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#anyways...let's not discuss the coloring on this
anim-ttrpgs · 2 days
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Thing from Beyond Poll
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Scenario
Your friend is an otherworldly monster whose persona you know her as is only a shape she folds her body into to interface with human society and also as a lure to get close enough to humans to open up and consume them whole both for nourishment and to absorb their DNA and memories to become more human and in turn maybe better understand her place in a world to which she doesn’t belong. Her “true form,” unfolded, is about a 9’-14’ across 1”-thick ‘blanket’ of a creature with no front or back, only color-changing skin on one side and rows of retractable teeth on the other side that doubles as both a mouth and stomach. (This is the side that’s on the inside when folded up into a human shape but it can change color too with some practice.)
(This is one of the five core playable monsters in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, the “thing from beyond”, which you can read all about and even play as if you go download the demo from the free demo link on our website and jump to page 402.)
Anyway, the question is, if the whole gang was planning a picnic and she wanted to lay mouth-up on the ground and be the blanket, would you let her?
Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is going to launch on Kickstarter on April 10th and we need all the help we can get. Set a reminder from the Kickstarter page through this link.
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If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, there’s plenty of ways to get one!
Subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!
Donate to our ko-fi and send us an email with proof that you did, and we’ll email you back with the full Eureka prerelease package with the most updated version at the time of responding! (The email address can be found if you scroll down to the bottom of our website.)
Or, if you can’t afford any of that, join our TTRPG Book Club and then just ask. Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is the current game being played in the book club, and anyone who wants to participate in discussion, but can’t afford to make a contribution, will be given the most updated prerelease version for free! You can even come and listen in on a session today! The session starts at 5:30 PM CST today (March 27th, 2024). If you’re reading this in the future, join anyway, there’s several other groups that may or may not be still going with Eureka at the time you’re reading this. Plus it’s just a great place to discuss and play new TTRPGs you might not be able to otherwise.
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goregrishdotcom · 3 months
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If the world were in a better place we would've had an ask-kratsplayboy venigni ask blog by now and people would be sending anons asking him what he thinks of P and trying to get him to confess to being a virgin then a magic (m!) Anon that swaps his body with P for ten asks and there would be moments where polendina will talk to the viewer and share a secret. You know
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floralheart5 · 7 months
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So, this is going to be an obligitory “Something’s wrong with splatfests” rant. I’m going to put a break so if you want to skip it, feel free to, but before the break I want to say something important: DO NOT USE THIS POST AS AN EXCUSE TO BE RACIST, BE IT TO SHIVER, FRYE, BIG MAN, OR ACTUAL PEOPLE, I SHOULDNT HAVE TO SAY THIS, BUT SOME PEOPLE HAVE BEEN REAL NASTY RELATING TO THESE SPLATFEST RESULTS. If I see anyone doing that, it’s a case of going to blocked.
Another thing that’s important to say, please don’t say “Ugh it’s just a game, get over it.”  Yes, it is a game, but people get really passionate about splatfest, and Splatoon in general, as stated before there are some who are EXTREMELY gross about this and that’s a case of feel free to tell them off, but telling the people who are upset at things at a somewhat reasonable level isn’t a good thing either.
Alright, with the disclaimers out of the way time to try and actually put some reasons, at least from my experience and understand as to why people are getting upset about the splatfests in 3 compared to what was seen for 2.
Win Streak/Rate Problem
okay, starting off with the good ol’ complaint everyone has probably seen, Win streaks. Shiver currently has a 5 win streak, which is... a lot, and while some people have pointed out that “Oh well, Marina got a 7 win streak, so this isn’t the most absurd win streak in the game people need to relax.” This is true, Marina did have a 7 win streak... in 2 way splatfests... and also exclusively in Europe. How this differs for 3 is that first, splatfests are now 3 ways, so in theory win streaks shouldn’t be happening as much, after all if the theme doesn’t feel like something you care about, it’s not a coin flip for which team you might join. Another issue with that is that that was after a year into the game, and Marina up until that point hadn't had the best win rate in general. Also another flaw with that arguement is region locked splatfest, that wasn’t a global win streak, it was exclusive to Europe. While Callie also had a 6 win streak herself in splatoon 1, that was also a bit different because of the whole regional splatfests, this time the win streak being in the North American region. Now lets get into win rates, and for this I’m exclusively looking at splatfests around a year into each games life cycle, mainly to be fair and also to make sure the timeframe is equal for everyone. Shiver, as of the making of this post has a 70% win rate for Splatoon 3 splatfests after the most recent aniversery splatfest. This is the second highest win rate a year in, with first going to Pearl in Splatoon 2, specifically having a 73% win rate in Europe a year in. Yeah, the region where Marina got her 7 win streak, she was recovering from a 27% loss rate. Pearl’s win rate was so absurd that in all honesty I feel it most likely contributed to splatoon 2′s splatfest system rework. Every other game, besides the one outlier with Pearl and a 70+% win rate in Europe, was much closer to 50% a year in, the highest being an around 64% win rate for Callie a year in in both the NA region, and the European region.
Who’s to blame?
I’ll say this, Shiver isn’t the person who people are probably mad at at the end of the day, she’s just the face of the problem. In all honesty Nintendo is probably to blame at best, given they’re the ones who actually make the themes and decide which character gets what. Ontop of that, while not something I fully agree with I did see someone arguing that the presentation of splatfests has kinda changed, with their example being the money vs love splatfest compared to the money vs fame vs love splatfest. Originally, it was “which do you value most in life” for money vs love, meanwhile in 3′s money vs fame vs love, it was “Which is the most important in life”, yes it’s a similar question but at the end of the day it’s very different because for the second one, there’s an objective answer because of how the world works sadly. While Shiver vs Frye vs Big man didn’t really have an objective awnser, they certainly seemed to have framed shiver as the best leader, seemingly neglecting to mention Frye’s actual ability to lead a group, I’ll be it of eels, effectively, instead more focusing on Shiver’s leading qualities relating to the splatcast. While this isn’t a point in 100% agree with (mainly because certain other splatfests not perfectly fitting into it, but overall the point stands to have some reasoning to it.  While it’s easy to put all the blame on Shiver because she’s the one winning, she’s not in charge of the splatfests herself, the reason she takes the blame is because she’s the face of the problem, ontop of that, if the most recent splatfest has showed us anything she apparently has a 55% popularty rate which, while it’s clearly not a thing of “Everyone picking her because they love her”, there are people who think like that, even if they’re a minority.
 How could this be fixed?
To try and close this rant, I would like to try and propose some kind of fix to splatfest, however I don’t really know all the inner workings of splatfests, but I can at least try to propose two basic ideas without changing too much about the basic point system.
Idea 1: Blind picking For this idea, the Idols don’t announce which team they’re supporting until the day of the splatfest starting. The splatfest would still be announced, but instead of locking in their own teams at the first announcement they instead debate and discuss the topic, but still have to think on their own picks for the teams. This, with the conch shell system, should encourage people to pick the team they actually believe in and punish those who only want to pick a team for the idol. I know it wouldn’t be the most major change, and might not make a massive affect on the splatfest results, but could possibly help in some way.
Idea 2: Points for second place For the second idea, it’s mainly to combat how a team getting second in a category is almost pointless. While it shouldn’t give as many points as getting first place, if it even give half, or even a third of the points, that could be incredibly valuable, putting more points on the board, and minimizing the chances at a team flat out getting nothing. It wouldn’t have enough of an impact to stop a full sweep, but it really shouldn’t have enough of an impact to stop that. 
Overall, splatfests are clearly flawed at this point for splatoon 3, but I think that’s been the case for every Splatoon game, splatfests have been updated in terms of how they work before, it’s already happened in 3 with tricolor becoming it’s own point section, at this point I think we just have to hope Nintendo see’s the issue and attempts to fix it because it’s clear to a lot of people at this point there are issues that need fixed.
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apnourry · 2 years
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somethin bout them bathroom mirrors
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emblemartyr · 4 days
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honesty - muse a wipes muse b’s tears away from under their eyes (if its easier you can place it post or during our thread 🫡)
TO BE GENTLE, AND TO ACCEPT GENTLENESS ・ accepting!
VULNERABILITY WAS A DELICATE FLOWER, naught to be unfurled by the reckless hands of another person lest they risk tearing the petals curled inwards over its heart. and that, truly, was all she could imagine as the boy broke into tears before her, his theatrics weakly caked into his voice to fruitlessly level what had already begun rasping and choking up. he made himself to be a sorrowful image; stepping away from her as he clutched onto his chest, as if to hug or curl in on himself.
had emmeryn said something she was not supposed to? all she could remember uttering was what he asked of her; an introductory to be shared between the pleasantry gap she had yet to bridge across. but, even a full sun after their last interaction, his wonderous eyes still water at the sight of her.
should she have given more of herself? laid her past, whether from her lips or anothers', bare at his feet until he was comfortable enough to poke and prod through it at his own pace?
the epitome of gentleness stepped forward, gloved hands raised to beckon and guide, to remind odin, once again, that she was a space of comfort rather than anguish.
"you. . . you poor thing. . . come," came her whisper, merely the ghost of an invitation, as her hands have already cradled the back of his head, gently pulling him closer until he was near enough to embrace. simply by instinct, had emmeryn's eyes closed, her focus entirely subjected to the physicality of something between them she could not understand. not yet, but she would learn to, until his gaze felt only the urge to brighten once fallen upon her.
his shoulders remained trembling when she pulled back, not far and not dismissive. instead, her hands moved in time with the soft curl of her lips, offering him an all - knowing and none - the - wiser smile as the pads of her thumbs brushed away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. there was much to say, yet too little time to articulate any if all thoughts properly.
thus, confident in her silence, emmeryn whispered, only, "you are. . . are safe, oh━━━odin." before embracing the golden - haired man once again, canting her hand slightly to press against his as he shuddered and shook in her arms; sudden, came the memory of little sister clutching her skirts and sobbing until the fabric became wet with her grief. and, just as she had before, in the body she remembered nothing of, the former exalt gently held unto the back of his head and cared not for the dress his sorrow stained.
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chirpchirpmuahaha · 2 years
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the d*hmer trailer is so gross like. i stg u could not *pay* me to watch that series. can we plz stop making these shows/movies about real ppl like that
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punksocks · 10 months
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Astrology Observations No.9 (18+ only)
No minors! Adults only pls
Just my observations take them with a grain of salt
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-Venus or mars conjunction, square, opposition Neptune, pluto/ scorpio mars/Pisces mars/ mars 12th house/ Lilith conjunction, square, opposition Asc and 8th house - you probably straight up changed someone’s life after you -slept- with them and it was just another day for you. (Might be different for that Venus/Mars in a water signs, you might get attached)
-Cardinal mars start cuddling, fixed Mars never let go, and mutable mars will start and stop and start again over the course of the night
-Passive aggressive mars signs (Libra, cancer) and getting that pent up energy out during s*x and being rebellious in the bedroom
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-Virgo mars dudes are switches until you swtich and they’re still like sneakily being dominant imo. Like they’re going to lead anyway because they know what they’re doing. It’s that virgo need for control, can’t turn it all the way off.
-Libra mars, you’ll probably attract partners that are fixated on your butt no matter what their placements are
-Libra mars (with your partner’s consent ofc) take a seat on their face (gemini, virgo, scorpio placements especially)and change their life
-All mutable mars are very kinky imo. Sag, Pisces, & gemini tend to try anything once and Virgos in particular will try like 90% of what you’re into bc they’re into pleasing you
-Lilith synastry and 8th house synastry get so intense. They both play into this ‘forbidden’ lusty tension that can make a connection super passionate. The person with the planets conjunct/square/opposition to your Lilith can hit a point where they’re overwhelmed though. Like something in their attraction to you maxes them out and they can’t handle it. (Not always but it can become a situation where you have to work with your partner to make the relationship thrive)
-Mars points to everyone’s s*xual behavior imo. The more masc you are the more it’ll tell you about this behavior, the more femme you are the more your Venus will color your experiences
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-Mars conjunction, trine, sextile moon means your personality in bed will be similar to your personality in day to day life, perhaps more extreme in some ways but not a complete change. And you’ll slip into this pretty effortlessly. Mars square, opposition moon means you’ll have a completely different personality in bed vs your day to day life and you’ll shift into it seemingly all of a sudden.
-I have a theory that Gemini, Aquarius, and Libra Mars get more into s*xting and n*des and that sort of virtual exchange over hookups. Particularly without much earth or water in their chart.
-I think all virgo mars have s*x in the shower at some point, it’s just a perfect storm of cleanliness and efficiency lol
-Personally I’d guess that I’ve interacted with more mars signs but I only looked up the birth chart if they did what they did right. So I know a lot about Virgo Mars lol.
-After that I think Taurus Mars and Scorpio Mars were my best experiences historically, but like Virgo Mars—sheesh! That combo of not bragging but being very skilled and confident when it comes down to it? No competition (again just my experiences lol)
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-TW (consent/assault)
Lilith strong (conjunction, square, opposition) aspects to 1st and 8th could mean that one of the strong reactions you get is that when you have s*x with someone you see a side of them that seems to come out of nowhere. Sometimes fun sometimes not, as things tend to go with Lilith (consent is always important so you should discuss your yes, maybe, no list with your s*xual partner!)
-Also no matter how chill someone seems they’ll probably be extremely dominant or extremely submissive in the bedroom because they’re reacting to your Lilith and they may be lowkey overwhelmed by that energy.
