#i have... too many feelings about this fictional man and the way he was treated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arachine · 1 year

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yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing.

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks.

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince:

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’”

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up.

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad.

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?”

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there.

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily.

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy.

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.”

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level.

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes.

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him.

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after.

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.”

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping.

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner.

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence.

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question.

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod.

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement.

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her.

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul.

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall.

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat.

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice.

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed.

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life.

“You tried any dating apps?”

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?”

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?”

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces.

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes.

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars.

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!”

“Right…”

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too.

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match.

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace.

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail.

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’.

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry.

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch.

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response.

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself.

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality.

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.”

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone.

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type.

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more.

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit.

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders.

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it.

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties).

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile.

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds.

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are!

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol).

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so?

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice.

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say.

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other.

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it.

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this).

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too.

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual.

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago.

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half.

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’.

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way.

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult.

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’”

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call.

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet.

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body.

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!”

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother.

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking.

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.”

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention.

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki.

“Come in, hon!”

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room.

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception.

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment.

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time.

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly.

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana.

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate.

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you.

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone.

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue.

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them.

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here.

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know.

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–”

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him.

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it.

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something.

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder.

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t.

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact.

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase.

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger.

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?”

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now.

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway.

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go.

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs.

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’.

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children.

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep.

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him.

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted.

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight.

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity.

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say.

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date.

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further.

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now.

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot.

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first.

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out.

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch.

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks.

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?”

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom.

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you.

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation.

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.”

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting.

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow.

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious.

“Wait, what?”

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d.

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance.

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness.

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating.

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?”

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes.

“I don’t know…” you trail.

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow.

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway.

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you.

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.”

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?”

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.”

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter.

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed.

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate.

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating.

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed.

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit.

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental?

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence.

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more.

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.”

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver.

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers.

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door.

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?”

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time.

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?”

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?”

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you.

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?”

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal.

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly.

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.”

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat.

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence.

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?”

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows.

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?”

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?”

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly.

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter.

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?”

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass.

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased.

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment.

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?”

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy.

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed.

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!”

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.”

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.”

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song.

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns.

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them.

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame.

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage.

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems.

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were.

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down.

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling.

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful.

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs.

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.”

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay.

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles).

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it.

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs.

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.”

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago.

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.”

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees.

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound.

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core.

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love.

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.”

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you.

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation.

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins.

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?”

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue.

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit.

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.”

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor.

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them.

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.”

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone.

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand.

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you.

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears.

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers.

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously.

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.”

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm.

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind.

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.”

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You.

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally.

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt.

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give.

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.”

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium.

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.”

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days.

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp.

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration.

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.”

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you.

Soon, that silence is broken.

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads.

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying.

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you.

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages.

“We forgot to call the girls!�� You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants.

“Shit!”

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you.

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!”

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom.

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

#art by: @yamada_souko (twt)#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk smut

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bunnys-kisses · 7 months

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little mouse - simon "ghost" riley

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x reader rating: 18+summary: Simon Riley never thought about legacy. The idea of carrying on his ‘lineage’. He was a man on a mission, there was no time to settle down and have a couple of brats running around. The idea of being a father didn’t really sound too enticing, in a way he didn’t think he’d even be a GOOD father. So he simply ignored the idea. That was until he met you. tags: dark themes, breeding/pregnancy kink, dub/non-con, he won't take no as an answer, mating press, dirty talk, dacryphilia, delusional!ghost, choking, rough sex, 3.3k words

a/n: this is a work of fiction. read at your own risk.

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Simon Riley never thought about legacy. The idea of carrying on his ‘lineage’. He was a man on a mission, there was no time to settle down and have a couple of brats running around. The idea of being a father didn’t really sound too enticing, in a way he didn’t think he’d even be a GOOD father. So he simply ignored the idea. That was until he met you.

The cute little private that scurried around base like a little mouse. And while Simon had never caught a mouse, there was no time like the present to do so. You were simply so small, he wondered if he’d even fit inside of you. But he had plans if it didn’t work like that. But, he’d make sure he could at least get the tip in. He wanted to feel that sweet heat around him.

Such a fragile little thing, he could easily break you. One wrong move and you’d be painted black and blue. If he grabbed you too hard, he could break your arm, smack your ass too hard and leave you with broken blood vessels. There was just too much that he could do. And a sick part of him wanted to do it all. But his main drive was to make sure that the womb was stuffed.

When he has some alone time, he’d often fantasize about you. He thought of your sweet scent, your tight cunt. The noises you’d make, how flushed you’d get. As he pleasured himself, he thought about bullying your cunt. He wanted to make you scream as he filled you to your brim.

He wanted to bruise your spongy cervix and make sure no other man could ever paint your insides white. That was a task for him and him alone. He’d make sure that you wouldn’t dare to THINK about other men. You were his and he’d do everything in his power to make sure that you were reminded of that. Even if you didn’t know it yet.

The sheer thought of you changing on a fundamental level to carry his child. The change in every sense of the word, from single to a mother. The leftover pregnancy fat at your hips, the heaviness of your breasts. Even your brain would change. And the thought of his little mouse swollen with his (many) children, left him aching for more.

Even as he finished on his fist, with his breath ragged, he yearned for you. And it was only a matter of time before he went mouse trapping.

Turns out he could catch a mouse with a nice treat. He had found out about your sweet tooth and led you back to his quarters. He had enough when he watched you take the sweet out of his palm with your mouth. His blood boiled with a sexual rush.

With the candy in your mouth, he grabbed you by the hair and titled your head back so you met face to face with him. His voice was low as he said, “You think you can tease me?”

You whimpered, “It was a joke, lieutenant.” So vulnerable, so small.

He chuckled darkly, “I think you’re lying. I see you around base, and I have to say I think you’re teasing’ me. Makin’ me look like an idiot as you run around base. I bet you’re sleeping’ with other men. Slut.”

You whined, “Please! I’m not!”

“I think you are.” He heard you bite down on the candy in fear. He got closer and started to pull at your pants. He felt his cock twitch in his own pants as he struggled to get your clothes off. He swore he could hear your heartbeat from where he was. You were scared, good.

“Please, Lieutenant Ghost. Please!” You practically squeaked. You tried to push him away but he only got closer. He dragged you as he took your pants off.

He grabbed your hair once more and glared down at you. His chest rapidly rose and fell. “Be good, little mouse. You better take me like a good girl, because if you don’t you’ll tear.”

You had tears in your eyes and felt him wipe them away with the calloused palm of his other hand. You sniffled, “Please, sir. I’m not trying to tease you. Don’t hurt me.”

He delicately kissed your forehead, “I could never hurt you. But I can’t promise that my cock won’t stretch you out. That’s why you gotta be good for me.” His voice was a low purr as he laid you out on the bed. The bag of candies had been cast to the side as he got on top of you.

You swallowed back fear, the tears came and he licked a stray one away off of your cheek. For a moment you thought about running to the closest commander. But who was going to believe you? You were nothing but a mouse, and Simon was the phantom that could burn this entire base down if he so desired. No one would believe that the shadow, the ghost, would ruin a sweet little private.

You felt your throat tighten as you let out a quiet sob.

He got you out of your clothes, you were more agreeable now. You understood that you were under Simon. You were his little mouse. The one who had every intention of knocking up, even if you didn't exactly consent to it.

The idea of you swollen with his child turned him on, it made his stomach tighten from the mental image. He loomed over you, his breathing heavy from the course of euphoria in his system.

A life away from combat, somewhere his precious wife could have their family. He'd keep you full, all you had to do was keep giving him little brats. He grit his teeth as he stared down at you.

You were shaking like a leaf, you were scared of what was going to come next. He already had you naked. You felt your heart in your throat, you couldn't even scream for help.

“My mouse.' he said, ”So small.“ He brushed his clothed cock up against you and shuddered, ”I could break you and it wouldn't even be that hard.“ His voice was low, ”You need to be kept safe. Somewhere quiet.“

You frowned, ”I am strong.“

The corner of his mouth turned upwards, ”I bet. I bet everyone has told you your entire life that you were a strong woman who didn't need any man.“ He pinned your arms over your head, ”But I know better. You'd be happier with a husband and a big piece of land.“ He kissed your bare neck.

You whimpered and squirmed in his grasp, but there was no escaping him. Simon Riley had gotten his talons into you and he was not letting go. You squirmed more as you felt his hot breath against your neck.

”These hands aren't meant to kill.“ He growled, you could feel the calluses on his palm, ”They're meant to wrangle my kids and bake bread.“ He chuckled softly.

”I can kill.“ You said it was almost too innocent.

He barked out a loud, which made you jump, ”Sure thing, sweetheart. I bet it would be so easy for you to get out of this mess and fight me off.“ He pressed his hardened cock further against you, ”That's probably why you're fuckin' other men. In the hopes they'd protect ya. But don't worry, little mousey, I'll keep you safe.“

You whimpered, ”I never slept with anyone on base.“

He looked at you once more, “Well. If that's true then I guess my job will be a little easier. Knowing' that my swimmers are the only ones in you.”

“Please, Sir.” You whimpered, “We can pretend like this never happened. I promise not to tell a soul!”

He laughed again, those sharp eyes glared down at you, “Why would we want to pretend this didn't happen? Do you not want to remember the night we made our first brat?”

You felt a twist in your gut. You had gone off birth control when you joined so you didn't have to worry about maintaining the schedule of taking it. Without any other protection there was a high chance that he could actually knock you up.

You tried to kick him off but he was just solid muscle that it was like kicking a wall. You started to cry which only made the man pinning you down groan.

“Cryin' is not going to help, lovie. If I don't get you now, you'll slip away and into another man's arms. Now relax, I'll take care of everything.”

He took off his own clothes, the sight of his large cock made you freeze. He chuckled at the expression on your face. Once he was bare he kept you pinned to the bed once more.

“Like what you see?” He asked.

You looked up to him again, there was worry in your eyes. You swallowed before you spoke, “it's not going to fit.” You felt a surge of anxiety rush through you. Something like that was not going to fit in your tight hole.

He nodded, “It will. Pussies can take a hell of a beatin'. I told you if you were good I'd make sure that I took my time so I didn't tear you.“

”It will tear anyway.“ You replied.

”I wouldn't worry about your little head, my little mouse. Just don't tense when I put it in.“ He replied as he rubbed the top of your head before he got back on his heels and grabbed your hips.

You felt so perfect in his grasp. Sometimes sso delicate and tiny against him. You were perfect, even if you were so small. Maybe he wouldn't bruise you. But he would still breed you, bruise that poor cervix of yours.

“You're a good girl.” He said, “You know how to behave.” He brushed his fingers through your hair. You gazed up at him with concern, “I'll make sure nothing hurts you.”

You braced for impact as he went to guide his cock into you. You squeezed your face and tensed up. It made him groan as he couldn't even get the tip in.

“Now, girlie. You better relax, or I'm finding another hole to fuck and I don't have any lube.” He growled.

You held onto the bed under you and took a shaky breath. This was happening. The litenutant was going to fuck you lie a second rate whore in the hopes of getting you knocked up for his sick carnal need to breed.

He watched you relax before he tried again. He shuddered as he managed to get an inch in. It felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

You looked up at him once more, trying to keep yourself together to not squeeze too tight. You were being violated by a much larger man, but yet you were soaked between your legs. The more he pushed in, the more you felt it in the deepest parts of you.

By the time he had all of his cock inside of you, it felt like it was in the back of your throat. He was so big, you didn't know how he did not get light headed when he got an erection.

“Good girl.” He growled. He hunched over you and kept you pinned to the bed by your hips. He loved the chubbiness to your thighs and hips, a squishiness that made his heart skip. You were a perfect woman.

“Please pull out.” You gave it one last feeble attempt.

He chuckled as he gazed into your eyes, “No, no. Gotta add a little more fat to your belly. Gotta keep the brats nice and protected.” He leaned in further and began to make out with you as he moved you so your knees were to your chest and your pussy was facing upwards.

He had you squished between his large body and the creaky bed. The kiss was heavy and wet, his tongue explored your mouth. While in other scenarios it would've been sweet, but not when the power dynamic was uneven and you had little say in what was happening.

But he thought that the position was perfect, a way to make sure every drop stayed in you. The thought made his cock twitch inside of you.

“Ah, Sir.” You whimpered.

He chuckled, his lips close to you. But then he pulled you back in for another searing kiss. His pace began to pick up as he kept you under him.

You were becoming so perfect. He couldn't wait to mark your insides with his cum. To paint you as his. Hopefully today would be his lucky day and it would be the day he got you pregnant.

You whimpered against him and laid there. His cock was so thick, it felt like someone was trying to fuck you with a bottle. Every hard thrust made the air leave you lungs, and it was hard to put more air in as he kept kissing you.

He wanted to keep you quiet. He didn't need his wife to squeal on him. He couldn't let the mouse leave the trap. The bed creaked under you and you breathed rapidly through your nose.

When he pulled away, he placed a strong hand over your neck and kept you pinned to the bed. You made a strangled noise as he picked up the pace. You could feel the blood rush to your head and he thought that was perfect.

His cock was heavy inside of you, his balls slapped against your ass as he kept you in the mating press. His erection slammed against your womb, you knew you'd ache for days.

This was everything he hoped for.

You let out another strangled noise and he told you to keep quiet. You tried to complain but he tightened his hand a little tighter around your throat.

“No one needs to know how well you take cock.” He growled.

“Please, Sir... Mister Ghost, please.” You whimpered.

“No, no, my little mouse. I caught you fair and square. All it took were a few candies and I had you right where I needed ya. You're too trusting.” He said, “You should be somewhere safe with a man who can protect you.”

You pouted at him, “Please. I am strong.”

“I know you are. Only a strong woman can give me kids. But you are just a little mouse. And I'm going to eat you up and breed you.” The last of the sentence dripped off his tongue like poison as he continued to thrust.

You felt every thrust in your bones, every inch of his cock stretched your pussy. It was painful but your body betrayed you and found pleasure in it. It felt sickening but there was no stopping the ghost.

It was hard to breathe with your knees to your chest. With him rearranging your abdomen. His attempts to batter your cervix left you feeling achy. It hurt but it also made your head swim with a sick wanton lust that made you almost angry with yourself.

Maybe it was a way to rationalize what he was doing to you. But as you stared at his scarred face, those dark eyes gazing at you as he pushed up into your body. You thought to yourself, at least if you had a husband like him, you'd always be safe. And maybe your kids would be cute.

It Was his words getting into your mind but it was hard to think of much else as he abused your sex. His cock invaded your womb and shaped it so it was perfect for his cock.

“Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll get looser after the first few kids.' He grumbled in your ear as he continued to move.

You squirmed as you felt your backside grow numb from the position, ”Please, sir.“

”Be good.“ He said gruffly.

”Don't get me pregnant.“

”Too late.“ He said quietly, ”You're mine. You, me and all the brats you can pump out. You're not going anywhere. No need for all this training, just be a good wife and let your husband fuck you.“

It was as if Simon was delusional. But it was hard to keep a man like that away, not when they possessed so much power. He could snap your neck or break your legs if he really tried.

You should've never followed him back. You shouldn't have been such a silly, stupid little mouse and gotten yourself stuck in a trap. Because this was what it was, baby trapping.

He was going to trap you with him. There was no escaping after this, even if you weren't pregnant. He'd simply take what he wanted and man handle you into sex again. He was a man on a mission, just like on the field.

The thrusts became erratic, he could feel the twist of pleasure in his gut as he fucked you. His breathing grew heavier as did yours. He licked his lips at the sight of the bruises on your body from how he handled you.

There was no denying what he did.

”Gonna be a good girl and let me breed you. Fuck all that need to be independant out of you.“ He growled, ”Make you a nice petty, pregnant wife.“

You nodded meekly, your cheeks were flushed, your body was bruised inside and out. You were going to be sore even before you found out you were pregnant.

”Good girl.“ He patted the side of your face, ”Good fuckin' girl.“

He continued to thrust into you, the bed moved against the wall with each thrust. The heat between you two left you hot all over.

You panted wildly and squeezed your eyes shut as your body betrayed you once more and you orgasmed. You clung onto the covers under you and let out a sharp exhale as you came.

Your cunt tightened around his cock and it was enough to send him over the edge and climax himself. As he rode out his orgasm, his pace slowed down. Soon he was still with his softened, yet still impressive cock inside of you.

You whined as you tried to lay fully out of the bed. But he kept your hips up to make sure every drop slid into your womb. He gripped your hips and started to move once more.

”No, please. I've had enough.“

”Too bad, lovie. I've gotten a taste for you and I'm not stopping until my balls are empty.“ He slapped your ass and you whined.

So much for a future in the military. You guessed you'd have to live with a military wife.

It had been a year since you left the military, since then your belly had gotten an impressive shape to it. It took a lot of work, but you ended up pregnant with Simon's baby.

Currently you were facing the door of your bedroom with your pussy stretched around your husband's cock. His hands were on your belly.

Large calloused hands were feeling up the slope of your pregnant belly. He loved the heft to it. He was told it was going to be quite a large baby when it comes out.

”Ah, sir.“ You gasped.

Some habits die hard.

”That's it, sweetheart. Keep workin' those hips.“ He encouraged. He groaned through a tense jaw as he felt the underside of your belly.

”Please, ah!“

”Perfect.“ He groaned, ”Gonna keep you pregnant for a long time.“ He chuckled softly to himself.

You whimpered, ”Please, I love you.“ You sounded so desperate.

At the end of the day, the little mouse had learned to love her trap. And in return she got a nice round belly to show her love.

xoxo, bunny

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jelliedink · 10 months

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Making love with your DILF!Boss

Warnings: huge age gap, manipulative behaviour, slut shaming, sex.

Author's note: I brought him back, loves. This was originally part of the first headcanon post, but I decided to divide it because it was getting way too big. Please, get yourself comfortable and feast on the depraved fantasies my brain creates about this fictional toxic man.

Divider by @cafekitsune

First let me say that: this devil of a man is patient and he'll wait until you're crawling up the walls from desperation and desire. And then he'll wait a bit more.

DILF!Boss also considers himself an old-school man. He's not entirely opposed to fucking like a dog in heat but, in his head, this treatment is for other people. You are not a "cheap whore" or a random one night stand. He's preparing you to be his pretty perfect wife and new mommy of his children. You deserved to be treated with respect.

And he would tell you exactly so if you asked him to fuck your brains out. He would feel disgusted just by thinking about what kind humiliating of things your previous partners asked from you, his precious doll. But now you were with a man that knew how to treat you. A man that knew how to make you things you couldn't even imagine. A man that's been doing it since before you were born. A real man.

During sex, your DILF!Boss took care of you the whole time. He would take how long it needed to get you soaked and ready for him. Even then, lube was always easily accessible, just to be sure. He checked in with you in every step of the way and in between, making sure he was touching his precious little doll in all the right ways.

"Let me prepare you just a little more." "Do you like when I touch you like this?"

The nickname he used the most in those moments was "my little angel" because you did indeed feel heavenly. Your skin was so warm and soft, your moans, whispers and pleas so beautiful. And you have no idea how big his ego got when seeing you melt under his touch so easily.

Your DILF!Boss held you so close that at moments it felt like you were drowning in him. No matter the position, he'd always find a way to cage you in his arms, his body touching yours in all the places it could. You both were so entangled you could feel the movement of his lungs filling with air, his throat vibrating when he groaned or whispered sweet nothings in your ears, making you tickle. His scent was all you could feel, your sweat and his were the same, your bodies moving in such synchrony that you were not sure where you ended and he began anymore.

His thrusts were slow and deep, most of the times not pulling even half of his cock out before getting it all in and reaching places you didn't think was possible again. The way he rocked his hips into yours made it almost unbearable to keep your eyes open, and he had to ask you many times not to hide your face. He needed to see and praise you when he saw you loosing focus and part your lips to let out another delicious moan.

"Just like that, my buttercup, just let everything go while I take care of you."

Your DILF!Boss's thrusts were agonisingly slow. You felt the pleasure building and, the closer you got to your orgasm, more desperate you got to increase the speed and reach your peak. But he wouldn't let you: he locked your hips in place and kept his rhythm, the delay of your pleasure so overwhelming that it was almost painful. It made you want to sink your nails into his skin. You begged him until your voice was nothing but a whine, but to no avail, and often mixed tears from frustration and pleasure rolled down your cheeks.

All this time he would have one hand at the back of your head, his finger running through your hair in an effort to comfort you, his words gentle despite his laboured breath. "I know, my precious, I know. It will get better soon." "Calm down, my little minx, we've just started." "Breathe, my dear. In through your nose, out through your mouth. See how you can feel every inch of me in you when we go like this?"

It wasn't often that you came multiple times in one night: the first orgasm was so strong for being build for so long that it got you completely fucked up and you just wanted him to hold you in his arms and kiss you better after this pleasurable torture session.

