#and his consent in the matter is extremely questionable

[ascesabo]

currently up and thinking about how buggy lore gets more and more painful the longer you think about it. like. i could talk about this stupid clown for AGES. he makes his clown-ness his entire personality but it's so painfully clear he doesn't have a single ounce of joy or whimsy left in his little chop-chop body. he's a full-blown hater!! he gave up on his dreams because he wanted his best friend, who he wholeheartedly believed shone brighter than he ever could, to reach it for the both of them!! he probably hasn't known genuine happiness since he broke up with shanks in the rain!! his beef with luffy escalated tenfold the moment he saw the hat!! he stayed in the east blue for years when he had a whole map and probably knew the way back into the grand line!! he loves flashiness and attention but hasn't ever uttered a word about growing up with the roger pirates or being the childhood friend of one of the four emperors!!! this clown has spent his whole life yearning for something that will never return!!!! he has a big red clown nose!!! every bad thing that has ever happened to him was because he wanted so badly to be loved!!!

[pinkinku]

Bubblegum Pink

fandom: harry potter

pairing: tom riddle x bimbo!reader

description: Tom Riddle hates your guts. But he can use your stupidity to his own advantage.

word count: 4,4k

warnings!: rough sex, hate fuck, verbal humiliation, face slapping, face fucking, rape/non-con, possessive!tom riddle, dominant!tom riddle, dumb!reader, manhandling, coquette!reader, the color pink, extremely dubious consent, love potion, attempted rape, praise kink.

╭──────༺♡༻──────╮ bubblegum pink ╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

Tom Riddle hated everything about you. Especially your astounding stupidity that seemed to have no bounds. He was staring at you while trying to study at the library where a few tables seated with students separated you from him. He should’ve been studying, he had a lot of assignments to work ahead on, but instead, here were you, for no other reason but do distract him. Tom had no idea why you even came, it’s not like you were going to learn anything. You were the weakling in your year, and he had no idea how you managed to pass all the classes enough to get to Seventh Year. Whenever professors asked you a question in class, you only blinked at them in confusion, and instead of answering you chewed on that ridiculous bubble gum that was always in your mouth. Tom had never tasted it and he had no intention to indulge in muggle things like that, not only because it reminded him of you, but because wanted to separate himself from mudbloods like you as well as he could.

That’s what you were — a mudblood. That was enough of a reason to hate you. But of course, as everything with you, being a dumb mudblood was not the only sin of yours. He hated your hair, your clothes, your bubbly personality, your Hufflepuff house, that silly pink bubble gum always making you slur your words. Tom could swear you never did any of the schoolwork yourself, you had some smart friends who were always there to help you out. Why would anyone want to be your friend was also a mystery to him.

You were incredibly annoying. Even now, at the library where everyone was supposed to be working you were whispering something into your Hufflepuff best friend’s ear, then laughing when he whispered something back. Your laugh was quiet and barely audible, but he was looking at you, and he knew you were laughing, he saw the way your breasts wiggled under your uniform shirt. He sneered at the sight, his eyes involuntarily lingering on the rest of your body, starting with those plump breasts that the buttons of your shirt seemed to barely hold up, moving to your scandalously short uniform skirt—Tom had no idea why none of the professors ever pointed out to you that dressing like a whore was inappropriate—ending with your light pink tights and hot pink high heels. The only thing you weren’t that stupid about was the dress code — you knew it and still decided to break the rules every day. Wearing pink wasn’t prohibited, as weren’t high heels or that childish pink bow that held your hair away from your face, but it didn’t go well with your Hufflepuff-yellow tie or scarf, and yet you didn’t seem to care. You loved pink. You were a stupid little mudblood who wore pink and chewed bubble gum and made him crazy mad. He hated you for that too. He felt his jaw clench to the point of breaking when you leaned into the friend you came here with to whisper something in his ear too, and as you did, the first button of your shirt popped open.

Tom stood up, his chair scraping the ground. He gathered his books and scrolls in record speed. He passed your table as he found his way to the exit, and when you saw him, you beamed up at him as if you’ve never been happier to see anyone else. You were so unbearably nice to everyone, greeting and helping everyone out and thanking for every little thing someone did for you. It was only a matter of time before someone decided to exploit that mix of kind and dumb that you unfortunately were an embodiment of. Your lush body and skimpy fashion were of no help to your cause.

“Hi, Tom!” you cheered, eyes going wide, teeth grinding on that sodding bubble gum. Your exclamation was so loud that the four people at your table and a few behind you tried to shush you, but you didn’t seem to realize you did something wrong — you probably didn’t even know you were at the library, and that’s how you got here.

Trying to gather himself when all he wished was to curse that foolish smile off your face, Tom answered calmly, “Hello.” He couldn’t show how much he hated you, he couldn’t cause any suspicion, so he treated you just like everybody else — politely, indifferently.

Your smile widened even more—was that possible?—when he answered your greeting.

He was a lot of things, but indifferent when it came to you was not one of them.

The quidditch game was supposed to start in fifteen minutes, and you had lost your wand.

It was an accident, you didn’t mean to lose it, you were walking to the quidditch stadium, crossing the bridge, when a small bowtruckle caught your attention. You stopped, ran to the side of the bridge, and beamed at the tiny green creature. It looked almost the same as the spring grass around it, but you were good at spotting the little things, at least that’s what you thought about yourself, so when you saw this bowtruckle, you couldn’t help but greet it, “Hey, little guy, what are you doing down there?”

You thought it might want to climb up, but it was too small, so you decided the best thing to do was to use your wand and pull it up. You took out your wand, pointed it at the bowtruckle… and your wand fell! You panicked, ran down the bridge to the spot where you saw your wand fall wand and started searching for it. But neither your wand nor the bowtruckle were anywhere to be seen…

None other than Tom Riddle found you on your knees on the grass, desperately trying to find your wand. You didn’t hear him come, so when he said, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the game?” you gasped, flinching, and turned around to see him right behind you. His gaze was dark and focused on where you were kneeling. You smiled at him, as you always did, although this time a little nervously, turning your full body to him and pulling your pink skirt down that had ridden up in the search for your only tool for magic. “I lost my wand,” you said.

He shook his head, as if it was hard to believe something like that could’ve happened to a wizard, although everyone who were your friends knew this wasn’t unusual. You saw the corners of his lips lift into a crooked smile. “And how did you manage that, huh?” he asked.

You explained to him what had happened. Tom chuckled when you finished telling that story, and something dark in his voice, something you couldn’t name and would never even dare to—something in that laughter made you shiver.

“It fell somewhere here…” you mumbled, patting the grass that was still damp from the morning dew.

Without a warning, Tom grabbed your forearm and pulled you to your feet, saying, “Accio wand,” as your wand came flying to his hand from under the bridge you lost it on.

You sighed in relief, then giggled, reaching out for your wand in Tom’s hand. “Oh, thank you… I lost it for good…”

But when you tried to take your wand, Tom pulled it away. Your frowned in confusion. He leaned into you, all the while keeping your wand at a distance you couldn’t reach, and whispered, his dark eyes piercing through you, “And what will you give me in return for your wand?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Whatever you want…”

Something glinted in his eyes, the sharp edges of his face grew severe. Then he chuckled again. “A very dangerous suggestion, little one.”

You frowned again, blinking a few times. “I’m not little,” you said. “We’re the same age.”

Instead of answering, Tom put your wand in your unsteady hand and stepped away, as if only now composing himself. Whatever confusion you felt evaporated, and you joyfully smiled at him again. “Thanks!”

He looked your outfit up and down again now that you were standing at full height. In your own opinion, your pink outfit today was really nice – since it was the weekend, you could take more freedom in your fashion. Today you decided to wear a glittery crop top with straps and a short velvet mini skirt with very high heels, but you were short so even they didn’t help your height case with Tom standing right next to you.

“You’re going to wear that to the game?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow.

You grinned at him, “Yes!” turning around to show off all angles, even though you had a feeling he had already seen more than enough while you were on your knees. “Do you like it?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He didn’t answer your question.

“You know that the stadium will be full of boys – both fans and players alike?” he asked.

You blinked. “Uhm, I guess so… There will be both boys and girls…” you trailed off.

“And you don’t think your clothes are too provocative for that occasion?”

You frowned. “I think they’re nice…”

He stared at you, then chuckled again. “Of course, I forgot who I was talking to. Yes, they’re nice.”

His admiration brightened your mood immediately, putting back the smile on your face. “Are you going to the game too?”

Tom once again ignored your question, his eyes never leaving your body and your face. But now he looked around as if searching for someone. “Why are you here all alone?” he asked. “Where are your friends? It’s not safe for you to be walking around all by yourself, little one. Someone might… get the wrong idea.”

You blinked, but decided to ignore the name he called you. He probably called every girl that, to be nice, the same way you smiled and helped everyone. This time he was the one who helped you.

“Oh, Hogwarts is the safest place in the world!” you said. “Nothing bad could happen to me here.”

A strange smile adorned Tom’s face. He seemed to be thinking something through.

“Oh, I got an idea!” you exclaimed. “We can go to the game together!”

As a real gentleman, Tom accompanied you to the game while you were trying to understand the meaning behind his strange words.

There was a party at the Slytherin common room, and your best friend dragged you there, not that you had any objections—you loved dressing up, and this was the perfect chance to do so. You opted out for a bubble pink colored dress with short sleeves, deep V shape neckline and flowy short skirt. Underneath you added baby pink tights with decorative bows on top. Your outfit wouldn’t be finished without another pair of bows in your hair that held up two ponytails and glittery pointed pumps.

These pumps were very high heeled, and you kind of regretted putting them on because now you were sitting on a green velvet sofa next to a Slytherin boy who claimed to be your friend’s friend and gave you a second drink of the night— and you knew you’d fall if you tried to stand up; whatever was in that first drink must’ve been strong because your head was already dizzy and everything around you seemed blurry.

“Hey, do you see my friend that I came here with?” you asked the Slytherin boy who had put his arm over your shoulders while you tried not to vomit. You were chewing your gum, and it made the dizzying feeling less intense. “I’m afraid he’ll have to carry me back to the Hufflepuff common room… I don’t think I can stand up…”

There were more guys sitting all around you and one more beside you on the sofa, and they all laughed. You giggled with them. It was funny how drunk you got so fast.

“I can take you to the common room,” the Slytherin boy who gave you the drinks said.

You smiled. “Really? That would be great! I really don’t want to bother my friend, he always has to carry me when I get too drunk…” you trailed off.

The boy leaned closer to you. You felt his breath on your lips. “Sure, love, but first, finish your drink.”

You looked down at the cup in your hands. You didn’t want to finish it, you were afraid to vomit all over the boy, but he was so nice to get you a second drink, you didn’t want it to go to waste, so you started slowly sipping on it.

The Slytherin boy shifted in his seat, taking a vial of pink liquid out of his pocket. You eyed it as he inquired, “You know what this is, love?” You shook your head, which made you even more dizzy. “This is a potion that can make you feel really good.” You frowned. “I can put it in your drink, and if you drink it, it’ll make you feel as light as a feather. See? It’s pink, love. You like, pink, don’t you?” Your eyes lit up at the word pink. The potion was beautiful. It couldn’t be poison, and it looked like it would taste delicious.

You chewed on your gum and nodded. The boys around you laughed. The boy that talked you into this opened the vial of the potion and poured its contents into your cup. He reached out his hand to your face then, his thumb brushing over your lower lip that had puckered out.

“Drink up, love. You’ll feel so good, I promise.”

You looked down at the drink that now turned a bit pink. You were ready to drink it because you wanted to feel very good, but before the edge of the cup touched your lips, someone grabbed your hand, forcing you to spill the drink on the carpet. That same someone pulled you up from the sofa. You smiled when you saw Tom’s face. You were always happy to see him, but you were even happier that he was at the same party as you were.

“Hi, Tom!” you said.

He wasn’t looking at you, though. He was gripping your forearm to the point of pain, but his darkened eyes were on the boy who gave you the drink.

“Are you fucking crazy, Avery?” Tom spat at the boy whose eyes had slightly widened, but he soon regained his composure.

“What’d you mean? It’s all consensual. She wanted it,” he said.

“You think you’re so funny?” Tom said. “Will it still be funny if I tell the headmaster you tried to feed love potion to one of your classmates?”

You frowned, trying to blink away the film of blurriness that was distorting your vision. You had no idea what was going on.

The Slytherin boy sneered, cackling, “Fuck, man, have this stupid bitch all to yourself if you want to.”

The other boys around laughed, echoing the first one.

Tom’s grip on your arm tightened as he dragged through the sea of bodies, lights, and music, and up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. He let you go only when he opened the door to the bedroom with only one bed. He pushed you inside and closed the door behind. You looked around, taking in the dark gray and green interior. You confusedly remembered that Tom was a prefect. Prefects had separate rooms. This one must’ve been his.

“Hey, Tom, why did you bring me here—” you began.

When he turned to you, the anger was gone from his face; he chuckled darkly, shaking his head to himself.

“You’re a real stupid bitch, do you know that?” he said. “Do you have even the slightest idea how fucking dumb you are?”

You flinched, hugging your shaky arms around yourself. There were marks of Tom’s fingers on the forearm he grabbed.

“Why are you calling me that?” you whispered.

He stepped closer, towering over you. “Because you are. Do you know what those guys would’ve done to you after you took that potion?”

You swallowed, chewing on your gum. “The potion would’ve made me feel good.”

He laughed again, just like those boys in the common room. “That was a love potion, you stupid girl. They would’ve raped you, gang fucked you on that very carpet and you would’ve liked it because you wouldn’t know how to hate it!” he shouted through gritted teeth.

“No…” you said quietly, feeling tears prickle in your eyes.

“Yes, Y/N, they would’ve hurt you! And you’re fucking crying because I saved you from them?” You shook your head, tears running down your cheeks as you stared at the ground. Tom grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re so fucking nice to everyone but not everyone is that nice, Y/N.”

You sniffled. “He was nice to me…”

Tom laughed. “Because he wanted to fuck you.”

Your eyes widened. “But—you’re nice to me, Tom…”

He leaned in. You felt his hot breath ghost over your lips. “Maybe because I want to fuck your stupid brains out too.”

He didn’t give you enough time to think over his words as his lips crushed to yours. His tongue invaded your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. His tongue fished out the bubble gum out of your mouth, transferring it to his. His roaming hand grabbed your hair by one of the bow-tied ponytails as he ripped your face off himself. He looked down at you as you breathed heavily from his attack on your mouth. His half-lidded gaze focused on you as he chewed your gum once, twice, then spat it out on the floor beside you. He pulled your ponytail back, the burning pain in your scalp making you stumble back as he walked into you until you reached the edge of his bed and fell on top of it.

“You think those guys were laughing with you, Y/N? You think they liked your jokes? No, they were laughing at you, because you’re so fucking stupid it’s ridiculous.”

You sobbed, more tears falling from your eyes, but he didn’t stop.

“But they also wanted to wet their dicks in all your holes, to rip off these slutty clothes—”

He illustrated his words with actions when grabbed the top of your dress and ripped it in half, exposing your breasts and forcing a gasp out of you. Only the skirt was left in one piece. His eyes focused on your breasts as he twisted your nipples painfully, making you sob.

“Shh, don’t cry, little one,” he said quietly, even softly, as he fondled your breasts pushing you to lie down on the bed with his body on top of you. “Those guys would’ve taken you tonight one by one. But they don’t deserve you to be nice to them. Only I do.”

He took your torn dress off you in one swift move and now you were half-naked before him. Diverting his attention from your breasts, which made you feel the cold air of the room and shiver from it, Tom grabbed one of your ponytails while he unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers with the other.

Your eyes widened when he freed his cock. Your throat went dry at the sight of it, hard and pulsing, the head of it angry red, glistening with precum. Tom grinned at you, guiding the head of his cock to your lips and forcing your head forward. “Open that stupid mouth of yours,” he commanded quietly.

You did as he said, you wanted to taste him after all. The moment your mouth open, he thrust the full length of his cock past your lips until it reached your throat, making you gag. He grabbed the other ponytail with his free hand and controlled the movements of your head on his cock, bobbing it up and down ruthlessly. More tears ran down your cheeks, and you didn’t know if they were from the crying, from the pressure in your throat or the lack of air.

“Fuck, do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to stuff my cock in your mouth whenever something stupid came out of it? Just to shut you up, little one?” You didn’t answer, only gagged as he rhythmically fucked your throat.

Tom was going to say something else but got too overwhelmed. A few more thrusts, and he finally pulled out of your throat. You gasped, trying to catch your breath, as the hands that still held your ponytail took out the bows out of it. Your hair fell free on your shoulders.

You swallowed when Tom pushed at your shoulders until you lay flat on your back.

“Tom, please—” you whispered.

“Shh,” Tom silenced you, ripping off your tights. “Getting fucked by me is all that you’re good for.”

You were wearing only your bright pink knickers. When he was them, he stopped the animalistic tearing of your clothes. He touched your privates through the fabric of your knickers softly, even tenderly. Then he slid them off down your legs unhurriedly, hissing at the sight of your exposed pussy. Tom brushed his fingers over your folds, and his cold touch to your burning core made you whimper.

“Fucking pink…” he hissed through his teeth, gathering your arousal on his fingers. His eyes briefly found your face. You felt blush crawl up your flesh. “Do you have any idea how many times I fantasized of bending you over and stuffing your pussy with my cock? Making you scream my name?” He looked down at your core, fingers suddenly rubbing violent circles over your puckered clit and the sensitive flesh of nerves around it. You whimpered, flinching under him from the overwhelming stimulation.

He pulled back slightly and positioned his cock at your entrance and grabbed a fistful of your hair, stretching your upper body closer to him, putting you into an unnatural position.

“No, Tom, you’re too big—” you cried.

He slapped your cheek, silencing you abruptly with unexpected violence. No one had ever hit you before. No one ever handled your body like this, no one ever caused you pain this way. Your cheek was burning.

“Quiet,” Tom commanded, squeezing your cheeks together, inducing more painful tears.