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literaila · 1 month
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emotions
gojo satoru x fem!reader
summary: you and megumi discuss how terrible satoru is
warnings: little spat between gojo and megumi, reader is the only sane one, lil fluff, and pining ofc
last part | next part
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*
year three.
you're used to the door slamming open every day when they get home--and you've given up on scolding all of your family members about it--but what you're not used to is megumi storming through the door, his aura a dark and stormy color as he walks by you, not even bothering to look your way, and slamming the door to his room. all within a good three seconds. 
and, okay. you blink, trying to comprehend him, or what just happened. 
satoru comes in next, slower, more peaceful, shutting the front door softly like it'll make up for megumi's actions. for whatever he probably did. 
you immediately turn towards him, frowning. "what'd you do?" 
"why did i have to do something?" satoru asks, scoffing. "the kid is a glorified teenager. or an old man. he's moody." 
"yeah, but he didn't even say hi to me," you cross your arms, trying to analyze his body language and the twitch of his lips. 
satoru waves a hand at you. "join the club." 
"seriously. is he okay?" 
satoru kicks at the floor, mumbling something indecipherable under his breath. 
"satoru." 
he looks up, almost pouting. 
"what happened?" 
"i was just teasing him--" he's already pleading for mercy, taking a step towards you with his arms out. "i didn't even say anything bad. i just said something about his attitude, and he told me to leave him alone, and i... i didn't do anything!" he swears. 
and you both know that he's lying. you sigh, shaking your head at him. 
"did you listen when he told you to stop?" 
"no," satoru says, with a fake smile. 
"then you did something," you take a step away from him, watching as he slides off his jacket, then his glasses. "what were you teasing him about?" 
"he was telling me about some kids at school. i guess they're scared of him, or something." 
you raise a brow. 
his hand gestures to megumi's room, helplessly. "you know him and i like to mess with each other, i didn't think that he would... get upset." 
you almost laugh, because he looks so guilty, unknowing, and childish. and you can tell--by a mere glance--that satoru feels bad, and doesn't want to admit that. 
you snort, still shaking your head. this man is the sole cause of all of your problems. "okay, well you should apologize to him, and listen when he asks you to do something--" 
"no." 
"excuse me?" 
"will you talk to him instead?" he pleads, tilting his head at you. "you're so much better with him, and he'll listen to you." 
"satoru," you frown. "i didn't do anything. megumi doesn't need an apology from me." 
"but he's just going to yell at me," he whines, body flailing pathetically as he emphasizes this point. "and he's scary when he yells." 
"he's nine." 
satoru shakes his head. 
you flick his forehead. "honestly, all you have to do is say that you were wrong. easy." 
"i don't wanna say that," he mumbles, feebly, crossing his arms like a toddler.
you groan. "satoru--" 
"i have to go pick up tsumiki anyway. please? just talk to him? do you really want him to sit in his room all alone and be all gloomy?" 
satoru's lip twitches because he knows that he's got you there. just the idea of megumi brooding alone is enough to break you. 
you scowl at him, crossing your arms with a knowing glance. "i'm going to let megumi punch you, and then i'm going to do it myself." 
"we're not supposed to encourage violence." 
you roll your eyes. "go get tsumiki. do not be late again. i'll see how he's feeling, but we're going to talk trash about you, just so you know." 
"see? this is why i love you." satoru grins, then pecks your cheek. "okay, got to go! good luck," he says and swings himself out the door. 
and honestly, how did you get stuck with him? 
*
you give him a couple of minutes before you knock on the door, assuming that any space he has to cool off is probably good. but you can only wait so long. 
there's a worry somewhere in your chest, the fear that you won't know how to mend the rift between the two boys. but the other part of you feels easy, simple. 
kind of how you assume satoru feels about most things. 
if you can't fix it, you think, he probably can. 
"hey," you whisper, peeking into his room. the lights are off. "can i come in?" 
megumi shrugs. he's sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, looking like a forlorn statue. 
so you go in anyway, stepping over the backpack he threw on the floor and the books cascading out of it to sit next to him on his bed. 
it's actually a little hard not to laugh because even though he's grumpy, megumi is so cute. his little scrunched-up eyebrows and his pout make you want to squeeze him forever. you want to coo over him, or say something inappropriate, but you refrain. because you are not satoru, and you will never be. 
"how was school?" you ask, after you've settled in on his dinosaur sheets, watching him pick at something on his pants. 
he shrugs again. 
"wow. glowing remarks." 
megumi doesn't even smirk a little. 
you tilt your head, trying to meet his eyes. "do you want to talk?" you ask softly, trying so hard not to prod. even though you will.  
"no." 
you smile, a little. "too bad," you tell him, rolling your eyes for show, "you didn't say hello or give me my hug when you came in. talking is your punishment." 
"sorry," he mumbles. 
"i'll let it slide this time--only this time--okay, kid?" you give him a hard look and he nods immediately. you smile at him again, leaning up. "what happened with satoru?"
"nothing." 
"unforunately for you, he's a gossip so..." 
he rolls his eyes. "he was just being annoying."
"naturally. did he make you mad?" 
megumi nods. 
"did you tell him that?" 
he shakes his head. 
"okay. what'd you say when he started annoying you?" 
"to stop." 
"and then he didn't, so..." you hint, nudging him.
"i told him to leave me alone." 
"what'd he say to that?" 
megumi sighs. "he just said that i'm adorable when i'm mad." 
because of course he would. satoru is probably the worst person in the world. the sole cultivator of everything terrible. 
and, for some reason, you're kinda obsessed with him. 
"yeah," you shake your head, grumbling internally. "i'd expect nothing less from him. i'm sorry he didn't listen, though." 
megumi finally looks at you. "you are?" 
you raise your brows. "well, yeah. if you want to be left alone, then he should leave you alone." 
megumi looks at you skeptically. "you're not going to tell me that i shouldn't have gotten mad at him?" 
"um," you frown. "no. you're entitled to your emotions, megs. you can feel whatever you want." 
he frowns, too, but doesn't say anything. he's stuck somewhere you'll probably never reach. 
but you try to meet his eyes anyway. "and satoru'll be getting a lecture from me, don't worry," megumi smiles a little at that, looking a little more like the boy you're used to. "but i just wanted to tell you that you can talk about it with me, if you want. nobody understands being angry with satoru like i do." 
he looks away again. his fists clench, briefly, and he makes a sound at the back of his throat. "i just--why doesn't he leave me alone? he always teases me, even when i'm trying to be serious, or when i tell him to stop." 
you nod in agreement, letting the words sit for a moment. and then you say, "i think that satoru thinks if he never takes anything seriously, then the negative emotions and all of the things he doesn't want to think about won't matter to him. or as much."
"but they do matter." 
"they do. and if he's irritating you, you should tell him that." 
"i try." 
your lip twitches. "satoru's not the easiest person to talk to. but he's a lot like you, you know? in that way." 
megumi frowns. "how?" 
"you don't really like to talk about these things do you?" you ask, seriously. 
megumi thinks for a moment, fingers messing with the bedsheets, and then shakes his head, slowly, like he doesn't want to admit it. 
"satoru doesn't like it either. and he feels things the same way you do--very deeply, and seriously. that's why he always messes around. and why he frustrates you." you stop, thinking about how to explain this to a kid. how to explain it to yourself. "well, you know how when there's only one melon soda left and you give it to tsumiki, or when you let her pick the movie?" 
megumi nods. 
"that's your way of putting her first. because you love her. but it's different then the way that she loves you, right?"
"yeah. she says it, a lot," he rolls his eyes, familiar with the antics of tsumiki.
you smile. "and she gives those hugs where she tries to crack your ribs," you emphasize it by squeezing his shoulder, making him laugh. 
you swallow, shrugging. "you both show your love differently. everyone does. but tsumiki isn't afraid to let anyone know that she loves them, and satoru is, i think. and you're like that." 
he looks down at his lap, contemplating this. satoru might think that you understand megumi better than he does, that the two of you are easy, but you feel like you're standing on uneven ground. 
everything is so clear in your head. but you can't clarify the interworkings of someone as complicated as satoru for megumi. you can barely clarify him for yourself. 
"i don't know if that's the right way to put it..." you sigh. "well, i like to talk things out. like right now. i want to talk about how i feel, and why. that's how i process everything. but satoru doesn't do that. usually, he'll refuse to." you nudge megumi. "and that's okay, sometimes. but i think he's taught you to do the same, on accident." 
"that's not bad, though," he mutters, frowning. 
"no, not all of the time. but it also means that his emotions come out in his actions. like teasing you, or when he tries to get all of us to sleep in his room." 
megumi rolls his eyes again and you laugh. 
"there's no bad way to show the people that you love that you love them, but when you don't talk about things, or you try not to show those emotions, they get stuck." you poke his chest. "and then they break out, like today, and it's too many feelings all at once." 
megumi nods. 
"so when he's annoying you, you have to tell him. or if you need a break from him, or me, or tsumiki, you should say that." 
it's advice for all of you. some secret that you don't want megumi to know about--the part of you that's lying to him. the unspoken things you don't say--emotions buried so deep beneath your surface that they'll never see the sun. 
you can see the thoughts as they pass over his face, still dark, still stormy, but lighter now. 
eventually, he nods, meeting your eyes. "okay."
you give him a half smirk, leaning down just a little. "but you can't be mean about it, alright? i know today was hard, and satoru was pushing you, but it's still not okay to snap at him." 
megumi curls in a little. "i'm sorry." 
"i'm not mad, buddy," you assure him, ruffling his hair. "and neither is satoru. we're just here to help you, you know? but you have to let us in so we can. you can depend on us, i promise. and you have to be nice, because i can't deal with another satoru." 
he laughs, just a little. you rest your head on his. "i'm here if you want to talk about it," you tell him, "today, or anything else that's bothering you." 
"i know." 
and you feel like he does, just a little bit. he's a very smart kid, and you know that when you leave he'll think about it some more--put it into words that work for him. 
honestly, most of the time his intelligence frightens you--like you'll never be able to slow him down, or make sure that you're on the same page. but at least there's some use for it. 
you sit up. "good. now i'm going to leave you alone, but when satoru gets home and he apologizes, try not to yell at him?" you plead, only partly joking. "he's sensitive." 
megumi scowls, but nods anyway. 
you stand up, nudging his leg with your foot and then you step back over the maze of his things, turning the doorknob. 
"y/n?" 
you turn back, brows raised. "yeah, bud?" 
"do you want to... play cards, or something?" 
and finally, you laugh. just a little. 
*
"how'd it go?" 
"megumi said that he didn't like my haircut, and that i needed to review my wardrobe situation." 
"and?" 
"he's okay." 
you sigh out in relief. "good," you say, looking back down at the paperwork you're supposed to be filling out. the teaching courses, and jujutsu regulations, course handbooks, and bills... 
satoru sits down next to you, looking over all of the papers with a frown. "this is disgusting," he says, nudging your hand away from the pen you're lingering on. 
"true."
"take a break," he hooks his leg around yours. "let's talk." 
you sigh again. "we really need to get this stuff done, satoru." 
he shrugs. "we'll do it tomorrow." 
"you said that yesterday, too." 
"and i was right..." 
but you relent, and you turn so that you're sitting facing him on the couch, your legs crossed in front of you. 
"hey," he whispers, softly, grinning. 
"hi." 
"how was your day?" 
"boring. all i did was clean the house and wait for you and the kids to get home." 
he leans in, eyes crinkled. "can you imagine what your life would be like without me?" 
"not even a little bit. you take up all of my time."
satoru smiles, adoringly. he leans his forehead against yours. 
you want to push him away, or roll your eyes, or ask him more about his talk with megumi, or if he checked on tsumiki, but you don't. 
you just let a small, tired smile rest upon your lips and close your eyes. 
satoru is close enough to smell. his warmth is almost mechanical, unmoving. and everything about him feels sort of unbelievable. he's so close. close enough to touch and taste, if you were that daring. 
but you're not. 
"you okay?" you whisper to him, feeling his breath against your cupid's bow. you refrain a shiver. 
"i'm good," he says, voice soft and low. "you okay?" 
"i'm good." 
satoru nods against you. there's a whole minute where the two of you sit just like that, no need for words or movements. 
it's nice like this, you think. with him and nothing else. you don't get a break very often nowadays--and you don't mind it, really--but sitting with him is enough to not care. who needs a break when you've got your best friend, curled against you like a vice you'll never ever touch?
and then satoru asks, "do you think i mess with megumi too much?" 
"yes," you say, immediately, opening your eyes to meet his glorious blue ones. satoru is pouting, so you continue. "but he loves you anyway." 
just like i do, you think, so brief there's no time to push it away in your mind. 
"yeah?" 
"god knows why," you say, rolling your eyes, laughing when he bends down to tickle your neck with his nose, sniffing against you like a dog. 
but you do know why. and the paperwork can wait until tomorrow. 
*
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illyrianbitch · 3 months
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Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths
Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel
Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.
Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.
Word Count: 2.9k
Part Two
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 
It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 
Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.
"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.
His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 
"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."
Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."
Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don���t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”
Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."
Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."
Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.
 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."
You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 
"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."
There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.
"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."
A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."
 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."
You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 
"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."
You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 
 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."
You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."
He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 
“I wish I could do more for you."
A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.
“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 
You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.
You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.
You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.
And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.
You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.
In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.
From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.
"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.
Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.
"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.
Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."
The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.
"Please hear me out."
You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.
But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.
You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.
Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.
"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."
Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.
His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.
“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."
Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.
Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.
"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”
“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.
"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.
A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.
"Bah, you guys are no fun."
The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.
Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.
"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."
