’s great and wonderful to be stuffing you full of his cum, leaving your pussy full of him and only him, he wants more. He needs to lay a physical mark on you that proves that you’re his, that he’s the only one allowed to love you, to touch you, to please you. Just the thought of leaving a mark on you gets him breathing heavily, his fingers clenching into fists and his knees feeling a bit weak because god.

He’s picky about how he marks you up, though – because of his aversion to physically harming you, he reverts to sexual ways of marking you more often than he’d care to admit.

He loves leaving hickies; the dark purple spots will appear all over your body, evidence of the way he’s pressed his lips onto every inch of your skin, his tongue often coming out to lick and suck at you until you’re squirming and left with the ugly, swollen bruise as a reminder of Phinks.

His favorite spots to leave them are along the expanse of your collarbone, right up at the base of your throat and stretching all along to your shoulders. There’s something so intimate about the area, something so sexy and demure, and he’ll purposefully only provide you clothing that doesn’t fully cover the area, if only because he really, really likes glancing at you and seeing the dark spots, his eyes immediately drawn to the places where he’s claimed you.

(It makes him flush a bit to think that his lips have been there; his spit had been covering the area, lips and tongue sucking and bruising and kissing, all while you had to sit there and take it, maybe even carding your hands through his hair, maybe even sighing out Phinks… The bathroom’s far away, but he’s quickly rushing towards it, a hand coming down to block the sight of the now noticeable bulge in his tracksuit pants.)

He’s also particularly fond of leaving hickeys along your inner thighs, purple spots leading up to your pretty folds, and every time he gets you spread out before him, he likes to kiss them, trailing his lips up and up and up, leaving you frustrated and desperate, more often not.

He just wants something of his close to intimate, vulnerable areas - your cunt, your neck, your breasts, everything.

You just look so pretty like this - so don’t be surprised when you notice his gaze lingering on your neck, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he stares.

You’re just too attractive, so enticing, and how can he not leave hickeys on you every time he gets his hands on you, even if you ask him to stop?

It’s like he’s not in control of his own actions - he’s too lost in the pleasure of being near you, of touching you, and when he finally snaps out of it you’ll be painted with bruises and swollen skin and him him him.

He likes it, a lot, so just get used to it - because he will not stop.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Although a very, very large part of Phinks craves to fuck you in the most raw, animalistic way he possibly can, there’s another part of him that yearns for soft, gentle, romantic sex. He’s constantly at war with himself, alternating between wanting to get you screaming or getting you moaning.

Does he want to leave you sore enough that you can’t walk the next day, left to fully depend on him because his cock literally made you go dumb?

Or does he want you to be left with deep, big hickies decorating your collarbone and neck while he praises you for your beautiful body, your soft hands clutching onto him even as you both wake up the morning after, unwilling to let go of him?

He’s constantly fighting himself, because both options sound so, so very good, and frankly, he’s not too picky – either option is fine with him, it really just depends on your own sexual preferences, and what stage you’re at in your sexual relationship.

That said, there are a few hard and fast fantasies that Phinks would give absolutely anything to live out.

They’re the kind of scenarios that he thinks over in hyper specific detail as he drifts off to sleep, trying to immerse himself in every aspect of the fantasy so he can pretend to be right beside you, feeling your touch and hearing your cries and marking up your pretty skin and stuffing you so fucking full –

They’re the stuff of his wet dreams, and one of his favorite fantasies to revisit is the idea of you waking him up because you need him in the middle of the night, your body craving his touch so badly that you just can’t take care of yourself without him.

He likes the idea of you rousing him awake, slick already coating the insides of your thighs while you sneak a hand down into his boxers and squeeze, thumbing his tip and tugging him up and down a few times.

He wants you to kiss him, whining into his mouth, only to pull back and beg him to please, please fuck me Phinks, need you so bad, I can’t come without you, please…

Mostly, this fantasy stems from wanting you to desire him – he wants your body to become so dependent on his, to be so spoiled from his touch that you literally can’t come without him, that you can’t make yourself feel good unless he’s right there with you, helping you along.

He just wants to feel needed and wanted, and if you were to actually wake him up and demand that he fuck you because the ache is just too great, the mixture of pride, arousal, and satisfaction would have him immediately nodding, hurriedly grabbing your hips, pulling out his already half-hard cock, slipping inside you and letting out something between a gasp and a grunt.

He wants to be of service, and he likes that this fantasy implies that your desperation for him is nearly as high as his own – as if you truly, genuinely love him back.

Phinks’ snores fill the bedroom, and for a moment you feel bad about reaching out, your fingertips brushing along his bicep. Your thighs rub together, the friction not nearly enough to quell the throbbing coming from between your legs.

You had no idea what was wrong with you – you’d never been this unbearably horny before, as if your every thought was revolving around being filled with something much bigger than your own fingers, something heavier and thicker and fatter. Your nipples were pebbled, thighs twitching, forehead already a bit sweaty and your clit unbearably sensitive, and yet you hadn’t been able to come. You’d been trying for what felt like hours, using a nimble finger to circle over your clit tirelessly, drawing figure eights and making your hips jerk but never getting closer to that wonderful high you were craving. You’d stuffed yourself full of your own fingers, curling and thrusting and doing everything in your power to get off, but it just wasn’t working.

Phinks stirs lightly at the feeling of your hand brushing against his chest, but it’s not until you dance your palm down to slip beneath the hem of his boxers that he truly starts waking up. You’re quick to grip him at the base, sliding up and down slowly, gently, nervously, because while he’s told you more than once that his body is yours to use whenever you need it – his hadn’t been able to meet your gaze when he’d told you this, with his cheeks flushed and his arms crossed in an attempt to appear confident – you’re still a bit hesitant to act upon that promise.

His dirty blond hairs tickle your hand as you swipe your thumb across his tip, smearing the precum along his head as you shuffle closer, letting your lips ghost over his jaw, pressing against the light stubble. He groans slightly in his sleep, already in that halfway stage between dreaming and reality, but when you press your lips to his own, tongue swiping out across his bottom lip and your kisses becoming a bit more insistent, his eyes are fluttering open.

He says something, but it’s muffled into your mouth as your kissing suddenly grows in intensity, your hand squeezing tighter and your body moving to be more above his. The ache between your legs is stronger now, a dull throbbing that makes you delirious with need because his cock is already in your hand, already pulsing and twitching and surely bright red with a need matching your own.

When you finally pull away for air, Phinks can only peel open his freshly closed eyes and stare at you, a light flush on his cheeks and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Babe? What’s gotten into – shit, that feels good.”

He cuts himself off with a hiss, your hand starting to move between stroking him and squeezing at his balls.

“Need you, Phinks,” You start, pressing kisses along the nape of his neck and lightly sucking at the skin. The feeling makes a shiver run down his spine, the idea of you marking him up making his cock grow ever harder for you. “’m so empty, it’s not enough when it’s just me.”

He swallows hard. Biting his lip, he tries to ignore the way your hand – all soft and sweet and clammy, slicked up with his own precum and making it incredibly easy to glide your hand up and down his shaft – is making his hips buck up involuntarily, his still sleepy state making him more sensitive than usual. “Yeah? You need me? Tell me what you need, baby.”

You whine a bit, embarrassment eating you up, but the words are uttered out before you can really think about, your body driven by an arousal you can’t hope to fight. “I need you. I need your cock, it’s the only thing that can make me feel good, my fingers don’t feel like you do. Please Phinks, fuck me, please…”

He groans at that, hands grabbing at your hips and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out on your back, chest heaving as you watch him clamber over you, his boxers discarded somewhere into the sheets. He’s painfully hard, already swollen and drooping slightly from the weight of it as he lines his tip up with your entrance. He takes a moment to tease you, awe tinging his voice as he asks, “Here babe? Right here?”

Your ankles lock together around his waist, hands coming up to grasp onto the strong muscles of his back. “Please, please!”

He likes the sound of you begging, the sight of you biting your lip and staring up at him with wide, glassy eyes practically drowning in need. But most of all, he likes the way you lift your hips up to rub your cunt against his cock, little airy moans slipping past your lips because god, even just the feel of him is better than anything you’ve managed to do to yourself so far tonight.

Phinks curses, and immediately he’s plunging into you, tip ramming into that spot he knows you love – the one that makes you gasp and clutch onto him, your hips jerking and twitching while your breasts bounce with his every thrust.

He buries his face into your neck, groaning and muttering your name under his breath, but he tries to quiet down as he hears you starting to talk again. More like blabbering, but your words make his eyes go wide.

“I’ve been – oh, ‘ve been fucking myself with my fingers, but Phinks, oh god Phinks, it wasn’t enough!” Your voice is strained, warbled, moans mixing between your words and making him gulp. The clapping sound of his hips smacking into yours is deafening, but he wants you to keep going, to keep talking to him like this.

“Nothing feels as good – shit, as good as you do. You’re so good, it’s so – so big and makes me feel so fucking full –“ You cut yourself off with a moan, eyes fluttering closed as he brushes against every sensitive spot inside you over and over, your orgasm already steadily building.

Phinks bares his teeth, face still pressed against the nape of your neck. “F-fuck, keep talking baby.”

“Couldn’t make myself feel as good as you.” You cry.

“Nothing’s as good as you.” You moan.

“Couldn’t wait – fuck! Couldn’t wait, needed you inside, you feel so much better!” You gasp.

“Phinks, oh Phinks Phinks Phinks – couldn’t come without you, only you can make me come!” You squeal, and at your words he freezes for a moment, letting them sink in. You whine, hips wiggling and begging for him to keep moving, but something about your phrasing makes something feral ignite within him. Something about the idea that only he is capable of making you feel good, that only he can make you orgasm (not even yourself) gets him feeling possessive of you, the cunt wrapped around his cock belonging to him and him only.

He’s snapping his hips into you with a new fervor after that, the pace brutal as he fucks into you hard enough to make you bounce up and down the bed, your pretty tits bouncing along with you and rubbing against his chest. He’s chanting your name like a prayer, his voice husky and strained and still the tiniest bit raspy from sleep, and it only makes you clutch onto him tighter, harder, your walls clenching around him like a fucking vice –

You come with a cry of his name, fluttering around him and making his hips stutter. The only warning you get before floods of warm, thick cum shoot inside you is a gaspy, almost pained sounding ‘fuck, t-take it take it-!’

He’s panting, still keeping his head in the crook of your shoulder, too embarrassed to look at you. You’re still breathing hard too, and when you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, Phinks feels himself freeze up a bit.

“Stay like this?” You ask, and your voice is so soft and unsure that it makes his heart ache, his body immediately relaxing and letting his arms slip under your body, pulling you both onto your sides so that you’re embracing one another.

“Of course, baby. Now go to sleep.” He whispers, pressing a long kiss against the crown of your head.

You obey, falling asleep almost immediately, and as Phinks drifts off himself, cock still nestled inside you, he can’t help smiling a bit, the corners of his lips turning up.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere phinks #yandere phinks magcub #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_phinks magcub

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devine-fem · 4 months

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why don't you like jayjon? Genuinely asking btw and I'm neutral btw I don't really ship superheroes kids, so yeah

Alright, firstly I have always come across damijon shippers that ship them as kids because their purest connection peaked when they were young so you kind of permanently keep Jon and Damian as kid in your head because of what DC did to them.

We ship them in a ‘wholesome crush on your best friend, twisting inside you over time that you snub out till you reach your adulthood and have the maturity to deal with it’ type of way. The beauty of Damijon is not the fact that it’s Bat x Super. I honestly don’t care for this dynamic ergo not shipping superbat and not liking Timkon at all. The beauty of Damijon is that they could become something with a friendship to back it up, then continue to push each other’s characters forward while being in a relationship if the writer cared enough. It’s a plus that they care for each other so much and have the personalities to really balance each other out.

I enjoy ships like Daminika, Dami x Colin and other Jon ships as well. I just only post damijon and talk about them. It’s only Jonj*y I have issues with. It’s not about ‘getting in the way of my ship’ nothing can ever get in the way of me enjoying damijon and fandom is just gonna have to deal with that. We all come here for enjoyment because we should supposedly enjoy DC for DC and find community in that, enjoy our ideas and takes on it and one person is not going to perceive or enjoy something the same way but we are so damn MEAN to each other. Damijon gets a lot of heat, mostly because twitter damijon stans are annoying and horrible and damijon antis are just as bad.

So the problem I have with Jonj*y is just deep rooted.

Firstly, I hate the way it came about. The last thing Jon’s character needed was to be in a relationship period but then for it to be a queer relationship used as a tool to garner sales? There’s nothing in the world I dislike more than queer baiting. The last thing we needed from DC was to pull something like this and as a queer person it just really gets under my skin - as it should anyone, to be honest.

Even regardless of that Jonj*y is the relationship equivalent of stale bread. They have no chemistry, Jay has no character besides catoring to Jon’s sexuality, and even if they were to explore him there’s no point because objectively they’ve tarnished Jon Kent way too much to be wasting comic ink on Jay.

I don’t like aged up Jon Kent as a whole, it’s not like I want him to stay a kid forever - obviously not. The fun of a comic book character is their growth! Jon over time should have never been able to get to the age he is now when other comic book characters struggle to get near that age in decades. I MEAN HE’S NEARLY OLDER THAN KON RIGHT NOW. Bendis did what he did to Jon because he ain’t even like him.