He would often take longer, though. Your pleasure always came first, and after you calmed down a little he would ask if you could take just a little bit more of him. You almost always said yes. It didn't take him very long to finish seeing you so spent from his blissful touch, and he praised you the whole time for being so good to him.

After you're both done, your DILF!Boss would cup your face and kiss all of it, saying how much he loved you, how you were the best thing that happened to him, how he couldn't believe he was gifted with such a perfect angel like you. Then he would carry you to the bathroom; if not for taking a bath, at least to make sure you peed while he threw out the condom and got both of you water.

He couldn't hide his smile while watching how you curled up in his chest when you got back to bed, so tired you could hardly maintain a conversation. He'd still always try to ask how you were feeling, if he had hurt you or done anything that didn't feel good, although most of the time you passed out before he got the chance to finish this questionnaire. It didn't take him long to sleep after that. Feeling your now slow breath in his skin, he drifted off thinking how lucky he was that such a pretty little thing fell so deep into his trap.

#yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #boss x employee #boss x reader #dilf x reader #oc x reader #yandere smut #female reader #fem reader

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depravitycentral · 9 months

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Yandere! Shouta Aizawa NSFW Profile

Yandere! Shouta Aizawa x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of dub-con, masturbation, stalking, kidnapping, voyeurism, toys, clothed sex, hair-pulling, this one is actually kind of soft and feels less yandere-y to me so sorry that this one is a little less creepy than normal, Shouta is a pleaser and lives for your praise, he gets off with a blanket you gifted him, very mild somnophilia, fem reader, MDNI

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

WC: 12K

HABITS

In general, Shouta isn’t that perpetually horny. He’s a busy man with constant stress weighing on his shoulders; working as a pro while being a full-time teacher leaves him drained during the few times he gets to relax, and it’s a lot of work to get himself hard, to get off, and to clean up afterwards.

It’s just not worth it to him – especially because it’s a bit sad to be left with just his fist and some low-grade, unrealistic porn as a man in his thirties, isn’t it?

He doesn’t have a partner, and hasn’t had one for quite some time – there was a girl a decade or so ago, but she didn’t last long, and the sex was subpar at best. And so, Shouta finds himself neglecting any sort of sexual activity most nights that he’s off work, not bothering to get himself all worked up and fuck away some of that pent up stress.

Except, then you show up.

His feelings for you form, and although it takes a long time for them to solidify, it takes an even longer time for them to turn lewd, any sort of sexual thought involving you not really taking root into he’s much further into his obsession.

This is for a few reasons – firstly, he just doesn’t have that high of a libido, and while seeing you naked when he’s watching from outside your window certainly gets him hot and bothered, he isn’t constantly fantasizing about bending you over and fucking you until you’re screaming his name.

(Not never, just not constantly – and at inopportune moments, sometimes. Moments where he really should be focused on the mountains of paperwork on his desk, not focused on how the desk is the perfect height for you to be standing on your tiptoes, ass poised out and your chest pressed against the hard wooden lacquer, your soft skin glistening in the dim light and your pretty thighs twitching and quivering as his fingers press deeper and deeper and deeper -)

Secondly, Shouta’s already feeling such crippling guilt regarding his infatuation with you that adding on overt sexual fantasies for you would push him too far. He already hates that he thinks of you constantly, that he’s always idly worrying about your safety, wanting to know your location and who you’re with and what you’re doing.

He already dislikes that he can’t stop himself from swinging by your apartment at the end of his patrols, making sure that you’re in your bed asleep, safe and sound and looking so fucking pretty in the moonlight. He doesn’t like how wrapped around your finger you have him, so how could he justify wringing himself dry to you, depraved fantasies running through his mind as he imagines the way you’d cream on his fingers, how you’d clench down on him so, so tightly when he fucks you just right?

Shouta can’t – it would breach too many protocols of trust, the friendship formed between the two of you precarious enough as it is with Shouta’s obsessive, disturbing feelings. He doesn’t think of you sexually, banishing every thought from his mind the moment it appears.

Or, at least, that’s what he wishes could be true – unfortunately, his hormones get the better of him sometimes, leaving him rolling around in his bed, cock painfully hard and his mind insistently flashing images of you changing behind his eyelids.

He’s embarrassed, more than anything, that he doesn’t have enough self control to successfully halt any lewd thoughts of you – it’s pathetic, really, because is he so desperate to touch you that he literally can’t stop himself?

Is he really so painfully, pitifully aroused by you that just the mere idea of you licking your lips or smiling at him can get him breathing hard, thankful for the bagginess of his pants?

He hates that the answer is yes, that his body is really that pent up and eager to get you under him, naked and soft and pretty, all for him and only him. It’s demoralizing, but Shouta only has so much restraint – he tries to hold out for as long as he can, really. He swears.

It’s torture at first, popping melatonin and chugging Nyquil, hoping he’ll be able to pass out and sleep off the horniness, but it never quite works. Instead, his dreams are full of you – on your knees, sucking him off so well that your cheeks are literally hollowing, drool spilling down your chin, a string of saliva and precum connecting your puffy lips to his swollen tip when you pull off for air.

He’ll dream of you on your hands and knees, peeking back at him with glassy eyes and biting your lip, clearly embarrassed as you ask him to touch me, please Shouta, I need you…

He always wakes up with soiled sheets, his entire pelvis sticky with now cold cum, and it becomes very, very difficult to look you in the eye that day, only able to conjure up the image of you all tied up in his scarf, your breasts perfectly framed and your thighs spread, slick covering them as you whine his name, desperate for him.

And though he tries to stave off, not letting himself actively fantasize about you sexually while he’s conscious, a particularly rough day of teaching and patrol have him giving up, throwing caution to the wind as he decides that he needs this, that a release is the only way he’ll be able to stay sane.

In the past, the few times he’s masturbated he’s always just fucked his fist, not needing anything too fancy. But for you, something about that feels disrespectful – it’s stupid and he knows it, but the idea of just thrusting into his hand over and over until he eventually spills all over his knuckles seems tacky, low-class, almost offensive to your image, like he’s tarnishing you and the way he idolizes you.

So, he relies on the next best thing he can scrounge up – you’d given him a blanket a few months ago, a birthday present that he’d tried desperately to cover his blush at receiving.

(Hizashi had pitched in, helping you decide which color and texture, having an expert’s opinion so that it would be perfect for the dark-haired man – a level of detail and attention to his desires that still, to this day, makes his heart flutter to think about. You cared, wanting him to be happy, and just that thought leaves his chest swelling with pride, his palms getting a bit clammy and his cheeks feeling too hot.)

He’s kept the blanket on his bed, using it every single night for the limited sleep he manages to get, making sure the material is always, always touching his body. It’s the only way he really feels close to you – the blanket was for him, sure, but you’d touched it, picked it out, held it in your arms while Shouta was dumbly gaping at you and struggling to utter out a strained thank you.

(If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can even smell you on the fabric – it’s not as good as if you were actually here with him, laying in his arms, touching him, but if he strains enough and pretends hard enough, there’s the faintest whiff of you.)

He’s gulping, throwing his uniform off and leaving it crumped up in the corner, before gently, daintily grabbing the edges of the neatly folded blanket (a stark contrast to the harsh pulling and tugging at his costume he’d thrown off moments earlier) and laying it out on the bed.

He lets out a shaky breath, gulping, before tying his hair back into a messy, low ponytail, excitement flitting through him because he’s really about to do it. He’s really about to touch himself to the thought of you, allowing himself to fully indulge in the fantasy that is you, the fantasy that is imagining the way you’d feel against his body, your lips against his own, your hands in his hair and your thighs around his waist.

He’s moving slow as he settles onto his knees on the bed, staring down at the blanket with furrowed brows. This isn’t quite right – the image of you laying before him, body nude and your legs clenched together in anticipation feels very, very right, but there’s something missing.

A thumb comes down to idly rub at the blanket, tracing small circles against the material as he wracks his brain. What’s missing? How can he make this feel like you, like it’s your body he’s touching, like it’s your perfect little cunt he’s fucking?

He’s not sure, but suddenly it hits him – your body, just as he’d been dreaming about.

The blanket doesn’t look enough like you – it’s two dimensional, flat and having no surface area to grip onto, nothing for him to fondle and touch and squeeze.

It needs to have more of your shape – quickly, methodically, he’s reaching down, grabbing handfuls of the blanket and bunching it up, forming a shape that vaguely resembles your torso. He’s careful to get the exact shape of your waist and hips, making sure to leave mounds of crumpled blanket to represent your breasts, even creating a little space between your thighs that represents something soft, something warm and wet and tight – your precious little pussy, something Shouta would literally kill to feel.

He gulps as he looks down at his work, the atmosphere suddenly seeming much thicker, heavier, hotter, because now, the solid colored blanket seems like you, at least having your body shape and your vague proportions. Aizawa lets his hand run down what would be your side, pausing right over your pretend hip.

Fuck, he mutters under his breath, before shifting forward slightly, letting his weight rest on his knees and one hand as he carefully guides his cock to the space between your crafted thighs.

He’d been careful to leave a fold in the fabric, a pouch of sorts – a place for him to push into, slowly spreading the two layers, trying to mimic the way your pretty lips would part for him, your walls sucking him and clenching him nice and tight, wanting to keep him inside and never let him pull out.

Shouta curses as he rubs his tip against the fabric, noting with a small, far-away sense of disdain that there’s precum smearing all along the fabric, certainly leaving a stain that he’ll have to scrub out later. His thumb comes up to gently swipe along where he imagines your cheek to be, even feeling phantom sensations of warmth, of softness, just as you’d be.

He leans down slowly, throat bobbing, before letting his eyes flutter closed, his lips pressing against the blanket – right where he imagines your own to be. The kiss is soft, gentle, heartfelt, his tongue flicking out to lick against the blanket material, groaning and wishing it was your own tongue meeting his, your own spit coating his lips.

As he gets closer, body inching further down until his chest pressed up against what’s supposed to be your breasts, he shuffles his hips forward, pushing past the fabric fold and into you. He groans, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against where he imagines yours to be, letting his eyes shut tight, nearly squeezing them closed as he slowly rocks his hips.

The friction of the blanket feels a bit strange, not how you’d feel, but it’s better than nothing – and it’s so, so very easy to imagine you instead; your warm, slick walls, the way you’d squeeze at him when he brushes up against your spot, the way your legs would wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles and pulling him in closer, begging him to go deeper. He sighs out, biting his lip and furrowing his brow, the pleasure slowly beginning to mount.

He imagines the way you’d moan his name – he bets you’d be airy, a soft sound that gets his hips stuttering ever so slightly because he knows the way his name would sound spilling from your lips would be heaven, the sultry Shouta upturned at the end as he fucks into you just the slightest bit faster.

His hips pick up their pace at the thought of you crying his name, back muscles flexing as he slowly gets faster and faster, the slow, sweet, intimate pace he’d set blown to dust in the wake of his thighs propelling him forward, hips flying and smacking into the blanket so quickly and harshly that the mattress is shaking, bedframe slightly pounding against the wall.

Shouta groans, low and deep, imagining the way you’d beg him to go faster Shouta please, please please please you feel s’good, wanna come for you! Memories of seeing you touch yourself flash behind his closed eyes, seeing the way your face screwed up in pleasure, how you gripped at your pillows and bucked your hips and trembled and arched your back and gasped and came –

Shouta’s chanting your name, his hips sinking into the fold of the blanket over and over, and quickly he’s bringing a thumb down to rub frantic, uneven circles where he imagines your clit to be, desperate to get you coming, wanting to time your orgasm with his.

Fuck, come for me baby, give it to me, god you’re s’damn tight fuuuck - !

His eyes fly open as spurts of warm, milky cum spray from his tip, getting all over the blanket and making his hips stutter and jerk, the sensation of coming in something leaving his arms feeling weak.

He’s panting, still saying your name under his breath, dark hair falling around his face as his thighs flex and clench, the last bits of cum dribbling from his tip and leaving him feeling spent. He can’t help but imagine the way you’d take him, if you’d thank him for giving him everything he has to offer, if you’d hold onto him until you both caught your breath, if your walls would still flutter and clench sporadically even after you’d come down from your high.

He closes his eyes again, heart practically in his throat as he leans down once more to kiss the blanket, tongue sneaking out and wet noises filling the room as spit and drool get slobbered all over the fabric.

He’s still out of breath, panting when he pulls back, but it’s not until he leans back onto his knees and takes a good look at the blanket that his high begins to fade, the reminder that you’re not really there making a sharp feeling dig into his gut.

He stares for a moment, before sighing, slowly pulling out of the blanket and grimacing when he feels cooling cum sliding across his cock, the white mess all over the material and smeared across his skin.

He brings a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes and sighing. What was he doing?

He’d just fucked a blanket – a gift, from you no less – while pretending it was you, his desperation to get you naked and in his grasp strong enough to make him lose him mind.

Pathetic, he was truly pathetic.

He’s ashamed as he throws the blanket into the laundry, hoping the cum stains will come out with all the bleach he’d thrown in alongside it, and as he chugs his coffee, deciding to get to school early and try to collect himself, Shouta can only sigh.

You make him such a fucking fool – a freak, perverted and creepy and gross, and as soon as he catches sight of you in the staff loungeroom, looking all pretty in your simple blouse and slacks, he knows he’s a lost cause, every bit of self-respect falling by the wayside.

Because as soon as he looks at you, all he can think of is how you’d look underneath him, stuffed full of his cum and a dazed, fucked-out expression scrawled across your face. All he can think of is how you’d be absolutely perfect to sink his cock into – and as he darts off to the nearest restroom, desperately trying to get rid of the insistent, raging erection in his pants, he can only sigh, letting his head hang.

He really is a fucking creep.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS

Your thighs

Shouta isn’t one to sexualize women’s bodies. He’s a man with urges, sure, but he’s never had trouble separating sexual attraction from respect for his female friends, even for strangers in the streets. A body is a body, and they aren’t made to be stared at and ogled.

Except where you’re concerned, of course, because while Shouta tries his hardest to not sexualize every thought of you, it’s difficult to hold himself back when he’s so utterly attracted to every single part of you.

It’s hard to not fixate and stare and want when he looks at you, and so while he gives a valiant effort to not obsess over your figure in a less than innocent way, eventually he can’t help himself.

And Shouta discovers that while he loves every inch of you, there’s something about your thighs that drive him absolutely fucking crazy.

Maybe it’s their shape – pretty expanses of your skin that look perfect to grope and squeeze, the soft curves making him salivate in a way that feels almost predatory.

Maybe it’s the way they feel – your skin is so soft, especially if he moves his hands further up, between them, nearing somewhere warm and wet and throbbing.

Maybe it’s the way they feel when they’re around his waist, caging him in and keeping him right where he wants to be, and when they’re around his head?

(Don’t mention the instances where he’s orgasmed just from simply eating you out – it’s embarrassing, and while he won’t deny it, he will change the conversation and pray you don’t see the soft, barely-there pink blooming on his cheeks.)

Maybe it’s even the way you respond when he touches them – how you jump a little bit, his calloused hands feeling a bit cold as they skim along the sides, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, a comforting finger brushing along the juncture of your legs and pelvic bone.

He’s not entirely sure, but one thing he does know is that just seeing your bare thighs is enough to get him gulping, his dark gaze struggling to move away as he watches the area jiggle and flex while you walk, every step you take only making him want you more and more.

Even before he’s stolen you away, he’s fantasizing about your thighs – he’s bought more pairs of stockings and thigh-highs than he’d care to admit, keeping them neatly organized in a specific drawer in his closet, often fingering the material and biting his lip.

(The image of you wearing them makes him drool, the idea of the top hem squeezing your thigh and making a little bulge appear right above the socks getting his hand wandering down his torso, his fingers making quick word of his belt buckle because fuuuck, would you keep them on while he throws your legs over his shoulders and absolutely destroys you?)

He’s always taking extra time and care to properly worship them when he’s got his head between your legs, letting his lips and tongue trail all along the soft skin, leaving teasing bite marks and hickeys and feeling the way you tremble under his touch because he’s so close yet so far from where you need him.

He’s always got a hand on your thighs when he’s fucking you, his fingers clutching and digging into the skin while he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to last longer, to prolong the moment, to give you more more more, just like you deserve.

He just really, really likes your thighs, so don’t be surprised when he’s got his hand casually placed on one when you’re watching a movie together, his gaze purposefully not looking at you because you can’t see how flustered he is from touching your clothed thigh in a non-sexual context.

You can’t.

His hands

In general, Shouta lives to please you in bed. He’s by no means submissive (though he could be persuaded if you really, really wanted to be in charge for a night), but he’s a caring partner in every possible sense of the word – sex is about you, and any pleasure he gets from it is just a fun bonus.

And because of this, he takes every opportunity to learn new ways to please you, trying everything from teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, buying a collection of vibrators, even letting you grind against the expanse of his thigh.

But his favorite method by far is using his fingers on you. They’re thick, with scars and callouses dotting the rough skin, but they’re so gentle with you, always touching you like you’re something fragile and delicate and breakable. He's careful with you when he’s rubbing circles over your clit, the pressure consistent enough to feel good but not too hard, sometimes even teasing you. He’s gentle when he’s running his fingertips over your folds, occasionally dipping in just a hair to feel the warm wetness he wants so very badly to sink into.

(He often sucks in a short, nearly inaudible gasp when he does this, his Adam’s apple bobbing because god you’re wet, and he’ll pull back to lick off his fingers, letting his eyes flutter closed as he tastes you.)

He particularly enjoys fingering you – he’s dexterous, and he always goes slow and purposefully, learning quickly exactly where you like to be touched. He’ll angle the pads of his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your face twist up, hearing your pretty sighs and moans, feeling the way you clench around him, your hips twitching a bit as if to get him deeper, to get more of him. He keeps his pace sensual, the come-hither motion slow and controlled, all the while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your clit, drawing shapes that stay just consistent enough to get you closer and closer.

All the while, the other hand is gently working at your clit, his fingers expertly getting the exact pressure and pattern you like, making your thighs twitch and your little gasps and mewls louder and more insistent.

And when he’s not actively working between your legs, Shouta’s always got his fingers pleasuring you in other ways – gently kneading at your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between a thumb and index finger, groping and squeezing at you like a man starved as his tongue flicks and sucks at your clit.

They’re grasping a handful of your thigh and squeezing reassuringly as he’s fucking you, his pace slow and deep, making sure you feel every possible inch of him as he folds you in half.

He’s even slipping a thumb against your tongue when you take a break to breath, your chest heaving and your fingers wrapped around his girth, a groan slipping from his lips because god, the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin is enough to get his cock twitching on its own. He’ll press down on your tongue, his lip caught between his teeth as you stare up at him, the sight indescribably erotic, a few praises falling from his mouth about how good you look, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him.

(All the while, he’s feeling you suck on his thumb, eagerly running your tongue along the skin and even swallowing around it to give the extra suction. Shouta curses under his breath, and suddenly stands, grabbing you by the hips and forcing you to bend over the chair he’d previously been sitting on, roughly spreading your legs and immediately diving in to lick and suck against your clit, a finger slipping inside of you because he just can’t not touch you after watching you drool all over him.)

He just likes to make you feel good, and while he enjoys pleasuring you with his mouth, nothing can beat the way you moan and shake when he’s working his fingers on you, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re incoherent, your poor body trembling, the only thing you can think of him him him.

DRIVE

Though you inspire more sexual desire and drive within him than he’s experienced for the last twenty years, Shouta is still not absolutely desperate to fuck you at all times.

Sure, the idea is nice – being intimate with you is something he craves, but nine times out of ten this intimacy takes the form of simply holding you. Sitting beside you with your head resting on his shoulder, a blanket covering the both of your bodies as you snore softly and cling to him in your sleep, showing that you feel safe with him, that you trust him to protect you.

(Shouta is normally able to keep his staring in check and not be too terribly overt with it, but in times like these he allows himself to openly gape at you, those dark eyes of his examining every detail of your face. Every small wrinkle, every hair and mole, even every lash and baby hair that frames your cheeks. You’re just too damn pretty, and like this he can commit every last detail to memory – as if he hadn’t already, as if he doesn’t sleep at night with your face dancing through his dreams, as if he sees flashes of you in everything he does. As if he isn’t thinking of you as unconsciously as he breaths.)

He generally imagines sleeping with you (and genuinely just sleeping – curling up with you in his arms and his face buried next to your neck, the scent of your body and shampoo filling his senses and making him breathe out something that walks the fine line between a sigh and a moan), the peacefulness and tranquility of just having you close to him in the safety of his protection and home.

It’s a type of intimacy that gets Shouta red in the face, the idea so domestic and taboo and foreign that he comes to crave this on a near constant basis, serving as motivation and a way to calm himself when his students are out of control or a villain is being particularly difficult.

But of course, Shouta is only a man, and men have needs – no matter how he tries to keep his obsession with you as innocent as it possibly can be, sexual thoughts trickle in through the cracks of his mental fortitude and leave him with a phantom wonder of how you’d taste – would you be sweet, like the jellies Hizashi had gotten him? Would you be rich and savory? He hopes you’d have a strong musk to you, a smell that he can breathe in and think of you, something that gets his salivating and his body growing hot and his fingers restless and his breath heavy and labored and god –

He’s hard before he knows it, immediately covering his face with his hands because it’s equal parts embarrassing and terrifying how easily you manage to affect him, just the simple thought of you getting his entire body on edge.