You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."
A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."
Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."
Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."
You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."
Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."
In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.
Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"
Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.
"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."
Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.
Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."
A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."
Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.
"We both know you do not mean that."
You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."
Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."
Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.
"I will be back. Family does not give up."
His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.
But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.
Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 
a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!
tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah
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nebulousbrainsoup · 3 months
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quiet
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🌙 SUMMARY: sometimes, your boyfriend has a little trouble expressing himself. he gets stuck in that pretty head of his, thoughts swirling like a storm. thankfully, you know just how to help him out of it. 🌙 PAIRING: kang yeosang x gn!reader 🌙 GENRE: fluff, smut 🌙 AU/TROPE INFO: established relationship, comfort after hurt 🌙 WORD COUNT: 1.8k 🌙 TAGS/WARNINGS: non-sexual dom/sub dynamics, stressed yeosang, stress/anxiety reactions, non-verbal yeosang for some of this, explicit discussion/negotiation of d/s dynamics & safety measures, pet names/nicknames (my Sangie, baby, angel, the rest happen in the smut lol), nonverbal cues as communication, subspace, brief mentions of food and eating, cuddling, not proofread 🌙RATING: mature 🌙 A/N: this is... a new venture for me, as far as released fics go. i have about a million blurbs like this that will never see the light of day, but after what happened yesterday... i had to give my boy some comfort. i hope you enjoy <3 🌙 smut tags under the cut ; divs from @cafekitsune 🌙 masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee?
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🌙 SMUT TAGS/WARNINGS: clothed sex, dom/sub dynamics, dry humping, cumming in pants, emotional release crying, traffic light check-in system, pet names ([my] Sangie, baby, angel, baby boy, sweetheart, good boy), reader is possessive, gratuitous praise, humiliation if you squint, sub!yeosang, dom!reader
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The moment your apartment door swung open, you knew something was wrong. It wasn’t the act itself that threw you; unannounced visits weren’t Yeosang’s style and, as you had come to expect, he had texted you before coming over. There was nothing telling about the way it opened either, the quiet creak of the hinges a welcome familiarity over top of the tension you felt radiate through the space. No version of the sing-song greeting you were accustomed to met your ears as you heard it click shut, and you frowned. The crease between your brows only deepened as you heard his bag hit the floor of the entryway, your jaw tightening. 
This wouldn’t do.
Quiet footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen but you paid them no mind, focusing entirely on the pot of soup in front of you. A small, pleased noise sounded from the doorway, and within moments, strong arms were wrapped around your waist and Yeosang was burying his nose into your hair. You basked in the touch for a moment, letting yourself indulge despite your boyfriend’s disregard for your rules. With a steadying breath, you clicked your tongue in disapproval, moving to step out of his grasp as you reached for a cabinet above you. He only coiled tighter around you as you shifted, a broken little whimper leaving him and three gentle taps landing on your hip.
Your heart broke as you settled back onto your feet, recalling a months-old conversation for the hundredth time.
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“So, I’m okay with all of that. It’s really stuff I already do anyway,” Yeosang affirmed, a pretty blush coloring his cheeks and ears as he looked over the tablet in front of him. “I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m like… breaking in or something when I walk in.” 
You both giggled at that. “So greeting me should be easy, then. We’re starting out simple, Sangie, that’s kind of the point of this.”
He nodded in understanding, fingers tapping against the table. “So, one thing I already do and one new thing.” 
It was your turn to nod, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s kind of selfish too, honestly… I know I don’t have a lot of space, but even just giving your bag a more permanent home than by the door just… feels nice. It feels like you’re not going to run out on me over the little things.” 
The look he directed back up at you was one of sheer adoration, and you felt your stomach flip. “Of course I wouldn’t.” 
It was your turn to blush. You had to pause, gathering your wits before opening your mouth to speak but, to your surprise, your boyfriend beat you to it. “There’s just one thing. I… Sometimes, if I have a particularly overwhelming day, I don’t always… have words. And I don’t want to keep myself away from you or get in trouble with you on my worst days just because I’m too in my head to speak.” 
Something gripped at your heart, squeezing it tight. “We can do nonverbal cues, like we do during regular scenes. You could tap me three times to let me know you’re out of words, if that works? That way you can still use your double tap to safeword, even outside of the bedroom, but you don’t have to push yourself to provide an explanation.”
His eyes lit up, a soft little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s perfect.”
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You had known it would happen at some point, but that didn’t keep your heart from hurting. “Oh, my Sangie,” you murmured, reaching back to card a hand into his hair. Another pitiful whimper left him and some of the tension drained from his shoulders at the attention. “I need to finish dinner, baby.” Again, a whine of protest, and his grip around you tightened. “Angel,” you prodded, and sighed internally when the pet name had him melting against you. “You can have all the attention you want in ten minutes after I finish dinner. Why don’t you go put your bag where it’s supposed to be and curl up on the couch in the meantime, hm? Pick out a show for us to watch while we eat.” 
He huffed a sigh but you felt him nod against your neck and squeeze you tight once more, pressing a kiss to your head before heading off back into your apartment. You turned, watching him go with a pained expression. 
No, this wouldn’t do at all.
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The moment the last drop of soup was gone from both of your bowls, your dishes were swept away, deposited in the sink by your boyfriend, who quickly bundled himself up into your lap upon his return. You chuckled quietly, carding a hand into his hair as you sprawled out on the couch, his ear pressed against your steady heartbeat. Between the dull roar of the drama on the screen, the soothing rhythm of your fingers in his hair, and the warmth of the blanket across his legs, Yeosang quickly found the worries of his day fading away. His mind went hazy as he melted against you, eyes slipping shut as comfort and safety overtook him, lulling him into a familiar, floaty headspace. He felt more than heard your chuckle as you took note of the change, scratching fondly at his scalp.
The drag of your nails sparked the pleasant warmth in his gut to something stronger, a low groan leaving him that seemed to startle both of you. He jolted in your lap, eyes blinking back open, and you chuckled quietly as a flush painted his cheeks and ears. You grinned at him and he whined, burying his face back into your chest. The squirming only brought another fond laugh to your lips, this one cut short in a gasp as Yeosang froze, another whimper leaving his lips.
He was hard beneath his sweats, his length now pressed into your thigh from his shifting. The tips of his ears were tinted bright red, and you smiled fondly as you cupped his chin. He turned his chin up to you willingly, eyes wide and glassy. 
“Needy, baby?” You teased, and he nodded immediately in response. “Do you have your words back? You know I don’t like playing if my angel can’t talk to me.” 
His eyes left yours for a moment as his brow furrowed in thought, but when he met your gaze again, he nodded resolutely. “‘M green,” he murmured, voice gravelly from disuse.
You beamed at him, shifting to grind your thigh against his arousal and delighting in the weak little noise you pulled from him. “My good boy,” you purred, carding a hand back into his hair. 
Yeosang groaned as he shifted up and braced himself on his forearms, burying his face into your neck to press soft kisses to your skin. Slowly, you let one hand drop to his hip, guiding him to grind against your thigh. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, another broken sound leaving him as he quickly settled into a steady rhythm.
“Is this what you want, angel? To grind yourself on my thigh and cum in your pants like a teenager?” He whined, burying his nose against your neck. You sighed as the combined sensations lit a shudder down your spine, holding your boyfriend close to you. “Want me to get you off just like this?” His hips stuttered, and you felt him nod against your neck. “Words, baby.”
“Y-Yes,” he gasped, and you bit your lip to bite back a groan. God, he sounded so wrecked already. Had floating in subspace for you really affected him this much? “If… Wanna take care of you, too, but it feels so good, ngh…”
He trailed off, hips rolling faster against your leg, and this time you couldn’t bite back a quiet, pleased moan. “Don’t worry about me, angel. Tonight’s all about you, okay? My baby boy had a long day,” he buried his face into your shoulder at this, another whine leaving him, and you felt your chest tighten again, “so he gets to choose how he cums tonight.” 
Once more, his hips stuttered and his breath caught at once. “Wanna… like this. Then,” he gasped, teeth nipping at your throat as he rutted harder against you, “then…” He trailed off with a high whine, his movement against you becoming more desperate.
“Don’t worry about what comes after, sweetheart. Just worry about now. You’re here, with me, doing so well and looking so pretty for me, and that’s all that matters, okay angel?” 
He tensed in your arms, a half-choked sob escaping his lips, and when you felt the first warm, wet tears drop against your skin, your heart dropped. The hand still resting against his scalp dug in and you tugged, trying to pull him away from you. A sound slipped from his lips that was positively wrecked, and one hand snapped up from the couch to bunch your shirt up in his fist. The desperation he clung to you with as he chased his high had you hesitating, but the tension in your shoulders remained.
It seemed Yeosang noticed, his lips pressing urgently over your neck to soothe you, words spilling from his lips unfiltered as you remained rigid. “I’m good, I’m okay, I’m s–so, oh, green, please, it just f–feels s’good and I… need this, need you—”
His reassurance had you relaxing, nails scraping against his scalp once more and pulling another pretty noise from him. “Just feels too good, doesn’t it, angel?” He nodded furiously into your neck and you breathed a laugh, shifting where you sat. There was no denying the effect this—your boyfriend, trembling and sobbing in your lap, overwhelmed with pleasure—was having on you. 
Gently, you coaxed his chin up as you had before, meeting his teary eyes with a warm smile. “You look so pretty like this, Sangie. You can cum whenever you want, okay? You have my permission.” 
He let out another broken sob, hips rolling against you once, twice more before they stuttered into aborted little jerks. You watched, enthralled, as his jaw dropped open and his eyes blinked shut, the pooling warmth of his release evident even through the layers separating you.
“There you go, baby,” you sighed, leaning in to catch his lips in a deep kiss. You were both breathless when you parted, resting your foreheads against each other. “Feel better?” Yeosang nodded, humming affirmation. “Good. Now, let’s go clean you up, and you can tell me all about those plans you have for later, hm?” 
The groan he muffled into your neck had you giggling once more, pressing a reassuring kiss into his hair. This was better.
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© December 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. reposting and translating of author’s work is prohibited.
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glowing-gold · 4 months
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It’s tough for me to have a casual conversation with someone about The Beatles. You see, a lot of people know me as “the girl who loves The Beatles”, so at parties people come up to me, they make the innocent mistake of approaching me while I’m 3-4 drinks in, and they ask me, “so you really like The Beatles huh?” a harmless, get to know you kind of question, an ice breaker if you will. And at first, I have to pretend to be cool about it. I’m like “yeah, that’s me! Big Beatles Fan over here!” And they’ll be lulled into a false sense of security and start asking me questions they think are fun party questions to ask someone. So they ask me, they say “What’s your favorite song?” And I tell them, I can’t possibly choose. There are so many to choose from, it depends on my mood, the time of day, what color I’m wearing, the weather outside. Are we talking early Beatles, middle-era or late stage Beatles? Is it a ballad or a rocker? What album is it on? Is it a John song, Paul song or a George song? Who produced the song? Etc etc
and I can see their eyeballs start to bulge as they realize, perhaps this was not the casual conversation they were hoping to have at their friends birthday party. So I grin and shake my head and backpedal and let them know if I had to choose, with a gun to my head, I’d probably say the Abbey Road Medley. this puts them back at ease, i can see them silently thank god, because they know what I’m talking about, they’ve heard that one and they probably like it too! We discuss which parts are best (Bathroom Window) and which parts aren’t as strong (Mr. Mustard). But then I’ll forget to be cool and start telling them about how the guitar solos on The End are actually Paul George and John taking turns, and how it’s probably the last time any of them played together in the studio and how devastating that is when you take into account the title of the song and the fact that they knew it was all coming to a close…. But only if you consider Abbey Road to be the last Beatles album, which is a hot button topic considering Let It Be came out in ‘70…
So they look at me and nod, looking Nervous again. Then, thinking they’re saving themselves by changing the subject, they ask me another fun, easy to answer, non-loaded party question: “so why DID they break up???!!”
See, that’s when I have to make a decision. Do I give this person the PhD defense they never asked for? Do I shut down the conversation right there and then? Do I TRY to give them the short answer they’re looking for (keeping in mind, I’m a little tipsy)?
I usually try to make the answer short but every time it ends up into a dissertation. And god, help me. I can SEE them lose interest with every passing second. Their eyes glaze over, they’re on their fourth or fifth “damn, that’s crazy”. But I’m grabbing their arm, white knuckled and crazed, frantically pleading with them: “there’s a lick in Beef Jerky that sounds IDENTICAL to the lick in Let Me Roll It, which goes to show these two men couldn’t stop writing together even when they were separated for years, and they continue to write together 40+ after John’s DEATH and isn’t their story the most TRAGIC AND HEARTBREAKING LOVE STORY OF OUR TIME????!!!!!
anyway, this meme:
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forbidden-sunlight · 11 months
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Can I have a yandere Poseidon with a Muichiro reader?
With him reacting that reader was able to give him a fatal injury?
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warning: violence, ooc, muichiro!fem!reader.
Poseidon refused to believe that a mortal soul could have the strength and the reputation to stand in the audience chamber of Hades’ palace, let alone a swordswoman even be granted permission to be by his side as a guard. 
 Like him, Hades is the very definition of a king: one without supporters and no need for scheming. He fought alone against the Titans during the Gigantomachy, and ruled over the underworld without so much as batting an eyelid whenever a crisis emerged. So why? The tyrant of the ocean thought irked. So why in the world would my brother need someone like that when we gods are already the definition of perfection?