He watched your expression. “You’re gonna be a good little slut for me and take it, right?”

You sobbed. “Please—”

He slapped the other side of your face, and you went silent, choking on silent whimpers. “You want me to slap your face, is that how to shut you up?” he inquired, tugging at your hair painfully. “You’ll feel good, little one. Eventually. I promise.”

He thrust his cock inside of you in one go. His other hand held your left leg wide open while he rutted into you mercilessly. Your eyes fluttered shut as liquid heat coursed through your body.

“You’re so fucking wet…” he gritted through his teeth. “Gripping me like vice…”

You whimpered when he pulled at your hair as he used your body any way he wanted. The pain and the pleasure mixed inside of you and made a concoction that forced your entire body to shudder. All you could do was close your eyes, let the tears run free and whimper when his cock reached that sensitive point deep in your womb.

That fog caused by all the overwhelming sensations was briefly interrupted by another chuckle coming from Tom. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it, little slut? You needed me to fuck your stupid brains out, that’s how to shut you up, huh?”

You didn’t answer, only bit your lower lip. You were scared to speak in case he decided to slap your for it again. Your teeth nipped at your own lip from the movement of Tom’s relentless fucking.

“Tom…” you whimpered.

He groaned at that.

You felt him let go of your hair, and when you opened your eyes, you saw and felt him lean into you until his body practically dipped you into the mattress. He grabbed your neck and began choking you. “Again. Say my name again,” he demanded, speaking into your open mouth.

“Tom…. Tom… Tom…” you kept repeating even when it was hard to speak. You had to choose between saying his name and breathing air. You chose the first one.

The new angle made your eyes water as he picked up his pace.

“You look at me when I fuck you, Y/N,” he groaned. Something deep inside you was uncurling, you felt it, and in that moment, you could’ve told him anything if only that meant he wouldn’t stop what he was doing. You wanted to nod frantically but his grip on your throat was too harsh. Luckily, he got the message. “Good girl,” he praised for the first time. “Taking my cock so well… No one else gets to fuck your pussy, understood? No one else gets to see you like this…”

“Yes, Tom, yes…” you mumbled.

He kissed you again, no, devoured you whole. His kiss was punishing. He bit your lips, your tongue, making you taste your own blood.

When he let you go, you whimpered. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”

“You’re going to come, huh? Go on, come all over my cock, little one…”

When you were at the precipice of a climax, he slapped your face again, four times, on both cheeks. The blinding white pain unlocked whatever was hidden inside you. You came, screaming and thrashing under him as he fucked you through your orgasm with his jaw tense as he tried to keep himself at bay a few more seconds. His hips collided with yours even after you came, and soon you felt his hot seed spill inside of you. Tom’s movements slowed and he kissed your forehead, pulling his cock out of you but still holding you down by your throat.

“You’re mine now, Y/N,” he claimed. “I’m going to fuck you in my bed every single night. And every single morning you’ll go from class to class with my come spilling out of you. And if I see you talking to any other guys, even if it’s that Hufflepuff best friend of yours, I’ll fucking kill them, is that clear?”

A lot of things were hard for you to understand, a lot of concepts needed additional explanation to you, but right now, one thing was clear as day: Tom wasn’t kidding. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Yes, Tom…” you said.

He grinned, covering your body with his, and gifted you another bruising kiss for your obedience.

╭──────༺♡༻──────╮ the end ╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

[ozzgin]

heya...!!!! Sweetypie 🍓🥧🧁.... It's me again, i want to make a request again...if you don't mind 😃.

Can you make a request regarding creepypasta with ticci tobby and eyelash Jack .Previous request for a creepypasta

Most certainly! Though my drafts are a mess so I’m no longer sure what the previous request refers to. ;-; Hopefully this is close to what you pictured.

Yandere! Creepypasta x Reader

Featuring Ticci-Toby and Eyeless Jack and a clueless reader that caught their attention. TW: dubious consent, gore and violence

Ticci-Toby

Oh, he really can’t explain it but you’ve tied his heart into a knot. His chest is tight and it’s almost as if his lungs struggle to get enough oxygen. You seem kind and he can’t help but daydream that he’s the subject to your friendly gestures. He feels like a spoiled child, drinking up every drop of affection, tipsy with delight. If only those doll eyes of yours looked at him.

He’s hesitant to approach you because his moods are so unpredictable. He’d love to shower you in adoration and spend the rest of his life protecting you from any threats. Then comes his rage and he’s tempted to scratch your face off for smiling to anyone else but him. Why are you trying so hard for other people? No one appreciates you as much as he does, (Y/N). Is his attention not enough? Does he need to hold your gaze in by force?

Suffice to say that Ticci-Toby can be extremely jealous and possessive well before you’re even aware of his existence. Unlike Eyeless Jack, however, he is very open about his displays of love and doesn’t wait too long to introduce himself. His impulsive desires take over any consideration he’s had regarding your safety in front of his mood swings. He can worry about it when it actually happens. Now matter the anger, he’d never hurt his darling, would he? It’s the others that will have to pay.

If he’s feeling particularly hyperactive he will begin parroting his reasons for your fated romance and why you were meant to be. If anxiety equates in, the narrations turn into regurgitated, repetitive questions stemming out of insecurity. Are you really certain you haven’t gotten tired of him? Truly, without a doubt? Perhaps you were thinking of leaving him? The interrogations culminate in desperate begging for reassurance. Please let him know you’ll never, ever abandon him. Otherwise he will have to guarantee it himself one way or another.

Eyeless Jack

You happened to be the next victim on his list. The creature stood above your sleeping form in absolute silence. You barely shuffled at the sudden coldness from the edge of the scalpel coming into contact with your abdomen. The blade, however, remained still on the surface. The hollow sockets were fixated on your unconscious face, seemingly deep in consideration.

He can’t quite pinpoint a reasoning to it, but your presence has caught his interest. On the bright side, you get to keep your kidney. The only caveat is that you now have a rather dedicated admirer with a less orthodox approach to his growing crush.

Jack primarily enjoys watching you from afar and leaves only vague hints of his presence. Which, of course, depends on your definition of vague. At first you didn’t make the connection between the people wronging you in your daily life and the mysterious packages you’d receive in the mail containing frozen raw organs. You had assumed some neighbor might’ve gotten some subscription for their dog and messed up the address. As the news piled up, often involving these particular people as abruptly missing, your suspicions increased. Especially after noticing that none of your neighbors seem to have pets. And then the love notes started and you nearly threw up next to your mailbox.

Jack is fidgeting like a schoolgirl upon seeing your reaction to his confessions. Could you be that overwhelmed by his love? It wasn’t a big deal, really. He’s just doing what he’s best at. He’s just glad to ease your life by erasing the factors that upset you. You don’t have to worry about returning his favors. Humans come with two kidneys for a reason, after all. They were made for sharing.

Now that he’s gotten his answer, he can confidently approach you. He can’t wait to get his claws on you. You look stunning from a distance, too, but nothing compares to actually feeling you. Hearing your whimpers of shy protest, sensing the increased pulse tumultuously running through your veins, observing your pupils contract in mild…fear? No, most likely just excitement. His spiraling black eyes (or rather, lack of) devour your presence with anatomical curiosity. If he’s careful enough, he might even play with you a little. He’ll be extra careful with his darling.

[mtchacffinz]

what goes in Dragonspine, stays in Dragonspine

prompt!!! "Albedo" wanted to chat with you today. but he's looks a little.. unwell?

content!!! NSFW, genderneutral!reader, imposterBedo is called 'Dorian', dubious morality, breeding kink if you squint hard enough, dubious consent, humiliation, obsessive undertones, slight! degrading

note!!! hello!! kaf here ~ [reading crumpled note nervously, def not being held hostage] i think susbedo needs love too. And i think he wholeheartedly agrees he deserves it. sorry this is not about sandwiching you with two Albedos.. [looks at smudged handwriting on palm] no albedo allowed.

The fireplace was warm and pleasant. After exchanging words, you lay front. A routine you and Albedo both follow is spending time together wordlessly, inquiring about each other occasionally but not enough to distract each other from your current objectives.

Atleast.. that what was supposed to happen.

In hours where the whole world was engulfed in shadows— where the land was kissed in delicate rays of moon light, Albedo would be caved in his tent way over in Dragonspine. There was something about the solitude in these hours that bring the Alchemist clarity and fresh eyes. In your small quest to find him, you often wander about through the locations he often spends his leisurely time with.

Today might be your lucky day, after all.

Albedo stands across from you, seemingly busy with his manuscripts. From what you remember, he's been working on something that involves cultivation of soil through extreme weather conditions. Setting down your cloak, you greet him with a smile.

"Hello, Albedo." Upon hearing his name, he quickly turns towards you. His face showed parts of surprise before putting down his pent to shift his stolen attention.

As soon as you set yourself down in one corner parallel to his, Albedo makes his way towards you hurriedly. Surprised, you turn your attention towards him.

"What's the matter?" Taken aback by his own movements, Albedo immediately composes himself. Opening up a small distance between you. Albedo has this hesitant look on his face, making you equally nervous.

"Nothing," he starts. "I'm glad you came here today. I don't know how to act at the moment."

Oh? You start to feel a little flustered. Albedo has always been blunt. The flush on your face starts to seep in when he takes your arm, enveloping you in a side hug. It was an awkward position so you guide him towards your arms.

Albedo almost immediately melts into your arms, engulfing you in an embrace with a small sigh. Albedo never went for a hug before. Not before, not even at present. This is his first embrace that was given to you, and it looks like he isn't letting go of you any time soon.. You pat his back comfortingly, attempting to pry those cloudy eyes of his with answers.

"(Y/n), can we stay like this?"

You couldn't even manage to refuse. What's gotten into him? He's never been this bold before. Albedo gingerly plays with your fingertips kissed by Dragonspine's relentless frost. It was as if his hands served at a warm blanket, enveloping it with their warmth. Analyzing his features a little more closely, you can't help but appreciate how beautiful he really is.

Like a painted canvas with delicate strokes. The world really took their time constructing him. It's evident that he was made with something in mind, something much more greater beyond the world— an enigma, a question that leaves unanswered for centuries. The very same blond locks messily framing his face, the other-worldly glint of his birthmark on his neck. You often wonder how nice it would be to give love on a person that was as closed off and busy as he is..

With spying eyes, you could've sworn his lips tinged upwards just a little bit. Despite his flawless and innocent appearance..

Albedo rests your palm on his cheek, seemingly having a world on his own.

..That's not Albedo. That's not my Albedo.

The intuition of a lover can't be deceived nor cheated. It's something that's imbedded in your very heart like some sort of sweeping system that validates every hypothesis you come up with. You know how they feel, their energy or how they talk. A lover is familliar with every fragrant poison that drips out of their halves mouth. A lover simply knows.

Yet despite all that, this entity was extremely adept in enticing you. When your vision couldn't leave Albedo's lips, you knew you were in trouble. Every touch he gives you left you nervous. Even as Albedo put a stray hair behind your ear, you could do nothing but helplessly watch and debate with your inner conscience if this is right.

When he starts to go a little lower with you, it felt as if you were being dragged towards dirt. Like a barren land welcoming you as their new home. It's in his image, and you're engaging shameful acts with it, is that agreeable? As Albedo's lips nibble in your neck, you firmly push him away from you— staring right into his eyes. Your heart was beating fast in your chest as your painfully aware of where his hands currently rest: on every sense of your body.

"You're not Albedo. I know you're not Albedo.." you say almost sadly. Almost disappointed, almost a little softly. "For all I know, you're a hallucination."

"Does that matter?" The entity replies nonchalantly. He caresses your cheeks affectionately. "For all I know, I'm doing you a favor here. Don't you like him?"

"You're a charmer, just like him." You scoff.

"I am him, (Y/n). You should get used to it." he says, placing a chaste peck on your knuckles. The sight alone was enough to make your heart flutter, but the churn in your stomach distracts you from butterflies that will be soon eradicated by poisonous flowers. Just who is this guy? Who is he? What is he? If it could mimic individual behaviour, what else can it do?

Albedo was already decorating your collarbones with kisses, unbuttoning any top clothing that could hinder his lips. The chill of Dragonspine greets your skin earning a shiver from you.

"Are you cold? What do you think about sex by the fire?"

"You say.. things..! So casually! Don't do that!"

"I'm serious, though." He retorts. You face was flushed not only by the cold, but his sheer shamelessness as well. "Do you not like it?" You trying to respond as calmly as you could, but your voice shook to no avail.

"We're not going to have sex, Albedo."

"Oh, but we are. If you didn't want to, you would've pushed me away the moment i kissed you." Fuck. He's not wrong. You sneer at his subtle smirk. The imposter held your hand so gently, like he hasn't been doing any wrong at all. "Do it, (Y/n). Tell me to go away. Tell me you don't want to fuck me, (Y/n). Can you do that? I'll listen to you without hesitation, (Y/n)."

Oh heavens, he really likes saying your name that way.

"Your silence isn't an answer, sweetheart. I'll take it as a no and leave. Do you want that?" Something about engaging with him in his image is conflicting. It's wrong to you, wrong to him. Albedo, Chief Alchemist of Mondstat. Despite knowing this fact, why did you put your lips on him? His tongue is swirling incantations into your spine, you drink every last bit of attention "Albedo" gives you with no restraint whatsoever. The blonds hand trail over to your waistband, tugging onto them so feverishly. You know he wants you just as much as you want him, and that shows just by how the prince licks his lips.

"You're very obedient," you gasp when he slips his hand inside your pants without warning giving your sex a few lazy strokes. His hot breath touches your ears giving you faint surprise. "I was thinking of maybe we'd take our time bantering." He breathes, unlike your Albedo. That's fascinating. Just as the blond leans in for your lips, you pull away to inquire about certain matters.

"I'm not calling you Albedo." You start firmly, looking at him straight in the eyes. He's kinda adorable; looking surprised— impatient trying to curb his own desire. "Which is why I'm going to ask, who are you?" His ocean hued optics dull, a little dramatic. You quickly add once he frowns at you— "I know you're not Albedo, so I.. that's a little unfair."

"I'd prefer if you'd call me Albedo.." he plays with the hem of your shirt, subtly undressing any buttons or zippers. "But if you insist, I go by Dorian."

"Dorian.."

"Dorian." He repeats. "Considerate of you to ask who I am, sweetheart." Right at this moment, he's already taken off your top and bottom. Dorian's teeth sink into the waistband of your undergarments, looking up at you with such pretty eyes. Assisting him by shifting your weight, he was able to get it off just by his mouth alone. With a satisfied hum, Dorian teases your sex with a quick stroke.

Your eyes never leave his figure— specifically his hands. Those slender fingers brushing over your sensitive spots so delicately, that perverted smile in his lips that seems to induce more conflicting feels in your stomach. There was something lewd about how Dorian moves his hands.. especially when he contests your gaze as if his sole purpose was to give you a fine show.

Your heart was already racing, but it started skipping beats once he starts opening his mouth. Dorian's pretty little grunts to his quick breaths— you knew you were already in trouble.

"You're drooling.. you like me that much?" Refusing to look at Dorian in the eye, you quickly avert your gaze towards something else, but he disallows you to as he quickly takes your sensitive sex into his mouth.

"Nnh..! Hold on— Wait! F—uuck..!!" You whine helplessly, grabbing onto his blond locks. "S- Slow down.." The Alchemist swallow your fluids like a craved manwhore, looking so angelic you swore you just twitched a little. Just a little.

Oh, who are you kidding? You're down horrendous.

"Yes please— oh, fuck. You perverted fuck..." Dorian's nose kisses your sensitive areas, doing his best to take you as full as possible while you run your mouth with your hands tangled in his hair. "So eager, so hungry..♡ Look at you eating me up, you're enjoying this too much aren't you?" Dorian only managed to give you a strained hum, seemingly agreeing in delight.

"You already knew I'd come here, don't you Dorian? Because you're a pervert. Because you studied me, didn't you?" You tug on his disheveled locks when he groans to reply. "You're so cruel, Dorian— cornering me like this, you know? Now you're taking your time to let me cu—um...!!" your sentence died in your throat as he suddenly picked up his pace, determined to let you reach your climax. He sucks your sensitive nerves needly, kissing every tip of your sex attentively. Dorian pays very close attention to how you react to certain things, keeping a close eye on where you drag your words and breaths.

"Dorian.. Doriaaan..♡ Don't stop, please?" With the last flick of his tongue, you could feel that knot in your lower stomach collapse— your knees growing rigid and weak, locking Dorian's poor head in place. Your breath hitches, holding onto his hair for dear life eliciting a loud groan from the Alchemist.

The blond looked at you with such deprived eyes, that bulge in his pants becoming a lot more evident. His face scrunches up in discomfort when your knees deliberately brush over his erection.

While you're brain was trying to process your orgasm, Dorian managed to escape your grip, placing his hand on your lips. "Hey, (Y/n). Look at me please? I don't want you looking at anything else.." with a shaky sigh, you peck his lips. Ah, fuck. He's so cute. He's so clingy. Dorian's slowly growing on you, like a stubborn fungi taking over your feeble brain to come follow its own wishes.

He's absolutely enthralled by how you gaze at him with cloudy eyes. Those half lidded eyelids trying it's best to make sense if it's surroundings.. Dorian could guess how you haven't played with yourself for a while, considering how fast you came with just his mouth.

"I can't hold it in anymore. Can I put it in?"

"..Not yet." Dorian's hold on you came firm, further showcasing just how on edge he is. Part of you wants to keep edging him, but how could you do that when he did such a good job trying to make you feel good?

Then again, you feel like you're no saint.

Dorian thinks different. It's a little unfortunate. He thinks maybe if he gives you a little gift, you would have no choice but to stay..

kafka entering ~ this took me soo long! if this ends up being loved, maybe I'll do 2 albedo sandwich in bed 🤔 just maybe ~ do you think i could pull it off?