And so he eventually takes up masturbation with you in mind, feeling dirty and disgusting each time he recovers from his orgasmic high, making it more and more difficult to look you in the eye without thinking of all the depraved things he’d imagined doing with you mere hours before.

But Shouta thinks he can survive – sure, he wants to fuck you, needs to kiss you, has to see the face you make when you’re coming, but he can control himself. He won’t succumb to the urge to break into your (frustratingly poorly protected) apartment to run his fingers along your pretty skin and fuck his fist mere inches from your face, no matter how badly his body yells and begs him to. He won’t cross this boundary – it’s hypocritical to think of himself not as a pervert at this point, but it’s the only way he confidently resists you.

Except, then you go and force him into kidnapping you – and now you’re with him nearly all moments of the day, your scent in his bedroom (though he knows you never willingly enter there, and he doesn’t force you to), your body always just a heartbeat away, the idea of holding you and kissing much, much closer now.

And even with the constant temptation, Shouta manages to hold out – it’s torture, really, forcing himself to be a good man and giving you privacy, to not touch you, to not press himself against you and feel the contours of your body against his own, but it’s worth it to him. He can’t force anything – he doesn’t want to scare you, and he has this horrible, sneaking suspicion that if he propositioned you, you’d feel too afraid to say no.

And just the thought is enough motivation to keep him from touching you, to keep him celibate from you purely by his choice – even if it starts affecting him physically.

(He’d never, ever admit it to you, but his lust for you becomes so extreme that if he’s gone more than a week or so without having touched himself to the thought of you while you’re under his care, his cock starts physically hurting when he sees you, his hips involuntarily twitching when he hears your voice, his throat feeling dry and his cheeks blooming bright red because god, he’s never wanted to fuck something so bad.)

And so, Shouta forces himself to be an outstanding man – but no one can be alert every moment of every day, and it’s only a matter of time before you catch him in a moment of weakness. Because really, while Shouta was suffering, you were certainly undergoing a struggle of your own – you’ve been stuck with him for a few months at this point, trapped in his modest apartment with everything you could ever need with one glaring, important exception: human touch.

You don’t necessarily want to be physical with your kidnapper, but as the days pass and you slowly come to accept the fact that you won’t be escaping Eraserhead, things start changing. You’re still understandably frightened of him, worried that although he’s not harmed you in any way and hasn’t forced you into much aside from your captivity, he’ll show his true colors and make your life even more of a living hell.

But that doesn’t happen, Shouta staying that familiar presence you’ve become accustomed to; steady, quiet, consistent. Except the more days that pass, the more you start noticing other things about him – he’s strong, isn’t he? You see it when he walks from the bathroom to his bedroom with the towel tightly fastened at his waist, showing off the lean muscle of his arms and torso.

(He can feel your eyes sometimes, but tries not to dwell on what your staring at his naked chest could mean because getting his hopes up means getting them inevitably crushed.)

He’s awfully attentive, isn’t he? He listens when you speak, those dark eyes boring into you and your every wish – aside from escape – granted without so much as a complaint.

And sometimes, he’s a little attractive, isn’t he? In a rugged, man-ish way – a way that makes you gulp and press your thighs together a bit, because something about the stubble that coats his chin and the veins that litter his hands and forearms makes it difficult to breath correctly.

And then the daydreams start – little thoughts about how it would feel for those hands to touch you, for those lips to brush against your own, for his hair to tickle your neck as he hovers over you, his hips moving slowly and rhythmically against you, gruff grunts of your name filling the air between you.

They scare you at first, really, but soon you can’t stop yourself – you know it’s the lack of human contact that’s influencing you, but as time passes and you grow more desperate to know if he’s as attentive in bed as he is everywhere else, you’ll stop caring.

And Shouta can sense that something’s changing – he feels you watching him, notices the way your eyes follow him through a room, how you suck in the sharpest, smallest breath when he nears you, how you grow stiff when he has to flex a muscle in front of you to lift something heavy. Shouta knows that something is different – but it’s not until you grow brave one day that everything is confirmed.

It’d been a long, tiresome day for Shouta – his class had been especially rowdy today, with a simulation villain attack that the teachers participated in, and of course he’d ended up assigned to spar with Todoroki – meaning he’d been moving about, his muscles tired and sore from multiple hours of repetitive fighting. Then he’d had an extra patrol directly after, the villains particularly restless and causing more trouble than normal. Coupled with a nasty rainstorm that had him half freezing to death, Shouta wanted nothing more than to melt into bed, ideally with you beside him but knowing better than to wish for foolish things.

And when he’d stepped in the front door, you’d been waiting for him, sitting nervously on the couch. You’d stood up, but Shouta – despite feeling slightly more awake and alive at the sight of you, like normal – was still exhausted, already on the brink of unconsciousness as he gruffly greeted you. You looked nervous, twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, but Shouta was too tired to properly ask about it, only mentally noting to check on you tomorrow.

Slumping towards his bedroom, he was abruptly stopped with you grabbed his hand, his entire body going rigid. Your voice was quiet when you asked him why he always seems to avoid touching you, asking if he didn’t want to, if he was repulsed by the idea of touching, if he was repulsed by you.

And Shouta, still half delirious with exhaustion, let the truth slip from his lips before he could help himself – explaining just how badly he craves to feel you, imagining you in every lewd position he can think of, noticing the way your pajama shirts sometimes grow tight when you sleep and roll over, exposing the outline of your breast and nipple and making him physically stop in his tracks and nearly drool like some horny teenager.

Every secret was spilling out of him, his voice still tired and coarse but making your jaw drop, the admission that he’s been fantasizing about making you a mess on his fingers and tongue and cock stunning you. You’d known Shouta harbored some sort of feelings for you, but this?

When he finishes detailing the fact that he regularly fucks his fist to the thought of you at least twice a week after you’ve fallen asleep, you release his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

Shouta rubs at his eyes, still not facing you, but muttering a small goodnight and retreating to his room, only realizing what’s happened the next morning. His hands shake and he bolts from his bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing, something horrible and feeling like shame and dread sitting in his chest because why the fuck had he told you that?

Facing you the next day has anxiety sitting in his every nerve, his actions jerky and on-edge, an he’d nearly bolted back to the safety of his room when he sawy you sitting at the kitchen table, but then you’d done something unexpected – you’d walked up to him, stood in silence for a moment, then grabbed his hand. Shouta had been confused, unable to ignore the way your hand fit into his own and the softness of your skin against his, but you’d not given him a chance to even ask questions – soon your lips were on his, and your hand had placed his on something warm and soft and squishy –

Shouta gasped against your lips, the feeling of your breast in his hand and your tongue swiping at his lips nearly making his knees buckle. He didn’t respond to your kiss for a few moments, forcing you to pull back and stare at him, something like worry and rejection reflected in your eyes, but it’s not until you whisper in a very small voice that he snaps out of his stupor.

I want you Shouta, and I know you want me.

You were in his bed moments later, his hands frantic and eager and shaking as he practically ripped off your borrowed pajamas, fingers moving fast and settling over every part of your body, seemingly unable to decide on where to stay.

It was rushed, desperation clouding both of your senses, but as Shouta threw your leg over his shoulder and pressed wet kisses against the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his whispered affirmations of his love for you only had you pulling him closer, adoration and shock and something so happy it nearly hurt filling his chest.

Perhaps, just perhaps, something in you loved him as he loved you.

MAIN THREE KINKS

Clothed Sex

It’s about convenience for Shouta – he’s not lazy in the bedroom, but although he finds you irresistible and is normally willing to expend what very little energy he has on sex with you, he’s willing to take any shortcut he can.

Of course, sex with you in an ideal world sees the both of you completely nude, your bodies pressed as close together as physically possible so that not a breath of space lays between them. He likes being close to you, feeling every inch of you, the intimacy of it unmatched and making Shouta revel in the fact that you’re really there with him, that he’s really getting to touch you, that he’s really getting to kiss you and touch you and fuck you, just as he’s been fantasizing of for months.

But that said, there’s a strange allure to clothed sex – it’s taboo and a little dirty, something that makes him feel a little warm, his palms growing a bit sweaty because it could happen at any time. Whenever the mood strikes him or strikes you, he could simply unzip his pants, shuffle them down a bit and fish out his cock, and he'd be ready to go – already half-hard, the eager anticipation of your touch exciting him from nearly the moment you entered the room.

And it’s easy access to you, too – not that he’d ever take advantage of that fact, your consent still something he asks for every time he touches you. It’s easy to slip your panties to the side, sinking you down onto his lap as he groans and his head lolls back, the feeling of your warmth making his toes curl. He just likes how easy it all is – no time is wasted with struggling to get off your shirt or his pants, and the desperation to be inside you that always seems to overwhelm him at the most inconvenient of times can be attended to that much faster.

He just thinks there’s something so hot about it – he’ll specifically stock you with clothing to wear that makes this easy – flouncy skirts and shorts that make shoving everything to the side and bunching his fist into the cloth to get better leverage while he pounds into you.

He’ll get you tank tops and things that make fishing your breasts out of your top easy, so that they can freely hang and jiggle as he bounces you up and down on his lap, your nipples hardening and shivers racing down your spine as he flicks his tongue at one.

He’ll buy underwear that doesn’t chafe when he shoves it to the side, the pretty sight of lace against your skin making him feral, making him fuck into you harder and more frantically because you almost look like some sort of lewd present when you’re wearing that lingerie – like his very own present, the one thing in the world he wants more than anything else.

And he’ll wear clothing that makes this easy, too – pants that can be unzipped and boxers he can tuck underneath his balls, making sure that nothing gets in the way. And although having sex without clothes is much more common than with clothes, Shouta will surprise you and suddenly press up behind you in the kitchen, telling you that you look too good, that he can’t help himself, that he needs you, and has to fuck you right here, right now, I can’t wait.

And so when you nod, he’ll flip up that skirt of yours – the main culprit for the throbbing between his legs, of course, because the clear view of your legs and thighs makes his mouth water – and slip aside those panties, his cock already out and hard and dripping for you.

It’s spontaneous, more than anything, and it’s one of the only ways in which Shouta is a little carefree with sex – one of the only times that he isn’t serious, or at least as serious.

The main way Shouta likes to engage in clothed sex, though, is through cockwarming. He just likes being close to you – he’s touch-starved, and although he doesn’t have the energy to actually fuck you, he still wants to be inside you, to have your body against his, to have you near and be smelling your scent and hearing your voice.

And so, it’s not a rare occurrence to have him pull you into his arms on his modest leather couch, your frumpy sweatpants and t-shirt (both his, of course, a fact that isn’t lost on him – he will not be washing either of those items when they eventually are off your body) covering your form and his own loungewear covering his.

He’ll shuffle up behind you, pulling you against him so that he’s spooning you, and before long you’ll feel something poking at your ass – something hard and insistent, something that seems to be bobbing and moving every few moments.

Truthfully, Shouta couldn’t say what got him hard – perhaps it was just being with you, or maybe smelling you, or the sight of you in his clothes. It could be any number of things – but his breath hitches as you swallow and carefully tug down the hem of your sweatpants, pressing your exposed ass back against him.

He makes a sound like a low whistle, and then he’s fishing his cock out of his own pants, the tip already wet with precum as he shifts his hips to slip between your legs, propping your leg up over his so that he can push inside. He does so with a small groan, resting his forehead against your back, and he feels you clench down on him.

He’s content to lay there – the warmth of his clothing and from you almost too much, but seeing the way you snuggle deeper into the shirt sending something warm and hot and possessive through his chest. He’ll just pull you against him tighter, the slight shift making the both of you hiss at the small burst of pleasure. He’s content to fall asleep that way – relaxed, his cock still nestled inside of you and hard as a rock, the feeling of your cunt lulling him into dreams filled with you naked and moaning his name, all bouncing breasts and desperate hands and begs for more.

(Don’t be surprised, when this happens, to wake up feeling something dripping out of you – yes, it’s cum and yes, that wet dream was enough to get him there. Don’t mention it, either, because Shouta’s always disappointed that he wasn’t awake for it - after all, call him old-fashioned but finishing inside of you is arguably his favorite selfish part of sex.)

Overstimulation

Shouta is not a stingy lover. In the bedroom, he lives to see you enjoying yourself – it soothes this primal, horrible ache in his chest that yearns or your approval and happiness. A lot of his obsession is born out of a desire to please you and keep you happy and safe, and this translates into making absolutely sure you’re satisfied in every possible way between the sheets.

Sex isn’t really sex until you’ve had at least two orgasms, whether that be because of his fingers or tongue, and only then will he throw your pretty legs up over his shoulders, sinking into you with a sharp exhale and letting his face rest against your sternum as he wills himself to not get too excited, to keep his cool and not rut into you like wild animal. He wants you to enjoy sex with him – he craves intimacy with you and he needs you to crave it too, and he’s hopeful that by giving you the best attention and care in bed, you’ll be more inclined to kiss and hold him, to touch him and whisper those three little words in his ear.

(The three little words that make him gasp and shudder, cum immediately spurting out of his red, swollen tip, his knuckles turning white as he grips onto your thigh and the bedsheets tightly enough to keep himself grounded through the pleasure.)

And so, Shouta finds that there’s something darkly pleasing about being the one to get you orgasming, being the source of your pleasure – seeing your face twist up, your mouth forming that pretty ‘o’ and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Shouta develops a bit of a sick fascination with seeing just how often he can make you come for him, and from what. It stems from a good place; a genuine desire to make you happy and get you shaking with pleasure and incoherent enough that all you can say is his name.

He likes to choose how you come – will it be his fingers? Will he draw pretty circles on the inside of your thighs, teasing you and feeling the way your breathing picks up a bit, a whine of his name telling him that you’re growing impatient, that you need more, that you need him?

He’ll get closer and closer to your folds, pressing a thumb against them and dipping in ever so slightly, the dull pleasure making you bite your lip, embarrassment eating you alive because it feels so dirty to be teased like this, to keep your legs so wide open for him, to feel the way his eyes are staring at you so fully and intensely, the adoration and lust swimming in those dark depths nearly too much for you handle.

He’ll press two fingers against your clit and get to work, rubbing with light pressure and slowly increasing it, feeling the way the nub gets harder and more swollen, fingers swiping down to collect a bit of your slick to make things easier, the pads of his fingers gliding along your sensitive skin and making your hips jump and twist.

He’ll use his other hand to finger you, rough calloused skin dragging against your walls and pressing right into the spot he knows you love – the one that makes your back arch up, your head pushing back against the pillow, your nails digging into the bedsheets and tangling through his hair. Working you through an orgasm with his fingers is his favorite and what you’ll most likely get – he gets a front row seat, watching with rapt attention as you fall apart for him, feeling the way your thighs tremble and close in around him when you’re right on the edge.

There’s this feeling of power, pride and desire making him light headed and only work harder at his ministrations, ignoring your yelps and gasps of overstimulation because he needs to see that again, to feel the way you clench down onto his fingers so tightly that he has to work to pull them out to thrust back in. You’re just so damn sexy, the sight of you laying before him with your pretty legs spread wide open making him swallow so hard you can hear it.

But of course, Shouta also loves using his mouth to get you off – pink lips attaching to your nipple, sucking and running his tongue over your areola to make you squirm, your little keens making his cock twitch against your thigh.

He’ll kiss at your hips, making a trail down to your clit, giving you little kitten licks while his eyes flick up to look at you, seeing the way you sigh and bite your lip, the rising and falling of your chest making him near feral.

He wants to see you moan and writhe, to feel you grasping at him and needing him, and so his patience wears out and he dives between your legs, slick coating his nose and chin as he licks and sucks and thrusts his tongue against you, eyes closed in concentration and hair getting in his face but he doesn’t care – how can he, when you sound so pretty moaning his name like that?

How can he, when your thighs are clenching around his head and you’re just so fucking wet for him, showing him exactly how much he’s affecting you?

It's euphoric, and soon you’ll be crying out his name and creaming all over his lips, shaking in his grasp so hard that he has to hold you down by the hips to help you ride out the pleasure, the taste of you making him so hard that it hurts.

And god, there’s something about the way you respond to voice and his commands in bed that makes Shouta curse under his breath. You look up at him all wide-eyed, pleasure written across your face as you look to him for guidance, his voice gruff and thick with lust as he tells you to let go, come for me, want to see you come for me.

You immediately furrow your brows and bite your lip, grinding yourself harder against his fingers, feeling the pads of them brush against the spot that has you seeing stars, his name a prayer as you chant it over and over, only stopping to moan or gasp.

The sight is intoxicating, leaving Shouta gaping like a fish with parted lips and heavy breaths, staring at you like you’re something heavenly, divine, unable to tear his gaze away because he still can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re moaning his name, that you’re letting him touch you and oh, he knows what that change in your facial expression means, how you’re blinding grasping at him, how you’re stuttering out a rushed ‘m coming, Shouta ‘m coming fuck-!

Watching you come undone right before his eyes has Shouta’s cock throbbing, his hips subtly moving against your thigh because he needs friction, the sight of you and the knowledge that he made you this way nearly too much for him to bear.

And when you finally calm down, your breathing wild and your eyes a little glazed over, he’ll just swallow and quickly situate him hips between your legs, gripping himself at the base and impatiently prodding at your entrance, his words dark as he tells you that you’ve got another one in you, give it to me.

When he pushes in – slowly, so as not to hurt you – he lets out a groan, only muffled by the way he leans down to kiss you, feeling the way you tense up and eagerly return the gesture, wrapping your ankles around his waist and pulling him deeper, showing him that you need more more more if you’re going to finish like he wants you to.

And Shouta’s happy to oblige – snapping his hips into you until his muscles are sore and screaming, a thumb relentlessly toying with your clit, his lips against your neck and whispering praise tainted with curses.

He’s encouraging you to feel good, telling you to tell me how it – fuck, how it feels, you’re so goddamn tight, tell me how to fuck you – o-oh…

Because really, while he loves to get you coming and falling apart on his terms, Shouta’s pride flies out the window where you’re concerned – he’d do anything to get you clenching down on him and begging him to finish inside you.

Anything.

Voyeurism

Honestly, it’s a byproduct of having stalked you for such an extended period of time. Watching you was the only way to feel close to you – he wasn’t able to hold you and kiss you, to feel you and lay with you and make you whine his name, and becoming your shadow was the only possible substitution.

And even then, it wasn’t enough – all the guilt he harbors from watching you in your more intimate moments never fades, not even after years of having stolen you away, your pretty body and mind fully his to do as he pleases. He’s still ashamed, but some things he just simply can’t unlearn – and so, even once your sexual relationship begins, Shouta finds himself still utterly excited by the prospect of watching you pleasure yourself.

It’s dirty, horrible, something that makes him feel so guilty he can hardly stand it, but he can’t not stop and watch through the crack in your door when he hears what sounds suspiciously close to muffled whimpers.

He can’t not press his ear against the wooden door, closing his eyes and imagining what you’re doing to yourself – maybe you’re playing with that cute little clit, rubbing it in circles and biting your lip because it just feels so damn good, mimicking the way that Shouta works you up slowly and steadily, getting you so sensitive that your hips jump and twitch at just the slightest bit of pressure against your sensitive nerves.

(He’s had dreams about the way you taste – he thinks you’d be musky, something natural and strong and savory, a taste he wants in his mouth at all hours of the day. And the way you’d tremble and gush for him if it was his fingers and mouth toying with the nub, how you’d tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer and closer to you, needing as much of him as possible, needing him him him…)

Maybe you’re sinking your fingers inside of you, working up from one to three, stretching yourself out and imagining it’s him instead, that he’s the one filling you up and making your toes curl, that he’s the one causing all those pretty noises to fall from your lips.

(He knows just how much bigger his own fingers are – he’ll imagine the size difference, his eyes shutting tight when he thinks of how much more he can stretch you out, how much better he can make you feel, how the texture of his fingers must send pleasure up your spine in a way that your soft, comparatively dainty fingers can’t.)

Maybe you’re perched up on a pillow, straddling it with your cunt pressed snugly against the fabric, slick smearing across the cotton as you grind your hips back and forth, hunched over so that the angle is just right, imagining it’s him underneath you and it’s his thigh or cock you’re rubbing against.

(He’s had wet dreams about this sight, always hoping and fantasizing that you’re just so desperate for him that you’re imagining it’s his face you’re riding, his mind conjuring up the sound of your voice moaning out his name and telling him yes yes o-oh fuck yes, Shouta ‘s so good, you feel so good! He’d never seen you riding a pillow during all those months of stalking, but the idea’s just too graphic and wanton and lewd for him to not fantasize about, the idea satisfying the part of him that’s embarrassed and ashamed of just how badly he craves you – because surely if you’re humping some piece of cotton and pretending it’s him, then what does he have to be embarrassed about? Lots, really, but it makes him feel slightly better.)

Or maybe you’ve decided that you want something a little more physical, something to really mimic him – he’d seen you using your vibrator many, many times before he stole you away. His face always turned pink at the sight, his throat going dry and his grip on his capture weapon a little loose as he simply stared, the sight of your pretty body contorting and the plastic held against the crest of your pelvic bone making everything else fade away.