Yes, it is a terrible thing that the Bifrost had been destroyed by the wretched human Nostradamus, but surely another god could more easily protect the gates between Helheim and Valhalla than an organization that had been created to exterminate demons? 
No. He refused to believe it. Hades was much smarter than this. And he will prove it, in a duel. He raised his trident and challenged the spacey-eyed human…who didn’t even seem to be listening at all. 
“I refuse.” The mortal said bluntly. “Lord Hades has not given permission to have a duel in his own audience chamber, nor would he ever do so because it would be a pain to clean up afterwards. The servants would get mad too. My blade is to be drawn against demons, not a god. And I happen to like my position, so…I’m not gonna. I’m respectfully declining.”
“[First Name], we have discussed this already,” Hades said stonily. “Watch your tongue around my guests.” The mortal immediately went silent, [Eye Color] orbs gazing off into the distance. 
The lord of the underworld sighed. “Apologies, little brother, she can be a bit -”
“She has disrespected the ones who are superior to her in every way.” Poseidon growled, pointing the tip of his trident at her sinewy frame. “And she will pay for that insult with her life. Or she will prove herself worthy of standing by your side, right here, and I will forgive these transgressions against us.”
“It is Lord Hades’ decision to entrust me with the responsibility of looking after the Bifrost.” [First Name] said. “I refuse to waste my energy -”
‘[First Name], do it. Now.”
“Fine.” 
Poseidon watched as the tiny mortal dressed from head to toe in black descended down the steps of the dias, unsheathing her sword with a push of her thumb. “Try to land a lethal hit on me. Refrain from using any attacks that could damage the audience chamber.” She said, ignoring the icy frown on Poseidon’s face, daring to look at him with that spaced-out, bored expression. Poseidon got into position, raising his trident to the level of his eyes and waited for the human to strike. 
And she did. Not once, but twice; the hilt of her sword rammed into his solar plexus, then she elbowed him in the chin. Quickly regaining his balance, Poseidon thrusted his trident forward, aiming at the center of her body. She sidestepped and rammed her sword into his right side, ribbons of crimson flowing through the cut. 
Hades was, of course, furious and glared at her icily. She just blinked, shrugging her shoulders before sheathing the sword back into its teal scabbard. 
“He wanted me to prove that I was capable of doing my job, and I have done so. He’s a god anyway, that wound will heal quickly. He promised that anything I did would be forgiven, so it worked out in the end. If that is all, may I go? It’s about time for the rotation of shift change at the Bifrost. I need to make sure everything is secure.”
Hades sighed tiredly, waving her off with a flick of his hand. Poseidon watched in stunned silence as she bowed deeply to him, gliding across the floor and out of the audience chamber, shutting the massive door behind her. The black lacquered scabbard of her sword shimmered a dark blue beneath the chandelier’s light, if only for a brief moment. 
Although his older brother was profusely apologizing and making promises to properly discipline the Demon Slayer, Hades’ words did not reach Poseidon’s ears. Curiosity, desire, and excitement thrummed in his blood even as it continued to seep onto the floor.  
He wanted her. He needed her in his court beneath the ocean waves, to hear her silver tongue and bask in her loyalty towards him, to obey his orders without question. She is…perfection. 
Surely Hades did not need her any longer if there are other Demon Slayers to take up the mantle of protecting the Bifrost, yes? 
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crypticreid · 6 months
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KINKTOBER DAY TWO
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October 6 -- Phone Sex
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author's note: first of all, I've been so overwhelmed with the amount of support I've received so far on my first post. Truly, it means the world to me, so thank you! 💖💖💖Also, I've started a tag list for kinktober. If you would like to be added, please reply to one of my posts or message me!
summary: after injuring yourself, you've been forced to stay home from a case and you miss Spencer more than you'd like to admit. Lucky for you, he's missing you just as much.
warnings: female reader, masturbation, guided masturbation, horny ramblings, a little bit of spencer dominance, dirty talk
word count: 2.8k
this is adut content. 18+ plus only. minors do not interact!
Your apartment was spotlessly clean. You’d spent almost the whole day organizing and scrubbing and even rearranging furniture. You hadn’t been able to sit still all day, distracted and bored at the same time. 
While on the last case a few days ago, you had sprained your ankle pretty bad. At least bad enough that Hotch had basically forced you to take a few days of leave. You argued that you could work the current case from the office with Garcia, but he’d simply leveled his ‘this isn’t up for discussion’ look at you, and you shut your mouth. Reid had offered to drive you home and then spent the entire night pampering you and not even letting you lift a finger. Then he had to leave for this case, and you were alone. Which had been okay while your ankle throbbed, but now your ankle was perfectly fine, and you were dying being stuck at home. 
You were restless, but nothing you did helped. And now you’re frustrated. 
You bite down on your bottom lip as you try to think of literally anything else you can do to keep your mind busy. Your eyes fall onto the clock hanging on the wall, and you notice that it’s almost midnight. 
There’s barely a slim chance that he’ll pick up, but you grab your cell phone anyway and call Spencer. It rings for several seconds until his automated voicemail picks up. A sigh falls from your lips. 
“Hey, Spencer. It’s me. I know you’re busy. I just – I just miss you.” You sigh again and feel slightly annoyed at how pitiful you sound. But it’s true. 
It’s been hard to sleep since he’s gone, both because you’ve realized you spend too much time worrying about him and because the bed feels so empty without his long limbs taking up an unfair amount of space. You miss laying on the couch with your feet tucked under his thigh as you both read in comfortable quietness. And you hate how empty your apartment feels without him here. “Anyway, stay safe. And I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.” 
You hang up the phone and slump onto the couch with a groan. After a few minutes of trying to read, you give up and decide to take a shower and head to bed. You toss your cell phone onto your bed as you take off your clothes and grab a towel. In the bathroom, you turn on the shower, and as you wait for the water to warm up, you glance at the mirror. 
You see your naked body, the body that Spencer spends so much time worshiping. Your hands graze up your thighs, remembering how his hands grab onto them when he holds you pressed against his mouth as his tongue brings you to orgasm after orgasm. You continue your journey upwards across your stomach where he presses kisses and murmurs how much he loves you, to your breasts where he licks and nips and takes your nipple in between his teeth. 
A warmth begins to gather low in your belly, and you feel the beginning twinges of need in your core. Quickly, you blink away the images of Spencer and drop your hands to the cool counter of the sink. You take a few deep breaths as you lean against the counter. 
In the shower, you can’t help it when your hands caress your skin, paying special attention to your breasts. You moan out loud alone and realize why you’ve been so restless today. There’s a slight blush coloring your cheeks at the understanding. You rush through the rest of your shower and dry off with the towel so you can throw back the comforter of your bed and settle into the freshly cleaned sheets. 
You start to rub your thighs, massaging and focusing on the sensation against your skin. With your eyes closed, an image of Spencer emerges, leaning over you, touching you. No, now he’s lying next to you, he’s breathing against your neck right after he kisses below your ear, and his hands leave your thighs and travel across your stomach. Just the fingertips, almost tickling, raising the anticipation, and he smiles when you take a sharp intake of breath before he reaches your breasts. Your hands are smaller than his, so it isn’t exactly the same sense of pleasure, but it works for now. 
If he was here, Spencer would be kissing your neck, so gingerly, and then he’d laugh lightly against your skin when you’d squirm impatiently. But since he isn’t here, you don’t have to tease. Release was only a few minutes away. Your fingers gather the wetness at your core and glide upward toward your clit. 
Instantly, you sigh at the contact and begin leisurely circles on the sensitive bud as your imaginary Spencer looks into your eyes. He would lean down to kiss your lips, just as slowly as his fingers moved on you, his tongue teasing your lips, but never giving himself over to you fully. Not yet. You moan his name and speed up your fingers. 
The pleasure rises deep within you, your hips moving in tandem with your fingers, and you apply just a little more pressure. Another sharp intake of breath, and you can tell you’re close. 
Your phone rings. You freeze your motions, unaware of your surroundings for a split second, but then you force your eyes open and scramble off the bed. The ringtone is somewhere in the room, but you can’t remember where you left your phone. 
The phone rings incessantly as though it’s mocking you as you feverishly search for it. When you pull the comforter off the bed harshly, a loud clang on the floor confirms the phone’s location. You grab it and answer breathlessly, “hello.” 
“Why are you out of breath?” Spencer asks on the other end, a thousand or so miles away. 
You press a hand to your sweaty forehead and then push sticky strands of hair off of it. “Oh, I was in the shower, and I heard the phone ringing in the bedroom.” You lie even though Spencer is a genius profiler and would most likely see right through it. But the idea of admitting to him that you were touching yourself to the thought of him made your stomach do somersaults. 
There is a small pause before he replies, “I’m sorry for interrupting your shower.” 
“I was done. It’s fine.” You chew on your bottom lip.
“Oh, good. I got your message.” 
“I’m sorry for bothering you.” You sit on the edge of the bed. 
“Don’t apologize. It was nice to hear your voice.” His words make your heart flutter. “I miss you.” 
You sigh, “I miss you too,” and lie back horizontal across the bed, your feet dangling off the edge. 
“I’ll be home tomorrow. We wrapped up the case about an hour ago, but there’s a bad thunderstorm, and flights were grounded.” You picture him alone in a hotel room holding his cellphone up to his ear, his long body across the bed. 
“How was the case?” 
“I’d rather talk about you. How was your day?” 
You turn on your side so you can fiddle with the top sheet that was left askew by all of your frantic movements earlier. “Nothing exciting.”
“And how’s your ankle?” 
“Perfectly fine. Not even sore.” 
“I’ll see about that. Don’t think I won’t take a look at it tomorrow.” 
“You’re not a medical doctor, Spencer.” You roll your eyes with a small smile playing on your lips. He laughs lightly. 
There is a soft silence between the two of you for a few moments. It isn’t awkward but comforting. Almost as if he’s lying beside you and the two of you are simply resting in the presence of each other. “What were you really doing before I called?” He inquires. 
You smile. He’s too smart for his own good. “Exercising,” you quip. 
“The kind of exercise that requires your hand between your legs.” 
“Spencer!” You gasp. 
He laughs again, and you wish he was next to you because you’d kiss the laugh off his lips. “Am I wrong?” 
“How did you know?” 
“I’m a profiler.” 
“No, really tell me,” you demand. Profiling isn’t a magic trick, and Spencer isn’t a psychic. 
“I guessed.” You roll your eyes because you can see his face in your mind, the sly almost smug smile and the eyes full of amusement. 
“Bullshit.” 
“No, truly. I figured you missed me just as much as I missed you.” His voice lowers to almost a whisper, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “That you’ve been thinking about me just as much as I’ve been thinking about you.” 
“You’ve been thinking about me?” You murmur. 
“I can’t get you out of my head. It’s quite distracting, to be completely honest.” 
“Me? Distracting the brilliant Dr. Reid?” You ask innocently. 
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice has taken on that husky tone that sends wet heat straight to your core. 
“Tell me.” You repeat your earlier demand, your hand rubbing mindless patterns across your skin. 
“I’m hard just from hearing your voice. It’s taking everything in me to not to unbuckle my pants and fuck into my hand like I’d fuck into you.” 
You can’t help but bite your lip at his words because it’s rare for him to curse like that. “Do it.” 
“Only if you do it too. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you touch yourself and make yourself come just from my voice.” 
“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, your hand traveling lower. 
He hums low and deep in the back of his throat. “You’re already doing it aren’t you, sweetheart? Couldn’t even wait for me to undo my belt. Needed it that bad, didn’t you?” 
“I need it.” 
You’re about to reach your aching center when he makes a quick tutting sound. “Don’t touch yourself yet.” You instantly pull your hand away. “Go get your earbuds and connect them to your phone. I want to be right in your ear, and I want both of your hands free.” 
You comply quickly, putting in your earbuds and then laying back down on your bed. You set your phone beside you. “I’m ready.” 
“Are you? What are you ready for?” He teases. He wants you to vocalize exactly what you want even though it makes you blush or maybe because it makes you blush. He wants it despite not being here to see it. 
“To touch myself.” 
“And?” 
“To make myself come from just your voice.” 
“Good…” he starts, but you have one more thing to add. 
“And I want to hear you come too, baby.” 
In the distance, you can hear the clanking of his belt as he undoes it and the shuffling of him taking off his pants. “I’ll do anything for you.” You settle into the bed, anticipation buzzing across your skin. “Are you comfortable?” 
“Yes.” 
“Perfect. Close your eyes and just focus on my voice and your breathing. Take a deep breath for me. And let it go, just like that. Where do you need me most, sweetheart?” 
“Everywhere.” You answer instantly. 
“No, baby, I know, but focus for me. Where is that ache? Where do you need me to touch you?”
You take a deep breath. “My breasts.” Your entire body is aching with want, but your breasts are desperate to be touched. 
“I want so badly to touch you, I wish I was there. I want to put your breasts in my hands. Do that for me, please.” You do as he asks, kneading your breasts. “Open your mouth, baby, and take one of your fingers and get it wet. Now play with your nipple, tease it, circle it.” 
You moan as you tease yourself. “Yes. I want to hear you, tell me how good it feels. Show me how much you miss me.” 
“I need you, Spencer.” You groan as you lightly pinch your nipple. 
“I know, I know. I need you too.” On the other end of the phone, you can hear the sounds of him touching himself, slowly. He’s teasing himself just as much as he’s teasing you. “When I get home to you, I’m going to show you just how much I need you. I’m going to make you come with my fingers. With my tongue. Over and over again. And then I’ll finally give you my cock, just when you think you’ve had enough. And I’ll make you come one more time on my cock. Is that what you want, baby?” 