There are real serious issues with Jon Kent’s age up than him getting with Damian. I know how to seperate my ship/fanon from canon. I can go on and on about the problems with it without mentioning Damian once.

I had to put “JonJ*y apologist DNI” in my bio because the stans kept coming to my page and spewing BS 24/7 so I thought it was my absolute right to make sure they knew this page was not for them.

If you enjoy the ship at all then you will not like me because I have almost every single active Jonj*y poster blocked because I have fought with them at least once because they wanted to be stupid and spew nonsense on Jon Kent when you can tell they haven’t read a damn comic besides SSOKE and it really shows.

If you enjoy it, just block me. It’s only a matter of time before we fight anyway, so don’t waste your breath because the whole time you could be trying to open your mouth, you could open a comic book instead, how about that?

Thanks for the asks though, LOL.

P.2

#jondami #damian wayne #jon kent #supersons #super sons #jonathan kent #damijon #asks #jon kent meta #jon kent age up

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willowser · 4 months

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i received this lovely lovely lil thought from a lovely lovely anon in response to this question, and i think we ALL should get to enjoy it 🥹🩷

(Tw:Abuse / Manipulation (kind of; it's not overly gratuitous, but better safe than sorry))

Will! !! So I was thinking about your "would Bakugou chase after you, even after you're engaged" post (loved it! spinning it around in my head), and while I do think he'd probably let you go if you were truely happy with this other person, y'know what might change that? If this other person wasn't making you happy. (I’M SO SORRY FOR THE INCOMING WALL OF TEXT – please just delete if I’m being annoying!!) To explain; I think in this scenario, maybe you're still getting over a long-time unrequited crush (👀), and you're looking for something with a normal, sweet guy to help get over it. He's not the type you would usually go for, but he's nice enough (idk, maybe he has blonde hair, or red eyes, and maybe that makes it easier). And while you initially thought this would just be a short fling, it just kind of... gets away from you? A few dates turn into a few more, and then lots more and before you know it things are getting Serious. He's talking about moving in together, and you're taken aback by it (weren't you just starting to go out together? Isn't this too soon?). But it's not like you have anything real to complain about! He's not horrible to you or anything! He treats you well enough! It's just that you don't seem to feel anything... deep? for him. You don't daydream about a future together, you don't go out and wish he was there with you; Honestly, if he's not there with you, you don't think much about him at all (not the way you used to with him 👀). And hey, maybe sometimes (frequently) you end up doing things you didn't want to do, maybe he knows what to say to get you to acquiesce to his wants and needs, without coming across as manipulative. Or maybe you're just nervous! He isn't "rushing you long term commitments, which would dissuade you from leaving", the two of you are just caught up in a Whirlwind Romance! /Sarcastic. Being honest, that kind of thing grinds a person down after a while; you bend much more easily to his whims. He is, after all, so Normal and so Sweet - and how often do guys like that turn up? You'd be a fool to dump him now, now he knows you so well, and really. What are you expecting? Some Prince Charming(👀) to come and sweep you off your feet? Get real. So you get the flat together, and later on (though sooner than you'd like), you accept his proposal.

1 / 7 (I'm so sorry)

2/7 To my mind, this is the kind of diverging path for Bakugou. I think, if this was a genuine whirlwind romance, and it was recognised by the people around you, he'd probably back off. For all his brashness, he wouldn't want to hurt you by ruining your wedding day to the person you actually love. TBH I can kind of see him pining for you for the rest of his life, and hoping you become a widow/er so he get another shot to confess his feelings lmao. In that situation he could write off his own negative feelings towards your fiance as his own jealousy, right? If the fiance were actually bad for you, at least one other person from your respective friend group would notice. But!! I think that would change if his opinions were backed up by his friends (because it would demonstrate that it isn’t just his jealousy tarnishing his opinion of your boyfriend) Let's imagine that maybe he isn't the only one to think something Weird is going on. Maybe he's hanging out with Denki and Sero, because he's so obviously miserable about not confessing in time, and they're trying to cheer him up (it's been a month and he's mouldering. He is suffering). In walk Eijiro and Mina, who - while they were out getting snacks that Bakugou would never even consider eating if he wasn't in the depths of despair - just so happened to run into you and your new... boyfriend? Kind of? You seemed kind of reluctant to say the two of you were dating, but he seemed nice. Eijiro thinks he's kind of bland, and Mina knows you can do better (which she says both for Bakugou's ego, and because it's true), but nice enough. And you know, maybe, for the first time in a month, Bakugou stops sitting so rigidly. He doesn't slouch per se, no. He relaxes in the same way that tiger might relax before pouncing, in the way that a hunter might breathe out before pulling the trigger. A month of dating, and you still won't call the guy your boyfriend? When you'd introduced them to each-other (after your third date), Bakugou assumed it was his jealousy that made him hate the guy. Kind of boring, kind of pushy (a/n: no, he wouldn't clock the fact that he looks like off-brand Bakugou). He didn't think it would last too long, but it still felt bitter that that was the guy who beat him to the punch.

But seriously; a month of dating, and you still won't call the guy your boyfriend? That's... interesting >:)

3/7 So months roll by, and Bakugou keeps his eye on you. He flipflops between anguishing over his jealousy, and making sure that your “boyfriend” is treating you right. Of course, it’s made harder by the fact that he doesn’t see you that much any more. Your other friends notice it too; You’re not being kept inside your (shared) flat, but you always seem busy, and a bit tired. Ochako and Iida can usually grab you for lunch, Momo swings by your flat pretty often, but your social calendar seems so full now. Full of dates and outings with your new boyfriend. Apparently, you barely have a minute for someone you’ve been friends with since childhood.

It pisses Bakugou off to no end, but he’s keeping his distance (for now). Because the thing is, Bakugou – above anything else – respects you. If you want to waste your time on some loser, he’s not going to presume that he knows better for you! Bakugou’s many things but he’s not “fuckin’ presumptuous”. Besides, if you really were in dire straights, or needed help, you’d reach out. It’s not like you don’t still send him little messages every other day; memes you think he’ll like, little scenic photographs of your dates (conspicuously, your boyfriend is missing from every single one👀). He’s Fine. He can Be Patient. (Reader, he’s been seething for months).

4/7 HOWEVER. Flashing forward to The Proposal. I think it shakes him; firstly because the person he loves is getting married to another man, and he somehow thought you’d have ended it by now. But secondly because everyone else seems to agree that it’s weird! It’s way too soon for marriage to a guy that you don’t even seem to like all that much, and while everyone gently float their concerns to you that maybe it’s just a teeny tiny smidge too soon to get married (which you rebuff half-heartedly), the group-chat is popping the fuck off. It’s definitely too soon, this guy is Too Normal in a very weird way, they barely know him, the wedding is taking place really soon, they should stage in intervention (Eijiro&Tsuyu&Sero), they should kidnap you until you realise what a mistake it would be (Mina&Denki), they should kill him (Deku&Ochako&Iida), etc. It’s pretty weird, then, that Bakugou comes in as the voice of reason; you’re a grown up, and you can make your own decisions. If you really, genuinely want to marry him, that’s up to you; After all the freedom to make your own decisions comes with the responsibility to accept the consequences. (a/n: obvs it would be phrased in a far more Bakugou-esque fashion, but you get my point). So they relent, although they’re still concerned.

So maybe a few days before the wedding he sends you a message (because it’s tricky to get a hold of you in person); he just wants to know what you see in your fiance. He wants to know if you’re really serious about him, or if you’re just settling. It’s not phrased cruelly, but it’s blunt. The message he sends isn’t nice and sweet, but it’s honest, and it comes from a place of concern.

You read it and you don’t reply.

Flash forward again, and it’s the night before the wedding. Wedding Eve, if you will. Bakugou’s in a sour mood and tries to ease his pain by heading to a bar, but it doesn’t really get any better throughout the night. He’s conflicted now more than ever; Is this guy actually awful and bad for you, or is he just jealous? Is he not stepping in because he wants to be respectful of your wishes, or because he’s afraid that by doing so he’ll reveal his own feelings, and suffer the consequent (possible) rejection? Why didn’t he just tell you how he felt before this mess started? He has a few drinks to many, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

5/7 MERRY WEDDINGMAS. It’s the day of the wedding, and because of he hit the bottle too hard last night, Bakugou’s overslept (for the first time in his life, probably). He goes to check his phone – maybe he can still make it to the wedding the venue on time?-

TWO MISSED MESSAGES.

He didn’t realise, but last night you finally replied to his message: You don’t know if you want to get married to this guy.

It’s a long, winding message, but what it boils down to is this- You threw yourself into a relationship with someone you know you don’t really love (you like him well enough, but there’s no spark), because you’ve been spending years muddling your way through a hopeless crush on someone you think will never like you back. So you’ve let yourself go along with this guy, but now you’re on Wedding Eve, and you’ve never been so uncertain of yourself! Your fiance’s a sensible choice (He’s Bland, and he’s Pushy, but he’s Nice, and he’s Normal, but maybe you’re losing yourself in your relationship with him, but maybe you just have cold feet), but you’re not sure that you care any more, and it’s now or never, and it’s ‘You, Bakugou, It’s always been you’, and you’ve been too afraid to tell him, because when does real life play out like the films? When does the years long pining, the roller-coaster of emotions, the ‘I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you’, have a happily-ever-after in the real world?

The next message was sent a few hours later. Evidently, you’d calmed down somewhat, because you tell him that you’re sorry for sending him all of that on Wedding Eve, that you’ve had feelings for him for a long time, but if he doesn’t feel the same it would be the kind of closure you’d need to move on. If he doesn’t want to attend the ceremony, you’ll understand and leave him alone. But if he wants to “talk” (👀!!!), then you’ll be waiting for him.

Bakugou feels raw after reading your confession; All this time, and the two of you – despite sharing the same feelings – were so afraid, and for what? The relief, the fear, the hope, all spur him into action.

He’s hungover, he’s in his pyjamas, but all the same he’s rushing towards his expensive, fuel-efficient car as fast as he can, because he has a fuckin’ wedding to stop.

6/7 Meanwhile, you’re stressed, mentally twisting into knots. Bakugou didn’t even read the messages you sent last night, which is both a relief (now you can just get married and move on) and a heart wrenching disappointment (because if you’re being honest with yourself, you were hoping he’d stop you).

You’re wearing an outfit you don’t really like, and your fiance’s family are beaming at you, although you don’t really know them so well. The venue is pleasant but not what you would’ve chosen for yourself. As you walk down the aisle, the band sounds kind of off. Your family and friends are… what? Grimacing? Smiling? Both Smimacing? You aren’t sure.

The ceremony passes in a kind of blur, and you go through the all motions. Mostly, you think of the messages you’d sent to Bakugou. You’d felt so courageous when you finally – finally! - confessed your feelings to him, so hopeful that maybe instead of replying, you’d hear a knock at your door, and he’d sweep you off your feet and- then hours had passed without a word, and you’d been left wondering. Conflicted, and unsure.

As you wait for your fiance to finish his vows (that he wrote himself, but sound like he stole them from a Pinterest board), however, you have a mild epiphany. Did it really matter so much if Bakugou loved you back? Sure, it’d break your heart, but one day you’d heal from it. Besides, he wouldn’t want to settle for some nobody! Bakugou was loyal to his friends, and he wanted the best for them, and that was one of the things you loved most about him! Surely, you owed it to both him, and more importantly, yourself, to put an end to this madness!!

You steel yourself as it gets to That Part of the wedding. The officiant turns to you, and asks if you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband. You face your fiance, and open your mouth to say “Actually…. I DON’T” when-

The doors slam open, and who’s standing there in a matching pair of pyjamas, still holding his car keys? It’s Bakugou, and you only have to lock eyes with him for him to shout – in true romcom fashion – ‘I FUCKIN’ OBJECT’.

7/7 Everyone’s stunned, although the guests on your side of the venue look more thrilled than scandalised.

In truth, I wouldn’t normally peg Bakugou as the “Objecting at a wedding” type, but in this scenario – when the two of you have been pining for so long, when he knows you’d appreciate the spectacle, when he gets to show up that nobody who wasted your time for so long – I think maybe he’d make an exception. Maybe he wouldn’t make some long, protracted speech about how much he loves you, but he MIGHT run to the alter full tilt, and tell you that you’re making a mistake. I do think MAYBE he’d hold out his hand to you, a silent question in his eyes, all while your fiance sputters and rants.

Idk, maybe you say something to the effect of “Looks like he beat me to the punch – I object, too :)”, tell your ex-fiance you’re sorry, but you can’t do this. PERHAPS – after all of the years of wondering, and stressing about whether Bakugou would reject you – you’d just quietly take his hand. And maybe to two of you would scamper off down the aisle to the raucous applause of your friends and family, get into his hatchback or w/e, and drive off into the sunset, certain in the knowledge that – yes, there would be ramifications to running off together like this, but that whatever might come your way you’d face it together! MAYBE.

Idk, I just feel like if he was going to confess his feelings for you after you’d already been engaged, it might be in the form of kissing the back of your hand, pulling off your cheap, shitty engagement ring, throwing it out of the car window, and going for a long drive so you two can finally Talk.