[sugar-grigri]

Hope your family is better soon !! Glad you've been taking a step back. If you ever feel like it I'd be interested in hearing any thoughts you have on yoshiden as a ship cause I've unfortunately only ever seen some questionable content but I wanna know what others see there and with your interpretations of the characters I'm really curious. Sorry I feel like that was an unnecessarily long sentence. (Also this is only if you want to!!)

Why Yoshiden has become a problem when it's such a lovable ship

it's not an analysis, it's really a question of personal taste, so if the question of ships gets on your nerves, or bores you, don't read this post! I'm a multi-shipper, so don't go to war either!

It's quite simple really, why fans have trouble with this ship, whether it's a problem of personal taste (ships are first and foremost a matter of taste), the way Denji's character is interpreted and his relationship with men (seeing him only as a hetero character), or the way Yoshida is interpreted.

Yoshida poses problems in general, and as I've said several times here, because he's a character that's hard to get to grips with. Not because he's badly written, but because he's brilliantly written; I like to describe him as an ink blot disturbing the reader. Above all, Yoshida is a character who plays a role, not only with the reader by leading him down false paths, but also with regard to his own adolescence, behaving like an adult given the milieu in which he works and the obvious incompatibility between youth and public hunters.

Yoshida rejects his adolescence, school is just a cover or the exercise ground for his mission, his uniform, something temporary that he will take off when he has accomplished his mission. Remember when he was supposed to team up with Asa and Yuko? Yoshida has completely disappeared, even though he should have been part of the mission, bonding with the two teenagers.

Yoshida disappeared to do what he was really there to do, not to bond with the others, but just to keep an eye on Denji. His black eyes are an indescribable black hole, in which we understand neither the intention of his actions nor the personality behind them. They are there only to reflect the darkness of a system to which a teenager has agreed to bow.

Denji is the opposite of this black hole: he doesn't blend into the background, he's noisy, extremely expressive, finds it hard to lie and has no trouble revealing all his thoughts, even those we might hide for fear of social rejection. Unlike Yoshida, who has joined the system, Denji has been rejected by it, and is completely outside it, even though he wanted to be part of it. Asa is a third case: she belonged to the system but now rejects it.

So I like to interpret and I like to imagine Denji influencing Yoshida in a positive way. One envies his good looks, the way he's able to please people naturally, and the other envies the other's candid, inexhaustible and almost wandering sincerity. One sees the other as an enemy, a rival, someone who can't be identified or trusted; the other hopes to get away with denigrating the other, as something rejected by the system but manipulable.

Because Yoshiden has become problematic because the roles played by Denji and Yoshida and the way each sees the other have been interpreted as truths. As a stupid little thing who can be tormented with Denji, which is Yoshida's vision of Denji. And as a shady guy, a dangerous and sadistic rock with Yoshida, which is Denji's vision of Yoshida.

Instead of imagining a ship, some great stories, where they get to know each other and get out of this cycle of mistrust, some ships are based on this fear of the other and this mutual mistrust. Toxicity is even claimed in some cases, and the resulting non-consent established as a golden rule.

Obviously, I don't share this vision. I personally like to imagine Denji (like Asa) as bisexual. Because the question of gender is a theme of CSM, Denji is also a prisoner of a version of masculinity, of reproductive functions, of the obligation to bond with girls in order to achieve personal fulfilment.

Yoshida rejects all this unnaturally, because the slightest relationship is an obstacle for him. Above all, it's wrong to say that Denji has a problem with men and not with girls. His blind trust is a problem, as he demonstrated with Fumiko.

Denji's distrust of men is obviously the result of his own experience, and is problematic because of the way he distances himself from boys his own age. Chapter 139, in which Denji finds himself totally submissive to Fumiko and rejecting Miri's proposals, shows just how problematic Denji's relationship with gender can be.

This dual problem requires a solution, and I like to imagine Denji finding answers to it in his relationship with Asa and also with Yoshida. It's not so much polyamory that interests me as seeing how characters can find answers in each other, and I like imagining the possibilities so much that I'm often multishipper to see that I can love pairs.

Because even though I know that it can be surprising and that it's a fairly rare ship, seeing Asa and Yoshida also bond whether in terms of strict friendship or love (these two possibilities also apply to Yoshiden). Yoshida and Asa have the same rejection mechanisms and deal with their loneliness differently. Yoshida denies himself through his loneliness, relying on the system, while Asa sees herself as her only pillar, relying on herself.

I know that Yoshiden is just as interesting whether it's a story of friendship or love. But I'm a bit of a stickler for seeing it as a ship based on healthy love. Firstly because I like to imagine how Yoshida can fall in love. But also because I think that seeing Denji as a queer character now represents something unlikely for some fans, which worries others given the way the ship is portrayed in a problematic way. I also want to see Denji having healthy relationships with men. And because I love Asa so much, I want to find a place for her even when I envisage Denji with someone else lol.

Of course, I also want to see Denji loved twice as much as he deserves.

[synnamonroll666]

An Arousing Tail

Prompt 3: Intercrural Sex/Thigh Riding (With A Twist) Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: After finding out that Syzoth has a rather interesting kink, he asks you to help fulfill his desire. Of course, you agree. Because after all, how could you deny your man of what he wants so badly?... Warnings: Tail Riding, Extremely Shy And Embarrassed Syzoth, Awkward Confessions, Masturbation, Mutual Orgasms... Word Count: 1.4k A/N: This is hands down the most interesting smut fic I have ever written. 😂 I hope you all enjoy it! 💚 Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri.

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There I laid in my bed—with my lover on top of me—lips connected in a passionate kiss. We had been going at it for hours, just savoring and enjoying the taste of each other before we got to the main course. That was our thing: we could make a moment last for so long—we were just special like that.

I was so wrapped up in the moment that I did not realize that Syzoth had accidentally let his tail slip from his human disguise again. It was something he did on instinct every once in a while. If he was enjoying something enough, his tail would have to break free so it could sway back and forth with enjoyment. And due to being so caught up in our kisses, I didn't even clue in when my hand found purchase on his tail and began stroking its smooth scales.

As soon as my hand began to pet him, he let out a soft moan into my mouth and quickly pulled back and turned away as he blushed bright green with embarrassment.

"I-I am sorry, my love..." He stammered awkwardly as he lowered his head so he would feel a little more protected from my intense gaze. "I could not help it..."

"No, I'm sorry." I sighed heavily, feeling pretty bad for making him so uncomfortable. "I didn't realize that I did it; I shouldn't have without your consent."

A moment of silence fell between us, and Syzoth still refused to look me in the eye—or move, for that matter. I couldn't help but let the guilt eat away at me, since I never wanted to push past his comfort zone. I wanted to speak apology after apology for doing so, but I knew what Syzoth would say; he would just tell me that it wasn't my fault and that we should probably go to bed.

But I did have one thing that lingered in my mind, and after a couple minutes of hesitation, I decided to break the silence once again with a question that I knew would be hard for him to answer. But as his lover, I just had to know for sure.

"Is it really that pleasurable for you?" I asked shyly, and the man instantly froze for a moment before finally lifting his head to look up at me with shameful eyes. "That's ok, Syzoth. I understand." I assured him with a softness in my tone and a kind smile, hoping he would let his finally gaurd down and just be his full self with me.

Syzoth was a pretty shy and not very confident person. Even though we had seen each other naked many times now, he would still become backwards with a few subjects, which made discussing our wants and desires quite difficult at times. But the way his eyes lightly studied me for a moment with a hint of curiosity and nervousness in them told me that I would get what I wished for soon enough.

"(Y/N)... Could I ask something of you?" He asked almost reluctantly while averting his gaze down again, only this time at his now twitching tail.

"Anything, Syzoth." I assured him while placing my hand upon his to give him any bit of encouragement I possibly could with my words.

"Would you..." He paused mid-sentence, his words getting cut off by a look of uncertainty.

"Tell me,"

With a light squeeze of my hand over his, he glanced down at where we were conjoined. It was clear that the man was struggling with this but knew that he would not be relieved of this stress until it was off his chest. After letting out a deep breath for courage, he finally let me in on something I never knew he wanted: "Would you ride my tail?"

"What?" I blurted out as I cocked my head, slightly confused by his request.

He peered back up at me, and I quickly took notice of how his appearance had changed; his pupils were dilated to the point where his green irises were nearly non-existent, his tanned skin was now flushed and covered in a thin layer of sweat, the veins in his arms were bulging—especially more with each flex of his large muscles—and I could literally see that his pulses were fluttering faster than the wings of a hummingbird. It was then that it occurred to me that this wasn't just anything, but a deeply desired kink.

"Please!" He whined in a needy tone that I hadn't heard from him before.

His desire for such a thing surprised me, but who was I to judge? Who was I to deny my love of the pleasures he craved? Smiling up at my man lovingly, I gently placed a hand on his chest before pushing him off of me and back onto the bed.

I was quick to remove my clothes and Syzoth's as well, and I wasted no time climbing up on the bed once again to lower myself on the base of his tail. Syzoth let out a strained whine as my heat met his scales and I instantly felt how each thick vein would pulsate against my touch, clearly craving more of my warmth.

I firmly gripped my love's shoulders and began rolling my hips against him slowly, watching his facial expression change to one of awe as he melted below me. I was surprised by how smooth the scales on the underside of his tale were. It was almost like brushing myself against some sort of soft, cool leather—it was perfect to get off on.

I let my head roll back onto my shoulders as heat built up in my core. I was genuinely shocked by how sensitive I felt at the time, but I wasn't complaining. The hunger I felt from his arousal only made me crave more and when his hands went to my hips, I knew we were both done for.

He squeezed me hard in his grip as his tail began wiggling and moving in a slither-like motion, forcing a cry from my throat as it sent just the right kind of friction through my throbbing mound. Now soaked with my slick, his scales grew slippery but not enough for me to lose my pace. His hands helped guide me in my journey to ecstasy, but I knew exactly what I wanted and how to get it.

Watching how his head lolled back in pleasure—how his eyes fluttered half shut and his jaw fell slack as he released a weak, strained moan—I could barely hang on from the beautiful image before me alone. But the way his tail brushed against me like a match—setting off a flame within my core that threatened to explode at any second—I couldn't hold myself back any longer.

As I finally let myself give into the temptation of my climax, I began picking up speed and moving my hips at an extremely fast rate, hungry for that release I so desperately needed. I was so wrapped up in my own cloud of pleasure that I did not even realize that Syzoth had his hand firmly clasped around his trobbing cock, fucking it into his fist as he watched me with desperate tears in his eyes.

Finally—like a match to gasoline is meant to explode—that coil snapped within me and my climax tore through my body. I cried out as I rode through my orgasm on his trembling tail, and I almost missed the way his length shot thick ropes of his hot seed all over his stomach and mine—I almost missed the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his mouth fell agape while he came undone beneath me—but I was lucky enough to just barely catch the full show.

After my high eventually faded, I couldn't hold myself up any longer and collapsed onto his broad chest. And in a moment of my post-orgasm daze, I felt his arms slowly snake around my trembling frame to encase me within a warm embrace.

Between the way our body heat collided, how he gently caressed my back to soothe my exhaustion, his hot cum—which was now sandwiched between us—heating my stomach and his tail lightly twitching between my thighs to give me the perfect amount of overstimulation, I felt as if I were on cloud nine. And so I closed my eyes, hoping that I would wake up the exact same way the next morning and many after as well.

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[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Ngl, I'm a slut for hybrid AUs (it's probably the weeb in me). So, if you see more in the future, don't be surprised lol. This idea came to me out of nowhere but, I felt compelled to write about it because there's no such thing as too much Bunny! Jeonghan fanfic (I don't even know if Bunny! Jeonghan fanfic is out there). Apparently I can only write about Jeonghan when it's in relation to bunnies. Enjoy.

Heads up: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem! Reader, hybrid AU, slight crack honestly because hybrid AUs, friends/roommates to lovers, Jeonghan is a bunny hybrid, Reader is just a regular degular human, Jeonghan is in heat so potentially grey area when it comes to consent incase that makes you uncomfortable, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv sex, unrealistic sex (Jeonghan still being hard after cumming), creampies and this ended up being pretty long so fair warning.

I will block you if you are minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

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When Vernon first introduced you to Jeonghan, you were a little taken aback. You had only met a handful of hybrids in your lifetime and, they all tended to either be cat or dog hybrids. You'd never met a bunny hybrid before. The way his black, floppy ears moved and twitched when he spoke was endlessly distracting. His fluffy tail was even moreso. It didn't help that ontop of all of that, that he was an extremely charismatic man with perhaps the cutest smile you'd ever seen.

You were in trouble.

However, you needed a roommate to help you with rent and Jeonghan was the perfect option. Luckily, he was looking for a place to live too and it was all history from there. You'd never lived with a hybrid before but, outside of the occasional unfamiliar habits here and there, Jeonghan had proven himself to be both an amazing roommate and a great friend over the past year. Which didn't exactly help your budding feelings for him. It was really only a matter of time before you developed romantic feelings for your roommate. He was kind, smart, funny, endearingly mischievous but he knew how to walk a fine line and never go too far, considerate and not to mention unfairly good-looking. To name a few reasons off the top of your head.

"Fuck," you hear Jeonghan curse from the living room, partially distracting you from the sandwich you were making for lunch. "What's wrong?" You ask, trying to split your attention as best you can between listening to him and finishing your food. "I forgot to get my stupid heat suppressants. I've been so occupied with work this week and meeting deadlines that I completely forgot to head to the pharmacy. Ugh," he responds, sounding equal parts annoyed and frustrated.

You pause from making your sandwich.

Heats are something you've heard about vaguely and understand in concept but, you haven't touched that subject with Jeonghan, or any other hybrids really. You just knew most hybrids took suppressants so they could function normally because heats can become all consuming very quickly. However, sex in general is something you avoid bringing up when it comes to Jeonghan. Least your mind wonder about what he looks like completely naked, what he feels like, the sounds he makes...

"You okay?" His question startles you out of your thoughts. You're wondering when he managed to make his way into the kitchen but, then again you weren't exactly being the most aware. "Mhm, just thinking. So, what do you plan to do?" You ask him, trying to change the topic as quickly as possible. Jeonghan really doesn't need to know about your previous thoughts of him.

"I'm going to try my best to get my hands on a few tomorrow morning because my heat is closer than I realised. I don't want to risk it," he says, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. You try not to coo at seeing his ears flop in annoyance. Grabbing a plate to place your now complete sandwich onto, you shoot him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure it'll all work out, Hannie."

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Between work for Jeonghan and university for you, the two of you haven't had much time to spend together these past few days. It's a little embarrassing just how much you miss him. Vernon teasing you about it every chance he gets, sometimes with Chan chiming in. You shouldn't have told those two losers anything. They're so annoying. Regardless, you've decided to just stay home this weekend and melt into your couch while catching up on some anime and TV shows. University leaving you feeling like a shell of a human being.

It's in this state that Jeonghan finds you when he finally gets home. You're a little surprised because he's home earlier than usual but, it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless. "Hey," you greet him from your spot on the couch, comfortably cuddling one of the cushions. "Hi," he says back but, he sounds...off. Dazed or distracted maybe? You're slightly more concerned when he enters the living room and you actually see him.

His ears are laying flat against his head, his eyes slightly glassy and his cheeks dusted a light shade of pink. You get up quickly, now worried. "Hey Hannie, are you okay?" You ask, tentatively reaching out to him. "Y-Yeah. It's just- I- it's my heat. I think I took the suppressants too late for them to work," he says, squirming a little where he stands.

Oh.

Well, this is definitely a problem.

"Oh um well, what can I do to help? How do you usually get through them without the suppressants?" You ask, trying to remain as neutral and helpful as possible. Jeonghan glances at your hand that's come to rest on his bicep before meeting your eyes with his glassy ones. Now you're struggling to not to squirm under his intense gaze. He looks like he wants to devour you. He seems to remember himself though and finally responds, "I haven't had a heat in years. It was pretty...intense last time which is why I eventually decided to go on the suppressants. My choices are either to sweat it out or fuck it out."

What even is your life?

"Oh uh okay. Well, I could help you get to bed and you could sweat it out there? I'll be in my room if you need me for anything," you suggest, willing yourself to ignore the heat radiating from him and the way he's looking at you right now.

"You won't come to bed with me?" This man even has the audacity to pout! While you and Jeonghan are no strangers to the occasional hug and cuddle, cuddling him in this state just feels like a disaster waiting to happen.

"No, Hannie but, you can call when you need something, okay?" You reassure him. You're completely thrown off when he pulls you into a rather intimate hug, his nose pressed against your neck.

"Jeongha-"

"You smell so good. You always smell so good. Feel good too," he mutters against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Frankly, you're reeling from all of this. Slowly you begin to untangle him from your body. "Let's get you to bed," you say with an air of finality, taking his larger hand in yours and pulling him to his room. Trying your best to completely ignore the ghost of his mouth so close to your neck and, his whines of protest as you drag him along.

This was going to be a long few days.

"I'm still in my work clothes," he says with a pout on his face when you finally sit him down on his bed. "It's so hot," he complains, already unbuttoning his dress shirt and shrugging it off.

Drawing on ever ounce of your self-control you make sure to look away, trying to give him some privacy and respect. You feel your heart pound in your ears when you hear the sound of him undoing his belt buckle next. "Hannie, what're you doing?" You ask, hoping he doesn't notice the shakiness in your voice.

"I feel hot," is all the response you get.

Eventually he seems to still.

"Is-is it okay if I turn around?" You ask him cautiously, wringing your hands together infront of yourself nervously.

He hums affirmative and, you take a moment to steel your nerves before turning to eventually face him.

You've only seen Jeonghan this undressed a handful of times. You could probably actually count the number of times on one hand. He tended to be rather modest and, having him infront of you in nothing but, his boxers was quickly overwhelming you.

It was all the more made worse by the blatant want creeping its way onto his face.

"Do you just want to stay in your b-boxers?" You ask, feeling warmth crawling its way up your face from embarrassment and completely unasked for arousal.

Jeonghan takes a second to respond to you, his eyes looking up and down your frame languidly. Licking his lips he says, "Yeah. I just feel really warm."