You’re so damn pretty – the way you moan and sigh, how your legs twitch, how your breasts sway and jiggle with every motion, making his fingers ache to reach out and squeeze, to knead and touch and grope, like some sort of pervert.

And this fantasy and mental image has stayed with him long after kidnapping you – once your physical relationship begins and Shouta no longer feels it would make you even more uncomfortable and scared of him, he’s buying you a replacement for that trusty vibrator you used to use to death. He’d left it on your nightstand one morning with a hasty note simply saying I’m gone a lot, I don’t want you to get lonely.

Of course, this is only half the truth – he does want you to be happy, and he doesn’t want you to grow resentful of the times when he’s too exhausted to give you proper sex. But of course, the unspoken portion of this gift is that he wants to watch you use said vibrator – and badly.

He wants to sit in a chair at the side of the bed, legs spread wide as he grips the base of his cock, absentmindedly squeezing at his balls while his dark eyes stay trained on your figure. He wants you to be spread out for him, perhaps a skimpy set of lingerie covering your pretty body (or perhaps none at all, if you’re comfortable with it) with your legs spread wide, the vibrator in your hand hovering against your clit. He wants to hear the steady, dull buzzing sound mixing with your whimpers, to see the way your body tenses up and you whine, feet flexing and shaky breaths slipping past your lips as you slowly work towards your high.

He wants to see the way you eventually grow impatient, changing the vibrator’s setting and immediately crying out, the feeling much more intense and making your orgasm hurtle towards you, getting slick all over the bedspread as you cry out his name and writhe.

And Shouta doesn’t want you to look at him – he doesn’t want you to acknowledge that he’s there. Ignore him, just as you would have back when he was simply watching from outside your window – he wants to watch you, not have a show be put on for him.

You’re just too pretty, and there’s something about watching you that gets him hard as rock, his fist twisting and flicking so quickly it’s nearly a blur as he watches you transition to fucking yourself with the toy, your cries loud and wanton as Shouta grunts and curses under his breath. He wants to finish with you this time, his hips thrusting against his hand in an effort to match the pace you’ve set for yourself. It’s a dirty secret of his, and while Shouta won’t force you into it, just know that he would love to catch you masturbating – just the sight of you pleasuring yourself is enough to get him hot under the collar immediately, hand rushing into his trousers to cup himself because god.

He just likes to watch you, and even during regular sex when he’s folded you in half, those eyes are alternating between watching your face, your bouncing breasts, and your cunt swallowing his cock again and again and again, his cheeks a rosy pink and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow.

You’re just too pretty, he can’t take it – how can he not immediately want to get something of his on you, staining your lovely skin and gorgeous face with his cum?

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE

Hair Pulling

But not on you – unless you like it, in which case he might consider but will only ever do it lightly. He doesn’t like causing pain in general, and would only be willing to do it in very specific scenarios – and even then, it will be as gently as he possibly can.

Rather, Shouta likes when you pull his hair – he doesn’t let most people touch it, and it’s a rare day that he actually runs a comb through it, so as a result his scalp is extremely sensitive. And so, when you tunnel your fingers through his dark locks and pull, Shouta audibly groans, the tingling pain sending pleasure racing down his spine.

There’s just something naughty about it – only you get to touch him like this, so only you get to run your fingers through his hair and tug at it.

He particularly likes when you pull it while he’s got his face between your legs. He likes how your fingers tunnel through it and scrape against his scalp, and he’ll often use it as an indicator of whether he’s doing a good job or not. If you pull often and hard, he knows he’s doing what he needs to do – he’ll keep the pace up and stay in that same spot, doing everything and anything in his power to keep you pulling at it, working through any pain in his jaw or tongue because he needs to make sure you’re feeling good even at his own expense.

When he’s got you perched on his face, your pretty thighs framing his head so that all he can smell and taste and feel is you, he likes to have you reach down and still pull lightly at the roots, your breasts squished together and nipples taut, the visual alongside your taste and the slight pain from his scalp making his eyes roll to the back of his head and precum dribble down his length.

When he’s hovering over you and thrusting into you, balls clapping against your ass and your legs wrapped around his waist, he likes to have you tug at his hair, moaning out and crying his name with each tug and letting his ego swell, each burst of light pain making his hips go harder, faster, deeper, anything to get you louder and clenching around him tighter.

Even when you’re just kissing – simple, innocent kisses full of smiles and his hands gripping you just ever so slightly, Shouta likes to have you running your hands through his hair and tugging lightly, keeping him on his toes and forcing his cock to life.

He just really, really likes to have you touch his hair – it’s something intimate and something he’ll only ever let you do, so really, you should count yourself lucky. Shouta sure does when he’s buried deep inside you, watching your face and feeling your hands in his hair as he gives you every last drop he has to offer.

Mirror Sex

In general, Shouta absolutely loves watching you in bed. He thinks you’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when you’re gasping on his cock and moaning his name, you’re even prettier, even more breathtaking and lovely and perfect.

And while he prefers positions where he can see your face, he wants to be able to see your expressions always, even if he’s got you bent over while he presses his back to your chest and mounts you like some sort of wild animal.

And so, to solve this problem, Shouta invests in a modest, simple mirror that he keeps facing the end of your ‘shared’ bed – it’s roughly four feet tall and two feet wide, the perfect size so that when he’s got you on your hands and knees for him, your back arching and your arms threatening to give out, he can watch your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He’ll experiment with the pacing of his thrusts, going deeper and harder to see the way your brows scrunch up, how your jaw drops and the most depraved whine slips out of you, pride and arousal swelling in his chest because he made you make that noise.

He’ll go slower and keep his thrusts brushing against the spots that make you gasp just so that he can see the way your lips twitch.

He’ll speed up, fucking into you so fast that his balls slap lewdly against your ass, the noise filling the room alongside your pants and his groans, watching all the while how your eyes flutter and your back arches. He’ll sit you in his lap facing the mirror, spreading your legs and getting to work with his fingers curling and rubbing inside of you, a thumb circling your clit and his lips at your ear as he tells you to watch, pretty, see how good you look?

He’ll kiss a line from behind your ear, down your neck and over your shoulder, occasionally glancing up to the mirror to make sure you’re actively looking, whispering praises against your skin each time.

And he’ll bring you close to the mirror, too – sitting you only a foot away from the reflective surface, letting you get a nice view of Shouta’s favorite sight – your cunt, all spread out and wet, practically begging for something big, heavy, and throbbing to fill it, to stretch it out and make you see stars.

He’ll spread your lips, exposing your clenching hole, smiling at your reflection and making you tell him that you’re pretty, forcing you to grow comfortable with your body because he knows that it makes you insecure to see so much of yourself, and it drives him crazy.

He’ll even fuck you against the mirror – forcing you to watch your face from mere inches away, your hot breaths fogging up the glass, and he’ll make you come like that – holding your chin straight ahead and telling you to watch, sh-shit, watch, don’t take those fucking eyes off your face in a strained voice.

He just likes getting a good view of you during sex – you’re too pretty not to be seen, after all.

BIGGEST FANTASY

In general, Shouta absolutely loves being intimate with you. While he’s no virgin, he doesn’t have an extensive amount of experience, and frankly he’s never been the biggest fan of sex – it’s too messy, too energy draining, and just a massive hassle.

However, when it’s with you, and when you moan his name just right and leave your nail marks down his back, Shouta will gladly strip his clothing at your beck and call, his lips already on yours before you can even finish your sentence.

And while he loves good, rough, passionate sex that’s full of smacking hips, gasps, moans and growls, there’s something to be said for slower, gentler sex, the kind that’s full of airy breaths and slow, meaningful kisses.

It’s the kind of sex where you can really feel him; every inch of him, the way his body covers yours as he hovers over you, the tickle of his hair against your jaw and neck as he buries his face in the juncture of your shoulder and collarbone, his hips rocking into yours and managing to grind against that one perfect spot that gets you sighing out a moan. It’s just more intimate this way, less of a wild, frantic race to get inside of you and more a slow, controlled love making, as embarrassed as he is to use to term.

Regardless, you’re most likely to get this type of sex from Shouta in two specific scenarios – the first of which being after a very long day, filled with a harrowing patrol where he maybe wasn’t able to save everyone, or things didn’t go according to plan. When this happens, he needs to just hold you, to feel you, to hear you whisper his name under your breath and tell him how good he feels, how he’s the best you’ve ever had, how he’s the only one you’ll ever want…

The second – and far more likely – scenario is in the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight is streaming into the modest apartment he keeps you in, your shared bed feeling warm with your bodies pressed against one another. Soft, sleepy morning sex is Shouta’s favorite, and something that he tries to incite as often as he possibly can.

There’s just something about it that gets him hot under the collar; maybe it’s the casualness of it all, the way it feels so natural, so human and so right, as if your bodies were made for each other. Maybe it’s the way it feels so intimate, like you’re both raw, yourselves in the most wonderful way.

Or maybe it’s the way you’re still just slightly sleepy, and you’re much more likely to be clingy at this time, touching him more and letting your real noises come out, not hindered by any shame or hate or embarrassment.

Regardless, Shouta loves it – so on the rare weekends where he’s off, expect to be woken up on the brink of an orgasm just as you deserve.

A yawn slips past Shouta’s lips, eyes peeling open and seeing the gray of his bedsheets. Everything is warm and soft, and as he shifts slightly, something moves next to him.

Nothing seems real for a few moments as he gazes down at you, your body curled up next to his own. It doesn’t feel real that you’re really here – in his bed without any clothing, happily sleeping without a care in the world. He swallows, something coming over him and moving him slowly – carefully – peel off the covers, moving down to where your legs slightly part.

He leans down, face mere inches away from the tufts of your pubic hair, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales. You’re perfect – and as he gently pries your legs open further, Shouta can’t help but think of how often he’s fantasized about this very moment – how often he’s dreamt of what’s between your thighs, how he’d lay awake at night and press his fingers between two pillows, grinding his fingers against the cotton and pretending it was you, imagining how warm and wet you’d be for him.

He swallows, determination setting his brow as he lays onto his stomach, shuffling so that he can lightly lick at your inner thighs, eyes closing at the familiar taste of you. He takes his time, going slowly and softly, licking closer and closer to your pretty folds, eventually reaching them and licking his lips at the taste.

A thumb comes up to slowly press against your clit, knowing too much pressure would hurt and not warm your body up the way it needed. He continues his licks, before switching roles and starting to suckle at your clit as a finger dips between your folds, collecting the slick and rubbing it between his fingers.

Soon he’s pressing one inside, feeling the way your thighs twitch slightly, a small, sleepy moan ringing in his ears. God, you’re so damn perfect – even unconscious you’re enough to get his cock throbbing against the cotton sheets.

He keeps his pace slow, but as time passes you stir a bit, and when he hears your sleepy voice mumble out his name, Shouta curses, his fingers speeding up a bit.

That gets you more awake – soon your fingers are carding through his hair, sighs and murmurs of his name sounding like heaven.

“Mm, Shouta, that feels good…” You mumble, still dazed from waking up. Your hips are twitching now, a sign that the pleasure is slowly beginning to build.

Shouta groans against your cunt, the sound muffled.

Soon his fingers are picking up the pace again, his circles and licks at your clit growing more insistent, and the hands weaving through his hair start to tug – the sensation gets him humping at the bed for a moment, the morning glow still shining on you as he glances up at your face. You look like an angel – shining in the sunlight, your lips parted in a moan, head thrown back in pleasure.

Shouta pulls back for a moment, sending a kiss to your clit that makes your hips buck. He chuckles a bit, licking his lips.

“You’re so beautiful..” He whispers against your thigh, pressing open mouthed kisses against the skin. You hum at his compliment, and he watches as you smile, his breath practically punched out of his lungs.

“Shouta, you’re too good to me…” Your voice is soft, too, and soon he’s back to sucking at your clit, feeling the way your body jolts slightly, the pleasure making you sigh and swallow. He watches the movement of your throat.

“Feels good, mm yes, oh Shouta - just like that,” You start, eyes closed again, and Shouta finds himself abandoning the gentle pace he’d adopted, instead being more insistent, more pushy – suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get you coming on his fingers.

You gasp lightly at the new change in pace, grinding your hips to match the new stimulation, and it makes Shouta dizzy. How can you be so attractive? How can you look so perfect in this moment; in his bed, moaning his name, looking and tasting and smelling like his own personal slice of heaven?

It’s cheesy and he’s almost embarrassed, but tears prick at the corners of his eye.

Soon your gasps have turned to moans, and all too soon you warn him in a slurred voice that you’re coming, your back arching up off the mattress and your moans light and airy as you gush against his fingers, white coating all the way down his knuckles and onto his palms. It makes him choke a bit, the feeling of your cunt rhythmically clenching down on him and your chest heaving, and with a final lick to your clit that makes you jerk, he’s moving up to kiss you.

The kiss is slow, his tongue brushing against yours and wet sound filling the room, but Shouta doesn’t mind. How could he, when he’s never felt this relaxed before?

His eyes slowly open as he feels your fingers wrap around him, a thumb brushing along his tip to collect a bit of the wetness there.

“Shouta, let me make you feel good.” You tell him, your voice just a whisper.

He looks at you, his lips parted for a brief moment, before a small smile quirks up the corners of his mouth. “Why would you do that?”

You trace the line of his jaw with your free thumb. The slow strokes of his cock have him a bit distracted, but he hears every word you speak to him. “Because I love you.”

He swallows, the words making something feel tight in his throat.

You laugh a bit at his silence and the dumbstruck look on his face. “What? Do you not love me too?”

And to answer that, Shouta scoffs, leaning down to kiss you again as he grasps himself around the base, pulling himself away from you and pushing into you, feeling your sharp intake of breath against his lips.

His pace is slow, soft, like he’s trying to tell you something – hips moving slowly and deeply, letting you feel every inch of him. He kisses your neck as your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed.

Pressing a kiss against your collarbone, Shouta smiles against your skin, a groan falling from his lips.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”

And he means it – you’ll don’t know half of the things he’s done for you, and as he squeezes at your breast and hears your soft moan, he knows he’ll never tell you.

#yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere aizawa #yandere eraserhead #bnha smut #mha smut #_bnha #_shouta aizawa #_lee's profiles

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zykamiliah · 6 months

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the many ways shen qingqiu loves luo binghe

this was more or less inspired by this post, but because this is gonna be a personal opinion and i don't want to make a thread of it and inadvertently contest with the other two's points, I'm going to make my own post.

so i wanna start saying that "the moment one falls in love" is a trope that's waaaay too overstated. in my opinion. specially because falling in love tends to be something that has to do with romantic love most of the time, and it pretends to establish a sort of timeline, a point of no return, for ships and fictional relationships.

when the stories surrounding the characters are more straightforward, i don't really mind, since it makes sense for there to be an "Oh" moment when the character realizes they are in love. like, we know the moment lbh started to see sqq in a sexual light, and we can roughly add to this that the events of the demon invasion and the nightmare scenario are what sealed the deal for lbh. it helps that he's more honest about his feelings and the sexual awakening had already happened, and we can easily assume that from that point on lbh's feelings have a romantic-sexual side.

it still has other sides... because lbh loves sqq as a shizun, as a parent, and this side of their relationship, the master-disciple and parent-child side, is intrinsic to their dynamic; it's a conflicting element during their prolonged conflict for most of the novel, but at the same time, it's their default when they want to approach each other, it's the "safe zone".

but when it comes to sqq I think it's a much more difficult thing to ask: when does sqq falls in love? when is his Oh moment? Is there one, a conscious realization that he's in love? Can his relationship with lbh be described as "being in love"?

he loved Luo Binghe The Character

—the way a reader loves a favorite character, and fanboyed about him plenty before and after transmigrating. the shadow of what the little sheep he was raising would became was ever-present throughout those first 6 years before their meeting in Jinlan City.

but he loved lbh the character in a fanatical way that wasn't actually real... it was meaningful to him because he liked this fictional character a lot, but it's a safe love from the side of a screen.

he was compelled by lbh the character, by his tragic backstory full of angst, and by the ways lbh the character did things: he "rightfully" took his anger out in the people who'd hurt him and paid back for it tenfold. in a way, sy as a reader was also projecting himself in lbh the character.

in short, he loved the Idea of luo binghe, but not luo binghe as a real person.

he loved Luo Binghe the White Lotus Disciple

—and he loved him like a parent loves a child. yet, as I mentioned, he always kept in mind that this boy would grew up to be a very attractive and sexual man, and thus sqq expected him to have romantic encounters with girls around his age.

i know some people shy away from talking about this because everyone is paranoid about your favorite character being called a pedophile etc etc, but really, sy could be nothing farther from that, and whoever who says that has a very, hmm, wide definition of the word and it's probably just using the buzzword to hate on the character.

the important thing is that, despite sqq being aware that lbh is a potential sexual being and will become very sexually active in the future, he does not in any way sexualize his and lbh's relationship. Like I said, sqq would never abuse his power in that way, and he'd never get it on with someone he sees as a child, his disciple. that lbh is very much viewing their relationship with romantic and sexual lenses is a complete shock for him because of this, along with other reasons and assumptions (that lbh was straight)

the problem here is, precisely, that he treated lbh like a child once, and would go on treating him as a child later, post-holy mausoleum: disregarding lbh's agency, making decisions for him and without asking what lbh wants, since as the parent he obviously Knows Better, and taking responsibility for lbh's "bad behavior". the endless abyss was a decision he made without consulting lbh. he self-detonated because he thought that would be best for everyone, and he intended for his death to (among other things like saving the city and escaping prison) "make up" for his mistakes. in maigu ridge, he almost kills himself again because he thought that would be better for lbh.

he's self-sacrificing, protective, caring, and overall parental/maternal towards lbh, which has it's good and bad sides. for a long time, he loves lbh like a parent loves a child, and though this side of his love for lbh is not lost in the extras, it's lesser in the sense that the power imbalance is nullified, and the parent-child, shizun-disciple side of their relationship turns more into a comforting, safe roleplay that allows them to access intimacy and express their feelings (that infamous "if i was your mother" speech) than the entirety of their relationship.

and the thing is, he always loved and will always love lbh as a parent loves a child. and i think people uncomfortable with this fact have to get around to accepting that lol

he is subconsciously attracted to luo binghe (bingmei) the Man

we all know this part. sqq's descriptions of lbh's beauty are numerous and far too difficult to quote them all, but one that really stands out to me, because it proves the point, is this one:

[Shen Qingqiu] asked, “The important person you’re talking about, was it…a good-looking young man?” When he thought about it, he decided against suppressing his conscience and clarified. “Not just good-looking, he’s very good-looking, especially good-looking. Fair skin, pretty face, tall. He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it’s exceptionally dark.” chapter 9: borderlands

if he was unaffected by lbh's attractiveness, he wouldn't need to "suppress his conscience" about it. also this description is just... describing lbh's smile from his own pov? a personal feeling? to a stranger? he has it bad.

he's repressing his own feelings, so it's difficult to point to a specific moment as the moment he realizes he's attracted to lbh... because he never has a conscious realization, and he's in constant denial about it. all the way through to the last bingqiu extra, the wedding extra, he'll continue using the same narrative: the Protagonist is Beautiful and Irresistible, so what can sqq do but surrender to him? It's inevitable, really. (hahahaha he can't help but love and be attracted to lbh. it says more about him that he could ever verbalize)

so yeah, sqq really has the hots for lbh the man. but he'll NEVER admit it, he'll never had an Oh moment. Not even when he unconsciously called lbh "husband".

i want to make a clarification: for a character like sqq, who care about his pride and dignity way too much and has internalized homophobia and sexism to the detriment of his own peace of mind and fulfillment, admitting that he enjoys sex is way too shameful. he's never doing it. he mentions being "drunk with lust" in the showdown extra; in the deep dream extra he gets enthusiastic and proactive, initiating sex with lbh himself very smoothly; in the RoC,SoBQ extra he initially asks to do it doggy style and then changes his tune and wants to see lbh's face, DESPITE being embarrassed about it, and his desire is described as wanting the spot inside him to be rammed. all of this are subtle hints of how he really feels about sex, despite his inner struggles with his pride as a man.

another clarification: the way smut is written in western space is not the same as the way is written in chinese novels. for example, some chinese slang put the the top as the one "attacking", as if sex is a sort of fight. there's always this implication that the shou surrenders to the gong. there's a clear distinction of who tops and who bottoms and the roles of husband and wife made by this distinction; pleasure is described differently: phrases like "scalp going numb", "getting goosebumps" are not particular to svsss alone; the way the bodies engaged in the sex act are described, etc. (it IS a different language with a different culture) so it's normal that most of us come out of the extras thinking the smut is not enjoyable for readers or the characters themselves. what is the difference between the mdzs extras and the svsss extras? that wwx, being characterized as a "shameless" person, is very vocal about how he feels during sex. he has no shame around sex, unlike sqq, who is in the opposite side of the shame spectrum.

sqq is still struggling with that part of himself, and personally I think it's very understandable that even until the end of volume 4 he still has a difficult time with it; it's not easy shedding the believes one grows up with.

which bring me to,

he loves luo binghe the Man, "romantically"

—and it's a love that conflates his parental love, his attraction, too, but that starts to develop mostly post-holy mausoleum: it's when the hand-holding starts, somehow, though it develops fulling throughout the extras, when they finally become romantic partners and explore sex together. mxtx traces an arc that starts with the showdown extra, goes through the deep dream extra that has sqq telling lbh that "Tonight I feel like... I live you a great deal" and ends in the wedding extra with sqq calling lbh "husband" unprompted; despite previously agonizing about his loss of face and dignity and the humiliation of it, his actions speak louder than his words and inner thoughts. because of this, functionally, sqq can be read as a tsundere.

but aside from the sex, sqq enjoys domesticity and spending time with lbh; he likes teasing him, conversing with him and going out with him to see the world. post-main novel they're equals in their relationship and treat each other with respect and consideration, even if their shizun-disciple roleplay prevails. by romance definitions, I believe they mostly fit them, even if their relationship is unconventional.

as for when sqq fell in love with lbh? i still don't have a clear answer. he's always loved him; this love evolves through time, bringing him and lbh closer together. personally, i don't think it's not important. sqq loves lbh, and that's what matters.