Your back arches off the bed, still playing with your breasts and nipples. “Yes, oh my god. I want it so bad.” 
“How bad, honey? Tell me, is your pussy dripping for me? ‘Cause you need me that bad.” 
Your dominant hand moves to your core, and you feel how soaked you are. “Yes. Yes. I need you. I’m so wet.” 
“Touch your clit, baby. Slow, do it slow for me at first. You know, just like I would.” 
Even though your eyes are already closed, you squeeze them closed tighter when you make contact with your clit. It’s practically throbbing and you exhale a sharp breath. “Oh my god, Spencer. I can’t. I need –” 
“Slow, yes you can. Take a deep breath, focus on my voice.” 
An uncontrolled moan escapes your throat, but you do as he says. You concentrate on his breaths over the phone, and you match yours to his. Then you match the rhythm of your hand to the sound of his as he ruts into his hand. You listen to his grunts and whimpers, both of you racing toward a needed release. 
He lets out a guttural sound. “Do you feel empty? Do you need to be filled?” 
“So bad, so bad.” 
“I’d fill you so good if I was there.” He groans, and you hear him lose his rhythm for a second as his hips falter. “Slip one of your fingers in. But with your other hand. I need you to keep rubbing that beautiful clit.” 
As you slowly push one finger into you, he continues to ramble. “I wish I was there to taste you. You taste so good, baby. I love how gorgeous you look when I’ve got my mouth on you. The way you grind your clit against my tongue because you’re so needy. So desperate to come.” 
Your finger pumps faster into you, the need and pleasure climbing higher within you as you buck your hips in time with the movement of your hands. You’re breathless, but you tell Spencer, “I’m so desperate.” 
“I know you are.” He groans. “Do you know how bad I need it too? Can you add another finger for me, baby? Fill yourself even more.” You clench against your two fingers. He’s panting into the phone, and you can picture the way his hair would be stuck to his forehead as he pounded into you, completely lost in the feeling of you squeezing him.
“I’m gonna come, baby.” You gasp out. You feel like you have no control over your body as though Spencer was completely in control even though it’s your fingers frantically stroking. 
“Are you? Are you going to make yourself come all over your fingers?” 
“Yes, I have to. I –” 
“Yeah, you do. You’re doing so well. I need to hear you come. I need to hear you be so good for me. Coming all over your fingers, all by yourself. But you’re thinking of me aren’t you?” 
“Yes… yes. Always.” 
“I can make you come so hard even when I’m not there. And you’re going to make a mess, a beautiful, perfect mess as you finish.” You moan loudly. “That’s it. Just like that.” He’s groaning and muttering, and you know he’s close too. “I wish I was coming in you, feeling you clench around me. And I’d rub that needy clit of yours, your nails would be scratching against my skin because you just can’t help yourself. Please come, baby. I need it.” 
You come with his name on your lips, your body clenches and shakes, and you listen closely to his climax. He lets out a shaky breath after a few moments. “I love you.” He says, and you hate that you can’t kiss him. 
“I love you too.” Your breathing slowly returns to normal. 
“Are you okay?” He checks in with you, and you smile as you roll onto your side and settle deeper into the bed, suddenly very tired. 
“I’m great. Are you?” You yawn. 
“Yes. Get some sleep, sweetheart.” 
“Come home soon.” 
“I’m coming home to you as soon as I possibly can. I can’t be apart from you like this.” 
“Neither can I. Talk to me until I fall asleep?” 
“Of course. Anything for you.”
tag list: @spenciesprincess @catalinasroom @tylevx
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crybaby-bkg · 1 year
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His Muse
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Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader Warnings: Yandere Bakugou, Obsessive Tendencies, psychoanalyst therapist reader, smut, extremely dubious consent, stalking, kindapping (tagging to be safe), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampies, kitchen sex, strength kink, threats of violence (not to reader). please let me know if I missed anything! Word Count: 6.5k Notes: this isn't a more violent yandere fic, and has lots of bargaining and dub con, just as a warning!! but I can't believe I came up with this idea in November omg I move so slow when it comes to full fics. also I tried gradient style for the title and I love it lol it was so fun to try. anyway, please enjoy!! Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on ao3!
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When Bakugou comes to you to be his therapist, you don’t think twice about it. He filled out his application correctly, he answered when you called, his insurance went through, his problems sounded legit. You had become wary taking on new patients in your field—dealing with criminals, those with hardened and extensive records, people with all kinds of issues that an everyday therapist wouldn’t be able to handle accordingly. But you did it all (someone had to), so your vetting process was a little heavier than usual, if the therapy wasn’t state mandated. 
But Bakugou Katsuki passed with flying colors. If anything, he sounded a little too normal for your line of work, but he kept promising that his issues would be better discussed during sessions. With a little hesitance, you agree and take him on. 
He’s…okay, for the most part. A little gruff, rough around the edges and snappy when you try to touch on certain topics of his life. But in general, he’s a great patient; he pays on time, shows up five minutes early, doesn’t linger when your next patient comes buzzing, doesn’t try to touch you or seek out personal information from you. 
If anything, he still seems a bit too strait-laced for you. That is, until he starts to delve into why he really wants to come to therapy—to deal with his tendencies of rage, lashing out, and obsession. You had told him that you didn’t deal much with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but he had assured you that, no, his obsessions and compulsions weren’t about checking the locks a certain amount of times on a Wednesday, but instead about people. 
He obsessed over people, and when things wouldn’t go his way, his rage would rear its ugly head. He still hasn’t told you what his rage specifically looks like, especially with how he momentarily glances over at your little message pinned on your wall that warns people about admitting criminal acts that you’d have to report, damn the confidentiality. 
“When did these obsessions start?” You ask him, body tilted toward him even though your eyes and hands move to your open computer. You document what he says, take note of it all, skimming over previous notes from other appointments. 
“Maybe about eighteen months ago?” Bakugou’s voice is gravelly, deep and grating against the column of his throat. As he answers, he shoves his hands in his sweats pockets, scoots down a little further on your adjacent couch, looks around the room as if he hadn’t been in here a few times before. 
“So this is a more recent development?” You ask, humming under your breath and nodding when he grunts an affirmation. You type, obsessive tendencies over people started less than two years ago, could be trauma based, and you wonder if he can read the words through the reflection of your glasses when you look over to see his eyebrows screwed down. 
“Was it sudden for you?” You cock your head to the side, before shaking your head. “Let me rephrase; did these tendencies ever show their faces in other aspects of your life? Different time periods, situations? Or was it just a sudden thing that happened, something you realized once the obsession had already begun?” He starts nodding his head before you can even finish, his ash blond bangs shadowing his eyes for a second in such a way that sends a prickle of chills up your arms. You don’t know why, so you try to swallow the feeling down until it burns at the back of your throat, shifting a little in your cushioned seat. Bakugou watches you for a second before he opens his mouth to speak. 
“It was sudden.” He answers, plainly, doesn’t offer up much else until you cock an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to go on. He rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath, shifting again before he shrugs dramatically with his hands still in his pockets. 
“I dunno, I was fuckin’ normal until I wasn’t.” You chuckle a little at his tone, crossing your legs under the desk, watching how Bakugou’s vermillion eyes dart down to catch the sight of them, before they slide back up to your face. 
“You’ve been in a relationship before?” You state more than ask, eyebrows slid high on your face in question, watching Bakugou roll his eyes a little before he nods. 
“Yeah.” He offers, his mouth set in a thin line, obviously not wanting to offer up too much information on the topic. 
“How many?” You push. How the hell does he expect you to help him when he keeps giving you short answers, nothing to work with? Why even seek out your help if he acts like being here is such a nuisance to deal with?
“Two.” Bakugou says through gritted teeth, eyes cutting at the decorations you have hung on the walls. “What does this have to do with anything, anyway?” He spits, cuts his eyes at you once more as you narrow your own at him. 
“I’m trying to find a connection between your sudden obsessive tendencies with your relationships with people in the world.” You clarify for him, sitting up a little in your seat as his own irritation bubbling off of him starts to sink into your pores, too. 
“People rarely have sudden personality flips and switches with no leading causes beforehand. Did these tendencies start because of preexisting mommy issues that were suddenly uncovered after being repressed for years? Were you in a long and committed relationship, which ended in such a way that it wasn’t necessarily on your terms, even if it was ultimately your own call? Was it an accident you were in? Have you always been like this and never realized it? Do you understand what I’m saying, Katsuki?” 
Bakugou isn’t taking in a single word that you’re telling him. He wishes he could; he’s sure you’re saying some real shit that he should most likely take into consideration. But its so hard to focus when you look at him like that, when your neck rolls a little with every word, when your foot bounces under the desk, the way your lips curve just so. 
You’re the reason he’s even here right now. The bane of his fuckin’ existence, but also the  only thing that matters to him in the world. 
You are his obsession. His muse, his fantasy, his daydream turned reality. And it’s all your fucking fault. With how you prance around your home with your curtains open, wearing nothing but slutty little shirts and no bra, no pants, just panties that sink into the curves of your ass and thighs. How you just go about your life without a care in the fucking world, always so oblivious to everything around you. 
You hadn’t even noticed him, the months he spent watching over you. Didn’t catch his lingering stares, or how his ash blond head of hair always seemed to be at least ten feet behind you with every step you took. How your long time neighbor from across the hall suddenly disappeared, how a new tenant moved in when he knew you’d be out. How you forget entirely too often to lock your door, to put your used panties in the hamper. How you tease him with everything, how you’ve been fucking leading him on for over a year and a half now. 
So, he had to get desperate. Had to search you up and find what qualifications he needed in order to be seen by you, a psychoanalytical therapist for those who want to be reformed. 
But Bakugou had no plans on reformation. There was nothing for him to be reformed on. He just wanted you, and goddamnit, if he wasn’t going to have you. 
“I understand you, doc. Loud and clear.”
***
It was your day off, and you had plans on spending it in your bed, catching up on some reading and maybe finishing that one show you started a while ago. But, lunch time came around, and you were craving something specific and didn’t have all the ingredients that you needed. You figured you could go out to the grocery store to grab them, get some fresh air on the way there, and maybe stop at that book shop you had been eyeing for a while. 
You get ready quickly, closing your front door behind you, pausing for a second to stare at the door across the hall. You still can’t believe Ms. Hayashi had so suddenly moved out, especially after living in this complex since it was first built. She hadn’t even said goodbye, and you never got the chance to return the Tupperware she lended you. 
It wouldn’t have been as weird if someone hadn’t supposedly moved in the next day. You were a gossip with your landlord, a nice older lady, and she gave you all up the updates on the people who lived in the complex. She had said that he was a nice guy, kind of scary and intimating in stature, but respectful the whole time. Said that he didn’t even look at the apartment before giving her the first six months rent and despot in cash. She told you to ever call her if you smelled meth cooking from that apartment, as no one who works a regular job just has that kind of money laying around. 
You shrug to yourself, coming to the conclusion that maybe the new owner just needed to get out of town, away from somewhere or someone else. Everyone has their reasonings, and you can’t analyze every single move someone you haven’t even met before has ever made. 
You continue down the steps until you’re out of the building, unaware of the crimson eyes that follow your every movement. The walk to the store is a little longer than you’d like for it to be, but you figure that the exercise can do you some justice, and it’s always nice being out in nature. You stop and pick a flower that grows from a crack in the sidewalk, twirling it in your finger the whole way to the store, finally tucking it behind your ear when you have to grab a grocery cart. 
And still—and still—you don’t see the eyes that watch you. The figure that follows your every move, that disappears behind walls and aisles every time you turn your back. You feel it though, he can tell, because you move a little quicker and look over your shoulder more than usual. 
You go to the self checkout, trying to hurry now, as an uneasy feeling starts to wash over you. You get these often, especially working in the field that you do with the patients that you choose to take on—hardened criminals, fresh out of jail and still ready to harm society, people that just like to see the world burn for the fun of it. 
The therapist is typically one of the first few people to be taken out, after parents. You’re always too high on the list for your liking, despite loving your job. 
You keep trying to scan an item, but it’s not working, and that only makes your panic settle in deeper into your bones. You try to remember the techniques that you give people when they start to feel overwhelmed by their emotions and what goes on in their heads, but its hard when that sinking feeling only grows deeper and heavier by the moment until—
“Need some help with that?” You jump away quickly, eyes wide as you hold up the can of soup you were gripping tightly like a weapon. You let out a breath though, only in slight relief, to see that its one of your patients standing beside you—Bakugou Katsuki. He looks different than he usually does in your sessions together; he’s wearing a tight compression shirt that hugs his wide shoulders, navy blue in color, sweatpants that wrap around the thick muscles in his thighs, and plain running shoes. 
For some reason though, the panic in your stomach doesn’t fully quell at the sight of him. 
“No, I got it. Thanks though, Bakugou.” You tell him politely, smiling shakily. Why does the sight of him unnerve you so bad? You’ve run into patients before on the street, and they never make you feel like this, this uneasy, even when it was dark and you were dressed more scantily than you are now, with your baggy pants and too big shirt. 
“You sure?” He grunts, cocking his head at you as he gently pries the can from your still tight grip. “I watched you struggle with it for like, two minutes. Let me.” He tells you, never taking his eyes off of you as he scans your item easily enough. He only looks away when he bags it for you, and starts to scan the rest of your things as if you weren’t standing there. 
“Oh no, it’s okay, I can finish that myself.” You wave him off him with a shaky smile, finally breaking out of your stupor when he’s damn near finished. You reach out to stop him, but Bakugou only waves you away with a grunt. 