"Okay, well just let me know if you need anything," you say hurriedly, turning to reach for his door's handle. You're startled to feel his hand grab your opposite wrist. He wasn't joking. His hand feels like a furnace right now.

"Wait," he says, voice pitched significantly lower than a few moments ago.

You turn to face him and the air stills in your chest. If you thought he looked like he wanted to devour you earlier, the look on his face now was somehow more intense. Even in all your oblivion and denial, you'd be stupid to think his eyes showed anything but, barely constrained desire.

"Hannie what-"

"I want you. Please. It starting to hurt," he all but, groans. Your heart rate ticks up at his words. He completely shocks you yet again.

"Jeonghan, this is your heat talking. You don't want me," you try to reason with him, ignoring the sting you feel from your own words.

"That's not true. I've wanted you for months now. God, how could I not? Especially when you walk around in tiny shirts like the ones you're wearing now or, flimsy shirts that I can see your nipples through. I can smell you, you know? When you're wet, when you cum. It takes everything in me not to just barge into your room and offer my mouth or my fingers or my cock to help get you off."

Yoon Jeonghan sure has a knack for leaving you speechless. Especially when he's in his heat, it seems. All you can do is stare back at him wide-eyed, mouth agape probably looking like a fool.

"If you don't want me, that's okay. I'd never force you to do anything you don't want to but, you don't get to tell me how I feel."

He let's go of your wrist and, you feel rooted to the floor of his room. Completely unable to move.

"Jeonghan, I- I didn't know," is all you can manage to utter out and, the self-deprecating smile he gives you breaks your heart.

"How could you have? I never told you. Now I'm slowly losing my self control and, I finally find the courage to tell you how I feel. Very smart," his laugh is completely devoid of humour and without much thought, you kiss him.

Jeonghan has gone completely still against you. The kiss is brief and a little clumsy but, you hope it gets your point across.

"I want you too. I have for a really long time. Longer than I care to admit, honestly," you say once you've pulled away, cupping his handsome face in your hands.

Before you can blink, Jeonghan's mouth is on yours once again but, he doesn't hold back as much as you did. His hands grip your hips as he pulls you towards him, eagerly kissing you and already trying to lick into your mouth.

Your insides throb painfully when you feel is cock press into you, hot and heavy through the very thin materials of his boxers and your night shirt.

A gasp flies from your lips, hungrily swallowed by Jeonghan, when he begins to rut into you. One of his hands grabbing a generous handful of your ass as he helps you move against him. Your panties are starting to stick to you now, being swept up in all that is Jeonghan and the sensations he provides to your touch starved body.

His lips kiss the corner of your mouth before moving to dot kisses against your jaw until his mouth eventually reaches your neck. Your hands move to grab his biceps, fingernails slightly biting into the skin there as he makes quick work of your neck. Kissing, nibbling and sucking to his heart's content. You're sure you'll likely have bruises decorating your neck tomorrow. Abruptly he stiffens and you're worried that something is wrong. However, before you can ask him what's going on, he's dragging you onto his bed. Gently pushing you onto your back, feral eyes taking you in.

"I can smell you. You smell divine," is all he says as an explanation before pulling into another heated kiss, situating himself between your thighs.

You don't really have time to dwell on the knowledge that he can smell your arousal because his cock is thoroughly distracting you. It feels hotter than before, brushing your clit a few times as Jeonghan moves against you once again.

You're just glad the walls of your apartment are decent because the way you and Jeonghan are moaning against each other is bordering on obscene.

One of his hands begins to tug your oversized shirt up impatiently. Mildly concerned that he may rip it in his impatience, you help him tug it off and toss it onto the floor. Jeonghan's lips are around one of your hardened nipples before you can fully comprehend what's happening. His hand massaging the unoccupied breast.

Your back arches instantaneously from his ministrations, nails leaving faint pink marks in their wake on his biceps. "Hannie," you cry out, pressing your hips up to get some sort of relief for the painful, incessant throbbing between your thighs. His answering groan against your skin on serving to overwhelm you further. You're pretty sure your panties are completely ruined now.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. Just wanna bury my face in your tits for hours or, fuck them until you're covered in my cum," he says after removing your nipple from his mouth with an obnoxious pop. You wonder if his mouth is always this filthy or this is just the heat talking. Either way, you're not exactly complaining.

"You can do whatever you want with me Hannie but, later. I need you. Please," you whine out, hips grinding up into his to emphasise your point.

"Anything. Anything for you, baby," he moans, moving to pull off your panties and shorts. Leaving you completely bare under his gaze. Not giving you the time or opportunity to feel self-conscious, he kisses his way down your stomach. Eyes watching ever minute change in your face and, ears listening for all your little noises of pleasure.

When Jeonghan first licks at your soaking slit, it's difficult to tell who moaned louder. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head and, his determined to still watch you although he finds himself dangerously close to shutting them to fully immerse himself in the pleasure of eating you out. His tongue finds your swollen clit easily, pressing brief kisses against it alongside some kitten licks. Gauging what you respond to better. Jeonghan finds his rhythm eventually, lips and chin becoming coated generously with your juices. He does have to use of his hands to keep you in place, you're squirming and arching so prettily for him but, it makes it more of a challenge to feast on you like you deserve.

One of your hands flies to his head, careful to avoid pulling on his ears, when he pushes two of his long fingers inside of you. Curling them deliciously and hitting just the right spot inside of that has you crying out and pulling on his hair.

Jeonghan is so hard he can barely think straight, his boxers soaked now in his pre-cum. He grinds his hips against his bed, searching for some kind relief. He's determined to prepare you properly to take his cock, even though his more animalistic urges whisper for him to sink into you right now and leave you thoroughly filled with his cum. Banishing those thoughts from his mind for now, he diligently licks your clit and gradually adds a third finger to stretch you out further.

Jeonghan almost cums along with you when the dam eventually breaks. Your insides grip his fingers so tightly that he can barely keep moving them, your juices gushing onto his face and hand as he desperately laps up everything he can. The grip on his hair stings now but, Jeonghan couldn't care less. He was finally getting to have you like this. He wasn't going to start complaining now. The high pitched keening noises you make only egg him on, still licking at you as your hips switch under his hand.

"H-Hannie, too much," you say hoarsely, trying to move away from his expert fingers and mouth. If Jeonghan wasn't in his heat, he'd make you cum until you were in tears but, that could always happen another time. He's in no hurry to play out every fantasy he's head involving you over the past few months. He has time.

Giving your clit one last kiss, he eases his fingers out of you. They're covered in your release and so his most of his hand. Without much deliberation, he puts them into his mouth and sucks the taste of you off of them. Moaning all the while. Your gasp at the sight forces him to lock eyes with you. Not slowing down as he watches the way your eyes zero in on his mouth before returning to his. Once seemingly satisfied with thoroughly cleaning his fingers, he removes from his mouth with an obnoxious pop. Tongue peaking out to lick your juices from his lips as well.

"You taste divine. Could eat your pussy all day," he says with a gravelly tone, looking down at with heavily lidded eyes.

"Jeonghan," you say with slight admonishment.

"What? It's true," he responds with clear amusement colouring his tone.

Before you can think to respond, your eyes betray you and glance down. His cock is straining against his boxers, a sizeable wet spot evident on them. You can't see all of him yet but, your insides clench hard at how long and thick he looks.

"Can I suck you off?" You blurt out without thinking. Feeling your face warm in embarrassment at the impulsive question.

Jeonghan seems surprised for a moment before a smug smirk spreads across his handsome face. "Maybe next time. I'd rather cum inside of you first and, I don't think I'd last very long with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock," he says, tugging his boxers off hurriedly. Shuddering as cool air hits his cock. Thoroughly distracting you and leaving all complaints you had about tasting him to die on your tongue.

Of course Yoon Jeonghan would have a pretty cock too. It's longer than it is thick and flushed an appealing looking red.

"Okay, that's fair," you respond breathlessly, fresh arousal coating your upper thighs at the sight of him. You don't think you've ever felt so empty in your life.

"Tell me if you want me to stop or if it's too much, okay? I've been doing a decent job of holding back but, I can...lose myself when I'm in heat," he says gently, positioning himself between your thighs with his cock in his hand. His eyes are almost black when he meets your gaze once again to make sure you're okay with this, he looks like he's barely holding on by a thread.

"I trust you, Hannie. I know you wouldn't hurt me but, if it becomes too much I promise I'll tell you," you respond. Reaching up to pull him into a soft kiss before laying back against his pillows to watch him. A very small, private part of you is curious to see what he's like when he loses control. Jeonghan always seems to have it all together. You wonder what he's like when he fully let's go.

He takes a deep breath before slowly pushing into you. Even with all the effort he put into stretching you out earlier, there's still a slight sting. Your hands grip his sheets tightly, moaning as he eases his way into you.

Jeonghan is almost vibrating with how much he's holding himself back from just bottoming out into you in one, quick thrust. You're so fucking tight and wet and warm. Your walls drag around his cock deliciously. However, he can see the slight discomfort in your face and body language clear as day so he tries his best to go as slowly as he can manage.

You gasp when he does eventually bottom out and you can't help the way you clench around him from the broken moan he let's out at being inside you completely. His arms come up to cage around your head, his head dropping to nuzzle against your neck as he tries his best to remain still so you can adjust, "Fuck, don't do that. I-I'll cum," he groans against the skin of your neck.

Maybe it's the desire to get back at him for all his teasing over the past few months or maybe it's the desire to see Jeonghan crumble, that motivate you to wrap your legs around his hips and pull him closer. Your arms wrapping around his back as well in the process, "Cum then. I want you to."

His cock pulses violently for a moment before you feel the warmth of being filled with his cum. The moans he let's out against your skin are high pitched and bordering on whines as his hips shallowly thrusts into you. You did have the vague understanding that hybrids tended to be more sensitive while in heat but, you didn't think he'd cum so fast. Not that you were exactly complaining. He sounded beautiful and obscene against you and, feeling him fuck his cum into you was more than enough for you to be moaning in return.

Jeonghan pants against you once his orgasm seems to run its course. Surprisingly, he's still very hard inside of you despite having cum. Perks of being a hybrid, you guess. You soothingly rub his back and untangle your legs from him. That appears to cause something inside the man to snap because the next thing you know, he's hooking your legs over your his arms. His eyes are feral as they stare down at you and you receive no warning as he begins to fuck into your harshly. The sound of your shared moans and skin slapping against skin filling his room. "You're so tight. Such a pretty pussy. Even more pretty with my cum," he groans deliriously, taking his eyes off of you to watch his cock enter you over and over and over again. While all you can do is moan and take it.

"Hannie, you feel so g-good. You're so d-deep," you cry out, your hands gripping his sheets viciously once more as his cock overwhelms you. "Yeah? You like that, baby? Gonna stuff you with my cum. Gonna fuck you full," his hips snapping even faster against you now, not giving you any chance to catch your breath.

"Fuck, fuck, f-fuck," he whines before you feel that pulse you're beginning to become familiar with once more. He spasms against you as a new wave of his cum shoots inside you. You've never felt so full. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull at the sensations. Briefly you think you may have ripped his sheets with how much you've been pulling on them but, you honestly couldn't care less. Not when your pretty bunny continues to move inside of you, his cock still impossibly hard.

[odiesdayoff]

The Winner Is...

pair: Robert Fischer x fem!reader

summary: Robert Fischer's stuck judging this year's Miss America Pageant. That doesn't mean he can't use his position to his advantage.

warnings: extremely dubious consent!! (heed the warnings!); mean/condescending Robert Fischer; anal; blowjobs; deepthroating; unprotected sex; a bit of misogyny; power imbalance

made reader from Georgia because I've been watching a lot of Kim of Queens. I've never written a lot of this before so I hope you can enjoy <3 this is also on Ao3 so yea... feedback always appreciated!

but also your consumption is your fault so if you don't like the content well then you should not have skipped/ignored the warnings

ALSO happy valentine's day from me :)

“In your opinion, what is a way that young women can lead successful lives in traditionally male-dominated professions?” Miss America from 2003 spoke clearly into the microphone. She wore her winning sash across her chest and a sparkling dress. 

On her left, a former professional basketball player crossed her arms and sat back. She won the finals for her team two years in a row and now she was stuck judging brainless, but beautiful women being asked sexist questions in the veil of feminism and the uplifting of women. It didn’t matter, though. She was getting paid.

On the right of Miss America 2003, Robert Fischer leaned on the judge’s table with his hands folded. Ever since he fumbled the business deal with Eclipse Solutions, Maurice thought that the best form of punishment was to take his spot as a judge in this competition. Initially, Robert thought that it wasn’t much of a punishment, but after a long week of nonstop noise and hearing these women yap about how they were going to change the world, he understood why his father made him. 

The hard-on he was sporting towards the beginning of the competition was long gone. He couldn’t bear to look at any of them anymore. Even during the swimsuit portion, for God’s sake.

Your smile never fell. The swimsuit you chose emphasized your breasts and slimmed your waist. Saying that you chose it was an exaggeration, your coach said that if you could catch the eyes of Fischer and Johnson, who your coach was convinced was a lesbian, you would have it in the bag. You still weren’t too sure about it. Knowing that your body was getting exposed to millions of people over the television was enough to raise your anxiety.

Attempting to not look like a total fool, you took a deep breath and nodded in response to her question. “Well, as someone who is in the career path of accounting, I have faced a lot of adversarial coworkers and peers. I believe that the best way that young women can gain success is to keep their self-confidence and never stop allowing themselves to learn and grow both professionally and personally. The best way to prove your doubters wrong is to excel in the path that you choose.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were saying, but you had hoped that it came across as something really intelligent to the judges. This was a question you had practiced for so long with your coach, but your mind drew a blank. 

Robert held back a laugh or at least a scoff. There’s no way he would hire you. With a face like that and the way you spoke, there’s no way that you knew how to do anything within the range of taxes or money. Probably a case of affirmative action, he was sure. Either that or you sucked the right man’s dick to get to where you were now. 

Miss America 2003 grinned. “Thank you, Miss Georgia. What a lovely way of thinking. I wish you the best of luck! Mr. Fischer, do you have a question?”

Robert’s bright blue eyes pierced into yours, despite the fair amount of distance from each other. He leaned into his mic. “Do you believe that you get respected more or less because of your appearance?”

The question felt like a double-edged sword. The last thing the general public wanted to hear was that you thought you were beautiful. It weirded people out to acknowledge your beauty, according to your coach.

“While I do think that appearance does affect the way that strangers treat others, it’s in your personality and how you treat others that matters. For me, it doesn’t matter what someone looks like for me to respect them. People that base how they treat others based on looks aren’t worth your time.” You had only hoped that the foundation you had on was holding back the sweat threatening to fall down your forehead. Robert Fischer had been asking the most condescending and borderline rude questions to everyone. It was bound to happen to you, too.

“Mm. Thank you.” He didn’t look amused.

Music began to play and the audience cheered. You smiled again at the judges' table before leaving the stage in the T walk. Once you were off stage and out of sight of both the judges and the audience, you let out a sigh and released the way that you were sucking in your stomach. You had been doing pageants like this ever since you were a little girl and now, your dream of being in this competition was real. Why did it feel so humiliating?

There was only one final day. It was the evening gown portion and the announcement of Miss America for the year. After that, you could finally relax. That is, unless you won and would immediately have to start your training for Miss Universe. Maybe you didn’t want to relax, after all. 

By the time the sun fell, most of the contestants were either spending their last night together in their hotel rooms and doing spa nights while the rest decided to go out to the clubs. You were advised not to befriend any of them by your coach to avoid feeling guilty when you eventually won and they lost. Now, you were alone at a nearby bar nursing a beer and listening to the band playing. It was a cover band of The Killers. Mr. Brightside was the current song getting butchered by the young singer.

It was freeing to be out of dresses and swimsuits and finally not showing off your body. You wore loose jeans and a top with a jacket over it. If they didn’t know you, nobody would even know that you were who you were.

You felt someone sit next to you. In a bar of several open seats, of course, they chose the one basically on top of you. They waved the bartender down and ordered a whiskey. The voice was familiar, one that was ringing in your head all day. You faced him to confirm your suspicions. Robert fucking Fischer.

The drink in your hand was what you tried to focus on. “Not very talkative off stage, huh?” It would be rude to ignore him, you knew that. 

You shrugged. “My social battery is drained.” While it was partially the truth, he was the last person you wanted to be speaking to. 

“You know,” he swirled the whiskey in his glass, “it’s between you and Miss California.” He took a generous sip of his drink as he let the information sink in. 

Excitement and guilt mixed in your stomach. “You shouldn’t say that. We shouldn’t even be speaking, Mr. Fischer.” You finished your drink and stood from the barstool. His hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you from taking a step away.

“You wanna win, don’t you?” You sat back down, mostly involuntarily, and met his eyes with your own again. They were almost hypnotizing. “I can make that happen.”

“What do you mean?” Questions ran through your head. Was he asking for a bribe? Maybe he had some sort of bet running on you winning.

He smirked at the sight of your intrigue. “This whole competition’s about who’s the best woman, right? They’re still forgetting about the most important thing that makes a woman.” He leaned in closer to you, his hot breath against your skin. “How well they can fuck.”

You waited a moment to make sure that he was being serious, hoping that he wasn’t. The lustful look in his eyes didn’t tell you that he was joking at all. “You’re disgusting.”

“Even if I am, I’m the deciding factor on whether you go down in history as a winner or as nobody at all.” He finished his drink and stood up, fixing his tie. “Johnson likes you. Miss 2003 wants California. It’s all up to me.”

If he was lying, rejecting him wouldn’t mean much in the long run. If he wasn’t, you probably would’ve spent the rest of your life regretting taking him to bed. “Someone will see us going to the hotel together.”

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you one of his room keys. “Room 704. Wait ten minutes and then come up.” Without saying another word, he dropped some cash on the bar for his drink and left.

The room key felt heavy in your hand. Was winning worth anything if it wasn’t honest? He better have a decent-sized dick if you were really going to do this. 