#svsss #zykamiliah-svsss #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #had this post in my drafts. feel like now is a good time to post it lol

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tocomplainfriend · 7 months

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It feels less like you want to address a real life problem to characters, but more like you want to have another of your characters you constantly baby and want others to fangirl over.

TW: Rape, SA, Racism, Stereotyping, Homophobia, Acephobia, Arophobia.

The representations of topics in media DOES affect real people.

Fiction can affect reality.

Let's start easy, Jaws. This goes back to Hazbin I promise.

"Since the release of Jaws in 1975, the world has witnessed a staggering decline of 71% in shark and ray populations, and around 100 million sharks are killed each year." (including multiple practices of mass hunting sharks in competition)

Both Steven Spielberg and the original writer Peter Benchley regret the movie and book. It's a big reason of the shark treatment, when it started by old fishermen worrying about shark biting people in the beaches they made money of.

Even if you aren't a shark killer yourself, a lot of things you believe of sharks are untrue myths that come from making sharks "evil" human killer animals. Sharks cannot smell blood from miles away, that's not even how water works, the particles of blood need to enter their nostrils. Sharks are not man eaters, they attack other prey animals before human. Shark attacks are extremely rare, even if they happen they are not justifiable to kill all sharks.

Sharks actually have personalities they can fit in, they are smart and recognize people and boats- and form positive relationships with people. They can even like getting pet by people.

youtube

Other level to represent other thing sin media that affects reality we can address Queer, representation as a topic.

I hope it is not a surprise for you... possible non-straight, non-cis person reading this. That the constant representation of gay man as kid predator is a problem. They used old commercial (PSA) to spread negative views of gay man. Media is used to spread messages and affect its viewer. This is, there are cartoons created by Jehovah witness (or similar religions) to spread their beliefs and teach to their children in an easy, digestible way.

Same with the amount of straight woman that went off to read shitty yaoi manga and fetishy gay wattpad stories, and went to sexualize and diminish queer men. Constantly making gay man's personality into bottom or top (uke and seme shit). I witness this irl, others have too.

Same with shitty men that view Lesbians as a porn machine for men, cause "monkey brain like woman, lesbian = two women". Which happens in general and adult media. All of these are EASY examples.

Another one which turns out many people don't think about. Having your representation of an AroAce character (on purpose or not) be the psychopath with no feelings. Associating the not being romantically or sexually to means you have no heart, to be abnormal, by then a psychopath. An abuse or serial killer.

Fiction does affect reality-

A racist film, 'Birth of the nation' Revived the KKK and let to all the discrimination, and the homicide of black people of centuries ahead.

youtube

Coming back around, how you treat the topic of SA, and r-pe- affects the real world. You would think someone who wrote that, had in mind on how that affects people in real life. Didn't you want to represent victims of SA/R-pe that are sex workers and male?

Reducing the r-pist, pimp, trafficker character to an air head to treat as silly is crazy to do. Specially as... oh idk... the creator? Both this and the tweet of the voice actor calling Val "Bubbles Coded" is so crazy. The character is also not deep enough by itself, it's pretty much Stupid and a R-pist sex trafficker. The tweet below Viv's fucking kills me too.

The fact Val is shown to be air head stupid doesn't delete he backed Angel (and by being a sex trafficker and a pimp, and him licking charlie that means he has multiple victims) into a corner and under his control. Too then abuse of him in many different ways. Manipulations are not only done by Super mastermind people, and representing it in such way diminished, affects people who have being manipulated and actually try to question if they have being or not. Manipulators can be normal, average people, they usually are not obvious. Even if Val is openly a shitty person that's really obvious, it doesn't detract from him being manipulative to people. The scene where Val threatens him in chains that is manipulation, his text messages are manipulation (even if you think it is too obvious to be successful).

How you represent SA/R-PE, and its perpetrators, do affect real life.

Going around and having your "serious R-pe episode", to then go in other episodes or the other series you are writing to make r-pe/sa jokes is terrible. For the person that directed the whole scene of poison to NOT be r-pe/sa victim (said by themselves) with a r-pe fetish with this character's in specific, to directed in the most graphic way possible is awful. To go around babying your r-pist character is crazy.

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Hope you understand that this doesn't mean not treating any topic at all. Creators should be awere on how they treat topics and the scenarios they create with them, too. People and viewers need to also put their brain to understand the media they consume. But you can't always put all blame only on the viewers of a series, if media is messy is a fault of the media. You can criticize both.

You need to acknowledge Valentino is indeed a terrible person, You don't need to delete his actions or the weight of them.

I also just know that a lot of Val fans just like him to draw him in r-pe art and get their fetishized gay ship. Cause that's what they are into. You won't even do that with a woman, because you are into your fucked up fetishized gay porn from wattpad you never left behind.

If you like him, FUCK IT, just please take his abuse seriously. Don't default your entire usage, and view of the character to be 'uwufied' fandom stuff, please.

I hate how the topic has being treated, in and out of the show. I'm a victim, and I'm hurt by how these things are treated and knowing how it affects others. Even in things I haven't watched! Don't make the argument don't like it? Just don't watch it. The movies from the video of SA of men being a joke, many I haven't watch- that still affects over all. It's still a problem and it's disheartening.

Also have this:

#hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #tw sa #tw rape #tw homophobia #tw racsim #tw acephobia #tw arophobia

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x-liv25-jamieswife · 5 months

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unpopular(ish) tig opinions/mostly just me ranting

a few people have done this so here are mine (also just me ranting)

this one isn't super controversial but i don't really like alisa. she's nice and all, but the way she treats libby is just so weird to me and i can't bring myself to love her.

most people in this fandom are grayson stans but my fav is jameson. i love grayson, don't get me wrong, but i feel like his character is sort of overdone. i mean, almost all love interests nowadays are moody, broody, i never smile except when im with you. im happy avery ended up with jamie not just cause they fit together, but bc, for once, the love interest isn't the broody type (like i said, love grayson dont hate me)

i commented this under a post, and i don't think this is super unpopular but im lyra neutral. i literally cannot love a character unless i know them (i dont hate her either, i just don't have an opinion)

ok, this one might get me some hate, but, although grayson had the right to be mad in tig bc avery inherited the money, i do think he did go too far sometimes. there's this one time, where he was just unnecessarily rude to avery, telling her she didn't know what it was like to suffer (midway through to book, don't remember the chapter but its there and it makes no sense bc she grew up with no money while this dude is a privileged white man, like all of his brothers (except for xander cause he isn't white)). like i said, he had the right to be mad, but avery did nothing to him, and, so, he had no right to say some of the things he said to her. he does get better, and he does apologize (i think, but even if he doesn't idc cause hes nice to her now). like i said, he had the right to be mad cause i mean he did grow up thinking he'd inherit and he didn't, but he shouldn't have taken out all of his anger on her. he had the right to doubt her and think she had ulterior motives, but he had no right to accuse her of being a gold digger when she had done NOTHING to gray for him think that (dont take this as me not liking gray, he's one of my fav characters ever (but no one beats jamie (and nash)))

idk if this one will make sense and ik some people will agree with me if this does, but the way avery is treated in this fandom is really shitty. she's pretty much only mentioned when people are talking about the love triangle. she's bashed bc she didn't choose grayson (which she had the right to bc jamie was made for her and gray wasn't), her trauma is super overlooked. i wish people would pay more attention to her. also, i mentioned this earlier, but some people (not many but some) let other people (like gray and thea) get away will at the mean things they said to avery bc they're their favorite characters. (obviously, they can be your fav characters. my best friend's fav character is gray, and, when i first read the books, i liked gray over jamie for a small period of time, but its wrong to let them get away things just bc you like them.

people will agree with me, but jameson and grayson's trauma should NOT be compared. trauma is trauma no matter how "bad" it is (note the quotation marks around bad). ive mostly seen people compare jamie to gray saying that gray's trauma is worse which is so fucking mean. they both have trauma. they both have it bad. no one should be comparing. i will make a longer post about this bc this is smth i'm very passionate about and it pisses me off. (ive lost count of the amount of times ive compared my trauma to others thinking i had no right to complain bc others had it worse, so don't do it to fictional characters plsss)

the tiktok/insta fandom sucks. the amount of averygrayson shippers ive seen bash avery on those platforms is too much. the only healthy part of the fandom is on tumblr.

not controversial but thea is not a girl boss, she's just a mean girl. she's not iconic.

people should not bash people for their favorite characters. i've seen this mostly on older posts (like before tfg was released) but some people will go 'xander's my fav' or 'avery's my fav' and people in the comments would go 'but grayson exists' or 'but jameson exists'. let people like who they want to like. all characters are great (mostly, i hate thea and all of the bad guys).

i couldn't care less about eve's redemption arc. she ruined toby's life, and as someone who loves toby and avery's father-daughter dynamic, i will never forgive her. she also treated grayson horribly, basically got alisa kidnapped (cause alisa wouldn't have gotten kidnapped if eve hadn't gotten toby kidnapped), and more so if she ever does get a redemption arc, i will be throwing hands.

if i see people complaining about lyra's character when tgg comes out bc 'they were expecting someone different' i will be pissed. im sure lyra will be great (hopefully). it doesn't matter if she's a girl boss or more like rebecca.

grayson is not 'the most misunderstood character in the fandom'. he's literally the most popular character. people are constantly gushing about him and his trauma. other characters like avery, jameson, and xander (and others) are so much more misunderstood. no ones takes the time to understand them like they do with grayson. people are constantly talking about his trauma, and how people shouldn't hate him bc he's 'misunderstood'. people have the right to hate him, and his trauma isn't overlooked as the fandom's most popular character. he is a complex character, and i will be making in depth posts about him bc i find him interesting and i really like his character, but he's the most understood character in the fandom. i've noticed that people tend to say he's misunderstood right after coming up with the most nonsensical take defending all of his actions saying that he has trauma (trauma is not an excuse its an explanation)

even if grayson would've gotten up to help avery after the bombing 1. he would've never gotten there on time and 2. he might have gotten more hurt.

i said this earlier while talking about gray but trauma is not an excuse its an explanation. do with that what you will. i just have to repeat it.

people who claim jameson was not affected by emily are the bane of my existence (yes, they exist, i've seen them)

ik i mentioned gray a lot in this and it might seem like i don't like him, but i swear i LOVE him. i find his character very interesting and complex and i really wanna analyze his character once i'm done rereading. i just hate toxic grayson stans (most of yall aren't, but they exist)

#the inheritance games #jameson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #avery grambs #nash hawthorne #xander hawthorne #libby grambs #averyjameson #averygrayson #alisa ortega #thea calligaris #eve laughlin

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swan-of-sunrise · 2 months

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Let It Out, and Let It In

Summary: Spiraling under the immeasurable weight of his trauma, Steve desperately seeks out the company of his girlfriend and, after experiencing a panic attack in her presence, unexpectedly finds himself opening up to her about his mental health.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a detailed depiction of a panic attack and a frank discussion about Steve Rogers’ trauma

A/N: Hi guys! I've been an MCU/Steve Rogers fan for damn near a decade now, and it hasn't escaped my notice that Steve's trauma has a tendency of being overlooked and overshadowed. So today, we'll be getting a glimpse of his ongoing mental health struggles (I promise you it's not all angst!) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Let It Out, and Let It In September 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“Should’ve called ahead, Rogers,” Steve chastised himself under his breath as he knocked three times on (Y/N)’s front door. He shoved the hood of his sweatshirt off his head and roughly combed his fingers through his hair, the poor attempt to straighten up his appearance for his girlfriend doing very little to distract from his spiraling mental state.

Like many, Steve didn’t exactly have fond memories of high school. While everyone around him seemed to struggle a little as they transitioned from awkward adolescence to mature adulthood, he always felt as though he was one massive step behind them without any hope of catching up. One aspect of high school he did appreciate, though – apart from his friendship with Bucky and his beloved art – were his English courses; he devoured each of the novels, plays and poems that they were assigned to read and thoroughly enjoyed writing themes that analyzed their deeper meanings. One of his favorite books had been The Great Gatsby and even eighty years later, he could still recall the telling exchange that Jay Gatsby shared with Nick Carraway towards the beginning of their friendship: ‘You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me.’

The brief line of Gatsby’s dialogue managed to stick with Steve long after he’d finished reading the book, initially because he couldn’t imagine how one’s life could become so lonely but eventually, because he’d come to understand Gatsby’s words all too well; he suffered the loss of his mother and Bucky, went into the ice in 1945 and woke up to find that nearly seventy years had passed him by, grappled with the losses of all his fellow Howling Commandos and helplessly watched as the last personified tie to his past slowly succumbed to dementia. Like Gatsby, Steve preferred the company of strangers; they made it easier for him to ignore the crippling loneliness because they never bothered to try and get to know the traumatized twenty-seven-year-old man behind the red, white and blue shield.

Things began to change for him not long after the Battle of New York. He befriended Natasha, one of his fellow Avengers, and she tried her best to acclimate him to his new life; maybe it was a result of all she’d suffered at the hands of the Red Room or because she was just incredibly adept at reading people, but Nat knew that he was struggling and in her own unique way, she did everything she could to be there for him. He met Sam and (Y/N), leaving his apartment for his usual morning run around the National Mall wearing a serious scowl but departing for his S.H.I.E.L.D. mission afterwards with a truly happy smile on his face; Sam soon became one of his best friends, the VA trauma counselor understanding his difficulties with adjusting to his new life but never treating him differently because of them, and he found himself falling in love with (Y/N), the historical-fiction novelist bursting into his life like sunshine on a cloudy day and making him feel truly seen for who he was instead of the larger-than-life mantle he carried. And with the help of (Y/N), Sam and Nat, he grew closer to his fellow Avengers, even finding himself beginning to view them as his family and accepting the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

But while Steve had slowly grown to love and appreciate his new life, there were still some days when the reality of his situation would weigh heavily on his mind and it was only a matter of time before he’d break down into a full-blown panic attack; he did his best to hide his struggles from his girlfriend and friends, not wanting to hurt their feelings or make them feel that they weren’t enough for him, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pretend that everything was all right. It was one of those awful days that saw Steve impulsively asking Nat to land the Quinjet at Joint Base Andrews on their way home from a mission in Argentina; the assassin did as he asked without question, but he could feel her concerned gaze following him as he walked down the ramp and marched across the airstrip alone. Ignoring the mounting pressure in his chest, he elected to do what he’d often do before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and take a walk through the streets of D.C., following in Jay Gatsby’s footsteps and surrounding himself with strangers to avoid addressing the memories of his old life that were clawing their way to the forefront of his mind.

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face and his hands shoved into its pockets, Steve trudged down North Capitol Street with his eyes downcast, prolonging his return to his dark and impersonal apartment and the panic attack that would inevitably follow. Dusk had already fallen and downtown, the city’s nightlife was beginning to ramp up; restaurants were packed with families visiting the historic city and cheerful groups of friends pulled one another into the bars and nightclubs, while couples walked arm-in-arm and took in the glimmering lights that illuminated the city’s imposing monuments. It wasn’t until Steve walked past a bookstore and caught sight of (Y/N)’s debut novel, For Queen and Country, proudly displayed in the window that he felt his mind beginning to clear and a small smile tug on his lips. In that instant, Steve was engulfed by an overwhelming need to see his girlfriend and he continued walking down the street at an increased pace, spurred on by the sunshine that might succeed in breaking through the bleak isolation he found himself consumed by.

Steve forced himself out of his musings just as the door swung open to reveal (Y/N); he was pleased to see that she was dressed for a comfortable night in, with a well-loved Lauryn Hill concert t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, but it was evident by the white strip adhered to her nose and the hair towel balanced on her head that he’d interrupted her evening. “Steve!” (Y/N), unaware of the guilt he was experiencing for interrupting her relaxing evening, smiled broadly and opened her door wider. “I’ve really got to stop listening to Sam; that lying Birdbrain told me you guys wouldn’t be back from Argentina until tomorrow.”

“The mission wrapped up a lot quicker than we’d initially anticipated, so Sam’s off the hook fir lying this time,” Steve replied with a small smile as he shoved his fidgeting hands into his pockets. “I, um, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call or text you before coming over, but I was on my way home and I…anyway, I can leave if I’m intruding-”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not intruding!” Standing the side, (Y/N) allowed him to step through the doorway and closed the door before turning to give him a sheepish smile. “After spending all day going over my book’s first draft with Greg, I treated myself to a bubble bath and I may or may not have fallen asleep in the tub; I woke up in lukewarm water and my fingers were all pruney, but it was a damn good nap.”

“You’ve been working hard on your novel, sunshine; if anyone deserves a little rest and relaxation, it’s you.” Steve slipped off his sneakers and neatly placed them near the entryway table, straightening and chuckling when his girlfriend launched herself into his arms and nuzzled her face against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

(Y/N) nodded and tightened her arms around his waist. “I always miss you whenever you’re away on a mission, sweetheart.”

Steve’s heart melted and before he knew it, one of his arms was holding her close while his hand was guiding her face upwards so that his lips could meet hers; their kiss was slow yet passionate, with each of them doing all they could to savor their rare moment of peace, but his initial reason for visiting the historical-fiction novelist made its presence known in his mind and saw him give her one last kiss before pulling away with a forced smile. “Me too, baby. I just…I really needed to see you.”

(Y/N)’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied him but to his surprise and overwhelming gratitude, she didn’t ask him what was wrong or if he was all right. Instead, she took both of his hands in hers and playfully swung their arms while giving him a coy smile. “I was about to try my luck at cooking dinner and since my culinary skills aren’t exactly up to par, I could really use the assistance of a big, strong Avenger. Do you know if any of them are brave enough to accept this dangerous mission?”

“I think I’m up for the challenge, ma’am,” Steve impishly replied and his overstated authoritative tone made (Y/N) giggle as she led him into the kitchen to prepare dinner. “Can I, um, ask what’s on your nose?”

“Oh, it’s for unclogging oil and dead skin cells from pores! It’s a little gross to remove but at the same time, kind of satisfying. Did you want to try one out for yourself?”

“…Sure, why not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While helping his girlfriend cook dinner wasn’t quite as dangerous of a task as she’d made it out to be, Steve certainly had his hands full with making sure she didn’t over-season or burn anything in her eagerness to prove her minimal culinary skills; most importantly, however, cooking alongside (Y/N) helped to take his mind off the incapacitating loneliness that drove him to her doorstep in the first place. They sat at the dining room table to enjoy their chicken parmigiana with angel hair pasta and broccoli and (Y/N) even brought out a pricier bottle of red wine to enjoy with their food, a gift she claimed was sent by Tony and Pepper to congratulate her for winning the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. Steve listened to (Y/N) talk about the last-minute touches being placed on what would soon be her second published novel with rapt attention, voicing his amazement when she revealed which of her favorite authors would be joining her at an upcoming writing convention and chuckling as she told him about the playful argument she’d gotten into with her publisher about certain spelling choices in her draft.

After they finished their meal, they cleaned up the sizable mess they’d made in the kitchen, with Steve washing the dirty dishes and (Y/N) drying and putting them away; they fell into a comfortable silence while they worked, and he found himself focusing on her soft humming as he deliberated over whether or not to open up to her about the complex emotions he was fighting to control. He loved his girlfriend with all his heart, but it was because of his love for her that he hesitated to fully open up and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why: he was not only afraid that he’d hurt her feelings if he told her that he still struggled to acclimate to the twenty-first century, but he was also afraid that the truth would only serve to drive her away. The memory-wiping device from that Will Smith alien movie Tony made me watch could solve all of my problems in the blink of an eye, he sullenly thought with a sideways glance at a blissfully unaware (Y/N) putting away their dishes, you can’t miss something that you don’t have any memories of.

With the kitchen scrubbed clean and the comforting sound of a light rainfall outside echoing throughout the cozy home, Steve and (Y/N) took to the couch to watch some television. The historical-fiction novelist dissolved into a fit of giggles after applying a cleansing strip to Steve’s nose and he happily indulged her by posing for the selfie she all but begged for his permission to take. After she took several pictures and disposed of their cleansing strips, he pulled her into his arms and soundly kissed her, finding that the dark cloud that hung over him was slowly but surely dispersing the longer she kissed him back.