“’S alright. It’s the least I can do for you helping me figure my crazy out.” Bakugou shrugs at you, a joke you’re presuming, as he glances over at you with a tiny lilt at the corner of his mouth. It calms you, only for a second, before something ever so slightly changes in his eyes, in the way he looks at you and takes you in, makes you feel like something sinister is sinking deep into your bones. Your stomach tightens again, and you have to force a smile when he finishes, before it drops when you see him reaching for his wallet. 
“Oh, I really can’t let you pay for my groceries.” You tell him, stepping up to him before pausing when he looks at you out of the corner of his eye with an expression so terrifying, that it makes stone drop into the pit of your belly. 
“Let me.” Bakugou tells you more than asks you, and you nod slowly, swallowing the thickness that has settled into the back of your throat. You can only watch as he pulls out a wad of cash, counting through it before inserting it into the machine, mouth set in a thin line all the while. You try to take him in, figure out where his own groceries are to be in this section, where all this money is coming from, if his address that he put on the file is even anywhere near this area. 
It’s not. 
“Cmon.” Bakugou snaps you out of your trance, big veiny hands holding all of your groceries as he nods his head to the exit. You’re stuck there, wondering if this is really happening, if these are just boundaries being crossed or a crime about to be committed. You feel tears stinging at your eyes as you try to blink them away, hiccuping slightly as you slowly shake your head. 
“Please give me my groceries, Bakugou.” You don’t even recognize your own voice, soft and shaky and purely terrified. Bakugou fixes you with another deadly expression but this time—this time he smiles at you, and its everything but friendly. All big white teeth and too sharp incisors, all falsely charming and all weaponry, all threat with no escape from his drooling maw. 
“I think we should go home, now. Don’t you?” He asks you with a cock of his head, body still turned to the exit, his stature eery with how the veins in his neck throb with every second you stay rooted in your spot. “Before something happens to these nice people in here, right? Before they have to bear witness to a massacre, all because you don’t want to walk home with me.”
You have to bite back your sob that bubbles up in your throat. You’re terrified of what will happen to you, but you’re a caretaker first. You have to put yourself before these people, put yourself before the monster that wants you as a sacrifice before he burns an entire village down for you. 
So you nod, and take the hand offered to you as he switches the groceries to one hand, just to squeeze yours in the other. 
You leave out of the grocery store with tears muddled in your eyes, a quivering chin that you try to conceal, hope no one wants to be a hero and find themselves hurt, or worse, because you can’t school your expressions. 
This was taught in a psychology course you took in college, you remember. One of your classes after you started working on your highest degree—what to do in real life situations as a psychologist. How to avoid more conflict when a patient is erratic. How to deescalate. How to survive. 
Everything you’ve ever learned has gone out the window now. 
You and Bakugou walk down the street hand in hand, looking like a normal couple for the most part, besides your trembling jaw and shaky steps. You glance up to him, watching him squint in the sunlight before he glances down at you, squeezing your hand gently, as if to comfort you, as if he weren’t the cause of your panic. You notice that he’s walking right in the direction of your apartment, as if the route were memorized. 
“How do you know where I live?” You ask shakily, mouth full of cotton as Bakugou keeps his head forward, grinning. He glances at you again, eyes bouncing between the delicate flower tucked behind your ear, and the terrified expression your eyes carry. 
“I should be asking you the same thing.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t offer up anymore information until you stand outside of your building. “You know, for you to be a therapist to fuckin’ weirdos, you don’t watch your back good enough for my liking.” 
You didn’t think your stomach could sink any lower, but it does. It does when the realization settles, when his words kick in—that he’s been watching you, but for how long? How could you not have noticed? Did he even contact you because he needed help, or was this only a way to grow closer to you, to his obsession?
Before you know it, Bakugou has walked you up the stairs until you reached your floor. Your body turns to instinctively to your door, but you’re pulled in the other direction. 
“Wha—” you go to ask Bakugou, before you notice he’s set your groceries down to fiddle with the key to…to the apartment across the hall from you. You feel the tears flood again, letting them flow this time since no one is around to try and save you and put themselves in harms way anymore. 
“It’s been you? This whole time?” You ask slowly, starting to pull away when Bakugou opens the door to Ms. Hayashi’s apartment, still decorated the same before she mysteriously disappeared—you don’t think its so mysterious anymore.
“Of course it’s been me.” Bakugou scoffs as he grips your hand tighter, pulling you closer until you near the doorway. “I had to watch  over you—do you know how careless you are with everything? With your life?” He snarls, whirling around on you when you plant your feet and try to keep him from pulling you into his lions den. Bakugou is all snarls and teeth, invokes such a deep fear within you that you can’t help but shrink under his gaze. 
“Now come on. I’ve been waiting for this for entirely too long.” His voice is downright salacious, eyes turning sharp and hungry, and in a way that makes you feel like nothing more than hunted prey. 
Bakugou damn near drags you within the apartment, despite your whimpering and pulling at him—he’s just too strong. He walks you a few feet inside before he dumps the groceries on a coffee table, finally letting go of your hand so that he can lock the door, emerging a key from his sweatpants pocket to one of the many, many locks, an insurance policy of you never leaving him unless he allows it. 
You try to put on your therapist boots for a minute, swallowing your fear as you try to reason with him, swallowing thickly when he turns around and takes your trembling form in. 
“Bakugou,” you start shakily, “this doesn’t have to end bad for us. You can just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened. I won’t report you, or anything. Please, please, PLEASE!” 
He comes rushing at you before you know it, on you in seconds, despite trying to turn and outrun him before he pounces. But it’s too late and he’s too big and too overwhelming, and he grabs you up in his arms, shushing your screaming with his mouth pressed against yours. 
So this is what he wants, you think to yourself, terrified to say you’re slightly relieved. You’ve worked with men who liked to torture women for fun, and you were scared that he was secretly one of them, but it looks like he just wants—
“You.” Bakugou whispers with a swallow against your mouth, hot and breathy. “I want you so fuckin’ bad, wanted this for so long, fuck.” He’s wrapping you up within him in seconds, arms crushing your ribs, tongue sneaking into your mouth, hands grabbing handfuls of whatever he can reach. 
You’re stunned, mostly. Finally putting the pieces together of everything that is Bakugou, his coming to you about his obsessions, his secrecy despite needing your help, the way he always looked at you, how he devours you now like a mere schoolboy. It all makes sense now. You pull away from him, eyes round and wide as you take in his lowered ones, how he dives back in to nip at your jaw and chin and cheek. 
“I’m your obsession.” You whisper shakily, hands on his shoulders, despite them making no moves to move the large man back. Bakugou groans at that, damn near sinks to his knees at your realization, wraps you up even tighter as he buries his face into the skin of your neck. 
“Fuckin’ finally. Thought you would’ve caught on sooner by now, dumbass.” He scolds you, licking up the expanse of your skin as you shiver and try to back away. But Bakugou only holds you tighter, and you whimper at the bulge that nudges your hip. 
“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve—could’ve worked on exposure therapy, had someone there to monitor you for our safety, could’ve—”
“Too much work. I just want you.” Bakugou moans, nipping at your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass when you squeak. He walks you backwards until your back meets a wall, the breath being knocked out of you as you gasp, eyes wide when he finally pulls away from your skin. 
You’ve never seen him like this, all fucked out and relaxed and even a little excited. Always saw him with a bored or irritated expression, one of indifference. But now, Bakugou looks high on euphoria, with kiss swollen lips and low eyelids as he takes in your still shocked expression. 
“Let me taste you,” Bakugou rushes out in a quick breath, diving in once more to lick at your mouth before he pulls away, big hands squeezing at your waist and ass excitedly. He’s like a dog with a bone, like a pup with no master, waiting for you to give the command, the permission to go. 
You wonder if you have more control of this situation than you originally thought. So you try your hand, see how far you can push before you can wiggle your way out of this entire thing and get the chance to call the police. 
“Bakugou,” you start, quickly being cut off by him with a sharp nip to your chin. 
“Katsuki,” he corrects. You nod. 
“Katsuki, if I—if I let you do this, this one thing of…of tasting me, will you promise to let me go?” You try to reason with him, cupping his cheek when his eyes wander over your form instead of your face, leaning into your touch instinctively. 
“We can,” you pause with a swallow. “I can do this. I can create a therapy plan for you, for your obsession over me, and it can be fully consenting and healthy, but you have to let me help you and let me take control.” You try to reason with Bakugou, hope he understands what you’re saying, that he won’t catch on to this just being a trick. But he only groans and turns his head, sucking your thumb into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at your gasp before he releases you with a pop. He turns half lidded vermillion eyes to you, frowning as he rests his heavy head in your palm. 
“Whatever you fuckin’ say, just let me taste you, goddamnit.” He mutters petulantly. You can only hold your breath, wonder if what you’re agreeing will hurt you in the long run before you nod. 
“You can—you can taste me, Katsuki.” 
You think you might’ve sealed the deal with a devil, with the way you can practically see horns protruding from his forehead and a tail flickering behind him when he drops to his knees. Bakugou is too quick for your liking, yanks your pants around your ankles too fast, hurries you out of them, rips your underwear away from your skin until it tears and falls limply in a pile on the floor. 
You squeak when his face is suddenly pressed right against your cunt, his nose buried into your pubic hair, the sound of a big sniff echoing throughout the room. You can’t help but cringe, but don’t dare push him away—people need to be exposed to all aspects of things in order to overcome them, even if those things are sniffing what lies between your legs. 
“Fuck, smells so good.” Bakugou grunts under his breath, huffing a few times before he forces your legs further apart until you can accommodate the wide expanse of his shoulders. You grunt from the stretch, trying to make yourself comfortable, but Bakugou picks up on it quickly, and grabs your knee to hike your leg over his shoulder to rest on. 
It creates a better angle for him anyway, with your lips glistening with your arousal—you were aroused. Turned on by him just as much as he was with you. You were wet, even if it’s not as much as he would prefer, as he would get you to that amount in only a matter of time. 
You throbbed when his tongue traced the hood of your clit, of your lips, your folds. You twitch hard against his mouth when he keeps licking and licking at you, until your slickness and his spit mingle and he doesn’t know where you end and where he begins. Until it makes a mess of his mouth and chin and the floor below him, and you, with your pretty moans and grabbing hands. 
Bakugou has waited for this moment longer than he can really care to remember, at this point in time. Waited to worship you on his knees, be able to look up from between your soft thighs and see the scrunch of your brows when he sucks your clit between his lips and runs over it with the flatness of his tongue. 
It’s an addictive feeling, really. Makes him feel higher than any drug could ever take him, makes his eyes roll back and his cock throb so hard that he has to grab it from beneath his sweats to keep from busting his load already. 
You can only stand there and take it—take the incessant licking around your hole, and the dipping of his tongue inside of you, and the sweet little kisses he plants on your clit. You try to reason with yourself, convince yourself that this is an improvised session with a client that needed your help so badly that you decided to take him on your day off. Try to tell yourself that this is all apart of the therapy that he needs in order to get over you. 
You only hope that the taste of you doesn’t become so addictive, that your plans for him will go flying out the window the moment you try to reason with him. 
But its hard to reason even with yourself when Bakugou is sliding a thick, middled finger inside of your dripping hole as he noisily sucks your clit between his lips. You cry out at that, knees wobbling, but he’s there to catch you with his free hand, his shoulder. Holds you up steady like a pillar as he lashes his tongue against you, twists his finger, curves it slowly, before he’s adding another one before you can even register what’s happening to you. 
“Shit, Katsuki,” you moan out, cursing yourself for letting him make you feel so good, for getting so wrapped up in this ‘therapy’. You can only hope that the board doesn’t take your license if they were to ever find out about it. 
“Thats it, baby, ride my fingers just like that.” Bakugou breaks you out of your trance with his groan. You hadn’t even realize how your hips were moving against him, grinding down on his digits that curl up inside of you, that slide against that swelling spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes cross.
“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” Bakugou whispers against your mound, trailing spit from his mouth down to your clit once more, eyes never leaving the pleasured look on your face. 
Did you know he imagined this, in damn near every session he’s ever had with you? While it wasn’t plenty of sessions (he had only started seeing you about six months ago), it was all he could think of. Every Tuesday at 2:45pm, in office number 218, first door on the right, the mint green office—all he could think of was you. Even when you asked him questions with a professional and friendly smile, even when you were covered head to toe, even when you ripped him a new one for his shitty answers and responses. 
This was all he wanted, all he craved to see. The way your mouth dropped open when he starts damn near directing you in how he wants you to ride his fingers. How your hips move and swivel and tremble when he keeps bringing his fingers close to his face, inside of you. How you grip so tightly at his hair and pull when he won’t stop sucking and licking and messily kissing your clit. How he damn near makes out with your hole, tongue drooling and smacking against your soaked skin until he feels himself about to burst in his pants. 
This was all he wanted, and Bakugou always gets what he wants. Even if its you—especially if it’s you. 
“I’m—oh, I think I’m—shit!” Your brain is damn near fried when you start to orgasm, an earth shattering moan slipping from your throat as you throw your head back, hips bucking against Bakugou’s face and hands. He has to hold your entire body up steadily, fears that you may fall from how hard you’re coming, how you shake in his arms. 
His fingers are steady inside of you, and only slows when you start to finally come down from your high. Bakugou kisses the inside of your thigh sweetly, nibbles at it when you groan and complain about feeling too weak from the intensity. But that’s not a problem for him at all. 