Listen, this really got away from me, and I’m so sorry for flooding your inbox like this. I was just really caught up in the scenario, and wanted to share it with you. Much love 💖

#brain sleepy but i love everything about this #so much #i love how easily you weaved in the feelings and the angst and us knowing in our gut what we really wanted !!#this is pretty much my exact answer/thought in response to that question !!! the kind of scenario i love !!!!!#tysm for sharing this with us WAAAAHHH #this is so lovely thank you thank you !!#✿ ask willow #✿ recs

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tunnelofphriendship · 2 months

Text

on phandom whiteness, race and stereotypes

I've been meaning to make this post for a while. I have never been very active in this fandom space, and part of that has been due to a discomfort I have felt that i have never felt i could discuss openly. So while I want to be a part of this phandom, I need to adress the elephant in the room and I want this sideblog I created to be a space where others like me can feel safe to voice their feelings and thoughts.

To preface this, I am not looking to "cancel" dan and phil. I just want to talk about my experiences both as a hardcore phan for years, and as someone who deviates from the usual dnp fan: I'm not a white person from Europe, US, Canada.

To put it bluntly, some of their videos are extremely hard to watch and enjoy and it makes me feel alienated when no one talks about it. There is no media without "problematic" elements, but I feel like in other fandom spaces people at least talk about elements worth questioning because they may be offensive or ignorant.* And yet dan and phil are hailed as "unproblematic kings" when this is not the case at all, and it's hard to bring up how I feel.

I'm not looking to make a comprehensive list of everything they've said, but I will talk about a few examples to illustrate what I mean.

Sexy Internet Dating (1:59-2:03)

d: whats yo name

p: i like how the guinea pig is now a sassy black woman

A Day in the Life of Phil and Dan! (3:58-4:03)

p: Suncream d: suncream for your albino face p: yea d: i don't need it because i'm already black

Does anyone remember the Mexican Dan thing? He seems to have deleted most of the things associated with that period where he was tan and "jokingly" fancied himself a different race because of it but this little window to that time remains in one of the most beloved videos of all time. Can you see how this might be hard to watch? When even the most iconic videos they've made are sprinkled with little instances of ignorant comments like this?

And let me be clear, I know this was ages ago. I'm aware they might have grown and changed. What really gets to me is how nobody in the phandom ever talks about these moments. It makes me really lonely and disappointed that everyone turns a blind eye to things that might tarnish the image of their faves.

Like for example, the pewdiepie situation. I'm not going to discuss everything he did and said. But imagine how it might feel as a non-white fan to want to rewatch old dnpgames videos and find that they kept their videos with him up all this time:

youtube

They were clearly quite friendly with F*lix. Besides these videos, Felix is also casually mentioned in some of their videos and livestreams from the time before he was "cancelled" (more on that later). But did they ever say anything condemning his actions? I think that given how they had collaborated and were friends, I would expect them to say SOMETHING rather than just never speak on the matter (as far as I know, the closest they got to this was in a liveshow where dan said he had had "a conversation" with felix in a way that implied he disapproved of his actions.) Or at the very very least, is it really that hard to delete a video? They have deleted old videos for a variety of reasons. How is collabing with a known racist not reason enough to go through the trouble of deleting a video? But deleting other videos just because they're a bit"cringey" is worth that time?

I just wonder how regretful they really are at having been friends and collaborators with him. In fact, part of me wonders if they are still friends behind the scenes. If this is ever confirmed btw, that will cause me to stop watching them forever. And they might still be friends in their little white circle for all we know. After all dan and phil are long time friends of KickthePj. And PJ is STILL friends with pewdiepie.

Now, besides PJ being dnp's friend and having once been part of the phantastic foursome, I don't care much for his content except for when dan and phil have been featured (lol sorry not sorry). And this might be the case for many of you as well! But some of you ARE avid kickthepj fans and decided to ignore the fact that he uploaded a video with pewdiepie last month. There is no plausible deniability here anymore. Despite the harms pewdiepie has done in internet spaces--and how that extends to real life--NOBODY said anything about how kickthepj doesn't care enough (or at all) to simply NOT make a video with pewdiepie.

It's staggering to me that no one cares. It's shocking to me that in these videos i've mentioned, you go to the comment section and everyone will be happily enjoying the video with no mention of these things.

Is this what being "cancelled" looks like? It seems to me like with the passage of time, Pewdiepie and his friends and followers just want to sweep it all under the rug. How is it that the internet will tear a man to shreds for plagiarism but then find it in themselves to excuse racism?

Why does no one care? Is it because this space is overwhelmingly white? I think so. I think it's a conscious choice to turn a blind eye when it's convenient. So I just wanted to make this post to say that if you ever feel alienated by the white ignorance of dnp or their circle of their fans, then you can come talk to me and I won't ignore you.

I want to be a part of this phandom, I really love dan and phil, but I'm not going to "stan" them. I'm not going to make excuses for them. And I'm not going to keep quiet just so I can be a part of this fandom without making the vast majority of white fans uncomfortable.

*I'm thinking of my experiences in the supernatural fandom. (Although, i'm not saying it's perfect. There are certainly a number of fics that have made me feel very disappointed inthe creator for falling into the trap of racial stereotypes in OCs and stuff like that, and despite that so many people enjoy it and include it in rec lists.)

#dnp #phan #dan and phil #also lol follow me! im a new sideblog #kickthepj

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skylermadness · 4 months

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Cosmic Adoration (Ophion TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: February 14, 2024)

Hey look, I'm uploading something in the same day it gets uploaded on my other accounts. Woah.

Original Description:

Happy Valentine's Day! I've sort of become infrequent when it comes to holiday-themed TFs, but this was actually a story I've wanted to write out for a long time! Quite literally since I started writing it back in January of last year before getting burnt out and never finishing it... until now, anyway. Now I have it done and I can upload it publicly for all to see! I'm quite proud of how this turned out. I typically don't deal in PMC but I feel like that would have been the best route to take this story, and full MC would have tarnished what little themes I was trying to convey with this. I don't think I have much commentary besides all of that though. I guess I could mention there was going to be a reality change segment in the furthest end of the post-TF, but with how I led that segment of the story along I couldn't really fit it in without it feeling needless and awkward.

Valentine's Day.

Initially the very concept of the holiday had eluded Hugo for a good chunk of his life. This had mainly been because he had trouble discerning the purpose of the holiday. Why did such a holiday need to exist to celebrate love? Especially when such a thing could be celebrated on any day of the year. To him, at least originally, it was just a way for stores to boost sales. The most he'd usually acknowledge is the price drops of confectionaries after and that was it. So as far as he cared the holiday was nigh-nonexistent…

That pattern of thought lasted for about twenty-five years. Then he met… Jace…

Dating had always been outside of Hugo’s range of social skills. He had originally thought himself as never really feeling the desire for it. He was content with being single, or at least he tried to tell himself that as to avoid confronting any weird feelings he might have. This thought pattern had quickly changed over the past ten months however, and it was all thanks to the introduction of his boyfriend into his life.

It was… strange, really. Having first fallen in love all that time ago. Was it love at first sight, or was it gradual…? Hugo had originally just been sitting in a coffee shop waiting for his order before going to work, but had encountered Jace after they seemed to recognize him as someone whom he shared a few high school classes with so many years ago. He'd be lying if he said he knew what the guy was talking about, but the thought of being recognized so randomly was quite pleasant.

Their encounters at that shop became frequent, almost weekly. Casual talks about life between the two, sharing their interests and enjoyments to one another. Admittedly Hugo had been the more reserved one of the two, but he always enjoyed listening to Jace talk about their own life. He loved hearing his voice, he loved hearing him speak so passionately about things, he loved… him…

It was definitely a little awkward whispering those very words beneath a breath while in mid-conversation. And even more so when they decided to take things outside and less public so they could talk it out. That awkwardness had quickly faded though, their conversation shifting more into the hypotheticals of dating each other. It was silly and lifted Hugo's spirits up a bit after what he felt like was one big act of making a fool of himself.

Then Jace said he would like to date.

Hugo was surprised, stuttering and sweating and being filled with complete and utter confusion. Jace then gave him a small kiss on the cheek, the man's mustache ticking the skin and making Hugo feel even more flustered.

That was enough to settle everything though. They were officially getting together… but now Hugo had a new problem.

It's been ten months of them dating now and he felt… inadequate? He always felt like his way of expressing love was lackluster in comparison to Jace's. Jace was the more expressive and outgoing one of the two, meanwhile Hugo always had trouble trying to properly express his own emotions in a way that didn't sound like he was forcing it out of himself. He just always had trouble trying to say things properly. Trying to determine what to say, what to do. Was he romantic enough? Was he receiving without giving back in a perfectly equal amount? Of course Jace had been left unaware of these concerns. Hugo had chosen not to tell these fears to them, which in truth might not be a good idea…

He shook his head, then whispered to himself. "Why am I such a mess…"

Realizing he had his head down in thought the whole time, Hugo raised it and looked forward. He was currently walking down the sidewalk of the city's shopping district. It was currently February 13th, the eve of Valentine's Day, and Hugo had decided that with the day of celebrating love fast approaching he should do something for it. It wouldn't necessarily be something grand, but he at least wanted to give his boyfriend something that would commemorate his own love for them.

That's easier said than done though. Fortunately Hugo had a plan! He was on this particular street for a reason, to visit an antique's store and locate something of value there that would be enough to encapsulate his passion. Unfortunately, that was also easier said than done. He wasn't even sure he'd find something there, especially considering how… odd the wares seemed to be, at least just by a casual glance at the store's website.

Still, it was an adequate starting point. His steps began to slow as his peripherals caught onto the deep brown wood of a building. Hugo turned, gazing into the windows and finding shelves lined with various peculiar objects. Too many to discern properly. He lifted his head for one final check, staring up at the letting that spelled out the store's name.

Maurice's Audacious Antiques. The very place he was looking for. Perfect…

A bell above the door silently rang as the young man walked in and the wooden floorboards softly creaked beneath the new weight introduced upon them. The place had an odd and comfy feel to it. Hugo would describe it as cabin in the woods-type vibes. And considering the rusting of the shelves to his left, this place definitely has age to it.

His eyes then caught a singular person here. To the right, behind a counter was a rotund man with a balding head and a thick, tied up beard. His head constantly went back and forth between two objects, a laptop and a notebook with poorly scrawled wording in it, while mumbling random things that Hugo couldn't discern. Hugo took a few steps forward before he was in front of the counter, the younger man noting that the older one hadn't seemed to notice him yet.

"Uh, hi…?"

The burly bear of a man raised upwards with his eyes wide, sharply inhaling. "Got damn, ya' startled me!"

Hugo rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Sorry about that… sir?"

The man's face suddenly shifted from startled to smiling. "No need fer formal'ties! Jus' call me Maurice!"

"Er, right. I just uh, came here to…" Hugo started to trail off. Should he say the reason why he's even here? Will it even help?

Maurice raised a brow. "Ya' alright, son?"

Hugo blinked a few times, then swallowed the forming lump in his throat. "I-I'm fine! I just uh, wanted to find a… gift for someone close to me."

The older man nodded, stroking his beard in thought. Silence filled the space between the two for a few seconds before one of them spoke again.

"Don' think I've gott'n a reques' like that before. Ya might be able to find somethin' in one a' the furth'r shelves though. They have all kindsa trinkets 'n knick-knacks." Maurice advised. He then repositioned his hand to lean his head on its palm. "With our recent batch a' stuff, ya' should find somethin' you like!"

Hugo nodded in response. "Th-thank you… Maurice-"

He turned around and went to the area he was advised to go to. The store's amount of stock was unimpressive with only a single row of five shelves filed one after another, but he had settled on checking the fourth one for anything interesting. It looked like it had small stuff in it after all. Although he was a little curious about the store owner's usage of should and would. It felt like they didn't know their own stock. They tried to ignore that though. They had to focus on finding a gift for Jace.

It was now that Hugo truly saw how strange the objects on these shelves seemed to be though.

Some seemed pretty normal. A few intricately designed rings, sets of jeweled earrings, and weird looking necklaces with a design-scheme that felt expensive to look at. However, oddities seemed to pop up left and right. A red, glass-looking orb; sitting beside it was a blue orb with gold metal zigzagging across the middle. Some weird sharp pen-looking thing, a golden chalice of some kind, and… was that a marble pauldron???

"This is so weird…" Hugo whispered to himself.

Finding a gift was already hard enough, but the pure absurdity here made things feel more challenging than they needed to be. At least finding something perfect was a non-issue. He casually picked up one of the many spheres, one that looked like it contained an entire galaxy inside, and stared at it in utter confusion.

He whispered again, "What is your purpose??" while pushing his face close to the object. He then set it down again, suddenly worried that he might break it.

"This isn't going to work…" he sighed, slowly stepping closer to the shelf's end and the window beside it. He sounded off more objects in his head as he continued forward. Weird blue crystal, a pair of sunglasses, a censor thing, some kind of… cap??

For an antiques store all of this felt absurd-

His confusion was momentarily broken as the peripheral of his eye caught onto something glistening. He turned his head to look and found… another necklace? A fairly simple one at that. It was a single golden string with a white elliptoid object on it. For some reason he felt compelled to pick it up, gently cupping the elliptoid and putting it in his hand.

"What is this…" he asked himself, lifting his hand towards his face a little. The elliptoid looked almost like an egg. Its shell was adorned with beautifully designed spirals, rigid enough that rubbing a thumb over it allowed him to feel them out a little. It felt nice. Nice and warm. He wasn't sure why it was warm, probably because of the sunlight, but it was oddly calming to him.