You felt a hand tap your shoulder. “Y/n L/n? Oh my god, I’m such a big fan! I’ve been watching the whole pageant with my daughter, she loves you!” A woman shook your hand, feeling a bit too formal. The guilt grew in your stomach. How could you be a role model for little girls like this? “Can I have a picture?”

Despite your appearance, you nodded. The room key burned a hole in your pocket as you fixed your hair and took a picture with the woman. Hopefully, the dim light of the bar made you look better than you felt. 

It had already been fifteen minutes since Robert had left. You finally paid for your drink and headed for the hotel. With each step, your anxiety grew. The elevator rose to the seventh floor and you stopped in front of 704. Instead of knocking, you pulled the room key out and inserted it into the door. The light flashed green and you pushed it open. 

Robert was sitting at the edge of the bed without his clothes, stroking himself and staring at the door until you finally walked in. “You’re late.” You kept your eyes around his, trying to prevent yourself from looking any lower.

“I got caught up with something.” You took your jacket off and laid it on the office chair. Given his state of undress, you weren’t entirely sure whether or not you should strip now or wait for his instruction. He seemed like the type who was obsessed with control, especially in the bedroom. The last thing you needed was for him to get angry with you over something so trivial and ruin your chances.

He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you don’t really want this, don’t you? To win?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “I want it.”

He pointed to the floor right in front of him and spread his knees further apart. You didn’t respond, knowing it was most likely for nothing, and knelt in front of him. For the way that he acted, you would assume it was because he was overcompensating. God, you were wrong.

His free hand grabbed hold of your hair and pushed your head closer to his aching cock. He leaned back. “You’re not gonna win just by looking at it.” You held back from commenting on his attitude and kissed the blushing red tip, the same color as his lips. 

You flattened your tongue against the underside of his head, allowing his precum and your saliva to mix. After hearing the slightest moan of pleasure from him, which was an exhale at best, you took a few inches of him into your mouth. His hand in your hair guided you back and forth along his length.

“That’s all you’re gonna take? I think you could do much better than that.” He taunted, not pushing you down and wanting you to do it voluntarily. “Or, I could just call down Miss California. She’d love to deepthroat me.”

You tried to relax your throat and took him deeper. He was big, much bigger than what you were used to, but you could take him. You inched deeper until your nose pressed against his lower stomach and your breathing was constricted. “Atta girl.” He smelled like the generic body soap the hotel offered with a mix of his cologne. If you could focus on breathing through your nose and sucking him off the best you could, this would be over quickly.

Hearing his heavy breathing and attempts to hide his whimpers sent shockwaves down your spine. You felt the warmth growing in between your legs the more you pleasured him. “I’m about to cum. You’ll swallow, right?”

While you couldn’t answer, you made a sound of agreement that vibrated down your throat. You’d need to do some vocal treatment and tea tonight so you still could speak tomorrow. “Fuck.” He gripped your hair tighter as he came, ropes of cum shooting down your throat.

He finally pulled out once he had fully finished. You wiped a trail of cum and spit from your lips and looked up to him. “Not bad. Though, I’ve had much better. I guess I overestimated you. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

“What does that mean?” You cocked a brow. It felt even more humiliating considering your position in front of him and the way that you could still taste the remnants of his semen coating your throat. 

“Oh, come on. You get a high-paying job straight out of college at a Big 4? You’re either a genius, which I doubt considering half of the answers you’ve given so far, or you’ve slept your way into the job. Now, strip for me.” He spoke matter-of-factly. It was like he’d already convinced himself of his theories, even though they were far from the truth. Couldn’t imagine that a woman like you could make her way up the corporate ladder without the help of rich and successful parents. 

There was no use in arguing, you told yourself and took your clothes off until you were standing naked in front of him. “How exactly is the winner chosen? Aren’t there scoresheets? You’re making it sound like it’s entirely based on personal preference.”

He laughed, this time, a genuine one. “Scoresheets are arbitrary. We make those up to align with who we like the best.” He gestured to the bed behind him with his head as he stood. You followed his order and sat on the edge where he had previously been. His tongue flicked around his lips as he got a good look at you, sitting there so obediently for him. “Didn’t even touch you yet and you’re already dripping.” 

You gave him your best version of doe eyes that you could, following the instruction of your coach. She always said that facial expressions were the most important aspect of impressing someone. If you could read the person and make yourself into their ideal partner, they’d be putty in your hands. Robert seems to like to be in charge and superior, but there was an underlying hint of something you couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the desire to be nurtured? 

“Can’t imagine you’ll feel that good. Not as tight as you used to be, hm?” He took hold of your knees and separated them enough for his hips to fit. He was slowly getting harder again and you felt his tip nudge your clit before gathering your arousal on himself. “How do you think we can remedy that?”

He jerked himself off using your slick, then moved the tip to settle against your ass. You immediately stiffened against him and put your hands against his chest. “No. I don’t do that.”

He groaned and took a step away from you. “Little Miss Georgia Peach is too good to take it up the ass? I’m trying to help you win, but I guess you don’t care.” He picked up your discarded clothes and tossed them to you. 

Your eyes followed him as he walked to the hotel phone and began to dial a number. He checked his watch. The person he was dialing answered. “Yeah, hi. Annie? I need you to do something for me. If you could-” You almost leaped towards the phone and pressed the button, ending the call. Annie was Miss California, he didn’t even need to continue the call for you to understand what he was doing.

“I’ll let you!” You were nearly out of breath, your voice hoarse.

He had to hide his smile from his plan working. “No, sweetheart. You have to ask me for it. Specifically.”

“I want you to fuck my ass, Robert.” You gulped. If this wasn’t your dream, you wouldn’t be begging him like this.

“Turn around.” Once you turned, his hands were on your waist and his tip rested against your ass. He slipped two fingers into your pussy, gathering arousal, and then re-lubed his cock. You’d done this before, but it wasn’t something you necessarily enjoyed. The pain outweighed the pleasure. You just needed to breathe through it.

Your hands gripped the sheets below once his head was inside your tight hole. He slowly pushed further inside until he bottomed out. The white, hot pain was rippling through your body. You focused on inhaling and exhaling and continuing to hold tightly to the bedsheets.

He offered you some mercy, moving only after about ten seconds of being inside. After that, he fucked you as he pleased, entirely ignoring how you might’ve been feeling. You were gonna be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, this is how Miss America should feel.”

He pushed your face into the bed so that he could get a better angle and began to fuck into you roughly, rutting into you like he’d die if he didn’t cum within the next few minutes. 

Confusion surrounded you when he pulled out and you felt a sudden emptiness. Not that you were complaining. He flipped you to your back and you could barely process what he was doing before his hot cum was spurting onto your breasts and stomach.

He pushed his hair back and caught his breath, taking a step away from you. “Get dressed and leave. I’ve got some calls to make.”

You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at his confirmation of your win. Maybe it was the orgasm that had never reached climax. Either way, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow. 

~~

Pins pricked against your soft skin as they held parts of your evening gown together. Lights glare on you and your competitors on the stage. It took a lot of your might to not show the extreme soreness that you felt between your legs. You knew that if you were to touch your breasts or tighten the dress a bit more, you’d only be pushing further against the bruises Robert had given you.

The man in question sat in his chair with the other two judges, arms crossed as usual. He barely gave you a passing glance, instead, he focused on discussing things with the judges or looking at the other contestants. Maybe it was just a ploy to not make it seem like he already knew who was going to win. Certainly, that was it. 

The announcer walked on the stage from the judge’s panel with an envelope in his hand. That envelope had your name on it, you knew. He was an irrelevant game show host that you remembered watching when you were home sick from school as a child. Whatever paid the bills.

You kept your award-winning smile on while the announcer took his microphone and began to speak about how the competition was the opposite of what most people thought when it came to beauty pageants. Mostly pandering and filibustering so that the program would be able to run another round of advertisements when they played it on cable. 

“Well, I have in my hand the name of Miss America of this year. Without further ado, why don’t I open it and save these women some anxiety?” He laughed at his own joke while the audience cheered. 

Miss California stood next to you on your left and Miss Connecticut on your right. As per tradition, you held hands with them while the announcer opened the envelope of the winner. You almost felt bad for them, knowing that they were going to lose.

The envelope was open. The announcer leaned into the microphone. “And the new Miss America is…Miss California!”

It was as if you were seeing things in black and white. Confetti fell from the ceiling and Miss California dropped your hand to receive her flowers and sash. You knew that crying would make you look bad, like a sore loser, but that’s the only thing that you felt like doing. You forced a smile and clapped for her.

Robert clapped for the winner, though his cold stare was on you. What you’d never forget was the smile plastered on his face. 

He had won.

[vampyrsm]

⚸ 'Save Your Tears.'

⚸ Synopsis - The End is never truly the End.

⚸ Pairing - Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

⚸ Warnings - MDNI. Reader referred to as a woman. Domestic violence (not between Bakugou & Reader), no quirks, non-canon au, heavy angst, angst with comfort, murder, descriptions of wounds, blood, tending to wounds, alcohol consumption, discussions of grief & death, questioning of morals.

⚸ Word Count - 8.5k

⚸ Author's Note - Not 100% beta read, I apologise for some spelling mistakes. I wrote most of this at 1am & extremely tired. I'm also not going to tag the things that are huge plot spoilers, but everything that may be triggering/needs the proper content warnings has been included above.

I know I'm not giving much away but I really want you to read this for yourself and have your own thoughts on this. Please enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you think! Also posted on AO3.

It was loud here. It was always loud in this house. You never knew peace and quiet, never had the chance to relax. It was foolish to believe this man—this monster could ever know what love is. He was terrifying once the door closed and the curtains were drawn, he was no longer the cheerful smile and caring boyfriend but rather he turned into the volatile, malicious man who was currently digging the heel of his boot into the white wooden door separating the both of you. 

It wasn’t meant to go like this. A gentle disagreement that spiralled out of control the second you got home. You were just out for dinner with friends, or rather, his friends. You never saw your friends anymore, he said they weren’t trustworthy and you believed him. You had said you didn’t want to go for more drinks after dinner, that you felt sick from the food — not a total lie, but also not entirely false. You did feel sick and you didn’t want to go for drinks, not because of the food but because when your boyfriend had a few drinks in him … consent didn’t matter to him after that. 

Of course, he had to keep up appearances. Gently kissing your knuckles, feeling the temperature of your forehead and cheek, all to live up to the image of being such a good boyfriend. But you knew it was a ruse, a warning for what was to come. You weren’t meant to disagree with him, you were meant to always say yes and follow him everywhere.

You were right, as usual, as soon as the door to the house was closed it was like being bathed in the icy waters of the Antarctic. Your blood was frozen solid, and the air felt charged. You could feel his glare through the back of your head, this wasn’t going to end well for you. At first, he was slow in his approach, methodical with his steps so as to not spook you too quickly and you’re ashamed to say it worked. 

His hand was always quick, grabbing at the nape of your neck to slam your head first into the old oak door frame. There was a sickening crunch, your nose felt like it had been stuffed with tissue paper and smashed to pieces with a sledgehammer. His words were violent and angry, they always were. Filled with enough curse words to make a sailor blush, he never held back. 

He screamed at you, “How dare you fucking embarrass me in front of our friends?!” but you didn’t understand how it was embarrassing. You simply didn’t want to go drinking, you didn’t want to end up hurt and yet here you were. Nursing your broken nose and staring at the way the blood dripped in thick droplets onto the pristine white carpet. You picked this carpet out, it was the one thing you were allowed to do when he forced you into the new home for the both of you—your new prison.

It was a flash after that, a flurry of punches and kicks until you had managed to slip under his arm when he was winding up for something that would definitely have you unconscious and vulnerable to him. You should’ve made a dash for the door but something in your mind told you that he probably locked the door already, he always knew to cut off your escape routes before he did any real damage. 

So the next best bet was his study, it was right next to the open plan kitchen and living room — a place where he could keep an eye on you whilst working. The door had a lock on the inside to keep you out but tonight, it’d be used against him. He wasn’t happy about that, of course, and you could see the anger on his face even through the frosted glass window on the door. 

The window behind you was your best next chance of escape, and the sound of his boot kicking into the door was enough to spring you into action. You scamper across the wooden floor, fumbling in the dark for the latch. The windows of the house were old, they were the ones that slid upwards and the latches always got caught. It resisted on the first two tugs but it seemed at least lady luck was on your side tonight as the window creaked before sliding up and up—

“No you fucking don’t.”

A hand in the hair on the back of your head has you yelping, the pain in your head only gets stronger when he starts to drag you backwards on the floor by your hair. Your palms graze through the broken shards of glass, and you get a glimpse of the door that had protected you for a mere moment to see he had shattered the glass window to get to the lock. 

He shoves you hard onto the floor, your head rattling from the sudden pressure before he’s straddling your stomach. Both his legs hold you in place for him to do whatever he deems good enough to be your punishment for not only embarrassing him but daring to run away from him. His fists are lethal, punches that could make even a grown man cry from the force behind them. 

They’re laid on thick and fast against your face, your cheeks when your head turns, his fingers wrap around your throat when punching simply isn’t enough. You have nowhere to look but his face, he looks calm despite what he’s doing. His eyes are lowered to meet yours, his lips set in a fine line whilst his fingers squeeze and squeeze.

Your fingers grasp uselessly at the floor next to you, trying to grab anything — something to leverage yourself on to throw his weight off, but instead, something slices your fingertips. Glass. You feel along it frantically as your vision starts to blur and darken, it feels like your head is full of water and your lips ache from the pressure he’s putting against your windpipe. 

It’s quick. The way his face morphs into one of shock and then agony, the spray of blood is quicker though. It shoots out of his neck like a fountain, your hand still holding the glass in its place deep inside his neck. He jerks back, just as you withdraw the shard of glass and it causes the gash to widen. The glass slices effortlessly down and around the front of his throat, dousing you in the sticky red that turns your once pristine dress into a deep crimson. 

His blood is warm, and it’s all you can focus on when he falls to the side still clutching his throat in his final moments.

You had to get out of here. You had to leave. It would only look like you did it when someone inevitably calls the police for all the yelling and screaming. Your feet were wobbly beneath you when you finally got them under you — just what had you done? You killed someone, you killed your boyfriend. It was self-defence but you still did it, you could’ve stabbed him anywhere non-fatal but you didn’t. You wanted him dead, you wanted him to leave you alone forever. 

The cold night air sticks to the blood sprayed across your face and body, making it grow tacky where it was the thickest. The street is empty save for the cars that had been parked there all night, you could take his car but they’d only trace it, trace you. No, you couldn’t take his car. 

So you run.

You run until your calves ache, until your lungs burn with each heavy air intake. You run until the blood on your skin is dried and cracked, finding a home in your pores. Everything hurts to the point where you feel nothing at all. Your mind spins and it’s nauseating. With each aching breath you take, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. The ache in your throat makes the bruises that had already started to form make their presence known, you can feel the ghost of his fingers squeezing and squeezing until you can’t breathe—... you can’t breathe.

A pair of hands grasp the tops of your upper arms, holding you in place when you scream and squirm to get away–to get away from him.

“Hey!” A voice calls through the fog of your mind, sharp and deep. Those same hands are warm on your skin, they hold you so differently from how you were used to. They were soft, uncertain and yet they weren’t letting go. Reassuring.  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

That same fog slowly clears from your eyes with each slow blink, until finally, you can see the person before you. It’s hard to see them in the dim light of the overhead streetlight but you can see the worry in the ruby red of his eyes. An odd colour for eyes, you thought absentmindedly, but they were so captivating to stare into. The yellow hue of the light gives the blonde hair on his head an ethereal glow, like a halo. 

Another shake to your shoulders as you once again meet his eyes, and you can see him processing all the bruises and broken skin on your face. The bruises around your throat are barely visible beneath the blood caked into your skin, and still, he doesn’t shy away when he asks again if you’re okay. “Is this your blood?”

“..No.” An answer that would have any sane person running away or perhaps even calling the police, but instead the man just nods as if he understands. 

“Alright, let’s get you back to–”

“No!” The man’s eyes widen at your sudden raise in volume, but he doesn’t back down nor does he show if he’s uneasy. “Please. I can’t–...I can’t go back.” 

The stranger stares back at you, the silence stretching between you both until a shrill siren makes you jump in your skin. He glances over his own shoulder to see a multitude of police cars and an ambulance speeding down a nearby street until they disappear from view. 

“Please.” You whisper this time, and the man nods at you. He rolls his shoulders, shucking the thick green parka off of his shoulders until he drops it over yours. It’s warm and has the faintest smell of coffee and caramel. It’s comforting, it smells like home – your real home, back with your mother who tried her hardest to protect you from the harshness of the world. You wonder how she’d feel today knowing how things turned out for you. Maybe you can tell her one day.

“My place isn’t too far from here, I guess you wanna get cleaned up?” His hands linger on the collar of the coat, holding it in place so that the fuzz of the fur brushes against your battered and bruised cheeks. He waits until you nod before dropping his hands, taking a few steps backwards and you follow without thinking. Always the follower. 

The walk isn’t long, but the ache in your thighs makes it seem longer. Every step after the last is tiring, and you know you’re lagging behind but the man says nothing. If anything he slows his natural gait to walk by your side, even offering the crook of his arm when you stumble over your own feet. Whilst your body slows with fatigue, your mind runs at a mile a minute. You know it won’t take long for them to figure out what happened, you were the only person who lived in that house with him, and you were missing from the scene of the crime. 

The apartment complex the stranger lives in is small, probably only housing two or three different households. Wordlessly you follow him along the gravel path, the small garden lights bathe you in a white light that feels like you’re under inspection. Every speck of blood practically shimmers in the light, exposing you to the world for your transgressions. Yet there is no one to judge you for your sins, no one who screams in fear at the sight of your battered and bloodied face – no one to ask what had happened other than the blonde stranger who leads you into his apartment.