“Do you feel like watching a movie?” (Y/N) breathlessly asked after they’d finally separated for air. A knowing smile was beginning to spread across her face as she realized they’d moved positions during their impromptu make-out session; the historical-fiction novelist was lying flat on her back while he held himself above her and as he deviously grinned down at her, she twirled her fingers around his sweatshirt’s drawstrings and shrugged offhandedly. “Not that I have any problem with continuing our current activities, of course-”

“Neither do I.”

His girlfriend’s smirk widened at his hasty reply. “But TCM’s been airing a really good screwball comedy marathon all day, and I was thinking that we could give it a watch. I guarantee that my world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction pairs excellently with a glass of top shelf red wine and 1935’s Top Hat, so how ‘bout it?”

Steve’s smile instantly dropped at her otherwise innocuous statement. His lungs began to restrict, his vision blurred and it was as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside of his hippocampus; all at once, jarring flashes of cloudy memories flooded his mind and overtook his vision.

Bucky dragging Steve along on another double date and insisting that this one would be different than the other failed dates he’d arranged…his throat constricting as his date scowled at the sight of him…sitting in a darkened theater beside the highly displeased woman and throwing his best friend an envious look as he smoothly draped an arm over his smitten date’s shoulders…trying his damndest to enjoy the hit Astaire & Rogers musical-comedy so that his night wouldn’t be so miserable…

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

Fists tightening in anger when he saw a furious-looking man dragging his date up the aisle while she begged him to calm down…staggering to his feet in the alleyway behind the theater and throwing another punch at the laughing man, only for him to easily dodge and shove him against the nearby dumpster…fighting to catch his breath as he crumpled to the grimy ground and panicking when he recognized the tell-tale signs of an oncoming asthma attack…frantically grabbing at his pockets in search of his asthma cigarettes, fully conscious of Bucky’s shouting and his date’s frightened scream but unable to stop the black dots from invading his vision…

“You’re having a panic attack, Steve, so I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me? C’mon, sweetheart, just breathe.”

Bucky’s hand colliding with his bruised cheek and stunning him back to consciousness long enough for his best friend to practically shove a lit asthma cigarette between his lips…inhaling the smoke and clutching his ribs as his body was wracked with a violent coughing fit…calling out for his mother the moment he regained his breath, only to break down into heaving sobs when he remembered that she’d been gone for nearly six months…

“Steve, look at me.” The sudden feel of his fingers pressed against a soft warmth finally forced Steve’s eyes open; although he was crouched in the corner of his girlfriend’s living room instead of a dingy alleyway behind Bay Ridge’s Alpine Cinema, his chest was still heaving under the strain of regaining his breath and his entire body was trembling. He focused on the blurry figure and realized in a flash of fear that it was (Y/N) kneeling on the floor before him, looking calm and composed as she held his hand against the side of her neck and gently spoke to him. “Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, like this.” The historical-fiction novelist completed the breathing exercise and nodded in approval when he shakily copied her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. What are three things you can see?”

“You,” Steve automatically replied, making his girlfriend smile as his eyes darted around in search of two more items. “Sam’s bowl of wine corks…the lamp that you found at that estate sale a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good, good, but don’t forget to keep on breathing. What’re three things you can hear?”

He took another deep breath and released it before answering. “The rain falling on the rooftop above us…the refrigerator’s ice-maker refilling itself…the ticking of the clock in the entryway.”

(Y/N)’s eyes searched his and he spotted the flicker of trepidation that briefly flashed across them while she studied his features. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Now, can you touch three things for me and tell me what you feel?”

“Y-Yeah…” Steve swallowed thickly, his stiff fingers slowly flexing against the skin of his girlfriend’s neck as he focused on all he could feel. “Your pulse. It’s strong and steady. I can feel the warmth of the blood flowing through your veins.” Emboldened by her encouraging nod, he brought his other hand up to rest flat against his chest and stretched out his fingers along the material of his sweatshirt. “My sweatshirt’s soft, and my fingers catch on its embroidered logo…” He lowered his hand to touch the living room’s hardwood floor and winced at the unpleasant sensation. “The floor’s cold. All I can think about is the moment I crashed the Valkyrie into the ice.”

The historical-fiction novelist raised her arms but suddenly halted her movements. “Are you up for a hug right now?” Instead of answering, Steve wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace; he buried his face in her neck and squeezed his eyes shut as her arms draped around his shoulders, savoring the weight of her warm body pressed against his and practically preening when her fingers rhythmically carded through his hair. “You can talk to me, Steve. Whatever it is you have to get off your chest, I’ll listen.” He could feel her press a kiss onto his hair. “And if you want to just sit here and enjoy the silence, then I’ll be more than happy to oblige you. I…I don’t want you to be afraid of letting me in; you deserve to feel safe enough to express yourself, sweetheart, no matter what.”

Steve didn’t know how long they sat there in silence before he rested his chin on her shoulder and stared unseeingly at her cozy living room as he finally found his voice. “The first thing that people told me after coming out of the ice was how lucky I was. They told me that surviving the crash and the ice was a blessing in disguise and that I’d have a shot at living a better life – and they were all so damn pleased with themselves as they were saying it, too, like they could claim that they did their one good deed for the day by convincing Captain America that he was better off in the 21st century – and none of ‘em could understand why I wasn’t as happy as the rest of the world was. Fury arranged for me to see a therapist, but I stopped going after the first appointment because I could see that it’d be more of the same ‘be grateful for what you’ve been given’ shit; there was no one I felt that I could talk to, and then after Loki and the Battle of New York happened…well, most everyone stopped trying to get to know me after that. The lack of any genuine companionship meant it was easier for me to hide and even numb my feelings, but when I found myself bonding with you and Nat and Sam, I…I started to become afraid of driving you all away.”

Steve pulled back far enough to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, only realizing he’d started to cry when her hands delicately cradled his face and her thumbs brushed his drying tear tracks away. “Were you afraid of how we’d react if you admitted that you still think about your old life?” There was no hint of judgement in her expression or hostility in her eyes, only patience and consideration, and Steve found himself silently appreciating his girlfriend’s kindhearted nature as he nodded. “Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me very carefully: depriving yourself of emotions is to deprive yourself of humanity. You’re human, Steve, and you’re allowed to feel however you feel. The people who love you love you for who you are and while I can’t speak for Sam or Nat, I want you to know that I’ll never, ever ask you to repress your emotions for my sake.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve softly started as one of his hands moved to caress her cheek. “No matter what, I’m always gonna have these memories of my life without you in my head. I have no way of knowing when or even if I’ll be settled into my new life. Doesn’t that…doesn’t that bother you?”

His girlfriend smiled patiently and shook her head before countering his question with one of her own. “If our roles were reversed and I was the one who’d come out of the ice instead, would you still love and accept me for who I am?”

“Of course I would, sunshine,” Steve replied with conviction.

“Then believe me when I say that I’ll always love and accept you, sweetheart, no matter what.” With tears beginning to well in her own eyes, (Y/N) leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Please, please believe me.”

Steve’s heart nearly broke at the desperation that laced her plea and he hurriedly nodded. “I believe you, baby.” He gently coaxed her to look up and into his eyes; the unabashed love that he saw emanating from her tear-filled eyes melted something deep within him, encouraging him to rest his forehead against hers and brush the pad of his thumb along her flushed cheek. “I believe you.” They stayed there for an undetermined amount of time, with their arms wrapped around one another and their eyes closed while they relished the warmth of one another’s embrace and listened to the steady patter of rain outside. When Steve felt his heartbeat slow to its usual pace and his limbs stop their trembling, he trailed his hand down from his girlfriend’s cheek to rest against her chest, in the space directly over her heart; he wasn’t sure why, but the steady beating of her heart against his palm was soothing to him. “Thank you for helping me through all of that; if I’d gone through it alone, I’d still be spiraling right about now.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, about how often do you go through a panic attack?”

Opening his eyes, Steve considered her question for several moments as he took in the consideration that was written across her face. “A couple of times a month,” He replied with a wistful smile. “They started right after I came out of the ice, but they’ve been happening a little more frequently lately.”

(Y/N) offered him a sympathetic smile. “You know, I may not be a Certified Kick-Ass Counselor like Sam is but if I learned anything from working with him down at the VA, it’s that acknowledging your feelings can be a great first step towards healing.” He hummed thoughtfully and took in her words as her fingers smoothed down his rumpled hair. “When you start to feel another panic attack coming on, you can always give me a call and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through it, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not sure how it’ll live up to this…” Steve’s arms wound back around the historical-fiction novelist’s waist and pulled her in close with a content smile on his face. “But I promise you I will.” The familiar jingle of their local ten o’clock news sounded throughout the living room, causing him to give his girlfriend an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, we’re probably missing that screwball comedy marathon you wanted to watch, aren’t we?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just head down to Barnes & Noble one of these days and buy the Blu-Rays. Besides, I think that now’s the perfect time to introduce you to one of favorite comfort movies, but only if you’re up for it.”

Steve, touched by the consideration she was continuously showing for him and his mental health, swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed a chaste kiss onto her lips, pulling back after a moment with a playful grin. “I’m up for anything, so long as it’s with my best girl…and her world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” (Y/N) readily agreed as she fought the smirk of amusement that was threatening to spread across her face; after extricating herself from his embrace, she hopped to her feet and offered him her hand, lacing her fingers around his once he stood and leading him into the kitchen as she continued. “We’ll make my not-so-secret recipe, pop open another bottle of pricey wine, and then we’ll be all set to watch 1978’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!”

“That’s the Beatles, right? So, does that mean the movie’s about the album?”

“…You’ll see.”

Needless to say, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was one of the strangest movies Steve had ever seen, but it was also one of the most entertaining movie-watching experiences he’d ever had; he chuckled at all of the corny yet earnest moments, watched in admiration as his girlfriend sang along to each and every one of the Beatles songs that played and even caught himself tearing up at the few emotional moments, all while indulging in some delicious popcorn and wine. Steve’s arms were holding (Y/N) close while they lounged across the couch and it was then, as the historical-fiction novelist in his arms sang her heart out to the film’s absurd yet catchy version of ‘Get Back,’ that he realized he felt more grounded in reality than he’d felt in a long, long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Steve was returning to his room in the Avengers Facility after a long intelligence briefing with the rest of the team when he spotted a box sitting in front of his suite’s locked door. I don’t remember ordering anything online, he thought to himself as he cautiously picked up the box and brought it inside; their mail was regularly scanned and checked for explosives and biological weapons upon arrival and while Steve was fond of bidding on used vinyl records on Ebay, he hadn’t logged into his account since well before his mission in Argentina.

“Please don’t be another ‘Over The Hill’ shirt from Tony,” He sighed under his breath, setting the package down onto his bed and retrieving his pocket knife from his dresser drawer.

Steve carefully sliced through the packing tape and pushed open the cardboard flaps, his head tilting to the side when his eyes landed on a misshapen bundle of bubble wrap inside. His interest piqued, he unfurled the piece of bubble wrap and his brows rose in surprise when a large stuffed black and white cow tumbled out onto his comforter; a small card was attached to the sky-blue bow around the stuffed animal’s neck, and he wasted no time in detaching it and reading its brief contents.

Sweetheart,

Meet Buttercup the Cow! I did a little research and found out that weighted stuffed animals can help reduce feelings of anxiety and even ground someone who’s experiencing a panic attack; whenever you begin to feel yourself spiraling or getting lost in your memories, hold Buttercup and imagine that I’m right there with you, giving you the biggest hug imaginable.

With all my love,

Your Sunshine

Steve’s eyes prickled with unshed tears as he placed the heartfelt note down on his dresser, right beside the framed sketch he’d drawn of his beautiful girlfriend long before they began to date. He picked up the stuffed cow and tested its weight in his hands before hugging it tight to his chest; he could already feel his shoulders relaxing and when he nuzzled his cheek against the soft fabric, he realized that the clever historical-fiction novelist had sprayed some of her perfume – Design by Paul Sebastian – onto the stuffed cow. Breathing in the familiar notes of tuberose and jasmine, Steve briefly closed his eyes as he smiled to himself and thought about how much he loved his girlfriend and her kind heart.

A brilliant idea suddenly came to Steve’s mind and after setting Buttercup down on his pillow, he pulled a jacket on, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and scooped up his motorcycle’s keys, hurrying out of his suite and down the hall to the common room; Sam was in the middle of making a sandwich while Wanda and Vision sat together on the sofa debating their favorite sitcoms, the counselor looking up from his half-made meal and flashing him a welcoming smile. “Hey, man, we’re gonna do a little team bonding and watch Modern Family while we eat lunch; you want a sandwich or a wrap?”

“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ve gotta go run an errand,” Steve replied with an apologetic look and twirled his keys around his finger. “Do you happen to know where the nearest Barnes & Noble is?”

“Um, I think there’s one up in Kingston…?”

“1200 Ulster Avenue.” They both looked over at their android teammate as he nonchalantly continued. “According to all available data, the store sees low to moderate business around this time, and the traffic appears to be light.”

An impressed Steve gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks, Vis.”

Their exchange caught Wanda’s attention, causing her to look up from her box set of DVD’s and arch a curious brow. “You usually detest going out on errands. Is everything all right?”

“Yep, I’ve just got some Blu-Rays I need to buy.” He flashed his befuddled teammates a grin as he brusquely headed out of the common room. “I’ll see you guys later!”

As he jogged down the steps and crossed their private parking lot towards his motorcycle, the cell phone in his pocket chimed; he swung his leg over and sat as he pulled his phone out to check his text messages, chuckling to himself after reading his friend’s brief message.

Sam: If you show up at Booksmart’s doorstep with a box set of old Cary Grant flicks, she just might ask you to marry her on the spot 😂

Glancing up towards the floor-to-ceiling window in the common room and spotting an amused Sam watching him, Steve grinned and gave the counselor a teasing salute before revving up the engine and taking off. I can’t think of a better outcome than that, he thought to himself as he sped down the road, a truly happy smile spreading across her face at the mental image of someday marrying the love of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there we have it! I promise, the next one-shot will be a little happier and although I haven't decided which movie/show I wanna tackle next, I'm sure that little series will be happier too! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95 @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345@crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

#stumblin' in #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #captain america fic #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #tony stark #iron man #vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel cinematic universe

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tavyliasin · 9 months

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Villain-Fucker Angst Hours

Good timezone, darlings~ Are you ready to get all up in your feelings? No? Me neither, loves, but here we are regardless so the words are going to flow as they usually do... This is focused on Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3 and his fandom, but the latter section can easily apply to any villain fandom.

Self-Analysis of Devil-Fuckery, Or Why Do I Adore Raphael When He Is Very Obviously Evil: A Short Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Still Cannot Name Anything With Less Than A Full Paragraph) ((NSFW)) (((Game Spoilers)))

The following may discuss heavier topics, but without specifics, so whilst it should be safe for most to read without triggering any difficult memories please be aware of Raphael's entire vibes, the content and context of his story, and I'd also like to mention that this isn't a "woe be us for we are terrible people" piece, it's actually more about:

"There is an inherent kindness and warmth to much of the Raphael fandom, and I think there could be some common threads behind that, pulling us all in closer in a comforting blanket that we wrap around each other to keep out the cold of the world."

So, what in the nine hells am I on about? Well. Raphael-fandom is a wild and wonderful place to be. The rest is in sections, so feel free to skip through to what you feel is relevant to your interests. I am so prone to waffle I should open a restaurant~

Who Are Fans Of Raphael? What Do They Want?

We are feral, unhinged, all sheets to the wind "I want that devil man, carnally, and there is no force in all the planes that could stop me". There's the vanilla to the extreme and every level in between, tops, bottoms, versatiles, Doms, subs, and switches - there are a whole lot of people who would love to get their hands on either (or both) of Raphael's forms, for a simple smooch or something far more spicy~ [edited in] To add on to this, not all of us even desire him in a sexual way, for many it is romantic, soft, or even just the rather pleasant thought of spending an evening with drinks by the hellfire because he would be fascinating company. Aces, Aros, and AroAces may all find themselves well within the devilish corners of fandom too~ which is a whole other essay~ [end edit] So, I see you. I'm one of you. Extremely loud and utterly hingeless in my fan appreciation for Raphael. He's one of my favourites to write about, I seek art of him, and the same goes for his mirrored other half, Haarlep, who I arguably love more despite there being far less content of them in the game.

And the Fandom? The Vibe?

From my experience in the Raphael Fandom areas, we have a very deep and abiding understanding of consent, respect, and treating each other with an absolute and uncompromising kindness. We've had talks about keeping each other safe in fandom, exchanged details of people we have encountered who need to be avoided, even shared details between moderators of different fandom servers to pre-ban people proven to be creeps and/or art thieves. We've also discussed consent, including the issues with it in the game, and how areas of the story can only really be considered dubious at best and could easily be triggering for people. And these discussions have been open, honest, fair, and with the acknowledgement that most of us love these scenes anyway. So there's a sense of care that runs through everything, behind the horny-posting and fan content, behind the endless thirsting after our favourite fictional characters. We have a depth of kindness that warms my sinners soul every time I see it.

What Does This Have To Do With Self-Reflection, Raphael, or Villainy In General?

Well let's look at Raphael. He's a villain, obviously. He's manipulative, devious, and inherently evil by his very nature. He keeps Hope chained in his basement, constantly subjected to endless torture. There's also mention of how Gortash was sold into his service at a young age, clearly not an enjoyable experience given the other details and how things turn out (particularly as Raphael would need Gortash's own plans to fail entirely in order for him to succeed in his own and get that crown). And as fans, we accept that. We don't sit making excuses, or trying to say "well actually Gortash is a little shit and Hope probably deserve it", and we don't shy away from or conveniently ignore those darker sides of him with malicious intent to enable more evil to flourish. What I noticed, when I allowed the thoughts to continue, is that there is a theme here.

If Evil Can Be Loved Then So Can I

That's the core. Of course, darlings, I am not claiming to be a heinous monster. I certainly do not have a laundry list of crimes that would make the devil himself say "Uh, that's a bit much." But I sure as fuck treat myself like I do sometimes. You see, I think a lot of us have that tendency, to judge ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. Our patience, understanding, and forgiveness for others runs deeper than the Mariana Trench, but when it comes to our own flaws? One minor mistake and we think ourselves to be the worst beings ever to disgrace the earth. Thus, the villainy we see reflects how we are treating ourselves. So by loving and accepting all of those things that should be terrible, hated, we are actually learning that no matter how poorly we think of ourselves that we can be worthy of that same love and acceptance. We are extending the affection we are unable to show ourselves to someone we see the worst parts of ourselves amplified within. And that's why villains attract the people with the most kindness. The most forgiveness. Because it takes someone with a truly huge amount of empathy to find love for the embodiment of evil.

Or, IDK, maybe villains are just hot and we're too far down to care.

But wait, before you go!

THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT.

All of this is about FICTION. We should never be accepting of the kinds of evil we see in the game irl. We do not owe anyone kindness if they do not show it to us.

What is hot in fiction is not always OK IRL.

Look after yourselves out there, remember that consent is key in all things, and please do try to learn to love yourselves, darlings, you are worthy of it and you should judge yourself by the same standard you judge others. If you are in doubt, if you are worried, if you feel afraid - reach out, talk to someone. There are many who will listen.

Treat yourself as you would treat a friend. You deserve that much.

Oh, and all Raphael fans who understand kindness are welcome around me, any hour of the day, I adore our little fandom circles and would gladly collect all of us together. I'm following a lot of you as soon as I find you, like hunting shiny pokemon~

See you in Avernus, my darling Little Mice, may we all find joy in the Cambion's Embrace~

#baldurs gate 3 #raphael #bg3 raphael #villain fucker #personal reflection #analysis of the inner mind by a complete amateur #listen the thoughts get loud then I write them down darlings it happens all the time #love yourself please #you are worth more than you give yourself credit for #and keep loving those villains! it's good for you!#be kind to yourself #and be kind in the community #did this even make sense? well it's there now so tough #DMS are open for fellow fans with excellent taste~

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asirensrage · 4 months

Text

The Lesser of Two Evils

Title: The Lesser of Two Evils Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Explicit Pairing: Haitani Ran x OC x Haitani Rindou, Haitani Ran x Haitani Rindou Word count: 3k Warnings: Dark!fic. Incest. Dub-con. Mention of child abuse/abusive father. Murder. Violence. PTSD. Coercion. Jealousy. Unhealthy relationships. Unbeta’d. *warnings are not exhaustive* Summary: There is a third Haitani. She loves her brothers. They love her more. Written for Fright Night: Forbidden Fruits collab for @enchantedforest-network "The theme of this Collab is Taboo topics. Murder, stepcest, incest, noncon - bring your most rotten fruits to the table."

Notes: I think this is the darkest thing I've ever written. It turned out a lot darker than I intended, so much so that I needed to edit things out because part of it was too dark for the event lol. I tried to fix it so it fit, alluding to things but never straight up saying what happened. It was a result of thinking what would drive the oc into accepting this. I hope I did it right. Apologies to anyone who reads this lol. I have so many regrets but I also enjoyed the challenge.