"It does look pretty neat," he said with a smile. His mind was wracking over all the possible representations this single object could hold. The warmth he feels around Jace, the way they have slowly have made him try to come out of his shell, the newness he felt upon realizing his love for them. A small laugh escaped his throat. All of those sound so cheesy, damn. But… they're the truth, are they not?

It feels so embarrassing though. His smile falters, his emotions dimming. What if it's too cheesy though? What if it comes out horribly and he makes a fool of himself in front of Jace? Damn it, damn it, damn it, he felt so fucking stupid!!

He sighs. "I-I'm overthinking this, I have to… I have to calm down. I just…" he looked out the window, sighing. "I just wish I could better show my feelings…"

Right as these words left his mouth the egg on the necklace began to glow. Bright gold shone from the unknown material, the object slowly shaking as it seemed to move closer to him. Hugo had felt the object moving in his hands and looked towards it, but barely got any time to process it as the object practically flung out of his hand and around his neck.

"Wh-what the hell-" he exclaimed, feeling a tickling around his neck as the string tied around it. He reached up both hands to try and grasp the mysterious egg-like object and pull it off. However, the moment his palm made contact with it he felt an intense warmth run throughout his entire body. He took a few steps back, bumping into the shelf behind him, as an intense golden glow entered his irises.

"What is… hhhaaa…."

A hand opened, fingers unfurling away from the elliptoid as they began to twitch. A strange energy was filling his body, coursing through it painlessly and warming it to a strangely comforting degree. All the while strange changes was beginning to form into his form.

His hands were the part of his body that first made contact with the necklace, which meant they were the first to have begun their transformation. As Hugo's fingers twitched his nails began to lengthen. They grew longer, the tips getting sharper and curling as if they were becoming claws. Their translucency was lost as they gained a golden tone as well. The skin on his hands started to lighten, a cream color entering them as the softness hardened. A leathery texture had steadily etched into them while their composition became less fleshy and more scaly.

As the cream-colored scales started to form across his hands, their size was beginning to increase as well. Both hands had stretched out to become larger and thicker. His fingers were getting plumper and meatier. As his hands got larger in size he gripped both of them into fists, his knuckles proceeding to ache for a moment before short, sharp golden spikes erupted from beneath the scales.

The scales quickly started to move upwards to his wrists and forearms. The area increased in size to match the proportions of his hands. However, this new enlargement had also been due to a gain in muscle mass. Comforting heat surging into his forearm muscles as they began to gain bulk. At the same time the coloration of his scales had steadily shifted, hue changing from its soft cream to a brilliant gold. All the while more short golden spikes erupted from the back of his forearms at evenly spaced intervals before seemingly ending at his elbow.

His elbows got larger, the scales rapidly transitioning to his upper arm and running beneath the short sleeves of his polo shirt. The sleeves proceeded to constrict, his muscles now bloating beneath the lustrous scurf he was gaining. His biceps bulged beneath the fabric to a quickly noticeable degree. His triceps mirrored those changes as well, Hugo's once skinny arms now having been mostly consumed by his newfound musculature. Rips started to form within the fabric of his sleeves as his delts ballooned, his shoulders widening drastically as everything soon began to flow into his body proper.

Hugo leaned on a shelf, breathing deeply as he stared down at a hand. His mind was feeling… conflicted, to say the least. A fraction of him wanted to be afraid, wanted to attempt to pry off this necklace from his neck. His other arm was slowly raising itself up to fulfill that desire. But his fingers that were slowly curling around the elliptoid never closed the gaps between them.

There was still another fraction of his mind. Curiosity as to what was going on, as to what this object was doing to him. A strange desire to let that curiosity flourish and let these changes progress. What was happening to him, why was it happening?

His breathing slowed just slightly. "What does this necklace want to do to me!?"

It had to be the necklace's will after all. Such a thought felt so absurd, but in the back of his head he felt it was correct to assume to.

A sharp exhale exited his mouth as he felt a sharp heat enter his torso for a second. His shirt began constricting even more as he felt his own collar bone widen, his entire frame being made more wide and broad. The one button of his polo he had fastened started straining as a result, his frame clearly getting larger than his shirt had been accustomed too. Shortly after that the comforting warmth entered his torso as well. The light of the necklace's egg glowed brighter for a moment, Hugo beginning to feel a strange feeling well up inside him as it did so.

As the scales started to converge on his chest their color lightened back to its previous cream tone. Meanwhile, his chest began to swell in size. His pectorals got larger and rounder, packing on mass at a steady rate as his polo filled out more and more. It wasn't long until their thickening pressed up against his shirt, steadily testing its limits each passing second as his cleavage got deeper and more visible within the fabric. The new roundness of his pectorals were quite visible in general. The one fastened button of his shirt would suddenly pop off, unable to hold itself against the slabs of meat that were now his pecs.

Meanwhile the changes were running down his back as well. The back of his shirt was tightening as his trapezius muscles broadened and enlarged. A sudden surge zipped down his spine, the vertebrae decompressing and getting thicker steadily forcing his height to increase by a few inches over the course of the next few minutes. But the strongest feeling was in two points of his upper back, a massive pressure slowly mounting into them. Two bumps slowly rising from the skin-turning-scales, hard spikes emerging from those bumps and beginning to poke holes in the fabric of his shirt. This pressure only seemed to increase as time went on, Hugo stumbling forward a bit and hunching. He gripped his abdomen with his left arm while he grasped onto a shelf with his right, the sound of metal crunching piercing the air thanks to the strength of his grip and sharpness of his claws.

Hugo practically growled at the mix of senses he was enduring right now. "F-fucking hell-" his voice cracks slightly, sounding slightly deeper as it crackles. "W-where'd that comfort go…"

The warmth he was looking for still remained, albeit now drowned out by the insurmountable pressure in his back.

His abdomen started to churn, the region rippling as his entire lower half was consumed by scales. Hardened slabs of muscles arose from the area, abs pushing forward row by row. His shirt was riding up his belly during the process, his new muscles being granted increasingly better visible. It wasn't long until a solid eight-pack of abs formed. An even stranger addition occurred in his abdominal as well, golden gemstones formed on the perpendicular folds of his muscles: a massive diamond-shaped one at the bottom of his pectoral cleavage, a smaller one at the base of his first row of abs, and the smallest at the base of the second row.

Beneath a hand he felt his side getting indented as well, the muscles in his obliques shifting and gaining in muscularity, strengthening as his chest was barrelling out. All these changes tightened his polo shirt to an even stronger degree, the threads on his sides unstitching due his much larger body size. The size of his newly formed muscles had resulted in the crevices his muscles had produced being visible from indents in the fabric. Due to his increasing height the hem of his shirt continued to rise even more as well.

By this point, the holes in the back of his shirt has been stretched even larger by the formulating spikes. Although at this point the spikes had grown larger enough to prove themselves as the pointed ends of an external bone growth. This growth had continued to extend and expand, a pair of large triangular bulges swelling up at his back. Pressure just continued to build up as these bulges got larger and larger. More and more of the back of his shirt continued to tear, and the bulges gained more and more definition in their shape to point that they were proven to be more than just bulging scaley growths. But after a few more seconds of pressure building, everything came to one big feeling of relief.

“GGRRRAAAAGHHHH!!!” Hugo roared, the sound of splitting fabric piercing the air as his back was finally granted escape from its discomfort. What had emerged from the region was a pair of magnificent wings. They were draconic in appearance with the flesh and membranes possessing the same golden scales that the rest of his body had formed. Furthermore his newly developed wingspan was noticeably large, and as the new appendages curled into themselves it became evident that the fingers of his wings were long enough to descend down to the ground.

The young man could feel the heat of his blood pumping through the newly emerged wings. Strange tingles and sensations coursed through his nervous system as his brain was forced to get accustomed to them, and in truth he could feel his muscle memory rapidly getting used to having them there. Once all the pressure and tightness had subsided, Hugo shakily straightened his back and looked behind him.

“These… things…” he stated, his voice continuing to deepen in tone as he spoke. Like the feel of something commanding was seeping into it. “Why does… having them feel so… nice…?”

Finally unhanding the shelf in front of him, he moves a hand over to give his new wings a gentle caress. That desire to be afraid had been dispelled now, the man filled with a feel of familiarity at the sight instead. These wings were his, and this body…

This body is yours, a stray thought pierces his brain. The Celestial Egg is granting what you desire…

Hugo blinked a few times at the thought, and the pupils of his eyes seemed to get thinner which each blink. He then stops caressing the wing and pulls his hand over to rub a thumb on the egg that adorned the necklace.

“The Celestial Egg…” he whispered, the meekness of his earlier tone of voice almost completely replaced by an almost deific level of deepness. Meanwhile his mind dwells on the object and thinks about what it's done, what it's doing to him, and as he does so he feels a tinge of pressure at the base of his spine.

Instead of sitting around waiting for what he knew was about to explode from his body, he decided to just move his other arm behind him so he could push down the back of his pants a bit. It was a little hard considering his legwear was already at the point that it could barely fit around his waist, but he managed to push the top of his jeans just enough that he could let whatever pressure in his rear relieved itself without having to fight against his pants.

The act had unveiled a small, pointed growth at the base of his spine. Its size wouldn't remain diminutive however as pressure continued to build up within it, that pressure causing it to quickly extend downwards. At first it started out being rather thin and small, like an unimpressive snake slithering out from above the waistline of his pants. However after a few inches it became noticeable that the lengthening appendage was beginning to get segmented, and each segment was slightly larger in diameter than the last. Come ten segments long and it was undeniable that Hugo was gaining a tail, and it was only getting longer. Twelve segments, fifteen, eighteen, twenty two; all with a sequential increase in diameter by almost an inch. Come the mid-twenties and the tail would be about a ruler in thickness. A few more seconds and the segment count reaches the thirties, in which the rate of growth begins to slow down. Thirty two, thirty three, thirty four… then it comes to a halt at about thirty five segments. By then the tail’s width was about a ruler and a half, and the length itself could only be about four times that long. It also formed with the tail’s aforementioned pointed tip, a series of spikes running across the top of certain segments, and a shine from the golden scales adorning it.

Concurrent with the growth of his new appendage were the swath of changes entering into the lower half of his body. The sea of scales cascaded down all sides of his body, flowing down his waist and hardening the skin of his legs to match the nigh-reptilian nature the rest of his body was garnering. Beneath the shifting scales on his thighs were his muscles which, just like in his arms, were in the process of bulking up and discarding their once skinny appearance. His quads and hamstrings grew in conjunction with each other, absolutely bulging in strength as the denims of his jeans were forced to strain against his rapidly developing musculature. At the back of his legs were his gluteus muscles, them too in the process of swelling up to the point his rear was rounding out a fair bit.

Pressure surged throughout the bones in his legs, and the bottoms of each pant leg rose up the crus of his own limbs indicating that more height was being added to his body. All the while a low heat burned in his calves, those muscles also ballooning out of the back of the lower half of his legs. By this point all the crevices that divided his muscles were indenting into the material of his pants, splits and tears forming in the sides of his jeans and revealing the shining gold his body had attained. It was like the changes had finely sculpted his form to a body type akin to the Grecian marble statues, except looking like he himself was worth billions.

The final change in his body’s lower half came to his feet. By now they had already undergone a process to have grown in order to fit his new bodily proportions, larger and wider and thicker. His chunkier toes were pushing up against the fronts of his shoes to such a degree that the footwear themselves was bulging in its attempt to contain them. The heels of his own feet dug into the back of his shoes, and the sides pressed up against their sides. Even a few rips could be heard as the strings began to snap against the bridge of his feet.

And then came the sea of scales…

Once beyond his ankles the hardening of his flesh went from the pristiness of the rest of his form to getting mixed with a shade of vermillion around his feet. As his soles were covered in scales an almost reddish-orange hue formed in the area. Meanwhile the top of his feet seemed to practically harden as a scute-like segmenting broke apart the skin, perfectly dividing itself to align with the ligaments of his toes. And by the time this plating extended to the ends of his toes, an almost bronze shade of brown dispelled the translucency in his toenails as they gradually restructured and sharpened. Rips could be heard from the cloth of his shoes as a quintet of pointed claws emerged from the front, curved and pointed and almost bestial.

Yet none of the sounds of his clothing shattering or the feeling of his form practically improving on itself were as much a distraction for Hugo as they could have been. All during that segment of the transformation his mind was instead focused on his own thoughts. Because the longer the changes are pressed on, the more his body becomes less human, the more information his brain seems to attain. The more the Egg puts into his mind to make his mentality compatible. And he knows it's the Egg that was doing this. His mind registers it as his unique Sacred Artifact.

“Holding all that is and ever was in the very palm of my hand…” the changing man speaks cryptically, a low and deep chuckle escaping his throat after he makes the comment. He could practically feel the power of his own voice resonating through the walls of his throat. Although that could also be from the scales rising up his neck.

A grin then forms on his face, any emotion he was feeling earlier cast away as a feeling of pure confidence had overtaken him. “…and out of everyone within you you're making me one of the most powerful there is? I should feel honored considering just who I used to be~”

He could only grin wider as he felt pressure wracking his very skull. He lets out a laugh of triumphant glee and exclaims, “Yes! Give me that visage and make this Ophion complete!” For a moment the Celestial Egg around his neck glows brighter as if in response to him, then Ophion (who has at this point cast out the name Hugo) continued to grin as his face finally began to push out with his entire skull structure shifting alongside it.