It’s nice inside, cosy yet also empty at the same time. How was this place something but also nothing at the same time? It had no hints of being lived in other than the small white lily in the now darkened window-sill in a pretty white pot. Its petals even from where you stood in the doorway looked like pure snow, soft as the skin of a babe’s cheek. The ambient light of the warm amber lamps gives it a soft glow, and you yearn to stroke the tips of your fingers against its petals. 

“C’mon, let’s get you clean.” The man offers, drawing your eyes away from the white lily and he has a saddened look in his eye when he meets yours. Did you genuinely look that awful? Perhaps you did, the dull ache in your nose stings when you think about it too hard and your lips feel numb. You just nod, following quietly along behind the man who had yet to offer you his name.

You watch him from behind as you traverse closer to the bathroom, his shoulders are broad and well-defined even under the black hoodie he’s wearing. His hands are buried inside the pocket of his hoodie, a relaxed and calm air around him despite leading a total stranger covered head to toe in blood that didn’t even belong to them into his bathroom. He lets you stand in the doorway quietly as he goes about setting up the bathroom ready for you to be cleaned. 

He offers you a look that invites you into the white bathroom, it’s almost blinding when he flicks on the overhead light that floods the room. You turn to look in the mirror, to assess just how much damage was truly done to you but the man’s hand wraps around your forearm. It’s enough to make you jump in your skin, your hackles rising with the ghost of your boyfriend's hands wrapping around your throat. 

“It’s best if you don’t.” His lips are set in a fine line, eyebrows furrowed – he’s serious. Was it that bad? “Don’t look, I mean, it’ll only upset you more.”

That made sense, you supposed, perhaps your mind hadn’t quite caught up with the events of the evening just yet. So you just nod your head, letting his hands move to help you up onto the counter with your back to the mirror. The blonde set the first aid kit down next to you, unboxing a few items that you know will be unpleasant when the time comes to use them. 

“‘M gonna wipe the blood away first, will make it easier for me to get to the open wounds.” 

“Why?” You ask quietly, watching how his eyebrows come together in confusion whilst wetting a washcloth in the warm water from the sink just off to your side.

“Why do I need to clean fir–”

“Why are you doing this?” It felt rude to cut him off, but the man shows no anger at how you cut him off, instead his features relax a little in understanding. 

“Why not?” He offers you a question to your own. He shrugs his shoulders alongside it. “It’d be pretty fucked up of me to ignore someone who needed help.”

You smile a little at his words before hissing at the ache in your jaw, and his eyebrows knit together again in worry. He forgoes speaking to you any further, opting instead to focus on cleaning you up. The way he strokes the washcloth along your skin is featherlight, careful of the bruising and cuts along your cheekbones and the obvious one on your nose. He strokes it along your cheeks, gently along your lips. The sink next to you is slowly turning a reddish hue each time he rinses the cloth to go back in. He finishes the cleaning with a gentle side-to-side motion along your forehead before bringing the cloth gently down to the bridge of your nose.

“I won’t sugarcoat it, this is gonna hurt a lot.” He finally speaks again, the deepness of his voice is jarring in the tense silence of the bathroom and yet it lulls you into a sense of safety. A certain element to it tells you that this man won’t harm you, and you can trust him to get you through this next part. 

“Don’t blame me if I accidentally hit you or pinch you then,” you smile a little easier than before and the man mirrors a slight grin back to you. 

“I’d like to see you try, those little hands and feet aren’t gonna do shit to me.” You snort at his words but you can’t stop the pang of guilt in your stomach. Your hands had done something; you held that piece of glass and took someone's life. You did that, just you. 

“Hey.” The man nudges your knee, ducking his head down to meet your eyes. “Sorry, shitty joke. I’m not the best with that shit–”

“It’s not you, don’t worry.” And now it’s his turn to snort, his eyes drifting back down to his hands as he opens up the antiseptic wipes. 

“Like I haven’t heard that one before.” There’s a twinkle of humour in his eye when you meet his gaze again, and it’s easy to ease back into the comfort of just the two of you being alone in this room. A sanctuary away from the harsh reality of the world that’s awaiting you just beyond the door. “Alright, hold still. G’nna hurt like a bitch.”

The second the wipe comes in contact with your skin, you jolt. It hurts a lot more than you were anticipating and you have to steel yourself for the next time he wipes away at your skin to fully clear out the wounds. He manoeuvres you with gentle fingers, gently set at your jaw to turn you to the left and right to make sure he’s gotten everything before he hooks them beneath your chin to tilt you to look up at him.

He’s absolutely gorgeous, for the lack of a better word to describe this benevolent stranger. His skin is flawless, and the red of his eyes has little flecks of brown in them. The slope of his nose is mesmerising, he was truly made in the image of beauty. It begged the question as to why his house seemed so unlived in, did he have no one to come home to? That just seemed impossible for someone as breathtaking as he was – was there something you were missing?

You hiss again when he presses a butterfly stitch down across the bridge of your nose, his own nose wrinkling at the visible discomfort he’s causing you. 

“All done, I’m gonna guess you want to get out of those.” He points at your clothes, and you look down again to see the material stuck to your skin. It’s cold, and wet, the sensation makes your skin crawl in remembrance of just what had transpired. “I’ll go get some of my stuff, you can finish cleaning yourself up right?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You offer a smile when he nods his head, he makes short work of throwing away the dirtied cloth and empty boxes before he’s gone. 

You’re left in the eerie silence of his bathroom, you can’t even hear the outside world from here. It leaves you susceptible to your mind. The dreaded thoughts that condemn you for what you had done – telling you over and over that you were going to be found. Punished. Locked away and the key thrown away. 

You didn’t want that, you didn’t want to be punished for something he had done. No one would believe you if you said it was in self-defence, if anything it looked like he was the one who was defending himself. No one was there to tell the judge and jury what really happened. You’d be found guilty with no one to save you.

It feels like you’re drowning, choking on the guilt that bubbles up in your throat. Something grabs at your throat, squeezing and squeezing until you feel a similar ache in your lips and a fuzzy feeling behind your eyes. Your hand scrambles to get whatever is off of your throat, nails catching against the raw bruised skin but it’s fruitless. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. You can’t–

“Hey.” 

It’s a deep intake of breath, one that has your lungs inflating until they hurt and your head tilting back to greedily take as much as possible. There’s no pressure around your throat anymore, just the feeling of your own cool fingertips pressing against the bruises that had started to blossom against abused skin. 

There’s a knock on the door, some shuffling of socks on wooden floorboards. “You okay in there? Do you need help?”

“N–No.” You clear your throat, coughing to clear the uneasiness in your throat. “Sorry, was getting undressed.”

He’s silent on the other side of the door for a moment, and you wonder if he’s figuring out if you’re lying or not. “Okay, sure. I’m gonna open the door so you can take these clothes, alright?” 

He waits for your consent to open the door, and when he does he’s true to his word. He sticks just his arm through with the pile of clothes he has to offer, you take them gratefully and just like before he’s closing the door to leave you alone. 

This time you don’t hang around to hear what your mind might have to say about your little freakout, so you start to peel off the sullied clothes from your body. You take extra care to not drag your dress against your face when you change out of it before letting it drop onto the white tiled floor with a wet plop. It looks so wrong on such pristine flooring, an imperfection; a sin.

Though you don’t allow your thoughts to drag you beneath the icy depths once again, you set a simple goal in your mind – to clean yourself and then change into new clothes. It’s easier to remove your ruined underwear when you disassociate yourself from what really happened. Your clothes were simply just wet, not dripping with blood. Your skin was just caked in mud, not cracking with blood. It was just easier to let go. 

The sponge is smooth against your skin once you run it beneath some warm water, letting the rivulets of watered-down blood slide along the smooth expanse of your chest until you’re clean. You glance at the clothes that were given to you by the man who took you in, it seems to be a basic combo of grey sweatpants and a nondescript black t-shirt that looks soft. Your fingers brush along it, feeling the fabric beneath dried fingertips before you take it to slip on over your head. 

Getting dressed was much quicker now you were clean, but you were presented with another problem; these clothes were far too big for you. They dwarfed you which had both good and bad sides to it. Good being it hid the fact you had no clean underwear beneath. Bad meaning you had to roll the waistband of the sweatpants up three times and cuff the legs to make sure they didn’t slip down.

Now all you had to do was face the man who most definitely would have a million questions for you. He had every right to know just what had happened given he was harbouring a criminal. The thought however doesn’t bring you as much dread as it should. This stranger had taken you in without any second-guessing, he had cleaned your wounds and provided you with new clothes. Perhaps he would see your side of things, maybe he’d even understand and now hand you into the police when you tell him the truth.

The bathroom door creaks when you open it, much to your dismay, your face crumpling a little at the obvious attempt to sneak out without being noticed immediately. Yet there is no voice asking you to come forward, or questioning if you need anything. In fact, it’s quiet, a silence that settles against your chest and melts into your skin. It’s comforting, and slowly it coaxes you out of the bathroom and further into the house. 

Each step you take back the way you came confirms that the man isn’t waiting for you to emerge from the bathroom. Instead, you find the living room of his apartment to be completely empty, even the kitchen from what you can see seems to be barren. It’s odd and it should worry you but it doesn’t. You focus your mind on looking around at your surroundings. It definitely confirms what you had thought when you first arrived – it looked unlived in, or just extremely clean. The sofa looks like it had never been sat on and just plucked straight from a showroom. 

Even the rug beneath your feet felt new, like it hadn’t gone through the hardships of someone dropping coffee or food on it.

It was strange, to say the least. You venture towards the bookshelves lining one wall, and there doesn’t seem to be a speck of dust on the old oak bookcase and yet the books look old. Older than you, you’d wager. Was this guy a clean freak who liked to collect old literature? You lean in to take a closer look at the titles, some of them rubbed off from years of use you presume but even the ones you read are in a different language. Latin perhaps? You can’t tell. So he was a man who could read—speak?—Latin.

Maybe you should be more scared of the man who was nowhere to be seen.

Something catches your eye on the wall next to the grand bookcase. You have to take a step back to see it in its entirety – it’s a grand oil painting and it may just be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. You’ve seen plenty of knockoff paintings being spoken about on TV shows where they go to auction off old things they find in their attics but this screams authentic to you. Which only begs the question; just how did he manage to get such a thing like this in his house?

“Fall of the Damned.” A voice is behind you, deep and yet quiet so as to not scare you. Yet it fails as you jump out of your skin, clutching at your chest as if to stop your heart from leaping out. The man makes no move to laugh at the fact he scared you. When you look at him, he’s staring up at the grand painting with a strange look on his face. He looks almost wistful, perhaps even reminiscent.

“The original from 1620.” 

“But I thought the original was damaged. An acid attack–”

“No, that was a fake. But this is the real one.” He’s certain in the words he speaks, leaving no room to argue with the fact you were very certain that the original had been damaged in the 1950s. 

You look back at the painting, and there are certainly no markings of any damage to it. You can see the individual strokes of the paintbrushes the closer you look; it most definitely was authentic. But this thing was priceless, so many people had tried to replicate it or reproduce it in their own image but they could never match the beauty of this. The jumble of bodies tumbling from Heaven merge together the longer you look until it looks like a stream of white meeting the fiery pits of the abyss.

“How do you even have this?” You ask quietly after a spell of silence, turning back to finally meet the burning gaze of the man who towers over you.

“A friend gave it to me.” He offers, and he must see the disappointment in your eyes when he doesn’t provide the full answer. “He told me that it would suit me well.”

Perhaps it’s best to not push for a further answer, whoever he was speaking of didn’t sound like much of a friend with the way he had spat out his words. Maybe an old friend, someone who wanted to gift this as a jab at the blonde.

“Anyway. How you feelin’?” He asks you, his shoulders relaxing a little when he takes you in fully cleaned to the best of your ability. 

“Fine. Better now that I have clean clothes, thank you by the way.”

“Don’t mention it, I wouldn’t want to be stuck in bloody clothes, so.” He shrugs before sinking into the untouched sofa, his massive frame takes up a good portion of it and you can’t help but stare a little. He makes no move to speak again, instead, he leans forward to swipe the bottle of wine he must’ve placed there before he caught you staring at his artwork. 

He still does not speak when you watch him pour two glasses of red wine, the red liquid swirling and settling in the pristine glass before finally, he meets your gaze, offering up a glass for you to take. A small part of you tells you to not drink in the presence of an unknown man but you can’t find it within you to reject him, something alluring in the way his face is completely relaxed – he poses no threat to you. 

When you take the wine glass from him, he leans back into his spot on the sofa with his own glass and swirls it between fingers that seemed to have done such an action over and over. 

“So–”

“I don’t know your name.” You blurt, nerves finally bubbling up your throat in a form of a barked question that has his eyebrows raising for a second in wonder if he really hadn’t told your name thus far. You busy yourself with a sip of the dark red liquid.

“Bakugou Katsuki.” He sips his own wine as you do before continuing. “What about you? Only fair I know the name of the woman I saved.”

You supposed he had a point, and you offered him your name. He seems to roll it around in his mind for a moment, a small nod of his head seems to be all you’ll get in return. 

“So, Y/N.” Your name slips free from his tongue so easily, the rich timbre of his voice imbues your name with a sense of regality. “I won’t outright ask what you’re running from, but do I have to be worried about the police turning up to my door because I’m harbouring some axe murderer?” 

Your lips twitch downwards into a frown, and you move to settle into a spot not too far but also not too close to Bakugou. He wasn’t too far from the truth. 

“Not an axe murderer.”

Bakugou hums deep in his chest at your answer, the noise reverberating in the glass of wine as he takes another deep sip. 

“Ex?” Your face crumples involuntarily at his easy guess, the ache in your throat returns tenfold when you try to stop yourself from crying. You hadn’t really cried once, had you? It makes your face ache, your eyes sting with confessions of just what you had done and this poor man next to you had no idea.

“Dickhead probably had it comin’, I’m sure he’s out there licking his wounds like the sad fuck–”

“He’s dead.” It feels like ash on your tongue to admit it, but at the same time, it feels like a deep breath on a spring morning. It feels both refreshing and restraining at the same time; to admit to something as ghastly as the murder of someone who had treated you as less than dirt is a perplexing feeling. 

“Oh fuck,” Bakugou adjusts himself next to you a little, sitting forward so he can see your face a little clearer. “Did you do it?”

You simply nod your head, expecting Bakugou to leap up from his seat and immediately call the police. But instead, he stays still, contemplating what to say next. 

“He hurt me,” you breathe, sucking in a harsh breath like you’d been submerged under water. “He hurt me so much, I couldn’t–... I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted to get away, I needed to. I was scared that if I didn’t get away he’d really do it this time. He was going to kill me this time, I’m sure of it. I didn’t want to die by his hands and he got away with it–” 

There’s a warmth draped around you, a heaviness that forces you to crumple inwards on yourself when the crying really starts. A hand on your shoulder coaxes you into a clean warm shirt, your face pressed into the fabric doesn’t do much to mute your crying. That same hand rubs up and down against your arm, comforting you in a way no one had in a very long time. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his chin tucked against the top of your head when you find refuge in the safety of his neck. “You deserved so much better, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

That’s what you wanted to hear, even if you didn’t realise it. You needed someone to acknowledge your pain, your hurt. It was hard to believe now that you deserved better with how it had all ended up, but you didn’t have it in you to argue with the man who was still gently cradling you into his body. You’re not sure how long you cry into Bakugou’s neck but eventually, the tears stop. It leaves you feeling empty, and your face tacky from the tear marks that stain your face. 

“Better?” Bakugou asks finally, clearing his throat of the emotions that were soaking into his words to the point where his voice cracked. His voice rumbled against your body, a deep resonating sound that helps ease you back from the precipice of despair and back into reality. 

You have to awkwardly peel yourself away from Bakugou, cringing at the wet patches on his shirt and the slight tinges of blood from where you had buried your face against him. “Yeah, thanks.” You have to look elsewhere, hoping he doesn’t mention how you ruined his shirt. 

Thankfully he doesn’t, a simple “Fuck it,” leaving his mouth and instead he leans forward to grab the bottle of wine taking a long swig directly from the bottle before offering it to you.

“Let’s have a toast,” you take the bottle for him slowly, confused at where he could possibly be leading with this. “A toast to a better future. One without assholes, one where you can do whatever the fuck you want and no one will give a shit.” 

A part of his small toast felt like he was directing it to himself also – like he wanted to be free of whatever shackles were chaining him to the past. But still, his toast sounded good. Something you could get behind and hope for, maybe the future does hold something better for you. So you raise the wine bottle when he raises his own glass, tapping the two together.

“A toast to a better future.” 

Bakugou watches as you drink from the wine bottle, his own lips hovering just by the edge of his own glass before he finishes it all in one go. A deep sigh, of relaxation or vexation you’re unsure, expands his chest before he relaxes back into the sofa to stare at the grand painting that looms over the both of you like a bad omen.

“Bakugou?” He only grunts in response. “Do you believe I’ll really have a better future?”

His head turns on the back of the sofa, staring over the slight fat of his cheeks to catch your own gaze. He’s quiet for a moment, a long moment that has you fidgeting in his gaze. Why was he so silent all of a sudden? Did he simply say that to make you feel better? It would make sense – perhaps that’s the only way he thought he could ease your mind when in reality you’d be spending the rest of your miserable life behind bars. 

“Yeah,” Bakugou finally replies, “I do.”

And once again, the conversation comes to a silent end. Your mind wanders for a moment, your gaze set on the small lily on the window ledge. Even from here, you could tell how well-nurtured this flower was, the petals practically glowed in the moonlight that streamed through the window and spilled out across the floor in pale beams. The man next to you didn’t seem quite like the type of person who cared for a plant so well, it was the only thing in this whole place that seemed out of place.

You venture over towards the flower, and all Bakugou does is move his legs to allow you to pass. You can feel his gaze on your back the closer you get to the flower, and now within reach, you can truly see its beauty clearly. The white pot it lays in is pristine, hand-painted from what you can tell when you lean in to take a closer look. The lily itself has the type of smell you’d expect of a flower; green and earthy, yet there’s the oddest subtle spice that lays beneath all of that. It’s baffling. 