In case it needs to be said, I don't condone anything that happens in this fic. It's fiction.

HEED THE WARNINGS. seriously. read them.

There is a third Haitani.

A younger sister born from a last chance to rekindle a marriage that never should have existed in the first place. Her brothers were old enough to want to leave her behind, venturing into the world while Renka remained in the dilapidated apartment. It was a blessing when it was only her and her brothers. A miracle when she was alone.

With a family like hers, it was easy to slip through the cracks, to fall silent and let her brothers claim the spotlight they always dreamed about, the ones they whispered to each other about in the dead of night when the three of them were curled into the one bed they had as children. Ran wanted to be famous. Rindou wanted to be strong and go into music. He wanted to own a club that everyone would line up for ages to go into like they saw when they were out at night. Renka…just wanted to be happy. And safe. She didn’t tell her brothers the last part.

Whenever they were together, her brothers were glued to her side. They grinned at her, messed up her hair and teased her the way they teased each other. Rindou and Renka hid together when they’d accidentally wake up Ran, who was a demon no matter how old he was, when he woke up before he wanted. Ran promised her that he’d dress her in the fashions they’d see in the windows they passed. He swore that no one would look down at them, at her, the way he saw others do when they went out.

The Haitanis were not well off. Not anymore. The broken marriage of their parents, the infidelity that became more and more apparent, left their home in shambles in more ways than one. Ran swore to himself that he’d make things better for his younger siblings.

Ran and Rindou love their sister. When she was five, Rindou smashed a bottle over their father’s head. Ran used an umbrella to smash his face, leaving him struggling to breathe through his broken nose, before he threatened the man who helped give them life. “You ever look at her like that again, I’ll kill you.”

They pulled Renka out of the apartment and kept her between them before they treated her to some ice cream they bought with money they stole.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Not you’re fault you’re so cute,” Ran teased. “Ever happens again, you tell us.”

“Or at least scream,” Rindou adds. “Someone will help you.”

Renka nods but inwardly she already knows she doesn’t want to cause more trouble. She doesn’t want her brothers who are trying to look after her to get hurt. They’re just kids. What can they do against adults? She feels ancient and young and too aware of what the world holds already.

Their father leaves them alone for the most part. Their mother disappears, taking off to a new life as if she doesn’t abandon her own children. Renka is left with her two brothers who protect her, whispering promises to her that the life they deserve is waiting for them.

🌂

When she’s nine, her brothers are arrested. She doesn’t get to see them. Not right away. She’s left alone in an empty apartment, confused as to why they haven’t returned. It takes two days before she finally gets the news…and their father comes home.

She can’t stop him. Not from coming in or staying. Renka does her best to stay out of sight and out of mind, trying to find a way to get to the detention center to see her brothers. She needs to know what to do. She needs their reassurance that they’ll be released soon. Her home is not safe without them.

Renka is nine years old when she runs away from home.

🌂

She waits until the bruises fade before she finally manages to find a way to visit her brothers. One by one. Rindou comes first, takes one look at her and asks “What the fuck happened?”

“Nothing, everything is fine,” she lies. He looks like he doesn’t believe her, but he tells her where they hid some cash despite the risk of being recorded. He tells her that he worries about her by asking what she’s eating, how school is going and if there’s anyone whose ass they need to kick when they get out. Renka forces herself to smile and tells him that she misses him. They’ll be out in less than a year. She just has to wait for them. He leaves after pressing a kiss to his palm and his palm to the glass. She reaches back, pretending she can feel it. She issues being safe at night, tucked between them. She can’t sleep anymore.

Ran arrives before her, smiling widely at her until he actually looks at her. He doesn’t need to say anything. He’s five years older than her and Renka has never been able to withstand the tension of his stare, the anticipation of him waiting for her eats at her insides until she finally blurts it out. “Ourfathercamehome.”

She half hopes he doesn’t hear her or thinks she said something else, but the way his face changes tells her he understands. She has never seen her brother look at her like that. The fury in his expression makes even the guards straighten.

“What did he do?”

Renka swallows and doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. Ran’s anger is palpable and she can’t stop the way she shrinks down in her seat.

“Tell me you’re not staying there.”

“I–I’m not,” she says quickly. “I…I left.”

He doesn't ask where she’s staying. She has friends, but that’s tricky. She can’t be sent back. She can’t.

“Come back tomorrow. I’ll have a place for you then. Rindou tell you about the stash?”

She ends up crying, making Ran do a complete 180 in his reactions as he coos at her, tells her she’s strong and he’s proud that she’s protecting herself. That he’ll take care of everything. That no one will ever touch her again. She needs to trust her nii-sans.

Within two days, she’s introduced to someone named Kakucho. He’s tall, but quiet and kind. He’s only a couple of years older than her, but he shows her a space where she can stay with a lock on the door and teaches her more ways that she can block it to ensure no one else comes in. He gives her multiple escape routes and doesn’t ask questions. Even from inside their prison, her brothers found her protection. They continue to take care of her.

🌂

When they’re released, when she’s finally reunited with her protectors, both of the brothers hug her. They bury their faces into their hair and she can’t help but cry, even though she doesn’t want to. She’s just relieved.

“We’re so sorry,” they whisper to her. They’re sorry for getting caught, for leaving her alone, for not being there when she needed them. They promise never to leave her again. She doesn’t believe them, but she clings to them and wishes it’s true.

🌂

Ran and Rindou stick to their word until they’re arrested for the events of the Kanto Incident. She’s fourteen this time and more self-sufficient. More importantly, despite their aim for success, her brothers have arranged for her safety. She knows now where they stored money that she can use to keep their apartment paid for. She’s safe because her brother’s reminded all of Roppongi why what is theirs stays theirs in any absence. Her father cannot come back from the dead.

By the time she’s in her twenties, her brothers are released and giving her the life they’ve always promised. She lives in an apartment that suits all of them and while she has her own room, it’s not uncommon for her to find her way into the bed of one of her brothers just to sleep by their side. She still has nightmares about the way she was woken that one night as a child, but being with her brothers chases the monsters away. They are scarier than anything else she’s come across and they are always in her defence.

🌂

She doesn’t completely realize when it begins as it starts small. A kiss to the cheek that lands on the corner of her lips. A hand slipping under her shirt to rest at her waist because they’re cold when they’re all curled up on the couch together. Them being curled around her when she wakes up, one of their legs between hers. It doesn’t seem like anything because it’s not just her. Her brothers treat each other with the same casual closeness they show her.

She doesn’t care. Not really. Her brothers are the only ones she trusts. The only ones who have willingly murdered anyone who touched her. She was there when they beat their father to death. They held her any time she woke up screaming or crying, and pressed kisses to her hair as they promised they would never let anyone hurt her ever again.

And they didn’t. They never let anyone else near her. Their jealousy was obvious when they first caught her talking to a boy at her high school and continued until they banned her from their clubs unless she went with them. She was only allowed to dance with them, pressed in between her brothers as they grinded against her and told her she was the prettiest one there. She always would be. Their praise made her stomach flip and even though she knows it’s wrong, she can’t push them away. Fear of their abandonment tinged with a desire to keep them close makes her easy to mould…makes it easy to give in.

She’s twenty-two when one of them finally makes a move that can’t be ignored.

Ran presses his lips to hers with ease, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. She can’t stop the way she freezes in place, the way she stares at him, but her brother tucks a hair behind her ear. “Don’t wait up for us, princess. We’ll be back before dawn.”

“Ran, you just–” she cuts herself off, unsure if she wants to actually say it and make it real.

“I can’t kiss the one I love?” he asks, teasingly. “You want me to stop, I will.” He leans forward, lips brushing her ear as he whispers, “We’re not him, Ren. We’ll never hurt you.” He presses a kiss to her cheek. “Think about us while we’re gone.”

Rindou, never one to let his brother win, kisses her next. Quickly, before she even realizes he is, he pulls away and leaves first. It makes Ran laugh as he follows him out.

Renka is left reeling, torn by the fear that if she refuses they’ll leave her and the logic that tells her they’ve always been at her side. They’ve kept her between them for years. They wouldn’t abandon her if she says no. And…she doesn’t want to lose them. No matter what they’ve been through, they survived because of each other. She knows it’s unhealthy and it’ll never be anything they can boast about, but the only people she can picture in her future are her brothers. The only ones she’ll ever feel safe falling asleep next to are Ran and Rindou. It’s a terrible but easy choice to make.

🌂

They go slow as if they expect her to disappear, to run from them as she ran from her father. The difference is that while she ran from him, she was running towards them. They are her sanctuary. Her home.

For all the violence they cause, despite the blood on their hands, they’re soft with her. Only her.

Ran kisses her with slow, open-mouthed kisses, savouring in the way she whimpers into his lips. He treats her delicately, taking things at a pace that sometimes feels excruciating. He builds her up and pulls away until she finally breaks and yanks him back to her. She’s pretty sure he wants her to want him, to crave him the way he claims to feel for her.

Rindou kisses with desperation, as if he expects her to tell him to stop. He’s carefully attuned to her every move, every sound she makes. Rindou makes her feel wanted in a different way and sometimes, if it feels too much, he slows down. He’s happy enough to share her breath, waiting until she’s ready. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t put the words into the air, but she knows he’s scared she’s chooses Ran over him. As if that was ever possible. She’s theirs and they are hers.

The change is subtle but extreme.

They walk in without knocking. Rindou’s hand rests between her thighs when they sit together on the couch and Ran curls up with his face pressed against her breasts after she crawls into his bed. They kiss her without reservation and stop hiding the way they kiss each other. The first time it happens, that she walks in on how Ran has Rindou pinned to the wall, hands on his hips as he grinds against him and they look like they’re attempting to devour each other, she stands there watching. She’s not sure if it’s in surprise, shock or…something else, but she couldn’t look away.

It’s Rindou who sees her first. He grins at the sight of her watching before saying something to Ran that she doesn’t catch. Ran pulls away from sucking marks into Rindou’s neck. Ran looks up, gaze half-lidded as he looks over at her. “Wanna join, Princess?”

“I didn’t know…”

Rindou scoffs at her. “How’d you think we dealt with wanting you? With being locked up?”

Ran moves his hand to Rindou’s throat, pressing in and cutting him off from saying anything further. Rindou moans into it. “What our brother is trying to say is that there’s no one better for any of us than each other.”

She watches as her eldest brother gets on his knees before Rindou and undoes his belt. Rindou’s head falls back against the wall as Ran pulls him out of whatever underwear he’s wearing. Renka has felt her brother’s cocks hard against her before, mainly when she woke up with them pressed up against her, but this is different.

Rindou’s hand gathers Ran’s braids as he takes him in his mouth. Renka has only seen sex as something damaging, but the sight of Ran smiling as he takes Rindou’s cock in his mouth, the way Rindou groans and tries to thrust into him…reaffirms the idea that it’s not with her brothers. That the two of them have only ever been protective and kind. That even in this, as she watches them in this moment, they take care of each other. Of her.

🌂

Ran is the first. Of course he is.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against her skin. She’s lying in his bed, shirt off and looking up at him. It’s late in the night. She woke up from a nightmare, not needing to sneak in because she was already in his bed. She barely has her own at this point. “Tell me if you need to stop, okay, princess?”

She nods because she trusts Ran, even if the feeling of his body on top of hers sends her heart racing. It’s different than before. She wants this now. She knows that. She trusts Ran to take care of her. Her brother always has.

“Promise. I wanna hear it.”

“I…” Renka takes a deep breath. “I promise.”

“Good.”

He takes his time, bestowing praises against her skin as he carefully maps out every curve she lets him explore. His fingers leave goosebumps in their wake. He leaves marks as if he’s leaving a trail for Rindou to eventually follow. He encourages her to be vocal, that he wants to hear her. No one is covering her mouth this time. It’s just her and her big brother in this moment.

Ran buries his face between her thighs. He encourages her to bury her hands into his hair that’s loose and unbraided. Renka has never felt anything like this. The few instances of touching herself in the privacy of her room, exploring in hopes of erasing the assault that felt branded into her, never felt like Ran’s mouth does now.

He breaks her apart, makes her see stars behind her eyelids, and when he buries himself into her, it’s by her choice. He lies back on the bed and gives her the option of going further, of riding him. It’s nothing like she’s ever experienced and she somehow loves her brother all the more for giving her the choice…and the power to choose.

🌂

Rindou is not far behind. Once Ran has broken the final barrier between them, once she’s comfortable with that boundary being crossed, he follows with ease. He takes his time with her, but it’s different. Where Ran knew he was bridging a gap that was created by their father and morally by society, Rindou crosses it without looking back.

He fucks her on the couch.

He’s careful with her, don’t get her wrong, but while Ran lures her in with slow, mind-blowing sex, Rindou teaches her how to enjoy it faster. Harder. Until the only thing she knows is how to call his name while her legs are around his waist, begging him for more. He shows her how his weight on top of her isn’t a bad thing, how she can still have the control like that and how good it can feel giving up that control to someone she trusts.

Her confidence grows with the attention they lavish on her and it doesn’t take long before she finds herself between them in more ways than just dancing on the club floor. They teach her everything they think she’s missed. How she likes to be touched, pleasured and teased…and how she enjoys touching them in return. No matter how often they leave hickeys on her neck or bruises on her thighs, she feels nothing but loved by them. It doesn’t matter that the world says it’s wrong because Renka’s life has always been defined by the times with her brothers and without. She has always been safer with them.

There is a third Haitani.

She loves her brothers. Her brothers love her. More than they’re supposed to. They always have.

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties

I'm not tagging anyone else lol

#fic: the lesser of two evils #tw incest #ran haitani x rindou haitani x oc #ran x oc #rindou x oc #haitani ran x oc #haitani fic #tokyo revengers fic #tw.incest #dark!fic

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youre-gonna-see-a-lot-of-me · 1 month

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That's so fucked up that people are romantizing Franco, because even Red Barrels are showing him as a total creep and disgusting person. In Outlast Tag I have a feeling that some artists are making him completly different character, making him charming/safe/lovely. I even have seen some people who were drawing him with normal face (without big forehead) and you couldn't tell them that it's the right character design! I feel like Franco enjoyers are more agressive than fans of other Outlast character. Even with Coyle/Eddie simps they seem to understand that they are evil and they murder others, but with Franco I feel like they can take it when someone tell them that he's grown up, murder people in very brutal way and his voice lines are just disgusting... it really seems that people are getting agressive only because someone tell some shit about 🎀✨️Franco🎀✨️. I know his fans isn't the only one that have stick in their ass (cause I seen a lot of shit bout Coyle/Big Grunts/Easterman etc.) but yall need to understand that FRANCO IS A GROWN ASS MAN and you would run for your life if you'd meet someone in irl as 1% fucked up as he is. Saying that he's just a Baby and he made nothing wrong is just 🤮 and problem is in yall if you justificate him and things he made.

idk how to tell you this ,,,, but this game is fictional. The characters are fictional. You're free to feel however you want about them, just like I and anyone else is.

I partially agree with the part about changing his appearance to make him look more "normal" or whatever, but at the same time people are allowed to interpret their favs however they want to. They can draw / write for him however they want to. I don't like "fixing" his face, just because it (personally) feels like saying "he's too ugly", but again, that's just me. As an artist, I know that people are going to have different interpretations of a character I like. It's just part of other people existing in the world. Not everyone thinks like you do, and that's okay.

Do you know how many posts I saw (and STILL see) about Eddie Gluskin, doing essentially the same thing as what you said people do with Franco?? That man would cut you open to "make a baby in you" no hesitation and people still ""romanticize"" him (me fuckin included I LOVE YOU EDDIE). Its just part of liking fucked up characters, some people are going to want to make them more "normal".

Personally, I see the normalization as more like wanting to give him some normalcy in his life, because of his past / lore. I love the idea of letting Franco have a normal life, be a normal person. A life where he never had to deal with the stupid Mafia stuff, had a decent father and never ran into Murkoff, having a normal, happy life. But, I also seriously adore his original, fucked up character.

Honestly, who actually cares if people are "justifying" his actions??? None of them are real. He is not real. I have never understood the sentiment that you have to make sure people know you don't justify a fictional characters actions... they are not real. It's not a real person. None of the things he did happened.

Maybe it's just me, but I would not run from someone like him. That's not some edge lord "im so evil and dark" bs but because of my real life experiences. Been with and around people in my life / family who are quite like him and I didn't run.

I imagine some of us are using it as a sort of coping mechanism, because (at least for me) some of us dealt with people who treated us like he would. Though, that's getting into personal territory, and I won't try and speak for others.

All I can really say is either learn that not everybody's going to have the same ideas as you or block the tag. Sorry if that's too harsh a response, but life is too short to really give that much of a fuck about someone /something other people like.

And I've said this before but this is literally Outlast, all of the characters are this fucked up, it's not just him.

Like does no one remember Outlast 2??? Does no one remember the pile of dead burnt babies, or the hundreds of other fucked up things in that game?? I really feel like Franco does not compare.

So, can we please just be over with this now? I mean, drama is totally fun and I love it, but I can imagine others don't.

#hes my baby forever sorry full offense #why do people care this much about fictional characters and fiction in general #I mean that's great being so passionate about work you love but #I don't know . put that energy towards something a little more important #it's just reminds me of being in the killing stalking fandom all over again #you're terrible if you like killing stalking does that means that you like killing gay people or whatever the fuck they said #it's embarrassing to really think this about fiction #like it really is embarrassing to be so worked up over it #it's not like Jeffrey Dahmer or a real person causing real issues #Franco Barbi does not exist !!! as sad as i am #the outlast trials #I'm going to tag it with every Outlast tag like that guy did. again #franco barbi #eddie gluskin #richard trager #dr easterman #waylon park #miles upshur #blake langermann #lynn langermann #father martin #outlast #outlast whistleblower #chris walker #walrider #i cant remember anymore lmfao #not sure why I got this ask or why my opinions important but there ya go #this was long as hell lmfao . sorry to anyone who actually reads all of this hahahahaa

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softguarnere · 11 months

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ok dove, my love, the writer I aspire to be bc your fics are actually 🤌 I was wondering if you could mayhaps appease my craving for a Joe Toye x sick reader fic? I'm quite literally dying of bronchitis and a double ear infection and I have done nothing but reread your work bc it's literally like drugs for me oml

anyway I hope you're doing okay and autumn treats you wonderfully!! <333

In Sickness and In Health

Joe Toye x reader

A/N: Hey Sky! You are too sweet, oh my goodness 🙈 Thank you so so much! I'm so sorry that you're sick, and I hope you're feeling better now 💕 Get well soon beloved, and I hope you enjoy this! (This is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Also, just a reminder that my requests are closed; I wrote this as part of catching up on requests that were already in my asks Warnings: unspecified sickness

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen, you can’t help but think for the millionth time today. But no, every time you think about your original plans for the weekend, the temperature of the room feels even hotter, the pinpricks of sweat on your brow and neck even more prominent, and the pain in your stomach even worse.

“Joe,” you sigh when the man in question takes a seat on the bed, making the mattress at your feet dip under his weight.

He holds up a hand, stopping your sentence in its tracks. “Don’t you dare apologize again.”

His voice is gentle, but you can’t help leaning back onto your pillow and sighing. Because you are sorry. Really, really sorry, for just about everything you can think of. The fact that you travelled all this way for your husband’s reunion with his old army buddies, only to get sick the night before; that he’s taking care of you when he should be catching up with old friends and reminiscing over memories; that he won’t listen to you when you insist that he can leave you here.

“You should go see your friends.” They’re probably all down at the hotel bar by now. Even though the reunion won’t officially start until tomorrow, some of them are probably pregaming.

“I can’t. Not when I’m taking care of you. I made a vow, remember? In sickness and in health.”

I really do have the perfect husband, you can’t help but think to yourself. How many other men would shrug it off, or sneak away once you were asleep? Strange, how the roles have been reversed here, with you insisting that he go, that you can fend for yourself.

You sigh again. “I just – I feel bad. We came all this way to see your friends, and all you’ve gotten to see so far is the inside of this hotel room.”

But Joe only shrugs. “Well, the reunion doesn’t even start until tomorrow. Maybe you’ll feel better by then. We’ll just see what happens. Besides,” he rushes on before you can continue. “A lot of the guys live in Pennsylvania anyways. If we want to see each other, we can just make the drive some other time.”

“But Joe,” you stress. “This is the Easy reunion. This was important to you.”

“You’re important to me,” he deadpans, but his eyes are soft. “I won’t be able to enjoy any of it if I’m worrying about you the whole time.”

Oh. You had been so caught up in worrying about him enjoying himself that you hadn’t even considered that. Maybe the combination of the sickness and the medicine has clouded your judgement. Or maybe just your love for him has.

“You should rest,” Joe suggests. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

You want for him to hold you, to make you feel better. But unfortunately, there are some things in the world that not even a man as strong as Joe Toye can fight off, and sickness is one of them.

The two of you have been together for quite some time now, though, and he knows you well enough to read your mind. Without even asking, he kicks off his shoes, adjusts his prosthetic leg, and curls up beside you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms.