The way his skull was restructuring was a complicated series of events to say the least. The lower half of his face was being pushed forward, and his lower jaw seemed to be extending and growing to be a bit wider in size in comparison to the upper portion. That portion of his face would only continue to push out more and more into a muzzle, the very features of his face being reconstructed to fit this new development. His nose melted into the muzzle’s tip as the nostrils became holes at the furthest end, meanwhile his lips quivered as small portions of them reshaped into points and hardened as they did so. By this point his new snout was looking to be one that belonged to someone draconic in nature, much like how the rest of his body had. This was further proven by how the dome of his head was being reshaped, humanity rapidly being lost under a deluge of shifts that made his entire skull structure that of an entirely different species.

The shape of his skull wasn't the only thing changing either. As the scales washed across his head, rushing past his neck and circling the base of his muzzle, bony protrusions began painlessly erupting from certain areas of his face. On each side of his head a triad of bone spikes would emerge. The series of spikes just barely obscured his ears, which themselves were in the process of repositioning themselves to protrude at the sides of his head while also gaining an almost elfine pointedness to their structure. His eyebrows were quick to fade beneath the scales, quickly replaced by juttings of golden spikes that layered over yet another set of bone spike triplets that would rise from his browline. Even right in between his eyes a very small spike would emerge. And although these weren't spikes, a pair of short and pointed protrusions would extend out of both ends of his chin.

All while these changes had occurred, Hugo’s somewhat lengthy hair was being steadily sloughed off. With each inch of his scalp the sea of gold claimed clumps of hair would slip off his head. It's once luscious fullness thinned out, each follicle being shoved out at the root by his magnificent scales. As more of his hair continued falling off it would also reveal one last set of growths on his head. The first of which was rising from the middle of his head’s apex, a series of short brown spikes that would soon run down the middle back of his head. The second of these changes however was significantly more substantial. Two brown points erupted from a portion of the upper region at his head’s back, and those points were quick to grow outwards and upwards. Unlike the rest of his face’s pointed protrusions, these ones were noticeably less bony despite possessing an appearance of hardness to them. And as the duo of brown growths continued to rise out from his skull, diameter getting a little larger as they got longer, it was evident that he was gaining a pair of horns.

Perhaps the last major change came to Ophion’s teeth. The omnivorous nature of his humanity was quickly shifted, incisors and molars quickly sharpening to fit his new species well. The most drastic change would come to his lower canines though as the reasoning for his lower jaw’s protrusion finally came into tangibility. Much like the horns atop his head the left canine of the two lower teeth would extend upwards a fair bit while sharpening itself and, after a few seconds, shift into being more like a prominent fang. The rightward canine didn't get that luxury however as instead it seemed to practically atomize and leave the gum to harden and scar in mere seconds.

The pressure that had enveloped the anthropomorphic dragon’s head finally began to subside. A glint of red overtook Ophion’s irises as the pupils finally properly slit like a reptile’s. “This feels so… good,” he muttered to himself as he raised up a hand and gently caressed his own face. “Makes me wish I had a mirror to see just how divine I look now!”

Because at this point that's just how he felt: absolutely divine! His brain can register memories of a world beyond this one, a life beyond this one, all of which has been meshed and mixed with his own thoughts of his previous humanity. The Egg had taken his desire and, inevitably, went a bit overboard in fulfilling it. But Ophion hadn't cared, the personality overhaul he had garnered was absolutely wonderful! No more pitiful fears about how he acts, no more staggeringly low amounts of self-confidence, no more worries about… about how he can show his love to…

“Jace…” he whispered beneath a breath. The very name carried the same familiarity that it had when he was a human. And thinking about it… about him made Ophion’s brain register the same emotion the dragon had towards him: an intense feeling of love. But now that intensity practically burned inside him, he felt a devotion that not even those atop the System of Olympus could fell. It was an unquantifiable feeling and was something he just couldn't hold himself from expressing!

“I can finally do what I've wanted for so long~” Ophion proclaimed. He turns and takes a step forward, but is stopped in his tracks almost immediately as he feels a knee of his pants split over his own. It was at this point that the dragon had finally taken full notice of his extremely ill-fitting clothing. His polo was somehow still hanging on for dear life, meanwhile his jeans were a few stitches away from ripping apart at the sides.

“I'm going to need something better than this if I'm going to look more presentable…” he sneered.

The Celestial Egg sparkled a bit and glowed for a few seconds, prompting his clothing to sparkle themselves as a bright light enveloped them. A few seconds later and his clothes would begin to grow, expanding over his form so they could all cover him properly. The hem of his shirt was quick to descend over his abdominal region as the entirety of it enlarged enough that his muscle mass wouldn't indent so intricately into the fabric. But then a different change occured, a deep brown beginning to overtake the coloration of the shirt at a rapid pace. As it did so the small placket of the polo began to extend down the middle, golden buttons lining it but not even bothering to fasten themselves. The once small collar would also lengthen, popping itself upwards as it raised higher and higher. And as the shirt’s split finished its full formation the entirety of the shirt would open to now fully reveal his muscled torso. Meanwhile the back of his shirt was seemingly being restitched, the giant hole formed by his wings altering to become more intentional rather than a byproduct of the appendages tearing through it.

The sleeves of the shirt weren't left unscathed as any rips were fixed almost instantly. The constricted feeling was alleviated, changed to a more snug feel as they more comfortably outlined his upper arm muscles. By the time the sleeves were enveloped by the brown coloration they would also bulge as if they were simultaneously extending in length while still trying to contain themselves to their shortness. This would eventually manifest in the form of his shirt sleeves now taking a rolled up appearance.

A similar discoloration had entered his enlarging pants, although this time it was more beige in tone that was enough to shift the denim into a different and finer material. The shifts within his legwear were a little less intense as they would also only enlarge enough to allow movement yet still be tight enough to outline his muscles, all while fixing themselves of the damage his unexpected growth in muscle had incurred. The button that held the jeans closed gained a golden tone, as did the zipper, both of which being left completely open despite the fact his pants fit him now. And with no belt the only thing that held the jeans on his body was a pair of suspenders that snaked from over his shoulders and down his torso before promptly buckling on his legwear.

The last piece of his attire that remained were his shoes which after being enveloped by the Egg’s magical light… straight up dematerialized into motes of light and leaving his feet bare. The motes of light didn't disappear however, instead floating upwards and behind the dragon before seemingly rematerializing into something else entirely. Fine silken material layering onto his back, amorphousness quickly dispelling as it gained a menagerie of whites and browns, all with trims of gold lining. It was hard to fully realize at first but it would seem that some kind of suit jacket had manifested behind him, being worn casually as it was just clinging onto his shoulders.

With that the Egg’s glow finally dimmed, Ophion now sporting a look that could only be described as both distinguished and casual. With a smile he held the Artifact with two claws and brought it to his face. “Really abiding by all my wants today, hm?”

For once the Egg didn't shine in response. The dragon wasn't expecting any though, so he unhanded the object and let it drift back to hang over his chest. He then sauntered forward, making his way out of the aisle… and into the eyeline of a very awestruck Maurice who was still behind the counter.

“Was wonderin’ if I needed to check on ya’...” Maurice commented as he made eye contact with the anthropomorphic dragon.

“Does this not happen often?” Ophion inquired as he stepped forward towards the counter. “I can practically smell the stench of anomalous magic from this place now…”

“Err…” Maurice looked away.

Ophion chuckled. “Do not think I give much of a care with what you do here. Although I do give thanks for your wares allowing me to attain such a brilliant form~ I don't think I've felt this great in ages!”

“Uhuh…” Maurice nodded, face still in a mix of awe and surprise. “Well, that’ll be-”

“I'll be deciding the price here…” the dragon practically demanded. He fished around a back pocket for a bit and pulled out a wallet, although upon opening it he was greeted with his former self’s image in the ID photo window. “…and I have a feeling I won't be here for much longer.”

Ophion then placed the wallet onto the counter, then turned to make his leave. “Thank you for your help, Maurice! Your actions shall be etched into my memory for as long as time flows!”

Maurice is just left dumbfounded as he watches Ophion leave the store and, after a good few seconds, jet into the air as one would expect a dragon to do.

“...still not quite sure how to process that,” the storeowner muttered as his gaze drifted to the wallet the dragon had left behind as payment.

----------------------------------------------------------

The sound of a blender pierced the air of the apartment, Jace idly watching as the fruit within the object was shredded into a fine paste. He was never quite sure how to spend days off from work whenever he was left alone. Especially since he had his hopes on spending the day with Hugo, but it was almost 5PM and Hugo hadn't gotten back from his mysterious shopping trip yet.

The apartment falls into silence and Jace eyes his phone. Not even an indicator that his last text was read. “What could he be doing…?” the man muttered in concern.

Then the melancholy serenity of the room was broken in an instant by the sound of a thump from the apartment balcony. A giant shadow being cast through the glass, easily visible from the kitchen’s adjacency to the balcony door.

“Uhhhh…” Jace backed up a bit, eyeing the shadow with a slowly building fear in his chest. He couldn't make out what it was, it was just large and… monstrous?

He then hears the balcony door slide open. A sound that prompted him to turn around and scramble for a knife or something to-

“Jace…” a deep voice called out, interrupting his actions. Jace promptly squeaked in response, heart rate skyrocketing. He very slowly turns around to see the form of a golden-scaled musclebound dragon anthro staring straight at him.

“Wh-what are you?!?”

The dragon tilted its head, a spiky brow raised. “How undignified, I probably should've…” he shoved a hand in a pant pocket and pulled out a phone. “Please give me a moment.”

Jace just stood there in fearful silence as he watched the dragon futz around with their phone, the sound of claws tapping on glass being the only thing fully heard in the apartment. Then after a few moments a look of satisfaction formed on the dragon’s face.

“Here,” the dragon held the phone out, its wallpaper fully visible to Jace. The man’s eyes widened as he saw the image: a picture of himself and Hugo. This was Hugo’s phone.

With a shaky step forward Jace began to verbally panic. “Where did you- what did you-”

A look of realization then formed on the dragon's face. “Jace, my love, it's me. Hugo.”

“Your love???” Jace exclaimed, eyeing up the golden dragon with some level of fury in his eyes. “I don't- you can't be! For one, Hugo’s a human!”

“Was, I was a human,” the dragon corrected. “It would be hard to explain it all fully but,” he raised up a hand and tapped what looked to be an egg that was hanging around his neck. “This? This changed me into this glorious form.”

Jace was far from convinced though. “Please, people don't just suddenly transform into dragons! You- you have to have done something to him-”

“Our anniversary is in two months, the receipts for the bracelet you bought me for it are in the dresser next to our bed, and you’re still trying to reserve a date for that one restaurant with the shrimp,” the dragon listed out in rapid succession. He then stepped forward with his arms outstretched. “Now do you believe me, my love? Or must I go into your personal confessions?”

Jace swallowed a lump in his throat. All those things the reptilian spoke of were correct, and there's no way he could've garnered that information unless he was somehow spying on the two of them. “I-I was hoping you wouldn't have noticed any of that!”

“We live in an apartment, love,” the dragon, Hugo apparently, stated as he leaned over the kitchen’s island. “It's almost impossible to hide such sensitive information.”

Jace just nods as he stared into Hugo’s eyes, and just looked at his draconic visage in general. He appeared so nonchalant, so calm, and his face seemed to look more tender the longer he looked at Jace.

“I'm… still trying to process this,” Jace began leaning onto the counter behind him. “How the heck did you get that… thing that transformed you into this, Hugo…?”

“I'd like to start by saying I go by Ophion now. In truth I was trying to find an adequate gift for this coming Valentine's Day,” Ophion began to recount. “I found an interesting antique's store a few days back and decided to pay a visit today. Although in truth it seems that place is some kind of front for magical artifact vending but well…” a somber look formed on his face as he took hold of the necklace’s egg and held it into view. “Truthfully I've always felt like an inadequate lover to you. I was hoping to get you something that'd prove myself, and perhaps make up for my lackluster approach to our relationship. Once I picked up the Celestial Egg it resonated with my desires and made me into this. Transformed me physically, mentally…”

The dragon leaned a little closer, a fervorous look in his eyes. “Perhaps it even deepened my love for you…”

Jace let out a sharp exhale, then stepped forward to gently caress Ophion’s face. “Hu- Ophion. You don't have to give me some trinket to prove your love to me. And truthfully for me, I never found you lackluster at all! Perhaps a little neurotic but, you were always still a wonderful person…”

He then gave the dragon a kiss on the snout.

“...but I should really ask if you feel better about yourself?”

“I do,” the dragon confessed. Ophion lifted his head out of Jace’s grasp and straightened himself up. His form from the waist up was visible from behind the kitchen island: strong muscles, glistening scales, those weird crystals embedded in his body. Jace couldn't even help but give a glance at Ophion’s wings, the man wincing at the thought of having to suddenly grow those. Nonetheless, the golden reptilian had a certain confident aura that Hugo seemed to always have trouble mustering.

“I can't say I'm the same person I was as a human,” Ophion admitted. “The way this Egg works, it put so much into me to make me fit an identity I desired. But I will also admit a fraction of that was because I wanted to be able to better show how much I love you, my love~”

“I don't think you had to change yourself into a literal dragon to show how much you love me,” Jace said with a laugh. “I'm glad you're happy though. I will admit I'm getting used to being called your love, it's so dignified!”