The purity of its white petals has you envious of a plant, it is without blemishes and yet here you are; stained for all of eternity by the hands of someone who had grown greedy and cruel with your life. It aches the longer you stare at the flower, wishing you could somehow steal its light and store it away in the void that had opened up in your chest. Yet despite its purity, there is a single curled-up petal nestled into the dirt beneath. It’s browned with decay and it’s curious as to why its owner would go to such lengths to care for it but not remove the dead petal.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Bakugou says from his place now over by the door. You hadn’t even heard him get up and move but you’re thankful for the distraction from your petty envy. 

“Is that a good idea?” 

The question makes him stop midway putting his black leather jacket on. Did he not consider the fact you were most likely a wanted criminal by now? 

“You’ll be fine as long as you’re with me, now c’mon. It’s too stuffy in here and I wanna go to the park when there's no extras roaming around.”

He waits patiently by the door when you slip into your previous shoes, they weren’t nearly as bloody as the rest of your old clothing which you were thankful for. Bakugou locks the door behind you both before he extends a hand out for you to take, you look up at him to question why he’s asking to hold your hand when you stop. He has a soft red hue to his cheeks, a blush perhaps or maybe the alcohol is just settling itself beneath his skin. 

His palm is soft against your own, much larger, yes, but all the more comforting. He must be thankful for you not saying anything as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze before he’s guiding you back out the way you come. Each step is as nerve-racking as the last, this feeling that someone is waiting for you around the corner to snatch you up and lock you away. 

You’re thankful for the fact Bakugou had offered to hold your hand as he encourages you to keep pace with him, to not fall behind as he guides you out into the cold night and down the dim street towards an unknown location. There is no one you encounter on the way to the park, the streets are desolate and quiet as everyone slumbers in their beds unknowing of who is walking by.

The park itself is pitch black save for some street lamps that light the occasional park bench along the winding path that traverses from one side to the other, Bakugou must sense your hesitance to enter as he gives you another gentle squeeze. “It’s fine, no one’s here.” 

You somehow doubt that he knows that, there’s no way for him to know that the park is completely barren. There are probably some teenagers messing around late into the night against their parent's wishes, or perhaps a homeless man that seeks a quiet night's sleep on one of the many benches. 

Alas, you still follow him through the large iron gate that squeaks when you pass through before it rattles behind you with a jarringly loud noise. Despite that, no one comes out from hiding in the dark shadows and no one shouts at the two of you for being out so late. 

Now in the park, Bakugou slows his walk enough to enjoy the cool night air, to tilt his head back as he peers up at the overhanging moon and the clouds that shroud it in a gentle white blanket. He seems at peace here, like his mind can finally unwind and the alcohol in his system helps with sorting through whatever may be troubling him.

“Do you regret it?” He speaks once the two of you come to a standstill in the middle of the path, only the overhead street light illuminating the both of you. “Do you regret what you did?”

It’s a sucker punch of a question, it hurts to think about if you truly regret it or not. Your eyebrows come together in a deep frown, and you turn to face Bakugou who also does the same to you and you’re surprised to see he’s also frowning down at you. 

Although, when you think about if you did or did not regret what you did. You’re torn between two minds; part of you regrets the fact you had taken another human's life but at the same time… you ponder the question if he was really a human anymore? Did he deserve to be treated as one if he did not treat you the same? He beat you whenever you defied him or shoved you into the boiler closet when you had accidentally cut the vegetables the wrong way.

He didn’t see you as human, he lost his right to be a human the moment he laid a hand against you. 

“No.” You finally reply with the word breathed out with a small white cloud that fills the space between the both of you. Bakugou is silent as he fully takes in your choice, his nose wrinkles a little when he frowns again before he turns his head to look away from you.

“I want to show you something.”

And he’s moving before you can question just why he had frowned at your answer and changed the subject so sharply. Your steps are hurried behind his as he tugs you along, further and further down the path before he’s suddenly diverting into the thicket of trees to your left. It has a shot of fear racing through your veins, your hand squeezes tighter around his own as he continues to traverse through the unknown darkness. 

All at once the darkness fades away for a blinding bright light, and you’re forced to shield your eyes away with your spare hand and curl yourself into the arm of the man who had been pulling you through thorns and sharp branches for the best part of two minutes. 

You come to realise that Bakugou has also stopped. You peek around his jacket arm, squinting at the bright white light that slowly fades away to reveal …  a security light. Confused, you start to take in your surroundings. By the looks of things you’re in a garden, the grass is overgrown and filled with a mixture of weeds and wildflowers, some wilting and others blooming. The birdbath that you assume must’ve been the centrepiece is filled with brown water; neglected for years and unused by any birds since the owners had turned their backs on their garden.

“Where are we?” You finally ask, turning your head back up to look at Bakugou who is staring straight ahead still.

You follow his gaze, and immediately you try to jerk your hand out of his own. You try to tug and pull will all your might to escape the ever-tightening grip he has on you. How dare he! He betrayed you, he pulled you into a false sense of security so he could what?! Take you back to your home?! How did he even know where you lived anyway, how did he know and why did he do it? 

“Let go!” You all but scream, tears once again blurring your sight. “Please, let me go! I don’t want to go back!” 

“Please,” Bakugou pleads, his word sounds wet – like he’s crying as well, and the sharp intake of breath he takes is enough to confirm that perhaps he really is. “Don’t fight me, just follow me and it’ll all make sense.” 

“No!” But he’s moving again, and you’re forced to come with him. It feels like your lungs are filled with water, and your throat feels like it starts to shut the closer you get to the backdoor of your house. “Bakugou, please!” 

He isn’t listening.

“Bakugou, listen to me!” 

The door is open and the sense of dread increases tenfold.

“Katsuki!” 

Finally. He stops. But it’s far too late, you’re both past the threshold and you’re forced to stare at the red patch on the pristine white carpet that looks more cream now. His fingers slip away from yours but it’s like you’re in a trance the longer you stare at the stain that grows duller and duller the longer you stare at it, there are no shards of glass littering the floor. 

In fact, as you look around the house is completely empty. Barren. There are dust sheets over the expensive marble kitchen counters, the doors have been removed and there are no light fixtures. What? This didn’t make any sense, it was your house you’re sure of it but it felt like an empty husk.

“I don’t… I don’t understand, is this some sort of sick joke?” You whirl on your heel to stare at Bakugou whose face is crumpled in what can only be described as agony, the white of his eyes are red with unshed tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Why–”

“I shouldn’t have taken you in when I found you. I was told to never do that, I was meant to lead you back here at the start! To help you find peace but I couldn’t do it. It hurt too much to see you crying and pleading with me to take you somewhere safe, I thought I could keep you safe from all of this!” His words seem so out of place on the brute of a man, his large shoulders bunch up with each heavy breath he takes to stop the tears from overflowing. 

“But you looked so happy when I said I think you would have a better future. You’d never have a better future with me, not really, you would always have that longing you feel in your chest right now. That emptiness that isn’t ever really gone until you move on.” 

“Katsuki–... What are you trying to tell me?” His words in truth scare you, nothing he’s saying makes sense and yet it does. That feeling in your chest is true, and you’ve felt it from the moment you stepped foot out of this house just hours ago. 

“You died!” He yells, a sharp intake of breath has him nearly hunching over as if he was punched. “He killed you, right there. And no one ever found you.”

“I don’t… I don’t believe you, that makes no sense. I’m right here! I can feel that I’m right here.” Your hand presses to your chest but even then, it feels cold. You can’t feel the pitter-patter of your heart beneath your fingertips. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, I could never lie to you.” His hands are warm when they press on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks until you look into his eyes. He looks heartbroken. As if his world has collapsed in on itself and he may never see the sunrise again. Perhaps he may never get to see it again, much like you, you’re unsure just who Bakugou Katsuki really is but the way he’s holding you is undeniably intimate. 

“Do you remember when I said I truly believe that you could have a better future?” You nod in his hands, and he nods along with you. “You still can have a better future, I can give it to you.” 

His fingers dig a little into the plushness of your cheeks, clinging to you as if you may slip from between his fingers like sand and he’s unready to let go of you just yet. 

His face is so close to yours that you’re greedily breathing in the warmth of his breath, your noses brush with a slight raise of his chin. He’s asking for something; for permission, you realise, and you wonder if this is truly how it all ends. 

His lips are just as soft as you imagined, they’re undeniably warm compared to the coldness of your own. Bakugou is greedy when he kisses you, his hands clutch that much tighter until you’re forced to feel the ache in your jaw. He breathes in when he can, only to dive straight back to your lips – to bite on your bottom lip until you allow him in. But you pull away before you let him in, and he’s forced to press his forehead to your own.

You meet his longing gaze once again to ask one final question.

“Did he survive?” Your question clearly catches him off guard, his eyebrows furrow and his hands loosen for just a nanosecond. “Did he get away with killing me?”

“...Yes.” 

You expected that answer and yet it still hurts to hear, that he had gotten away with it and would most likely get away with it again and again until the hands of Death cradled him the same way Bakugou cradles you now. Something deep inside of you tells you that you can’t settle for that, you can’t let him have the last laugh nor can you let him believe that he got away with discarding you so easily.

“I can’t truly have a future as long as he’s still out there.”

Bakugou grows silent once again, the natural red hues of his eye dull as the tears dry up and his lips drop into a slight frown.  “Is that what you’re asking for?” 

“Yes. It’s my final wish.” 

And Bakugou just nods solemnly, he knows what this means for both him and yourself. It hurts him that you feel like you’d be unable to move on without this one final thing, and still, he must obey your final wish. After all, he wouldn’t be the Angel of Death if he ignored the plea of an innocent. 

… Somewhere in the city, in an empty apartment that sits lonely. A white lily wilts, one of its beautiful petals curling as the decay spreads until it falls into the dirt below. A lily that once had three petals has been reduced to two as the Angel sacrifices his own salvation in order to save yours.

[sexhaver]

Howdy friend! I feel like that meme with doctor eggman that just walked in on rouge and shadow having a spirited discussion on something I have no pretext about. But it sounds important and I do wanna educate myself if there's a lacking somewhere, genuinely. From what I understood from scrolling down to a screenshot poll and other screens, it's trying to figure out if people are automatically taking frat boys (the classic stereotype kind, btw, genuinely players) in good faith by queer-ifying them because they have been fortunately unfortunate enough to not have the life experience of being used by this type of person that will take their good faith and hurt them?

Because I do think that there *could* be a cishet aro man out there, if it's defined very explicitly as: a man (born with a penis and identifies as he/him) and likes women (including trans women) and is aromantic. Face value wise, that is.

Because the question wasn't if the hypothetical man was superstraight (and don't count trans people at all) or just pussy-seeking (i.e. looking to have sex with ciswomen and trans men who haven't had bottom surgery, is explicitly Not transphobic). Or if this hypothetical man wasn't also, say, a "friend" met at a party/tinder/hookup/through mutuals/etc that is really just an acquaintance with little of substance genuinely known...or if this man was actually what one would consider a genuine friend. Or if this hypothetical man was poly (and/or if you were poly honestly, this feels like this is being framed in a mono mindset, which is okay! But poly adds extra details to account for). Also if he was out as aro.

The point is, I am aware of cheating. I am aware of using terms to get around cheating. Or trying to justify it. But aromantizim by itself isn't cheating. Poly by itself isn't cheating. FwB by itself, or hooking up by itself, or sex work by itself, isn't cheating- if there is informed consent on both sides with all affected parties, which includes all other partners. Wanting to sleep around isn't a crime, regardless of who or where or what gender.

I know there's plenty of men that aren't allies, that are homophobic or transphobic or sexist, but that wasn't the question. You aren't making that distinction or posing a scenario, just a screenshot without any added distinction other that the consent (after it was asked for by voters). It's taking the assumption that practicing genuine safe sex ( not that bullshit abstinence thing schools and "god fearing Christians" teach), is limited to only cishetero men... And not something to practice with everyone.

It shouldn't matter my gender or background or beliefs or sexuality, since these are simply opinions and all opinions come with grains of salt, but I know if I don't add context of me being the one giving these opinions, I'll be discredited.

I'm a cis-women (so very petrifiyingly aware of that Fear/wariness of being approached at night by strangers, or followed. I don't like ANYONE strange coming up to me, regardless of gender, a woman can stab me as much as a man can rape me, but I feel like I know the mindset extreme examples being presented here so there were go).

I'm demi-omnisexualromantic. Everyone's free game once I get to know them on a genuine emotional level. We HAVE to be besties (or we have to never ever see each other again if I'm gonna sleep with you and you're not a friend, oh gOD WHAT IF I FART OR THEY'RE A SERIAL KILLER OH GOD).

I'm poly. The first thing is with my girlfriend and our paramour, since we are the "oringal polycule" is had a sit down discussion about what we agreed upon what being in a relationship is like (we happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to each other btw). It was Poly from the start and Open from the start. We are all okay and open to each other going out to bdsm clubs or kink parties or sleeping around, or if asking out cute people..... BUT we have to ask permission/inform the other partners in our polycule. There's nothing to hide and they consent. They can say no, and that's okay!! Because then!! We can have an open and honest discussion as to why (lonely, conflicting plans, insecurity, safety worries, etc). Also also, anyone new that's meant to become a fwb or a pet needs to know about and meet our polycule, and it's a one-no situation here. If *anyone* is uncomfortable, nothing goes forward.

Sex is nice, sex is great if you're a freak like me and into that sorta thing; and sexual safety awareness and stranger danger awareness and informed consent awareness is MAJORLY IMPORTANT AND CRITICAL AND EVERYONE SHOULD BE TAUGHT THIS IN SCHOOL OH GOD but in my humble opinion the execution has spiraled into something messy with rampant misunderstanding and accidental invalidation of aro-spec men, poly people, and our allies,,, as well as anyone trying to be open-minded even if they dont understand.

Telling people that they're naive and ignorant isn't going to teach them a lesson you appear to feel strongly that they need to learn, it only shames and makes them not likely to actually follow the good advice (?) that's being presented in a not-clear format.

And it also earns you a buncha people getting angry because they don't understand the question actually being asked because the context wasn't clarified or what the actual answer is in a no patronizing manner/delivery,, and I'm sure you're feeling very much harassed and exhausted for answers that have little to nothing to do with your actual question, and I'm really sorry for that because I've been there and I hate this for you because it's exhausting and dispiriting to find people who never got taught how to keep themselves safe... But I'm also happy that they haven't had to learn it the hard way *yet* and that I can still help, or even that the people I was so stressed over not having the lesson... Actually DO know the answer but just misunderstood the question or that I just asked it confusingly!!

Anyway, sorry for the extremely long ask, double sorry if I misunderstood anything you were trying to say or explained anything that you already know. But if you could clarify in your own words and time, I would be very grateful! If not, that's still okay and I hope you take care of yourself out there, friend! Also, I'm on anon less because I'm ashamed of my opinion, and more because I don't want anyone else randomly messaging me back because they don't like me for my views online and I happen to really like this account dghjfedhjfdsjk

oh my god i thought there was a character limit on anons. what am i even being asked here? i literally just woke up and opened my inbox and made this face

[feyres-fireheart]

I'm once again going to defend Aedion and Chaol. They get wayyyy to much hate, sure they do a couple of questionable things but I think people forget that they're in their early to mid twenties (Chaol being 22-23 and Aedion 24-25). They have reasonable reactions to extremely emotional and traumatizing situations, especially for their ages. People hate on Chaol for being upset about Aelin killing people as the king's champion because he knows that's what she does. But there's a huge difference between knowing she kills people and physically seeing it, especially for someone who is a) like 22/23 years old and b) is not at used to death, it's clearly stated that Cain is the first person he's ever killed, so that has to be a tough thing for him to deal with. And Aedion loved and tried so hard to fight for Aelin no matter what. The whole thing with Lysandra boils down to her and Aelin deciding to use Aedion as a human sperm bank without his knowledge or consent and expecting him to go along with it. Imagine of roles were reversed and it was Aelin and Aedion making that decision for Lysandra, they'd be crucified by the fandom for even suggesting it, the double standard is insane. At the end of the day they're two young men doing the very best they can in horrible situations. It's wild to me that they don't get the same grace as other characters who, in my opinion, also make some very questionable emotional choices because they are all so young and in impossible situations.

[whiskehorange]

Hey sweetie! I'm in a very bad mental place right now and I would really appreciate a s/o who has a depressive episode, has really low self-esteem, mainly focused on self-harm ( if u don't want to do that sort of stuff it's totally understandable) for Venom(if u want) Morticia & Gomez, Hannibal, Hellboy, Abe, Prince Nauda and maybe Sundrop 🌼 Thank you 🖤

Morticia & Gomez

Both of them loathe the place you're in mentally right now and both try to go about how to talk and approach you without seeming overbearing or overly concerned. It's much hardest for Gomez to do that both they both work together a game plan to really help you out of such a low state

Morticia is much quieter about it, but physically is there the most for you. She's always around and including you in whatever activities or hobbies she's doing and makes sure you always have something to do when she's around. Gomez, on the other hand, worries his head off about you. He tries his best to keep his composure around you and not squeeze you until you pop

Both of them try their best not to be overbearing and pushy when it comes to getting you help or helping you themselves so they give you your space if you need it, but they're always keeping an eye out for you. If you happen to be especially quiet and not with the family both of the calmly look for you to make sure you're alright. They also sort of... baby proof the house but it's nothing noticeable. You're still allowed to use knives when cooking or razors for shaving, but they have their ways of watching out

They take a lot of family time throughout the day to make sure that you're active and not in your room all day, but they give you your space if you really need it. They're an active family and drag you along all the time, even when they just stay in the house

Hannibal

Hannibal almost thrives off of your codependency and the thought of you, of everyone in the world, possibly not being by his side due to your mental health is not an option for him. Or you for that matter. If Hannibal makes up his mind about something it's going to happen. He is particular about how you spend your day quietly and inserts activities and subtle "life" talks throughout your days to hopefully help your thoughts

He has his way with words around you, but is particularly picky about how he talks to you when you confide in him about your urges and depressive, scary thoughts. There isn't another soul in the world he would think about sharing what you've told him, but if push comes to shove he will make sure you get the proper help you need if he can't do it for you (which he doesn't like to accept)

Now... I wouldn't put it past Hannibal to slowly, over the course of many months to drug you with whatever medication he sees fit to help you grow if you're spiraling particularly fast. He will take matters into his own hands, like I've said and certainly nothing is off the table if it comes to helping you better yourself with your consent or not

Thankfully for you, that is a last resort and it will likely get to that point. There is a very slim chance that he cant gaslight girlboss you into avoiding self harm in any way. But he really doesn't give you the time to even think about hurting yourself by how involved he's become in your everyday life since you've confided in him

Hellboy

He's... unsure of how to handle the situation, but does deeply care about your wellbeing. He can't recall a time where he really had to deal with these thoughts himself let alone around someone, he's lacking in the comfort department extremely. Hellboy is blockheaded, but does an oddly good job at remember just about all of the trauma and venting topics you've told him. However his blindness to comfort and empathy lead him to ask a lot of questions in the 'why' department. Why do you feel the need to hurt yourself over that?