“Hey—what are you—” Bakugou cuts you off with a wet kiss pressed to your mouth when he stands to his full height. His tongue slides against yours and you can’t help but moan when you taste yourself on him. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away and try to slink back to your own apartment, instead hoisting you up quickly in his arms as he starts to walk to a room behind you. 
Before you can protest, you’ve been dumped on the kitchen table, Bakugou pressing you down with a hand to your sternum when you try to sit up, shooting you another one of those eery looks from earlier. You still instantly, before slowly lowering yourself back down on the table, eyes wide again when he levels you with a stare for a beat longer before he steps back to yank his shirt over his head. 
“I thought,” you mumble, trying not to stare at how well built Bakugou is, how his biceps might literally be bigger than your entire head. “I thought that we agreed for you to only, um, taste me, and then you’d stop.” Its hard finding your voice when Bakugou stares at you like that again, not scarily, but hungry like before. Hard to fight back and push him away when he grabs your shirt in two hands and rips and pulls until your torso is exposed, like the fabric meant nothing to him. 
You clench your thighs at the display of strength and hope that he doesn’t notice. (He does). 
Bakugou shrugs at you, pulls your bra down until your tits are on display, grabbing a handful of each and massaging them in warm, sweaty palms. He ducks his head down and gives a sweet kiss to both of your nipples, licking one crudely before he stands back up to his full height, your breasts still in his hands. You think he must’ve forgotten what you said, or simply didn’t care to answer, but he surprises you when he squeezes your tits tightly and speaks, 
“Think I need a little more exposure before I have to be reduced to doses only, doc.” Is all Bakugou gives you, squeezing your chest one last time before he pulls away. You try not to show the panic on your face when he reaches to pull his sweats down until they bunch around his corded thighs, cock damn near bursting from its confinements. 
Bakugou reaches inside of his boxers, biting at his bottom lip when he touches it directly for the first time since he’s gotten you, groans a little at your gasp when he fully exposes himself. He’s thick, curved a little to the side, his head a dark flushed color, a fat vein forking up the side of his shaft. He rests his cock over you, makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat when the precum slides from his tip and pools in the dip of your bellybutton. 
“Shit, I love you so fuckin’ much,” Bakugou mutters under his breath as he positions himself at your entrance. Your eyes bulge at his confession, but before you can even touch on what he’s said, he’s already sliding his way inside of you. 
Your head falls against the kitchen table, the dull pain quiet compared to the overwhelming pleasure that settles low in your pelvis. You groan, thighs hooked around Bakugou’s waist as he fucks his way inside of you, a moan on his tongue as he watches the way your lips split and suck him inside so, so sweetly. 
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t wait anymore,” Bakugou mutters against your mouth. As he soon as he settles inside of you, he’s pulling out until his tip kisses your entrance, before he fucks his way back in. You shudder, his cock warm and heavy inside of you, his tip brushing against your sweet spot with every stroke until you start to cling to him and ask for more, more, more. 
And Bakugou gives it to you, with feral growls, hiking your legs up higher until they rest on his shoulders, hunching over you with every wet slap of his balls against your ass. The position forces him even deeper, makes your feet dangle entirely too close to your face, Bakugou leaning over to kiss you sweetly on the ankle. 
“So, fuck, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Bakugou taunts you, grinning down at you when you blink bleary eyes up at him. He’s sweaty and golden and has a halo of light behind his ash blond hair from the overhead light. He’s prettier than you want to admit, but its hard trying to keep a face of professionalism when his cock keeps kissing your sweet spot and his chest pressed against yours makes your nipples harder than rocks. 
“Huh? What happened to that fucking smart ass that would lecture me in our sessions?” He teases, smile wide and feral as he holds your cheeks tightly between his thick fingers. He forces your mouth into a pout, kissing it, when you blabber nonsense up at him. 
“Fucked you dumb already? All those years of college right out the door, huh, baby?” Bakugou’s so mean, makes you whine and claw at his shoulders and nape. You could answer him, give him your professional opinion—not like you even had one in the first place—but he makes it so hard to think. When his cock is balls deep inside of you, when he looks at you with his teasing and yet adoring little grin, when he keeps shaking your face at him with a taunting coo, when he sneaks a hand between your bodies to circle your clit. 
“It’s okay; I can think for you. You don’t have to use that pretty little head even once when you’re with me.” Bakugou’s coos sweetly, reaches down and pecks your forehead and mouth when you whimper pathetically up at him with teary eyes. 
“Gonna cum? Yeah?” He asks you, hips never faltering as he fucks you into the table, his mouth pressed against yours as you grab him tightly, feeling the oncoming orgasm starting to flood your system. 
“Yeah,” you whine softly against his mouth through your puckered lips, making Bakugou groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. You tighten up around him so deliciously, sound so pretty with your fucked out moans and hoarse voice, look so gorgeous all high out of your mind and pliant on his kitchen counter. 
How could he ever remember to pull out?
You try to protest when Bakugou holds you tight and starts to cum inside of you, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. He only holds you tighter against him, groaning loud in the skin of your neck as his cock spurts his hot seed deep inside of you. When he finishes, he collapses on top of you, breathy and sweaty, and you’re in no better position. Its quiet for a while, despite your legs and back aching, and the cooling feeling of his cum starting to spill from around his softening cock still buried inside of you. 
“So,” Bakugou starts, and you’re almost fearful of what he might say next. “Can you start scheduling my appointments to your apartment instead of your office now?” 
You’re at least a little thankful that he has plans to let you go back to your life, even if he’s forcing himself to be apart of every little aspect of it. You nod tiredly, wondering how and if you’re going to tell your boss. 
“I’ll see what I can do.” 
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yikesmary · 10 months
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TWO: LIVE IN BOYFRIEND — choi seungcheol x reader
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summary: when you have to get used to choi seungcheol as your roommate and fake boyfriend.
notes: thank you guys for all the love you guys gave the first (technically first even if it’s not labeled as the first?) part of what I guess is becoming a series? depending on if I get ideas or not, uploading parts to this series may or may not take long. ill also be accepting ideas for the stories if you guys have any ideas!
btw this chapter focuses more on the contrast of how you and Seungcheol started as people who agreed to fake date vs how you guys will act now. you guys are still fake dating but to people it's very real because you guys act the part.
i'm still accepting requests if you guys have them! it can be for this series or for a one shot, just send an ask.
join my taglist!
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"We need to discuss some ground rules," You said as you and Seungcheol walked around the mall, finding stores to browse through.
"What ground rules do we need? I live with you, and I pretend to be your boyfriend," he said.
"How did we meet? Who asked who out? Where was our first date? Do we let people know we're living together? How long do we say we're together?" You listed out, counting off with your fingers.
"Don't you have a class with Wonwoo?" Seungcheol suddenly asked.
"Jeon Wonwoo? Yeah, I do. Why do you know that?" you asked.
"We say that Wonwoo introduced us and we were friends for a while. I wanted to ask you out but you beat me to it. Our first date was me teaching you basketball, and it was not pretty." He teased.
"How'd you know I'm bad at basketball?" you questioned.
"I mean, when you nearly died after choking on noodles, I guessed you aren't the most graceful," he joked.
You rolled your eyes and hit him lightly on the shoulder. Spotting a store you wanted to go to, you grabbed Seungcheol's forearm and dragged him with you.
"Anyways, we should let people know we're living together. It tells people we're serious and your ex he's a jackass for breaking up with you the way he did," he said, grabbing a shirt and showing it to you to look at.
Nodding in approval, you grabbed the shirt and continued to look through the racks. "Besides creating a story of our relationship, we make other rules,"
"Like?"
You grabbed a few more items before going in line for the cashier. Counting how much money you had, you realized you had to return a few things. You tried walking out of a line but Seungcheol stopped you and shook his head.
"Like don't fall in love with each other," you said, and he scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"We're not gonna fall in love with each other," Seungcheol said.
Once you guys were the next people in line, the cashier started scanning all of the items. Moving to pay, you stopped once you realized that Seungcheol already had his card out and was on his way to pay.
"You didn't have to do that," you told him.
"Think of it as a present. From one roommate to the other," he said.
"Anyways, what were you saying about not falling in love with each other?"
"Have you seen every movie that involves fake dating? The two main protagonists always fall in love without knowing!"
"Those are movies, this is real life,"
When you exited the store, you turned to face him. "How about we just agree to stay friends?"
"Just friends,"
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"I'm home!" You called out, putting your keys in the bowl that Seungcheol put after you lost your keys and had to use his for the 3rd time.
When you entered the living room, you saw that your living room was filled with both yours and Seungcheol's friends sitting at every possible chair. "Hello Cheol and everyone who doesn't live here," you greeted.
"How was your nail appointment?" Seungcheol asked and you smiled and walked towards him to hold up your nails to show him.
He took your hands and observed them, "you chose the color I suggested," he said.
You shrugged, "I didn't have any other color ideas and it looked pretty,"
"Now, tell me, why are there twelve of our friends in our apartment when they don't live here?" you questioned.
"We didn't have any food!" Jeonghan interjected.
As if practiced, the sound of Minghao drinking a cup of tea and Jun eating something crunchy filled the room. Jihoon then opened a bag of candy, which caught the attention of others and they grabbed handfuls from the bag.
"And you finish all of ours?!" You jokingly shouted.
"You guys are supposed to go grocery shopping anyways," Seungkwan pointed out.
"Can you guys get more chips? You guys ran out of the ones I like," Vernon said with a mouthful of the chips as mentioned earlier.
"And soda!" Chan exclaimed.
"You tell me the word and I'll kick all of them out," Seungcheol offered.
Ignoring all of the shouted protests from your friends, you shook your head, "It's fine as long as Mingyu's cooking,"
Everyone in the room turned to Mingyu, who sighed and stood up to go to the kitchen. "Don't make a mess of our kitchen or else!" You called out.
"How about you change into comfortable clothes and I'll make these idiots decide on a movie," Seungcheol said.
"Nothing that's too scary or else Seokmin and Soonyoung will have nightmares," you reminded him.
"I don't think they'll get nightmares—" Joshua started saying, but a stern look from you cut him off.
"They'll get nightmares, nevermind," he backtracked.
"You make us sound like kids!" Soonyoung said.
"It's cause you are," Wonwoo commented.
"This is like a daycare," you muttered.
"Go change. I managed to get your favorite snacks away from the guys," Seungcheol told you.
You smiled at him before going to your room to change like you originally planned to.
Maybe this fake dating thing was going better than you thought it was going to.
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lovelessrage · 1 month
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Loveless: A Loveless Review
[Plain Text: Loveless: A Loveless Review]
Trigger Warnings For: Discussion of sex, sex negativity, platonormativity, arophobic tropes, and anti-loveless rhetoric
Disclaimer/Disclosure: I couldn’t finish this book. This will factor heavily into the review, as it has to do with how some scenes, details, and the writing quality were just very hard to sit with and continue. I got about 50% through, so I didn’t just skim pages and get back to you on it.
You might guess I don’t think of this book highly if I had to put it down and stop reading. This would be correct. However, I have more in depth thoughts than that. If you like this book and don’t want to read negative things about it, that's fine, but I implore you to read it anyway. A lot of the problems in this book are present in a lot of creations I see and can be a valuable teaching lesson; loveless people aren’t out to ruin your fun because biases got questioned.
Alright. Enough disclaimers. Review under the cut.
The Bingo Card: Surprisingly, Not A Strikeout
People who have been following me for a while may remember I mentioned I went into reading this book with a bingo card in hand: Loveless and Tired Bingo, a sheet made by yours truly. I did not get Bingo with this book! I did, however, fill 17 spaces out of 25; it just didn’t happen to line up, not because the book passed with flying colors. We’ll return to the Bingo Card at the end of this post to see what it looked like. But, letting you know, that’s a rate of 68% of all squares ticked on Loveless and Tired Bingo. Not looking so hot. 
Platonormativity, Envy, and The Loneliness Whirlpool
Let’s start with the meat of the post so nobody has to read it all if they just wanted my representation opinions. Other things like writing will be shuffled down for your convenience.
Edit: Past Scowl is a liar and a fraud and did not have maims glasses on, and misread the bingo card! I did get Bingo. Oops. Point still stands because the data is the same, I just gave this book a sliver more credit than it deserved for not getting one.
If this book had a full course meal, normativity would ironically be a key ingredient in every plate on the menu. Loveless has a platonormativity problem that confronts you from page 1, more realistically before that; the blurb!
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[Text ID: From the marvelous author of Heartstopper comes an exceptional YA novel about discovering that it's okay if you don't have sexual or romantic feelings for anyone... since there are plenty of other ways to find love and connection. /End ID]
I promise not all my complaints will be raving about one sentence, but this kinda encapsulates the entirety of my problem with Loveless: Georgia Warr is not supported in her own novel. Loveless is a deeply insecure book that many can relate to, but, really… does it alleviate that insecurity, or just cover it up? There’s an unspoken “but” to every part of Loveless’ philosophy about aspec people [especially aroaces], where they must have platonic love to make them whole, to “fix” and “redeem” their lacking attractions. This has always bothered me, and it’s not an uncommon opinion in the community, unfortunately.
Aroaces aren’t allowed to simply “be” – they must be more. They must be so platonically invested you forget they’re aroace, because they have all this other type of love to give the world. It’s reflective of a view on a community sourced from hurt and exclusion, of someone trying to rebuild their worth on a new forefront. It doesn’t make it less of what it is, though: it’s a “yes they’re valid, but” statement that serves as the backbone for far too many aspec-focused media. 