He then paused. “Now how will we explain to the landlord that my boyfriend has become a real life scalie…”

Ophion let out a hearty laugh. “We don't need to deal with that now…” he then walked around the counter to properly stand near Jace. “It's just me and you, today~”

Ophion then brought Jace into a warm embrace. This mostly meant Jace was being pressed up into the dragon's meaty pecs as he was put into a hug. It made the man blush a bit…

“Now then…” Ophion’s voice lowers to a whisper, and Jace could feel himself being lifted. “How about I show you how a universe can be made…?”

Jace raised a brow. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Ophion just chuckled, and Jace turned his head and found himself being moved out of the kitchen. It took a few more seconds for him to fully register what was about to happen as he realized they were moving into a hallway, and everything finally clicked.

They were heading to the bedroom…

#character tf #tf #transformation #muscle growth tf #species tf #bara tf #male transformation #reptile tf

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laylawatermelon · 6 days

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Y'all i just cracked the davinci code and idk if you're gonna like it.

As a Buddie fan devastated obviously, as a 9-1-1 fan devastated obviously and as a writer absolutely blown away by the finessing they just graced us with.

They literally found a way to make Eddie straight and by God they've done it successfully.

Lemme explain.

I was locked in when he was having the speech with Shannon and didn't get to deep in the emotions (heinous ik but I wanted to hear what he was feeling).

I did get some water wobbles in my chest but that's neither here nor there. I did scream horrifically at the cliffhanger of the show.

Guess the nun did scare the life out of her (and me!) after all! Heeh should've seen that coming honestly but I didn't think they'd go there.

So there's two things I think is gonna happen, one Eddie's gonna go on more straight woman dates (yay 😮‍💨) and Chris is leaving.

Now the second one I'll address first and don't bash me if it's not trueee.

I'll get the Chris one over with. First Gavin, Chris' actor, family moved. Since he's become a main he's had little to no screentime in the show.

What I think has happened in real life it's that Gavin will step away from the show. They have him main to show his importance in the cast and storyline (i can also guess pay raise but I'm not saying that's unreasonable really) before his send off.

Realistically he's a disabled person, a child/minor at that, who i assume has a lot of equipment and things he has to travel with. I can imagine it's not that easy to consistently travel across states with equipment, doctor's appointments, schoolwork etc.

So this is probably his last season for a while.

The birthday party (which can also double as a send off or until next time message) and the promotion/upgrade in role despite not being written as such or having storyline outside of the adults.

(off topic but I'd love a mini 118 hijinks b story with all the kids or a low stakes disaster where they all team up until the 118 get there)

He's been hypocritical to him about cheating and even tarnished his mom's legacy by bringing a fake version of her in his house.

The reason i can say the story can effectively write him off for the first half of next season is that Chris will go with his other family because he feels betrayed by his dad.

He doesn't feel safe anymore (😞😭 I'm making myself sad) so he opts to leave until his dad gets better.

The hospital scene is Eddie realizing what his kid needs isn't a new mom but to trust in his parents and that's now shattered (ooh this starting to feel personal be gone trauma!).

So he'll throw a tantrum (a rightfully deserved one that's my boy😤) and say in anger he doesn't want to be with his dad.

Buck will obviously be there cause yeah Eddie (delusional hubby) clearly needs help in his hour of need and so does Chris.

Eddie will do self isolation. Buck will be there for him (Tommy probably staying too but I'm neutral for this post) but with everything Eddie going through he's gonna be wrecked.

And because Eddie's a (good? Eh so so right now) dad he'll let Chris decide when he wants to return.

Hence the heartbreak.

Boom it solves the Gavin problem where he can probably stay during the summer so maybe mid season 8 or limited role like how they did this season and his family can focus on him/life.

Now the Straight Eddie!

By God he's done it!

You've pulled a real good one. Tim I salute you truly.

Idk how you made a straight man out of him but by his you've done it!

(so did you Ryan I'm watching you!)

Since buddie isn't on the table this season the platonic hasn't been more platonic-er since season 7 episode 1.

The way he did it was so easy and smooth I'm in awe.

This is how he kept and can probably enforce straight Eddie.

This is also how he can not enforce straight Eddie (haha got you).

The line you were the love of my life but I'm living it without you now stuck out to me.

That means he's going to find himself and what he really likes without a partner. Therapy, hobbies all that good ish. Maybe a few dates but def church.

Here's why.

Church has been something he drift away and let's be honest American tv and society is still founded in Christianity and all of its adjacent branches.

You must have God somewhere in there for the older audience to tune in/connect with of it's getting a lil secular (aka the bundle of lgbt characters. They're probably saying at least one of em knows God😮‍💨😮‍💨) /hj

The book of prayers symbolizes him going back to God to find answers about himself.

Anyways for the straight Eddie he can get closer to himself better in his faith and get a nice Christian girl who he matches with and (maybe) even has a kid/ similar background.

Since he's been to therapy and he's let go of the love of his life he's now free to find love in someone else. A new woman. (And truly this time)

(or a man, or they/them)

Yes my queer Eddie agenda rises!

Go FORTH!

BE ONE WITH THE SKITTLES SQUAD!

But seriously though the other way it can go is that he's discovering stuff about himself away from romance. He becomes more comfortable with religion but when confusing feelings (attraction to the same gender anyone for $10?) arise then he'll maybe start to fight his Catholic guilt about it since he's gotten closer to it.

Then he'll have to ask for for forgiveness but not permission for the live he wants to live.

(with buck in a house on the waves! Let me be delusional! I've kept it under wraps this long!)

But anyways they've truly dodged the lgbt fruity storyline.

They've also shown us that yes, Buddie was NOT platonic because I've never felt more friends energy in my life this season.

And what the AuDHD brain says is canon/not canon I vibe accordingly.

The vibes were low. Like a suspiciously low.

Dare I say subtextually low.

That's not happened in the history of buddie this is a code red!

CODE RED!

Okay I'm done btw hate me or whatever! /big J

#911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #buckley diaz family #911 fox #911thursdaytakeover #911 meta #911 speculation #buddie #oliver stark #ryan guzman #long post #911 spoilers #911 season 7 #911 season 8 speculation

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landhoehoehoe · 2 years

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I hear a symphony - Arthur Leclerc

first of all: OMG this gif is all I need in life 😫

second: I absolutely hate this one and it's short asf but I figured I needed to force myself to write something to get back in the groove lol

Would recommend listening to I hear a symphony by Cody Fry (only when the song is mentioned!) because this whole drabble is based on the song

Thank you sm for 300 followers even though I didn't post anything new besties, I appreciate it very much 🫶🏻 Warnings: none, fluff fluff fluff

Arthur Leclerc x reader; Slow dancing and cooking together

After stepping out of the shower you finally felt yourself relax.

You had had a long and stressful day at work: one of those days that just don’t seem to end with meetings that stretch like chewing gum.

Therefore you were now all the more grateful that you were finally home.

Downstairs you heard Arthur rambling around in the kitchen, so you quickly put on one of his oversized shirts to go and join him.

“My love, is everything okay?”, you asked as you entered the kitchen while still drying your hair with a towel.

Your boyfriend, who’d been cursing at the stove just then, turned around abruptly.

Arthur was only wearing grey sweatpants and nothing else because he’d spent his day off in bed, watching Netflix.

He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled nervously, but then you saw his eyes wandering down to where his shirt ended right beneath your ass.

“I can’t figure this stupid stove out.”, he answered, but his eyes were still focussing on your body.

You let out a soft laugh.

“Here. Let me help. What are we cooking anyways?”, you stepped closer, leaving your towel on a nearby chair to inspect the ingredients Arthur had already laid out on the kitchen counter.

“I wanted to do something fancy but then I saw a TikTok of this girl making these crazy pancakes so now I want pancakes.”, he explained, making you roll your eyes in amusement.

“Pancakes it is then.”, you were still smiling when you started cracking the eggs into a bowl.

Arthur’s arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind before he placed a kiss on your temple.

“Missed you today.”, he whispered into your hair, then hugged you tightly before letting go of you again. You couldn’t help but smile when you turned around to him. “Don’t sweet-talk me into making these all by myself, mister. You can start cutting up some fruit.”, playfully you narrowed your eyes at him to seem serious.

A mischievous smirk crept onto Arthur’s face.

“Me? Sweet-talking? Never!!”

You pretended to smack him with your whisk, which made him dodge away from you.

“However, you must know, you do look like a very tasty snack in my shirt, mon amour.”, he responded, causing you to blush almost immediately.

It only made him smile even wider because he loved that his words still had such an effect on you even though you’ve been dating for well over a year now.

“Get to work, nobody’s paying you to stand around!”, you really tried to sound serious, but you were way too content to be back home with Arthur that nothing could have tarnished your good mood right now.

Arthur suddenly stood up straight and saluted you, a dead serious expression on his face.

“Aye, aye, chef. After I’m done there will be no fruit left unchopped!”

You giggled and continued making the pancakes while Arthur began washing and cutting different fruits for the toppings.

At least that was until I hear a symphony suddenly started playing over the speaker in the kitchen.

Instantly you looked up from the pancake batter, only to see Arthur already smiling widely at you with his phone in his hand.

He’d kissed you for the very first time when this song had been playing at Pierre’s wedding last year.

It had been a magical slow dancing moment that you were sure you’d never ever forget. Everything had just been so perfect.

Looking at Arthur now, you fell right back into the memory and couldn’t help but smile.

Arthur was all you ever wanted, all you could ever ask for, all you needed.

He laid down his phone and reached his hand out to you as the first chords of the song sounded through the room.

I used to hear a simple song

That was until you came along

“Milady, would you honor me with this dance?”, he asked in a goofy British accent before dramatically bowing in front of you, making you giggle once more.

“Why of course, Milord. It would be my utmost pleasure.”, you mirrored his accent and curtsied with your imaginary ball gown before you took his hand.

When he looked back up he had a cheeky smile on his face.

After giving your ass a quick squeeze, his free hand slipped around your waist while your free hand came up to his shoulder. Slowly, he started guiding you across the kitchen floor, his eyes locked onto yours.

Now in its place is something new

I hear it when I look at you

“You’re so beautiful, mon amour.”, he whispered when he swayed you from side to side.

It made your heart melt.

The moment was almost too good to be true: The sun was setting through the kitchen window while you were slow dancing with your lover to the song that first kicked off your relationship.

“I love you, mon coeur.”, you replied in the same soft tone and watched his eyes light up.

You were not a native French speaker, so he loved it when you used some of the words he’d taught you.

He spun you around once and took the opportunity to connect your lips.

It was soft, passionate and full of love. It was the comforting feeling of a warm summer night, the cozy feeling of a rainy afternoon, the exciting feeling of a fresh breath of air after a long day of work. The feeling of coming home.

You almost forgot you were still dancing until Arthur broke up the kiss again to look at you.

“I love you, too.”

You are more beautiful by far

Our flaws are who we really are

You grinned at him like you’d just won the lottery, because truly, it felt like you had.

You’d found him. Your person.

Arthur pecked your lips again before both his arms wrapped around you to pull you into a tight embrace. Your arms automatically wandered around his neck while you let your head fall against his chest.

He pressed a kiss into your hair, then rested his head on top of yours.

You closed your eyes, focused solely on Arthur’s steady heartbeat and got lost in the beautiful song. The silence around you was far from awkward and more than peaceful as the two of you reminisced in the past, swaying to the melody.

I used to hear a simple song

That was until you came along

You took my broken melody And now I hear a symphony

#formula 1 #f1 #formula 2 #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 fic #prema racing #f1 fluff #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc x reader #f1 fiction #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #ferrari #love

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

Note

Hey, may I ask what you thought of how they dealt with Rollo in the end? I heard that he doesn't really get punished and I'm confused about why that is since he posed such a threat to all of Twst Wndrlnd

I’ve actually received several similar asks about this matter, so I’d like to analyze the ending here. (This is coming out a few months after the event because I kept going back to add thoughts and revise large parts of this post.)

I’ll look at some of the common points brought up as to why some felt that the conclusion was not satisfying, then give my thoughts on them and discuss Rollo’s fate in detail.

***Spoilers ahead!!***

Mmm, I feel like I’ve seen similar complaints (about how the main conflict was resolved) floating around in the fandom. I’ve seen a number of fans express upset with this conclusion, most often citing that “Rollo got off too easy” and “his punishment should have been worse”. Some people have even stated they wanted Rollo arrested and/or extreme physical violence to be enacted on him (Malleus killing Rollo and/or the NRC boys beating him up badly).

Firstly, this is nothing new for how TWST typically deals with resolutions of massive conflicts and characters with deep trauma. Every single one of the OB boys also got let off relatively scot-free despite also putting others in grave danger. From a meta perspective, this makes sense. TWST has always been and always will be a game that asks us to empathize with villains, to show us that behind every evil, there is a chance to be good--and by offering them the chance to repent and to reflect, they can rehabilitate on their own terms.