It comes off as insensitive, absolutely, but he also doesn't mean to come off that way. There is a hefty part of his heart that needs to know why so that he can fix it, not to invalidate your struggles, God that's the last thing he'd ever want to do. So he lets you talk whenever you need to and take time off whenever you might need him. Over the next few weeks he does eye you down whenever the two of you meet in the morning or in the afternoon after work to make sure your beautiful skin is left unblemished

While he isn't too sure how to handle the burden of your emotions with relative and effective advice, his praise sees no end. There isn't a thing in the world that he could think of that he'd rather have than you and he makes sure you hear it everyday. Even if you didn't particularly do anything that day he's quick to make sure that you know that he's proud that you've made it this far

His favorite praise is to smoother you in hugs and boast about how strong you are, mentally and emotionally. Of course you're down right now but it's a minor setback that he refuses to let continue. At least not while he's around

Abe

Abe is, quiet honestly, no better in the comfort department that Hellboy is, but only because of how nervous he gets trying to explain to you how much he cares for you and your situation. He would 100% comfort and verbally praise you if he could only get the words out in the correct order. He's more likely to formulate his words better if you didn't stand so close to him, only because your depression practically radiates off of your body and he doesn't even have to touch you to know

He's quite confused on the concept of self-harm but knows the how's and why's when it comes to the human mind and mental health. He keeps a lot of the 'distasteful' questions to himself about why you would ever choose to hurt yourself, knowing that what you need is his comfort and validation, which he gives you in many many forms

Now, while Abe can't necessarily cry, he feels the overbearing urge to do something like cry whenever he grazes over your previous scars, if you have them. Especially if they are new, which he demands that he is the one that tends to them. He's a listener when you need him to be and has just about anything you cold imagine to distract yourself with in his library

He loves to teach you just about anything if it means that you're focused on that instead of self-harm. It can be a bit boring... but all you have to do is tell him so and he's got something else for the two of you to do. Of course, this goes without saying that he really pushes hydrotherapy in his own way while you're with him. You can really feel like your negative emotions are floating away from you when you're in the water

Prince Nuada

He's blunt and overbearing. At first. It takes him a bit to get the severity of your situation and things like self-harm in general, especially with the harm being inflicted for the sole purpose of... well pain. Of course he listens to you vent and go on about your trauma but sees everything so narrowly that he thinks that he has the cure for your depression. Boy will that hit him like a brick when being active and doing elf-shit doesn't work for you

Nuada is adamant about making sure that you stay away from hurting yourself even once he's grasped your mental health situation, and he's stern about it too. He's the definition of tough love but does everything in his own power to make sure that you're not alone and isolated, especially after venting to him. Comfort, once again, is not a strong suit for him but he is always physically there for you and will continue to be there for you

If he could somehow physically make you better in an instant he would, it hurts him to see scars, dull or new, on you but looks at you with soft eyes. He wants to scold you but Nuala told him that it won't do anything but add to the tension in your brain, so he doesn't say anything. Most of the time when he comforts you he doesn't say much but instead holds you and looks at you lovingly as you sob or sit there quietly

He's a massive advocate for making sure that you're always with him attending just about anything he's got on his schedule. It's one way for him to keep a heavy eye on you and your health but always a better way for him to spend time with you and get used to being a bit softer with you in the long run. He feels like the time he spends away from you adds to your negative thoughts and will not stand for him aiding in such awful behavior

Sundrop

God, you're a walking hazard to him and there's nothing he can do about it. His inability to make your smiles last and your laughter genuine when you're around him drives him off the walls quite literally. It's a lot to handle, especially when he thinks the correct way to help is to just up his energy and the pitch of his voice, it works for kids so why doesn't it work for you? Of course Sun has a different programming for working with adults but purposeful self-harm is... not quite in his protocol for adults or children

What he is good at though, fittingly, is distracting and first-aid when you need it. Blood and particularly dangerous activities are absolutely banned from the daycare, and that includes you. His job, literally, is to entertain and distract which he fully intends to do with you when you come to him for any type of comfort. He lectures you on safety and playing nice with yourself to hopefully prevent you from continuing to think about self-harm

Thankfully though, Sun is rather calm providing first aid to make sure that he doesn't worsen wounds or cause panic. He can tell that you're already particularly worked up and upset so he tries his best to be as quiet and as delicate as he can when tending to you. His softness carries over into caring for you for a bit but he inevitably slips back into hyper-ness after a while. He tends to sing to you after he cleans you up

While he does insist that you stay with him and the kids for most of the day to keep your mind occupied, he also urges you to explore other areas of the pizza plex from time to time to get out of the stuffy daycare. Of course, please come back soon or he's going to worry to death about you and eventually have a guard locate you and bring you back out of his own paranoia of loosing you

[marshmarlowee]

Obviously all of the romanceable characters in Baldurs Gate 3 are interested in any gender, they are all by default bi/pan/omni. But I still have sexuality headcanons for them. Because it’s fun!

Astarion: Pan or Omni, has zero gender preference.

Shadowheart: Lesbian, (I am biased lol)

Wyll: Bi, people in his life probably assume he’s straight but he is 100% bisexual and has had flings with men and women and possibly nonbinary people in the past.

Gale: Straight?, Gale has the vibe of a man that has lived his entire life assuming that he is heterosexual until one day an extremely sexy man appears and suddenly he is questioning everything.

Karlach: Bi, slight preference for women. (I am still biased lol)

Halsin: Totally omnisexual, gender is meaningless to this man. Species is meaningless to this man. The only thing that matters is the Harkness test and enthusiastic consent.

Lae’zel: Queer, she doesn’t want to ‘limit’ herself with a particular label and besides, it’s none of your fucking business

Minthara: Unlabelled, she does what and who she wants when she wants and labels have never entered the picture for her.

[hyperlexichypatia]

Hi! Something I’ve been wandering is if there is no point where a brain is truly fully developed, then how do we gage what age should be the age of consent? /genuine I was wandering if you have thoughts on that because it’s something I feel pretty befuddled about

First, I'm sorry this answer is a little late, because I had to think about it a little bit. I think this question, which is a good one, has almost two answers -- one for an ideal youth-topia, and one for our current, ageist, kyriarchical, very-much-not-youth-topia world.

Also, heads up, I'm going to be talking about child abuse in a few paragraphs.

In an ideal world, I think children should begin having some say over their lives and bodies as soon as they're able to express their own opinions, but in conjunction with at least one trusted adult to provide guidance. As the child gets older, the balance should gradually shift over time, with the child's opinion gradually carrying more "weight" over time. Then at some fixed end point, which should be no later than the late teens, the new young adult should have 100% autonomy with no oversight (they can still ask for advice -- which I specify because half the time this comes up, someone asks "What if a young adult wants their parents' advice!" and I have to say "Then they can call and ask, it's not illegal").

An adult will have to make pretty much all the decisions for a baby, because babies don't really know what's what. A toddler's decision-making ability mostly maxes out at picking which toy they want to play with and then crying because actually they wanted the other one. But a school-age child can start having some say in the decision-making process and can practice asking questions at the doctor's office, being included in the conversation, having things explained at their level, understanding things like "I know the shot hurts, but it will help keep you from getting sick later," or "I know you don't like taking pills, but they help your headache go away" or "If the pills don't help your headache go away, say so, and we'll ask the doctor for something that works better." And a teenager can really start taking the lead in their own decisions, with guidance, especially if things like making thoughtful decisions, asking questions, weighing pros and cons, and doing research with reliable sources has already been practiced and modeled over the years. And by the time they're in their late teens, they should have sole final say in what happens to their bodies.

But. All of that is very much the "in an ideal world, youth-topia" answer.

We do not live in an ideal youth-topia. We live in a world where many (I'm being generous and not saying "most") adults in positions of influence over children and young people intend to manipulate or exploit them ("for their own good" or otherwise), and it can be really... extremely... difficult to keep kids from being abused or exploited by parents, families, doctors, capitalists, administrators, politicians, and others.

Most of the arguments I get into are about people wanting to raise the age of majority or some other minimum standard for ""real adulthood"" to some age higher than 18, usually invoking some spurious argument about "the brain."

And I will die on the hill that this is wrong and that 18 year olds should be considered full real adults with full bodily autonomy to do whatever they want no matter how unwise anyone thinks it is -- drink, smoke, take medicine, refuse medicine, have sex, have children, get married, have abortions, get their tubes tied, whatever.

Okay, but then you might say, what about 17 year olds? What about 16 or 15? Is an 18 year old really "more mature" than a 17 year old?

Well, no, of course not. The problem is that the legal status of minors is so absolutely abysmal that, within that legal status, it's hard to asses what "consent," let alone "informed consent," even means. It's not that I think a 17 year old isn't "mature enough" to choose to have surgery, say, but an 18 year old is "mature enough." It's that when you have zero (0) legal rights, having the right to make one (1) choice is really constrained.

Throughout the U.S. -- and I'm only going to be talking about the U.S. here because I can't confidently speak to any other country's laws -- it is legal, to varying degrees (and with even more varying degrees of enforcement), for parents to beat their minor children. It is legal, to varying degrees, for parents to restrict their minor children's movement. To restrict their food. To keep them in conditions barely above prison. To send them to "troubled teen" farms that are literally prison. Even if the mistreatment crosses into some threshold of legally actionable "child abuse," there is no guarantee that the law will be at all enforced. There is no guarantee that the abuse will be stopped. At most, the government will remove the child and place them in a foster home which is likely to be just as abusive if not moreso.

I'm not saying that minors shouldn't have the legal right to make more medical and general life choices than they currently do -- they absolutely should -- I'm saying that in the absence of certain basic physical safety guarantees, a technical on-paper "choice" doesn't mean much.

Like, I just said that I would fight for 18 year olds' right to be sterilized or get married, and also, I'm vehemently opposed to sterilization of minors and firmly support raising the minimum marriage age to 18. That's not because I think decision-making maturity and wisdom magically kick in at the 18th birthday. That's because an 18 year old can leave and file assault charges when their parent says "Sign this consent form or I'll beat you and send you to a prison farm."

So... with that in mind... I do think there are ways to protect minors' right to consent. I think people over 12 or 13 should have to give their own consent for any medical procedure that isn't an immediately life-threatening emergency. And ethical doctors shouldn't perform procedures on people they have reason to believe are being coerced.

As for minors seeking out medical procedures, I think we can look at some contextual questions like: Is the need for this procedure urgent or time-sensitive? I.e. is there any reason it can't wait until the person is older? Can someone interview the young person to try to assess whether they're being coerced? Can the young person articulate the risks or give some indication that their choice is informed? Can they talk about how the medicine/treatment/procedure makes them feel? Do any adults benefit financially from the young person's decision? Are they having an undue influence over the young person? (That isn't just about medical treatment, it's also questions like "Why are child beauty pageants a thing?" and "Why do 7 year olds play American tackle football?") Have they been exposed to other points of view?

Obviously these are all really contextual questions that depend on people in power behaving ethically, which... is a lot to depend on.

So. That's my long answer. I guess.

Final note, mostly I'm talking about medical treatment in general and life decisions in general, but I wanted to quickly mention transition and gender-affirming care in particular. I do support youth gender-affirming care. I didn't always. When I first heard about youth transition, I thought it was a risky thing that young people were going to be coerced into. I thought there would be parents coercing their gender non-conforming children into transitioning to the "other" binary gender and doing surgeries on them before they could object. I was wrong. I know that now, after learning more about how youth transition actually works. Doctors involved in gender-affirming care for youth really seem to be doing it right. They interview the young person. They make sure it's really what the person wants. They go slowly at first. The young person has ample time and opportunity to change their mind. I think other forms of health care for youth (looking at you, psychiatry) (looking at you, weight loss) (looking at you, reproductive health) should model themselves on the kinds of youth-affirming, consent-affirming practices that are standard in youth gender-affirming care.

[whole-circus]

Hey, I kinda had an idea, could you pls do Liu sfw and nsfw with a Fem s/o who is basically deadpool but looks normal, so she's into things that are dangerous because she can't die? I hope this isn't too much and pls keep up the good work, your writing is amazing and I hope you have a good day/night

-Bunny Anon

Homicidal Liu with fem. deadpool like reader!

➥ Oh its never too much! Also Im melting, you are so cute!! Love you and take care!! Sorry that i keep you waiting! :((

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☆ Okay you totally scare Liu! Like he loves you but I beg you.. be careful!! How can you be immortal? Or even worse - how can you love dangerous things..? The knowledge about you not dying and stuff doesnt help at all..! I believe Liu wouldn't be an adrenaline junkie, but who knows? Maybe with a bit of good luck and fluttering your pretty eyelashes you will encourage him to try something more..extreme? The bungee jumping would be his max I think..Its not much but he is trying! He is giving his 100%! Dont laugh at him!

☆ He would be pretty sceptical about you not being able to die. Propably would think that you are just playing jokes on him. But when he finally believes you? Liu gets pretty anxious..there are a lot of questions..like a lot! The worst and best thing is propably the fact, that you will live longer than him. Like okay, he doesn't have to worry that you will die first - that would be heartbreaking, I think he would die out of sorrow, he just can't imagine living without you. But! At the same time, he is so so anxious. You can live and live, he is sure you will find someone better than him.. So please, just reassure him and he will come back to his usual self!

☆ Liu would ask a lot of questions..come on, its his first (and propably last) time meeting someone like you! So please, get ready for answering all of them - even if they seem stupid for you! He also understands that it can get pretty overwhelming..how long can you live? Its frustrating for sure, so he is your shoulder to cry or to lean on. Wants to make your life with him the best he possibly can, so just say a thing and he would do it for you!

NSWF!

☆ ..Well when it comes to sex, he is not that scared! Even if he dont like extreme sports or hobbies in bed he is guy for you. He is not afraid to try many diffrent things (with your consent ofc)! Breath play? Doesn't matter if he is the one choking or being choked, he just love being either vurnable or in control over you. Also high chance to be into blood/knife play, but that would take him a bit more of encouragement. Big on sadism and masochism, also impact play! Liu mostly prefers to be a dom, but he would never say 'no' to you! He just love when pain and pleasure are so close, that they are mixing together and lead him to ecstasy. And when it comes to impact play? He just can't get enough of hitting your soft skin, making bruises and marks all over you! And he is so proud that its his work too! No worries tho, when it comes to aftercare he would take care of all of potential parts that may hurt you! He is also not scared to educate himself on safe sex when it comes to more risky things!

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[vlovebug]

here’s the spelldon headcanons i promised:)

• he’s try’s to not make val go out during the sunnier parts of day so he doesn’t get burnt

• he will intimidate ( copy their stand and facial expressions ) other people when around them

• he was a toe walker

• he unintentionally scares people when trying to answer a question in class cus they generally forget he’s there

• he can’t sing for shit

• absolutely HATES cranberry juice

• helps val with his classwork and homework

• loves olives ( olive theory, val hates them)

• his blood makes vampires ( valentine ) extremely high when they drink it

• he’s a SIMP for glasses

• he stands so others can sit if there isn’t enough chairs, but he will only really stand behind a few monsters ( val, his sister, and of his friends or val’s friends)

• has absolutely decked someone on accident, poor boy got scared ( this time val was the one laughing at his misery)

• opens door for everyone

• gives piggy back rides

• i think he would like be strong cus he’s related to a literal god

• like the shit he is, rearranges stuff in the middle night

• one of his problems is that he thinks he know but he in fact does not know ( can be used for anything)

• he does all the lovey dovey stuff before val has a chance and likes to make him feel as loved as he can

• he got promise rings for both him and valentine

• likes carrot cake

• he teases vampires by saying “ bleh bleh bleh “ near them and it’s surprising how he’s not been hit yet

• he’s got a black cat named dirt cus he couldn’t think of anything else

• hates the beach cus he got pulled under and thrown back into the sand and swallowed a fuck ton of it, probably has a sea shell in his stomach ( bros a loser< i say that but it happened to me too>)

• asks for consent before he touches someone

• lights the cloud things that follow valentine on fire because i would too

• he will do really stupid things, it’s like he’s got no common sence in the moment ( people wonder how he’s gotten this far)

• says cowabonga

• he safety profes sharp thing so val doesn’t hurt himself ( when i make another val hc post i’ll explain why)

• has a christmas pickle ordiment ( fucking love them man)

• he is very understanding no matter the situation

• he’s a ‘ what flavor pad you need’ guy

• where’s spikes just cus

• has poked his and val’s eye’s multiple times forgetting the spikes where close by ( he slept on the floor that night)

• loves when people lay on him doesn’t matter the weight or size just lay on him and he’ll fall asleep in a matter of minutes ( same tho)

• his classwork and homework are full of doodles some good some bad

• cry’s when tried

• he’s a total baby when sick

• he cries when animals die in movies ( val to)

• always has sunscreen on him

i can’t think of anything else but i did give him some of my traits because he’s. 😋