Georgia is a deeply unsure character, and there’s nothing wrong with her being this way; she’s a fictional character made to represent a journey of acceptance, not a real person with the ability to inflict harm on other real people. She does reflect the author’s biases in many ways and many points on the same token, though, acting as a mouthpiece. This often comes in Georgia’s insistence her friendships are simply stronger than other relationship types, as well as her reflexive tendencies to judge the friendless.
One of my many, many hurdles in this book had to do with Rooney [someone save her and half the cast from this novel, please], when the group realizes she’s only a socialite, not really a long-term relationship holder, and the entire room devolves into silent judgment. Georgia does not defend her newfound friend, simply noting she thought differently of her. What about Rooney not having many friends changes her outgoing personality? It doesn’t. It’s simply the fact that Rooney being friendless makes her weird, as with many things Rooney is unfairly demonized for in this novel.
The emphasis on friends doesn’t end here, and persists through the entire novel, practically. It is the main focus, when it isn’t talking about Georgia’s disinterests, and her friend circle is very important to her. All of this is fine. What isn’t fine is the expectation and casual enforcement of friendship being all you have, so you must seize it; this book, even though I wouldn’t recommend it, is often given as The Book on being aroace, but I wouldn’t agree [you’re free to tell me I can’t have an opinion on that if I’m not aroace, but at least read on before deciding anything, alright, official hear me out warning]. One, not all aroaces are alloplatonic, and two, this:
Why Is This Book Written Like A Workplace Safety Seminar
It’s a very… cookie-cutter way to be aroace, and cookie cutter aroaces exist in real life! The rep should exist, no doubt, and shouldn’t be taken away from anyone. It’s not my problem per se that the book is semi-stereotypical. What my problem is has to do with something I see a lot.
The book falls into many of the pitfalls of what I’m dubbing “the pamphlet effect”: when a novel, show, etc. continuously needs to halt the plot to remind the audience this character is different, and explains this to you in a way that resembles an educational pamphlet at a pride event. Georgia Barr feels like an example given to explain a concept more than a person, and I feel bad for her because of how little this book engages with her actual character when it shines through. I understand the book is primarily centered on her journey through the spectrum, but very little is given to make Georgia’s experience unique outside of one scene off the top of my head. Her interests, hobbies, and unique feelings only seem to play a role when it comes time to be an author mouthpiece on slutshaming for fun and sport; only one scene, the forced kiss with Jason when rehearsing the play, really blends her life experiences with her aroace experiences.
Georgia feels designed to be an everywoman, and it was very disappointing to say the least. Very little of the book actually feels like I’m with her, or learning about her unique take on being aroace as a theatre fan or young adult figuring things out; it just feels like Georgia [and the reader] are being dragged through the Cliff’s Notes version of what it is to discover being aroace, rather than a look at how a character like this might feel differently than others on a fuller, whole scale. She’s a hole that can fit most shapes into it, which makes her broadly relatable, but not as fun or engaging to read about if you don’t fit precisely in the demographic Georgia is for; even if you do, is there much to engage with beyond “I’m like that too!”? 
This isn’t just a Georgia problem, either, as many, many characters in this book are walking stereotypes or very flat. But, we’ll get into that later [if you want to get into it now, skip to Writing Problems, Oh My!].
The Fingering In The Room: Loveless’ Weird Ideas About Sex
Alright, if you’re sex repulsed and braved the storm to get some insight, this next paragraph is just complete confusion about this book’s sex scenes and talking about some of the details within. If you want to skip that, skip the next paragraph.
Why is everybody fingering each other? Fingering is fine and it feels good, but it is basically the only sexual act this book knows outside of making out with tongue. Someone having sex in Loveless? They better have clipped their nails because at least two are going in. It feels like a point of research that was skipped because it was unimportant, which. Pretty much, yes. But when you’re someone who pays very close attention to sex scenes because you’re of the opinion they can have artistic value, as well as conveying the author’s views on sexuality, I come away with “is fingering what Oseman thinks young adults do?”. Anyways. Something I noticed.
[Okay sex repulsed people, you’re good. No in depth descriptions beyond this point, just the word “sex”.]
I should’ve titled this section “In Defense of Rooney Bach” because oh this poor girl. Oh you are just there to be gawked at.
First off, let’s begin in a good place: this book always has to clarify it isn’t slutshaming its characters, followed by slutshaming its characters. Rooney is, for the uninitiated, very sexually active. Georgia’s envy often leads to a judgemental, close minded view of Rooney that often pins her sex life as “too much” – something many sexually active women get villainized for. It strikes me immediately how Rooney is constantly picked on for her sexuality as a woman in ways no male characters who aren’t asexual either are treated. None of the men she flirts with or spends time with are reprimanded or “held to account” by the book; Rooney alone is breaking the rules. Rooney’s descriptions are often bookended with a disclaimer that she isn’t being called a slut, she’s just like one, which… This is slutshaming. You can’t just say you aren’t doing it to not be doing it.
Rooney is also a victim of a very arophobic trope, and one that is also misogynistic: the Broken Woman. Why is Rooney sexually active? A rough breakup that broke her heart and makes her fear intimacy on account of potentially being wrong again. Sure, sex feels good, but explicit focus is made on the fact she is only not engaging with romance because she tried and it didn’t work. For a few chapters, admittedly I was hoping for a book where an aroace and aroallo can get past some differences and expand each other's worldviews; what I got was Georgia thinking pretty poorly of Rooney through unaddressed envy and sex negativity, and Rooney being made to only like hookups because she’s messed up. Because of course a woman could only enjoy that if she had a negative experience that forced her on the path!
Also, another scene I didn’t like was Georgia and Pip watching Rooney have sex while she is completely unaware of their presence? Jason leaves as soon as he notices, but the two of them watch before Pip makes a comment on how disgusting it is and Georgia agrees. I’m shocked at how little this is brought up as being violating or creepy. 
If it was a better book, I would have expected it to result in some kind of furthered conversation about boundaries; it could've been a place for Georgia to start establishing what she likes and dislikes, starting with Rooney preferably keeping her out of her sex life when she’s able. Instead, this event gets brought up solely for jokes, and for a motivation for Pip to start hating Rooney, despite her insistence it wasn't because of the hookup and she isn’t slutshaming. Always a great sign when that needs to be clarified. This is a PSA for everyone: you should not need to clarify you aren’t trying to slutshame. If you feel the need to do so, you are probably being sex negative. 
This book isn’t very fond of sexually active people, nor is it kind to characters that are. I can understand why being asexual and sex repulsed is representation people would want, but I also think there’s many, many ways to write it without making it an exercise in shame.
Ironically Kinda Arophobic In Some Parts
This is a short section of a thing I noticed, hated, and had as a contributing factor for my ending early: this book loves aphobic tropes. There’s already the trope against aroallos of not needing romance because of being broken into only liking sex, but also the problem with Pip and Rooney.
I’m a lesbian, for clarification, and I’m saying from experience that I hate the archetype of the angry, jealous lesbian. It’s everywhere. It’s in this book. Pip, upon even the idea of being rejected, starts berating and demeaning the girl who turned her down, even if she was only turned down in her head. The book passes it off as a lighthearted, funny story that Pip got so mad at an ex-crush she was suspended for throwing an apple at their head. Why do I bring this up?
Is it not ringing any bells that this is arophobic? That a character so hostile to romantic rejection is treated as a joke? Many, many aros, and queer people in general, have experienced violence for turning down someone. It’s a serious issue for aros and a real fear in rejecting someone. I found it incredibly hard to read and sit through as everybody passes off Pip’s tendencies to do this to the women that reject her as a silly, funny Pip moment and not a major issue for the aspec community. I don’t care if it’s enemies to lovers, because it doesn’t really feel good to read at all. The only tension is built off the back of something I’ve experienced in real life and many others have as well. 
Lovelessness: The Insecurity Unaddressed
This book, despite its title, is obviously about a loving character. Many people might not see this as a problem: first off, loveless doesn’t always mean the same thing, and second, many aroaces express feeling loveless when coming to terms with their identity. Here’s my rebuttal.
One: Georgia fits no definitions of the label. She subscribes to none of the beliefs. She loves her friends actively and sees their relationship as more than romance or sex, as something greater to her.
Second, this is because anti-loveless rhetoric is everywhere and all over this book. Not once is it suggested Georgia could live as loveless, or truly be without love. In the end, she is surrounded by it, simply learning to accept friendship instead. The way her insecurity isn’t met with “you’re complete as you are”, and instead with “you can still be complete if you simply fill the void with friends”, is anti-loveless. Nobody is allowed to be whole on their own without a subplot where their doubts are reinforced or they’re explicitly made to be broken inside.
This is shockingly common, and always sad every time I see it. Many aspects fear being loveless, as if it is a curse or blight they must cleanse. This book is one example out of many, but it doesn’t make it less hurtful when a book that runs against everything your community stands for [self-acceptance and the optionality of love] bears your name regardless. It is a book for people who are afraid of loneliness, and it answers their insecurities with “you’re right. You do need other people. You just need to find a way to still find and have a life partner!”. This is damaging to loveless people, especially those questioning an aplatonic identity.
Again, it’s not unique to Loveless. But, it’s reflective of a broader issue of aplatonics who may be seeking community constantly being presented with “you ARE broken, but friendship can fix you!”, a “solution” many can’t use, and often leads to even more self-hatred.
That’s about it from the aspec side of things. If you got this far, congrats! The rest is opinions on the writing, and the bingo card finale. You can drop off here if that’s all you came for.
Writing Problems, Oh My!
This is veering into heavy personal opinion, so, I will remind you: I don’t usually like YA, but YA can be a very good genre! I do not think this book is a good representation of what good YA looks like.
The writing quality is one of the hardest things to get past, because of a major problem I observed: Oseman is better at comics. This isn’t so much a vilification as a recommendation that it would’ve been much better suited for a different type of media. This kind of “media dysphoria” is present in many of the ways the book operates: many scenes would flow perfectly well in a visual piece. Georgia’s inner monologue has a tendency to jump suddenly into scenes and interrupt the action in a way that would be perfectly natural as a narration bubble put over a drawing of the scene around her. There are entire pages of just… text messages that would be much better suited to a visual medium where you could make these dialogue bits look much more interesting through different shots, or drawing what the background would look like on a screen [The Girl from the Sea does this well, for example]. 
There’s also the fact I cannot place in my mind if I'm too old for this novel. A lot of the jokes boil down to “hah! Sex!” in a way that instantly alienates me from the writing. The jokes can be pretty juvenile and repetitive, and serve to be the equivalent of a comedian saying “eh? Get it? That was a joke.” six times. 
This isn’t to mention the fact many of these characters are complete cardboard. Sorry. Jason does not need to exist. When he appears in a scene, he is ignored or completely leaves it on his own. He really only serves to drive Georgia’s character forward, rather than have one of his own. I found myself forgetting he was present in a scene at all until he spoke again and reminded me of his existence. The book would practically be unchanged if Georgia temporarily dated Pip and Jason was never a factor, plus or minus the Shakespeare Soc plot. 
Many interesting characters suffer from severe Pamphlet Effect syndrome. Most of the girls do. In a better novel, they would be more in depth, but Loveless doesn’t really afford them this luxury. I need to take the girls very far away from this novel, okay. I need someone to write a version of Loveless where they have personalities. There’s crumbs there. Please, someone make a loaf of bread out of it. They deserve it.
Another thing, but minor: the breakneck pacing at some points followed by slow slogs of not a lot happening contributes to the reading issues. You may thing something would be dwelled on, just for it to go flying away into the sunset as 3 more things happen and then one problem lasts for 2 chapters. I found it very hard to catch up with Loveless, while other parts I felt like I was constantly waiting for it to catch up with me instead.
The Final Frontier: The Bingo Card Returns
And without further ado, the Loveless and Tired Bingo Card for Loveless by Alice Oseman! Completed with help from other readers braver than I.
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[Image ID: A bingo card made from a basic template. It has no title, and all the text is black on a white background. Some squares are marked with a blue X, while others are marked with a red scribble. The marked squares are: “Not prioritizing friendship treated as freak behaviour”, “Jab at loveless sex thrown in”, “Something about not being like THOSE people”, “Universal type of love is laid on thick”, “The answer to all your problems is finding some pals”, “Found family ending”, “Platonic-romantic binary”, “Love still treated as universal [free]”, “Friendship is more wholesome or pure”, “Amatonormativity BAD [platonormativity is my bestie]”, “Platonic love being more powerful or sumn”, “You still love your friends though, right?”, “Friendship saves the day”, “Still thinks you need dedicated people to survive”, “Being alone treated as worst thing in the world”, and “Friendships are more stable than partnerships anyways”. The unmarked, blank squares are: “Something about "players" and pickup artists where no commitment is villainized”, “Character fears being loveless and is kinda aplphobic about it”, “Aspec double standards [one is normal, one is weird]”, “You still love your FAMILY, right???”, “QPRs mentioned by no nuance given to their diversity”, “Friendship forced upon a character against their will”, “Comment about some people being inhuman gets brushed past”, and “Simply prioritise your family instead!!” /End ID]
Would I recommend this book? Uh. No! Well. Yes, but not as a good book for aspecs. I’d recommend it solely to read it yourself and form your own opinions. But, no, I would not recommend it to any aspecs I know, especially not loveless ones, aplatonic ones, aroallos, or if they're an aroace looking for support.
Ah, Loveless, how you vexx me. Never again. See you in the next, much shorter post.
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