I feel that a lot of this demand for “more” in Rollo’s case stems from a fundamental difference between him and the OB boys (who are also largely forgiven and let off with a slap on the wrist for their actions). This, of course, is that Rollo’s plans were far greater in scale and had immediate consequences on a larger population than any OB would. By all metrics, Rollo has done “worse”, and thus should warrant a “worse” punishment than being forced to play in a Magift tournament or being forced to perform onstage after taking substantial damage (ie as were the cases for Leona, Vil, etc.) in the eyes of some fans.

While I do agree that what Rollo did was deplorable and that he got off lightly compared to the gravity of his crimes, I don’t think that he deserves “more” of a punishment, and certainly not anything close to physical harm. Like... realistically, what would inflicting physical harm onto Rollo do for anyone? Catharsis? That’s but a temporary emotional release for the ones inflicting the pain, and it ultimately doesn’t do anything meaningful. That’s just an “easy” solution that doesn’t actually solve the core problem. If Rollo is kicked while he’s down, won’t that just make him double down on his ideals? And if he gets slain, that’s just an “easy” way out so the NRC students don’t actually have to deal with others of dubious morals existing in their world. Their group includes several people who were shown mercy at their worst moments (Riddle, Jamil, Azul, Idia), and to refuse Rollo the same would make them massive hypocrites.

Violence aside, there’s also significant disappointment that Rollo’s actions are being kept a secret, so that the public cannot hold him accountable for what he has done. The very minimum some fans wanted was for the City of Flowers locals and/or NBC students to become aware of Rollo’s true nature, and thus turn on him for it. This is very similar to Vil’s OB in episode 5, when he comes close to revealing his unsightly self to the public and risks tarnishing his public image. Again, I feel that Rollo isn’t extended the same courtesy because of the scale of his ambitions, but also because he doesn’t automatically express remorse for what he did (whereas Vil apologizes so many times over). What we need to keep in mind is that characters are different from one another, so what is seen as awful and world-ending is not the same for one character as it is to another. In my opinion, THIS is what makes the conclusion to Glorious Masquerade so fitting.

I want to point out here that in choosing to not expose Rollo or to beat up/kill him, it doesn’t mean the NRC boys entirely forgive him or that they aren’t holding him accountable for his actions. They call Rollo out several times throughout the climax and falling action, telling him how deplorable he is and how he’s endangering so many lives in the process of pursuing his “justice”. How they ultimately choose to deal with him is an extension of that, but it doesn’t involve needless violence.

Rollo’s punishment is a personalized hell in HIS eyes, even if we, the audience, don’t see it that way and call for “more” justice. Just because his punishment isn’t immediately tangible or isn’t recognized by a large population doesn’t make it any less of one, and this shouldn’t be underestimated. To “punish” does not necessarily mean its easy to see, it just means that it is substantially punishing to the one receiving it. That alone is enough, and it is something that is acknowledged by both the NRC boys and Rollo himself.

After Rollo is defeated, he knows that he will inevitably receive the consequences for what he has done. He tells the NRC boys to punish him, take him to the authorities, to basically do whatever they see fit to him, and he will accept it without resistance. Rollo expects ruthlessness, that he will not be granted any sort of forgiveness. Why is that? Because Rollo is ruthless with himself, and he expects the world and the other people in it to act no differently towards him. It’s not that Rollo has automatically realized the error of his ways, but that he is, as his mob students describe him, “hard on others and hard on himself”. Rollo has ultimately failed to accomplish his goal, and he believes he must be punished for this failure.

But, much to Rollo’s surprise, that isn’t what he gets. Malleus and co. lead him down the bell tower, and when they run into NBC’s vice president and student council aide, they show that they were worried for him. Rollo tries to explain to what happened to them. However, Malleus cuts him off and claims that they don’t know how the crimson flowers even started growing and overtaking the school and the city to begin with. Idia and Azul chime in, giving vague details like that Rollo was already up the bell tower before they were, and they allow the NBC mob students to make their own assumptions about what happened. Because the mob students revere Rollo so much, they come to the conclusion that he was a selfless hero and worked with the NRC students to save the day, then praise him for his heroism and emphasize just how proud they are of him. They even say Rollo is like the Just Judge of legend, someone that we know Rollo admires.

And the twisted thing about all of this is that the NRC boys just purposefully never bother correcting them. At this point, neither can Rollo. The mobs have piled on so much praise, have expressed so much concern for their president's safety, so how would they feel to have all of that hope and happiness come crashing down on them? What would happen if those feelings turned into betrayal and hurt? It is these types of questions that speaks to the true gravity of Rollo's "punishment".

He at first accuses the NRC boys of hiding the truth because they pity him, and he's insulted by the perceived pity. However, as Azul explains, it is not pity. Malleus and the others will allow Rollo to confess to his sins or pretend like nothing happened. In fact, it is the perfect punishment for someone like Rollo, someone who is so hard on themselves and cannot come to terms with the truth of his own insecurities. Rollo doesn't seem to realize it right away, so he instead grows cocky and says it's basically the same as him being absolved. On the contrary, as Malleus points out, while lying to himself will make it easier for him to deceive others, Rollo cannot lie to the Bell of Salvation--a precious magical artifact which Rollo has been tending to for some time now, the one thing that watches over everything in the City of Flowers, and the object used by Rollo to sow cataclysm.

It is the bell's eyes which bring Rollo to his senses and makes him realize how insidious the NRC boys truly are. In leaving him to his own devices, knowing that the Bell knows the truth while others continue to praise him for what are ultimately lies will plague him with never-ending guilt and remorse. Even if Rollo doesn't automatically acknowledge those feelings, there will still always be an unconscious part of him that does--must like how there's a part of him that seeks salvation for others as an unspoken excuse to seek salvation for himself. He calls others monsters, but does not look in the mirror and see himself for the monster that he is. The problem with Rollo is that he deflects and blames others rather than accepting his share of the responsibility for tragedies, and so forcing him into a situation where he is forced to confront his role in committing great evil or live every day with that burden, is his own living hell. Rollo says it himself: the "villains" of NRC are well-versed in "tormenting" people.

Living on with the weight of his sins is literally a fate WORSE than death for Rollo specifically. He is someone who has had a history of internalizing guilt already (as is evident in his motivations and backstory), so this is where it will hurt him most. Rollo has to go around every day with full awareness of what he did, and knowing that if it were to ever get out, he’d likely be seen completely differently by his peers, maybe even become a social pariah. And that’s the point. In realizing that others will judge him differently when they know of his “true” self, Rollo has the chance to see his own rights as “wrong”. He is being left with himself and his festering thoughts, with his sin–something he can never, EVER be rid of. Every day, he will pass by the statue of the Just Judge, an admirable role model for justice, a figure whom others believe you live up to, knowing he has buried his own sins that the Judge would have wished eradicated. Every day, those intense feelings of guilt, shame, and regret will be with him, eating away at him, and Rollo will suffer immensely as a result. “There is nothing that would torment Flamme more than this, correct?” Malleus says. Rollo himself also acknowledges that this would make him suffer; both parties are confessing that this is the best course of recompense for Rollo.

This is a slightly different scenario than other serious situations kept hidden from the public, such as Jamil and Vil's Overblots. In those cases, their OBs were not kept secret in order to punish them, but rather to shield their families and/or the public from the knowledge that they had lost themselves. Unlike Jamil and Vil, Rollo ISN'T worried about how his actions may impact others, and he isn't remorseful or apologetic, because he still refuses to see he is wrong and refuses to change. When faced with this stubbornness, the NRC students have chosen to make him "look in a mirror" first. That is a process that will bring him great pain in the actual setting of the world and its story--but at the same time, it does a favor for the fans by offering Rollo a chance at redemption, much like the OB boys have.

From another angle, this is also the oddly kind thing to do in regards to those in Rollo’s life. No one has to suffer with the knowledge that their “golden boy” has committed a grave sin well, except that one gargoyle. They can keep living on in blissful ignorance... and thus put further strain on Rollo mentally, who will face his punishment ALONE, just as he did when lashing out at all magicians. This is something that Idia points out: that Rollo is allowed to be upset, that he is allowed to rampage, but that he shouldn’t hurt others or get them involved with his own rage. And now, like he did with his crimson flower plot, Rollo is alone in the aftermath.

In another way, this fate is a cool parallel because of Rollo being twisted from Frollo. If you watch the opening to the Hunchback of Notre Dame movie, Frollo comes close to killing baby Quasimodo because he is so repulsed by his deformed appearance. However, as another character points out to Frollo in that scene, he can never “hide from the eyes of Notre Dame”. This prompts Frollo to take notice of all of the statues surrounding him, their stone eyes staring and silently judging him. It is this that ultimately makes Frollo change his mind about killing Quasimodo, instead choosing to raise him as his own son and bellringer. In Rollo’s case, this is also true. In the NRC boys granting him his freedom and keeping his actions a secret, Rollo will never be able to escape “the eyes of Notre Dame”/the Bell of Salvation. Every person’s wide-eyed, innocent stare or respectful reverence cast upon Rollo will make him recognize he’s living a lie, and it will only intensify his guilt… and guilt, as we’ve already seen with how Rollo coped with the loss of his brother, can eat a man from the inside out.

“What [he] wants to save is not his brother or the world... but himself,” Idia states atop the bell tower--and by refusing this “salvation” to Rollo, who believed so desperately that he is not the villain of this story, he will never be liberated. And if he doesn’t believe with all his heart that everyone else are the villains and he is the hero, “he wouldn’t be able to live with himself”, as Azul puts it. It’s eternal damnation for Rollo—at the hands of his own inner demons.

Later on in the event, we get little hints that maybe Rollo is starting to accept some responsibility for the chaos he has caused (albeit in very small ways), or at least he's conflicted about it. For example, he insists on preparing the venue for the masquerade all by himself, which the NRC boys debate if he's doing to atone or to save face and avoid asking the mages he despises for assistance. No matter the reasoning, the task must be difficult to complete by one person, especially considering Rollo's injuries. Would he allow himself to use magic for such a task?? If he doesn't permit himself this luxury, then it makes the preparations even harder--and yet he somehow still managed to pull it off. This subtly says a lot about how hard he works, but also speaks to his pride and stubbornness.

Rollo gives a speech to those in attendance at the masquerade to address the strange happenings of the night. This is something which Sebek calls out as audacious, as Rollo was the cause of those events to begin with. To this, Azul commends Rollo for his mental fortitude, pointing out that even though Rollo must be extremely conflicted inside, he is hiding the truth of the matter to the public very well. I imagine that these conflicted feelings only ramp up when the NRC boys, whom Rollo has perceived as villains the entirety of the event, present him with a gift that he calls wonderful: performing the Gentle Bell Ringer's song, and singing of hope for the future, something relatable and encouraging in the aftermath of a great disaster. He tries to insult it, calls it a waste of time--but in the end, he goes quiet, moved by the song in spite of himself.

It all culminates in Malleus--the embodiment of magic that Rollo despises--asking to share a dance with him, the one that sought his destruction. During their dance, Rollo swears that he has not given up yet, and that he will never see eye-to-eye with mages. He's still deeply ingrained in his own mindset--but as we've seen with how he reacted to the song and how the NRC boys disagree with how Rollo must be feeling in the moment, the seeds of conflict have been strewn in him. It will take some time before they take root and blossom, but the fact is that his punishment (and, subsequently, his change) has only just scarcely begun.

So ends the Glorious Masquerade, with Rollo sentenced to a fitting end. ***Note: One part of Rollo's punishment that isn't mentioned in a lot of discussions is that Trein has stated he will be in contact with the school board and keeping a close eye on Rollo; this detail is only supplemental to everything else, much like how the dorm members of the OB boys try to offer better social support after the OB incidents, but I thought I should also bring this up.***

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #Rollo Flamme #twst analysis #twisted wonderland analysis #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #question #notes from the writing raven #Idia Shroud #Azul Ashengrotto #Rollo Flamm #Frollo #Quasimodo #The Hunchback of Notre Dame #Mozus Trein

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monstrousvoice · 1 year

Text

Sleep Easy

Fandom: Elden Ring

Relationship: Morgott X Fem!Tarnished

AN: I'm sick as a dog and plagued by horny thoughts. I do not condone doing anything like this in real life, its just a really self indulgent kink of mine to be used and taken advantage of by monster men.

This is also an un-official sequel to this post.

Hopefully this will tide ya'll over while I work on chapter 2 of Court of the Immortals. (Next chapter will have Boc in it btw 👀🥰)

Tags: Smut, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Consent is not spoken about but very much given, Somnophilia, Consensual Somnophilia, Drugged Sex, Tarnished being into that shit, Slight Yandere Morgott, just a pinch, Pining, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Cum Inflation, Morgott being a pervert, Female Tarnished

Read it on AO3!

It's been days since he caved and started stealing your clothing, and continued to do so, as shameful as it was…It was torturous, this hunger you started in him. He wanted to feel your velvet heat around his cock, squeezing his knot, so bad, but he didn't want to take the chance of confessing. He wasn’t brave enough to face your rejection.

And one night, when he returns to his office, feeling worn out and frustrated over your constant teasing and his lack of courage, he spies one of his elixir potions on his office desk. It's his sleep potion, one that the castle physician makes for him due to his nightmares.

And he has an idea.

The next evening, you're working in his study together, as usual. You've been teasing him all day with light touches to his broad frame, and whispered words that he knows have to be mocking in some way.

"Morgott my king, would you ever want to have children? I think I'd like to, with the right person. The tiny pitter patter of little feet down the hall..." You mumbled as you pressed against his back. He could feel the soft cushion of your breasts through his robes, so tantalizing...His head filled with images of you waddling down the castle hallways with an engorged belly, your hand being pulled by a much smaller one as children surrounded you and demanded your attention.

You, sitting on his cock above him, cupping your belly and begging him to move your hips for you, please my love I need you to fuck me, please-

His quill snapped in his grip.

He saw your expression out the corner of his eye, mouth open in an adorable 'o' as you stared at the broken stationary.

"Excuse me." He had growled, standing from his desk to grab a new quill (and get away from your sweet cloying scent-deep breaths Morgott, deep breaths-)

And you still continued, even during your shared meal.

You sat across from him, wearing a dress with a deep 'v' that showed off the supple curve of your tits and tummy, crossing an arm underneath the swell of your breasts to push them up even further for him to stare at. You're talking about the things you saw on your ride around the land today, and he still finds himself enraptured by your words.

"I'm glad to see less and less bandit camps lately. I think it's a very good step in the right direction."

Even as he listens to you talk and is distracted constantly by your dress, he's worried his nerves betray his plan. His golden eye darts down to the soup you're enjoying, one sip at a time from your perfect lips.

You don't comment on it tasting any different than usual.

He can see the sleep potion taking effect however, the way your words slow down as you hide more and more yawns from his intense gaze. At one point, you catch his eye as he watches you swallow another mouthful. You smile at him.

"Thank you for ordering my soup for me Morgott. I don't know what the chef did, but it tastes especially yummy tonight."

"...It may be a new ingredient." He offers hesitantly.

"Maybe so...I hope to taste it again soon~" You practically purr at him. He swallows.

Do you know...? No, you couldn't. If you did you would be outraged, right? Jump from your chair to throw the steaming liquid in his face and run away from here, from his perversion. If you had any idea, you would be long gone by now.

You sip another spoonful.

It isn't long before you're saying goodnight through a yawn.

"Oh-dear, I don't know what happened. I felt so energetic earlier and now I'm-" Another stifled yawn, "Hmm, I think I'll head to bed Morgott." You stand from your seat and make your way over to him. You lean against his broad shoulder, your face getting close - so impossibly close - to his cheek.

"Goodnight my King~" You whisper, a soft pressure on his cheek following your words. It isn't until you're closing the door behind you that he realizes you kissed him.

His heart beats wildly in his chest, blood roaring through his veins. His fingers come up to caress the spot your sweet lips had been against a moment before, and he feels his soul thump in his chest.

He thinks about his plan for tonight and feels the guilt settle at the base of spine, swirling and bubbling at his terrible sins.

He slams a fist against the hardwood table. No, no. Guilt or not this is the only way he can truly have you. It's just for one night. Just tonight, he'll have his fill and be done with the whole situation. He can keep the sweet memory of how you feel for the rest of his life and you'll be free to go on with your life, unaware you had been tainted by him.

You could even fall in love with some lucky fool who would never treat you as well as he would, but you'd be happy and unaware of what he stole from you. Just...one night of pleasure.

The only thing he ever let himself want before.

He waits a half hour before he attempts anything.

In the cover of night, the servants are sleeping. Guards watch the hallways, but none so much as flinch at seeing his hulking form. They haven't been spooked by him in...years now. What a strange thought.

Your room is unguarded. Normally he would want a guard patrolling this hallway even more strictly than usual, your precious sleeping form is vulnerable to attack after all. But tonight, he has them scheduled to come later during the night, so no one may see him slip inside your dark room.

As he closes the door behind him, his sensitive ears catch the sound of your soft, gentle breathing. His nose catches something else.

Arousal.

Thick and cloying, the scent permeates your room through and through. He feels dizzy from the sudden onslaught of scent, blood rushing south to swell in his cock. It's already half hard from the smells alone, his sheathe pulling back to reveal its pink head to the cool air. He bites his bottom lip hard, grabbing himself and hissing through his fangs at how sensitive he feels. Precum smears across his palm and drips to the floor, a thick vein along the underside of his cock throbs in time with his heartbeat.

By the Greater Will, what were you doing? What would prompt you to-...to smell like this before you went to sleep?

He can't wait to think about it-his mind pushes the mystery away for another time, another place where your soft, pliant form isn't waiting to be ravished by him. He all but rips his cloak off as he climbs up your mattress, pulling himself to hover over you.

Your face is buried in your pillow as you lay on your stomach, your plush ass facing him. Without even thinking his hands find their way there, squeezing and playing with the flesh as you sleep onwards. You're covered by a thin sheet, unusual for the colder weather you've been having lately, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. He pulls off the sheet, and his heart stops.

You're completely naked...except for a small satin pair of panties.

His breath leaves him in a rush, a low groan escaping his chest as his eye travels along the skin of your back. His hands join in, pushing and molding the skin beneath as he marvels at how soft and squishy you feel.

Curious, he slips his hands under you, lifting your chest up to squeeze and play with your tits. They feel just as soft as he imagined, and you don't stir from the movement. You lay prone and asleep, in a deep dream.

Satisfied you won't be waking up anytime soon, he lays you back down.

He sits himself carefully across your legs, moving downwards to get a better look at your hips and thighs. His fingers slid under the cloth covering you from him, his gray skin looks so right pressed against your own and tangled in your panties...

He pulls them down, the soft fabric sliding over your skin with no resistance till he stops at your knees. Moving back up, he places both hands back on your ass. You're so small and delicate compared to him-his palms easily cover the expanse of your hips.

It makes his cock throb.

He hooks his hands in between the folds of your cheeks and thighs and spreads them. The scent of your arousal hits his nose full force, and a deep, husky groan leaves him. Slick is leaking from your adorable cunt and all over your closed thighs, gooey strands webbing between lips and skin as the opening to your pussy flutters and squeezes around empty air.

He feels hypnotized by the sight.

Swallowing the drool collecting in his mouth, the Omen leans forwards and licks. Slick cream coats his tongue immediately, warm wetness greeting him. You don't stir from your sleep, still lying against your pillow.

Emboldened, Morgott presses his mouth firmly against your welcoming cunt, his thick tongue sliding out to rub against your folds as his lips suck along your flesh. His reward is more of your slick oozing out, your muscles fluttering against his tongue like a silent call for more. His chin is soaked in your combined juices and his drool, dripping to the sheets below you.

His tongue moves farther down for a stronger lick when it rubs against your engorged clit. For the first time that night you react. Your hips jump as a squeak leaves you, and the Omen feels his blood turn to ice. He freezes in place as your hips drop back into his hold and a small sigh leaves you.

Carefully, he pulls himself away from the tasty treat offered to him to look you over. He leans up and close to your face, watching for any sign that the elixir has worn off and you're about to wake up.

Nothing.

You lay still and silent once more, face relaxed and calm. Breathing perhaps a bit faster than when he first started, but definitely still asleep. He breathes a sigh of relief, falling back to sit on his haunches as his shoulders droop.

You still manage to keep him on his toes, even now.

Morgott shook himself, ruffling his fur and lashing his tail. Foolish, so foolish of him. He's still so nervous about this because he knows how wrong it is.

A glance down at your glistening cunt and he knows that he can't back out now. He...he needs to finish this. To feel that sweet release of cumming deep in your womb, of your gummy walls squeezing him tight as he fucks you...

He moves back over your thighs, settling down comfortably on the soft fat of your legs. His tail wavers back and forth in the air behind him, muscles tense as he continues.

His cock is fully revealed now, pink and gray as it slips out of his sheathe with a slick sound of precum. He gives a sigh of relief as his knot finally pops free, the tension in his abdomen finally relieved. Strings of precum dribble over your skin, pooling in your folds and smearing everywhere his wandering hands massage.

His thumbs hook once more against the warm folds of your cunt, spreading them open to reveal your leaking hole. The muscles still flutter with arousal from his touch, looking so damn empty and fuckable...

You'll be filled soon though. He'll make sure of it.

With firm hands he grabs your hips, making sure no sudden movements from you mess this up. He lowers his throbbing cock towards you, rubbing against the sweet heat of your pussy. He throws his head back and pants into the night air, eye closing in bliss at the feeling.

So warm and soft...such a perfect little fuck hole for his cum, to breed full of his seed and start a line of heirs to the Lyndell throne...

Taking a steadying breath, the King looks down, entranced by the sight of his cock pressing against your opening. He's wanted to do this for so long now...To see his fat cock spread you wide and ruin your sweet cunt for any other man. You won't ever know he did this and yet, the next time you lay with any man, you'll feel the difference, feel how their cock doesn't stretch nearly enough, doesn't go deep enough to press against your womb the way his would.

You'd play with yourself and desperately wish to feel so full again...you'll think of him and cum on strangers' cocks all the while calling his name...

He uses a thumb to press his head against your tight hole, hissing at the squeeze. It seems like it's about to go in when-

It's pushed back out, sliding towards the front of your cunt and rubbing the spines lining his dick against your clit. He pulls back and tries again, and again, and again, each time being pushed back to rub against your sweet folds instead of inside.

The Omen hisses low and quiet, frustration making him impatient.

"Damn thee, little tarnished...of course such an adorable cunt would be so difficult to fuck-" Morgott adjusts himself on his knees, hands gripping your thighs and pulling them further apart. He grunts and pushes the head of his cock against your still too tight opening until finally, with a satisfying 'squish’, the fat head of his cock pushes through and slides inside like your cunt was made for him.

He moans low in his throat as his hips keep moving forward, his cock going deeper, deeper, deeper-

He catches himself from falling on top of you with a shaking hand landing on the pillow next to your face. He hovers above you, panting and shaking, eye closed as he experiences bliss for the first time. Under him, your sleeping form is trembling, your brow furrowing and your mouth open in a silent gasp as small pants leave you. Your hips give a weak buck against his when he finally bottoms out, cock head bumping against the opening of your womb. His ears strain to catch the sound of words leaving you in your sleep.

"M...mor-mmm..." You sigh, nuzzling further into your pillow.

The King sighs as well, dropping his forehead along the curve of your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to the skin under him. You're so beautiful...So beautiful and precious, so sexy and sweet and all his...all his...his...

He pulls his hips back, relishing the tight suction of your cunt refusing to let him leave, to keep him inside you, with you, and thrusts back in hard. The 'smack' of skin against furred skin echoes in your bedchamber followed by the harsh panting and bitten back moans of a desperate King trying his best to breed his chosen mate.

He wants it, wants it all. His left hand moves to grasp your limp one, fingers interlocking as he imagines a ring on your finger, one that's as bright and beautiful as you are. Doing this over and over until your womb is filled with his cum, swollen and heavy till you cry and beg for mercy from him, that you couldn't possibly take one more load in your full tummy. Laying together as his hands rub against the small bump you made together, daydreaming names for your future children as you drift off to sleep.

The fantasy he had this afternoon...of your belly big and round with his child, body changed from having multiple children. Your breasts, big and leaking milk, your body covered in sweet stretch marks for him to trace and kiss as he thanks you for bringing him the gift of life, of family. Your thighs, thick and warm against his ears as he eats your sensitive cunt out for hours at a time to prove his devotion to you.

To worship you like the goddess you are to him...

With a full body shudder he cums, hard, inside your waiting cunt. Fast, hard thrusts over and over as he growls through his teeth, biting his bottom lip so hard it splits and bleeds.

A stray tear falls down the Omen's cheek as he experiences mind blowing ecstasy and heartbreaking disappointment.

His breathing is harsh and fast as he comes down from his high. His eye finally opens to look at the work he's done, the mess he's made of you.

He's not disappointed.

White sticky cum leaks from your abused cunt, a noticeable bump in your opening from his swollen knot stuffing you full. He stares, mesmerized, and watches his cum slowly leak out more as his knot deflates, a small pool of viscous fluid mixing on the bedsheets under you.

Within seconds he starts thrusting again, visions of your womb stretched full of his cum filling his mind. He won't stop till his instinct to breed stops clawing at him.

When dawn breaks, he's no longer in your room. You wake up to the sound of songbirds outside your window, smiling to yourself after such a good sleep.

You are not at all surprised when the slightest movement has you gasping in ecstasy, your cunt spasming as thick globs of cum seep out from your well fucked hole. Your tummy feels bloated and full, and when you turn over and lay a hand over it, you smile at the feel of a noticeable bump under your palm.

Your fingers move down to rub your aching cunt, your clit making you jump and moan from how sensitive it feels. Just a few quick rubs and your cumming hard against your fingers, moaning for your King, lamenting that he's not here now to fuck you again.

A servant knocks on the door.

"Lord Tarnished, are you awake? Shall I fetch you some breakfast?" You think for a moment, a smile coming to your face.

"Not now thank you, but please, do send the King here as soon as possible would you? Tell him it's urgent." You hear footsteps fade away fast, the servant no doubt nearly running to pass on your message.

When Morgott knocks upon your door and steps in, he finds you still laying on your soiled sheets, legs open wide to show off his dirty work.

Your fingers are moving furiously within your stretched hole, your head thrown back as you cum again under his gaze. The King can only stand there, mouth agape as you turn to look at him through hooded eyes.

"Now that your confidence has been built up, this time my love, can I please be awake the next time you ravish me? I promise it's more fun~"

#Elden Ring #Morgott #Morgott The Omen King #Morgott The Grace Given #Morgott X Tarnished #Morgott X Reader #Smut

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