“Let me know if you get too hot,” he whispers. When you nod, he repeats his sentiment from earlier. “Don’t worry, okay, (Y/N)? We’ll see what happens in the morning.”

The morning feels like such a distant time. Right now, the only time that means anything is that which you spend in his arms.

#joe toye #joe toye x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #my writing #tumblr friends #sky 🌌

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depravitycentral · 1 year

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Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama General Profile

Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, murder, stalking, infantilization, mentions of non-con, mentions of masturbation, mentions of nonconsensual affection, Nobunaga breaks your ankles, Nobunaga is creepy and gross and perpetually horny, fem reader, MDNI

DARLING PROFILE:

Stubborn

In general, Nobunaga likes a fiery darling. There’s something incredibly endearing about the way they get this glint in their eye, the way they refuse to back down from a challenge or a belief.

He likes how spirited they are, and frankly this is what initially catches his attention – his darling has to have spunk of some kind, and while he doesn’t see it this way, there’s a part of him that wants to bend that stubbornness, to make his darling stubborn and hardheaded for everyone except him.

He wants to be the sole person they agree with, lovingly gazing at him and nodding at every little thing he says. He likes the idea of he and his darling being a team, being totally, completely in sync, and so while eh initially does enjoy this facet to their personality, if they show too much when they’re trapped with him in their new ‘home’, Nobunaga isn’t especially pleased.

He does, in general, want to be the exception to everything for his darling – he wants to be treated differently, specially, as his darling’s one and only confidant. And so, Nobunaga loves this about his darling – the more passionate they are about their beliefs and opinions, the better.

Just don’t be getting too many ideas about refusing him or what he believes – you can be stubborn, but not to him.

Confident

Similarly to being stubborn, a confident darling is an attraction to Nobunaga, but only to a certain degree.

He likes someone who is sure of themselves, but some sick part of him wants his darling to have this need for validation from others, to yearn for someone to compliment them and tell them they’re enough. Maybe it’s a projection of his own feelings – he himself needs someone to validate him, to supply him with love and sweet words to quell any insecurities he has, and he likes the idea of his darling filling that void for him.

He wants to fulfill his darling’s needs, and for them to fulfill his own, and so to have a darling who is outwardly confident but secretly needs him would be perfect.

Just the idea alone is enough to get his heart (and cock) swelling, a sense of pride settling in his chest because his darling obviously needs him.

They need him to function and feel good about themselves, because he can offer them something no one else can – honest, genuine love, and he’ll give them everything he’s got and more.

So much more.

Honest

Nobunaga doesn’t tolerate liars. Despite being a criminal, a mass murderer, a monster, he likes to think he has some semblance of a moral code, and lying goes directly against the shambled morality he has left. And so, a darling who only tells the truth aside from a white lie here or there would be perfect for him.

He likes the idea that his darling will never deceive him, that he’ll only ever get the honest truth from them. It’s a comfort, something that settles the raging possessiveness he feels for them; he likes that if he were to ever ask, he knows his darling would honestly tell him if another man was bothering them, if the man spoke to them, hurt them, touched them.

He makes him feel secure that his darling would never lie to him, but Nobunaga is nothing if not hypocritical; when it comes to him, his darling really can’t tell the truth unless they want to be ignored, condescendingly dismissed, even treated as if they’re lying.

He can’t believe his darling when they say they don’t love him, if only because it can’t possibly be true. He can’t believe them when they say they don’t want to spend the rest of their life with him, if only because he knows for a fact that you do, he’s sure of it.

He doesn’t like it when his darling ‘lies’ to him like this, so it’s best to just say what he wants to hear – tell him he’s handsome, that you love him, that of course, you want to sleep with him, and he’ll be all sunshine and smiles, giving you that warbly grin while he exhales shakily and traces your lips with his finger.

You’re just so perfect, after all.

Homebody

It’s not that Nobunaga would dislike someone who is more active and often out of the house – he doesn’t mind too terribly much.

Rather, it’s the consequences of his darling being more inclined to stay home; it means they come into contact with others less, being in their presence less, having less interaction with men.

Nobunaga enjoys this specific trait because it feeds his possessiveness. He knows his darling doesn’t meet men very often, meaning they aren’t talking to anyone in a romantic sense and therefore aren’t getting their heart stolen away by some irrelevant civilian, someone who could never offer them as much protection and devotion as the swordsman can.

He likes knowing that they aren’t out there showing off to strangers, that they really only leave the house when absolutely necessary. It limits the chances of them getting hurt, of them catching someone’s eye, of them doing anything, really. It’s a comfort to him, and it’ll make the transition to living with him so much easier.

After all, his darling won’t be allowed outside of the house (why would they ever want to leave?) nor will they be allowed to interact with anyone besides himself and possibly a few Troupe members (why would they want any other people in their life?).

He’s fully convinced that his darling being a homebody is a sign that they’re soulmates, perfect for one another in every way. It must be fate; what else could explain the draw he feels towards them, the unbridled yearning and desperation that makes his chest ache every time they aren’t in his line of sight?

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Delusional

Nobunaga is, for a like of a better term, completely out of touch with reality where your relationship is concerned.

His views on the world and morality are already skewed, what with being in the Troupe and regularly murdering others, but at some point over the years of violence and adrenaline, a few screws too many have gotten loose in his head. His conscience is all but gone - the connections and the little voice in the back of his head narrating his days and feelings going silent.

His days are full of death and comradery with his fellow Spiders (though that list is almost entirely exclusive to Uvogin), and so once you walk into his life, someone lovely and warm and beautiful and perfect for him in every way, suddenly his world is shifting focus. His already warped sense of reality comes to light as he begins realizing how wonderful you are, how happy you make him, how badly you need him.

Nobunaga is of the genuine belief that as his feelings for you grow, so do yours as well – the concept that you aren’t as madly, deeply in love as him is something that doesn’t even cross the swordsman’s mind.

There’s simply no way that you could ever not be as utterly obsessed as he is, that you couldn’t be as happy and giddy when you’re around him, that you don’t want to spend every waking moment of the rest of your life wrapped in his arms, the slightly scratchy fabric of his kimono rubbing against your skin as he kisses you and whispers into your ear that he loves you, you’re so damn perfect and every inch of you is mine.

He truly, honestly believes that the feelings brewing in his chest for you as just as readily and intensely returned by you, and as time goes on this belief will only further. Nobunaga has a rather nasty habit of blowing absolutely everything you say, do, think, and feel way out of proportion, reading into everything he possibly can to search for what it could mean, to morph it into some declaration of your love for him, some sign that you want him to take you way, that you want him him him.

He’s never been the absolute brightest, but when he’s around you (with or without your knowledge), it’s almost unconscious the way he notices every little thing about you. He’s wondering if you’re reading through your old text conversations with him when you’re dinking around on your phone (just the thought makes him giddy, because he regularly spends hours pouring through every single text you’ve sent, analyzing and imagining your voice speaking the words instead, sighing like some lovestruck teenage girl as he imagines the way you must be glued to your phone, eagerly awaiting his responses because you just can’t stand a second without him).

He’s wondering whether you’re wishing he could be the one to shave your perfect body for you when you’re humming to yourself in the hot shower (it terrifies the living shit out of him to see you with a razor, if only because he’s so scared that you’ll hurt yourself, that you’ll slice something open and bleed and die and he won’t be there to save you, but if he were the one wielding the sharp object, then the samurai wouldn’t mind so much. After all, getting to run his hands over the expanse of your calves, kissing the freshly smoothed skin, sending a teasing lick to the arch of your ankle as the odd after flavor of the shaving cream dances on his tongue is enough to get him shivering, pink staining his cheeks as he gulps harshly, the fabric of his kimono doing very little to hide the steadily growing bulge below the belt).

He reads into everything, believing each little action you make is a cry for his attention, like you want him to be thinking of you, looking at you and dreaming of you, and in a lot of ways Nobunaga finds that incredibly endearing, how someone so sweet and precious like you could have such naughty intentions.

(Especially where your more intimate moments are concerned – you’re changing out of your work clothes and into your casual, relaxing clothes? Obviously you must want him to be staring from outside the window, your supple curves looking drool worthy as you move in ways he’s sure are designed to seduce him, your hips swaying and ass presented oh so perfectly as you dig through your drawers, the oversized sweatshirt just barely covering your upper thighs that would fit oh so perfectly around his head…)

And even once he’s stolen you away, permanently relocated you so that you stay by his side for the rest of your life, the delusions won’t stop. If anything, they become stronger, because he knows you must be happy with him, that your tears and screaming are just you trying to express how happy you are, how overjoyed and overwhelmed you are that someone cares so deeply for you that they’re willing to go this far for you, and can he really blame you? Can he blame you for being ecstatic to be with him?

(Your desperate pleas and begs for him to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone, please I can’t stay here forever are certainly convincing, but you’ve always been such a little minx, a good actor, talented at seducing him to get exactly what you want, and oh baby, shhh, stop crying, Daddy knows what you need – shh, shh, it’s okay, he’s got you, just slip those cute little panties to the side and I’ll make it all better…)

He’s in too deep, and no matter how hard you fight, cry, scream, kick, or even try to ignore him, Nobunaga will just never learn – how can he, when he truly, honestly believes that he’s right?

How can he even entertain the notion that you’re unhappy when you’re made for him?

Patronizing

In a lot of ways, Nobunaga views you as having the abilities of a baby. Of course, he’s more than aware that you’re a grown woman, an adult with a dignified, captivating personality, a body worthy of worship and certainly worthy of nights with just his hand and imagination to work with, but he’s also more than aware of all the areas you don’t quite seem capable enough to deal with yourself.

You’re weak to him, incredibly so, fragile and dainty and in such desperate need of protection that it’s almost laughable. If he wasn’t so head over heels for you, he might even find you pathetic, your survival skills dismal at best.

But he is just that in love with you, and so Nobunaga has absolutely no problem with rising to the occasion, of answering your non-existent cries for help, for a big, strong man to come care for you the way you need, the way you deserve.

Because of his more extreme views of you genuinely needing him in order to survive and function, quickly his tendencies towards treating you like a helpless little thing will become apparent – this specific trait really only applies once he’s kidnapped you, but even before you’ve been relocated to the small house he buys for the both of you to share (under an alias and in a very, very small town of course), he’s making preparations for how to give you the care you need.

He’s investing in the softest sheets money can buy (or that he can find to steal), pillows make for children who move a lot in their sleep, a humidifier in the shape of a cute little panda to keep your breathing healthy and your skin soft and glowy.

He’s buying a booster seat and removing the straps and belts, attaching them to the kitchen chairs to make sure you don’t fall off, especially when you’re throwing one of your tantrums and claiming you won’t eat what he’s serving you. (This always hurts him, because he’s spent hours learning to cook just for you, trying his hand at sautéing and marinating, only to discover he’s very, very incompetent in the kitchen – aside from chopping, that is.)

It’s exciting, in all honesty, to prepare for your eventual living with him, and he spends an awful lot of time furnishing and setting up your shared future bedroom. (It’s all pastel colors – pinks and blues and yellows, walls covered in pictures he finds especially cute of you, ranging from you drooling in your sleep to you pulling a pan of cookies out of the oven to you curled up in a thick blanket with popcorn and a movie on before you. He thinks it lightens the mood of the space, and the photoshopping that he convinced Shalnark to undergo in which Nobunaga himself is beside you in each is extremely, extremely pleasing to look at)

It’s difficult to contain the anticipation, the readiness he feels in throes for your eventual arrival. And once you have arrived, the patronizing nature of his actions and words towards you will quickly begin to feel suffocating – you’re given most of your rights towards the beginning, though it’s still dehumanizing, humiliating, terrible to have him cheering you on as you finish the dinner he cooked for you, to have him holding your hand and telling you a story so that you won’t have nightmares, to have him looking at you with smoldering eyes when you tell him your head hurts as he growls out something about orgasms help with the pain, don’t you know?

(It’s humiliating, if only because the food is so very burnt, the story is of him and embellished greatly to impress you, and he’s very, very quick to pounce on you with greedy hands ripping open your nightshirt and feverishly pinching at your nipples and groaning -)

You’re given most of your rights as compared to what he could possibly take away from you, but as your time with him goes on, soon those rights will become more and more limited, the number of things you’ll be allowed to do by yourself or even at all dwindling to a mere single digit percentage of what you were allotted at the beginning of your captivity.

The reason behind this is mostly out of your perceived disobedience towards him, something that Nobunaga is extremely sensitive about – the second you act out, whether it be yelling and screaming at him or simply refusing to eat the last spoonful of soup, Nobunaga’s face is darkening, a heavy sigh and a mumble of why do you always have to be so difficult tumbling past his lips.

He’ll haul you to the shower, holding you still while he scrubs and washes your body, because he needs to properly clean you, and maybe then you’ll realize just how well he takes care of you, how you’d be lost and dirty and filthy without him.

Life with him is just honestly infuriating – when you want to watch a movie with him, Nobunaga will jump at the chance, snuggling in next to you and inhaling the scent of your hair over and over as the movie plays across the television screen (only PG-13 movies, though – he’s too scared the violence, cursing or sex will taint your mind or scare).

When you want to read a book, Nobunaga is tsking and grabbing it out of your hands, insisting on reading it to you because the words will hurt your eyes and your head, and he would never want that.

It’s irritating and humiliating, but the worst part of the whole ordeal is how Nobunaga doesn’t even seem to realize that – he’s smiling that big, dopey smile the whole time, a blush on his cheeks as he takes in your beauty, pure excitement and adoration washing through him when he sees you looking so cute in your frilly, ruffled clothing, looking up at him while he coos down at you.

It’ll be terrible, he’ll be terrible, but at least he’s not doing it to fuck with you, right?

He’s not doing it to purposefully belittle you, and that should count for something at least, right?

Right?

Possessive

Nobunaga has never been the luckiest with women. Maybe it’s to do with his less than stellar hygiene, or maybe his criminal status, or maybe it’s just him - but regardless he’s never really had a long term, serious relationship. Not that he’s minded much, as being an internationally known member of a notorious criminal group doesn’t really lend much time and flexibility towards a personal life.

But as time passes on Nobunaga gets increasingly more curious about what it would be like to have someone, a woman to call his own, a girl all for him… It’s a far off idea and thought, as the Spider obviously comes first now and always, but once he finds someone perfect, wonderful, everything he’s been dreaming of and more, how could he possibly let you slip through his fingers? How could he let you go, when you seem to call to him on such a deep, carnal level, like some long lost connection of himself?

He gets attached pretty quickly, only really taking a few genuine compliments from you, a smile and an endearing laugh at a joke or two, partnered with your features and figure that he finds very, very attractive.

Once Nobunaga decides that the feelings brewing in his chest are real, meaningful, desperate, that long-time curiosity comes to fruition, because you’ve effectively become completely and utterly his. He’s normally not the most materialistic man in the world (though to a certain extent, if only because his job is professionally stealing, which brings a certain level of awareness for worldly goods), but suddenly there’s one possession in his care that he absolutely refuses to share, something that must be and remain his for the rest of his days, for the rest of his life – you.

And so, now that you’ve been claimed by the samurai (without your knowledge for the most part, though he’s not the best of hiding his intentions), you’ll have to deal with the consequences.

He gets jealous insanely quickly, seeing every man in a fifty foot radius of you as a threat, assuming that everyone else wants you just as badly as he does, that they’ll stop at nothing to get you, to take you away from him, to separate the two of you so that he’ll be alone and without you and god, Nobunaga doesn’t know if he could take that, if he could live without you, his light and stars and moon and love and –

His jealousy is nothing to sneeze at, if only because he’s a bit trigger happy, and once he feels that someone has threatened his darling in any way (or even if they haven’t, really), they must immediately be eliminated, not given the chance to even attempt to manipulate you into leaving Nobunaga, your true soulmate.

And while he won’t kill in front of you, as he’s too worried the violence will scare you or traumatize you (something that might actually be true, standing out alone against the thousands of other assumptions he makes about you that are anything but), Nobunaga isn’t exactly smooth with concealing his more possessive behavior, of playing off the way he doesn’t want anyone or anything looking at you, thinking of you, even being aware of your existence.

It’s in part to do with the fact that he genuinely believes that you want him and think of yourself as his property as well, but the reality is that any time the both of you are in the same vicinity, he’ll be making comments that’ll have you furrowing your brows, confusion dancing through your chest as clarifying questions sit on the tip of your tongue about what he means, why he’s saying that, what he could possibly be insinuating when he says tch, bastard, thinking he’s worthy of even looking at my woman, fucking pervert’s probably eye-fucking her, like she’s not standing right here right next to her man.

His actions, too, will leave you wondering, your stumbled steps uneven as he charges in front of you, pushing you behind him with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, a menacing glare at the man who came up to you, a growled leave her alone being the only warning he’ll get before he’s forced to the ground with Nobunaga’s heel digging into his windpipe, a look of disdain and pure rage meeting the terrified man’s gaze.

So really, between the odd, concerning comments about how you belong to him and are made for him, and his rather abrupt, violent way of physically covering you and creating a border between you and the world, things will slowly become apparent at what’s really going on. You’ll slowly start to realize that he seems to believe that there’s something between you that there really, really isn’t.

Too bad you don’t know the severity and depth of his feelings, or maybe you’d be able to save yourself from a lifetime of unwanted affection, humiliation, suffocation, and sweet, sweet acceptance.

Although, even if you knew, would you really have been able to stop someone so dedicated, deluded, desperate?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Nobunaga’s jealousy trigger is really quite loose – it’s infuriatingly easy to get him feeling threatened, to have him gritting his teeth and pulling you close, irritation and rage at the world for even trying to separate the both of you, to come between your so obviously perfect love.

He genuinely sees every male you interact with as a threat, as a potential rival for your love and attention and devotion, and call it a result of being in the Troupe for so long or just simply his nature, but where he sees someone as a problem, there’s little to no hesitation in cutting them down, in eliminating them.

He genuinely has no patience regarding you being in the presence and minds of other men, simply because he full heartedly sees you as his property, his woman, his property and love and belonging, and while he has certain moments of leniency, Nobunaga isn’t known for his generosity.

As such, the second that he feels another man is holding even a sliver of interest for you, his every nerve is on fire, dark eyes narrowing as rage and anxiety swim through his veins, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening so much that his knuckles turn white.

His eyes are always on you, his every moment outside of Troupe work spent watching you (or, as he likes to put it, watching over you, as if he’s some guardian angel or your protector or in it for literally anything but the chance to see you in your panties when you think you’re alone in the quasi-safety of your home), and because of this Nobunaga feels as if he has a good idea of who is trying to get catch your attention, men he needs to keep an eye on and make sure don’t approach you or steal away your love from him.

It makes him feel good, in a sense, to have such control over your life, to be the one dictating which men can and can’t speak to you, to be the one metaphorically standing between you and the world, protecting you just like the sweet, innocent, weak little thing you are.

Of course, it makes him feel like he’s being a real partner when he does this, but the anger that he feels brewing in his chest with each one-over a man gives you feels suffocating, the rage boiling in his heart making him lightheaded and seeing red, anything to get the man’s blood staining the freshly washed indigo of his kimono.

He feels responsible, as if he’s the only one who really knows what you and want and what you need, and when he sees so many men trying to come in between you and the only one who actually knows the real you, Nobunaga is simultaneously enraged and flabbergasted. Because honestly, can’t these men see that you’re already claimed, that you’re already hopelessly in love with Nobunaga himself?

He’s confused, but he’s too pissed to really consider why those men don’t seem to recognize that you’re already taken, why they don’t seem to understand that Nobunaga Hazama owns every part of you, that you’re wholly and completely his fucking property.

They don’t seem to get it, but it’s not such a big deal – after all, when their head is sliced off and rolling away from the still fresh body, does anything they thought really matter?

When those dark eyes spot the man sitting across from you in the outside plaza giving you a not-so-subtle glance from head to toe, immediately he’s scowling, shoulders drawing taught as his brows draw tight. Who does he think he is?

He’s watching like a hawk, barely blinking as the man takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before standing up and smoothing down the front of his dress shirt, evidently nervous as he begins walking towards your seated figure.

Nobunaga’s eye twitches as he glowers, his position at a nearby table giving him the perfect view to see the way the man makes a beeline towards you, closing the distance with every step and forcing Nobunaga’s heart up into his throat, sudden anger and worry washing through him. His chair scratches rather loudly against the cobblestone ground, the samurai on his feet in an instant and scrambling across the plaza to get to you, stopping in a flurry of motion that has you blinking confusedly up at him while a gust of dust flies out from behind his still figure.

You’re confused, not sure where this man suddenly appeared from, but before you can ask any questions or give the man a piece of your mind for kicking dust up into the pastry you’d been thoroughly enjoying, suddenly the man is hunching over, his hand clasping over what you know recognize to be the hilt of a sword?

Your confusion grows even more as he growls out a what the hell do you think you’re doing towards a stranger some ten feet away from you, a blond man who looks mortified and terrified at the raw animosity radiating off of the dark-haired man in front of you.

It’s silent for a moment, before you open your mouth and begin to ask what in the hell is going on, but the dark haired man turns his head, the exposed stubble and the odd warmth of those chocolate eyes fixating on you as he smiles softly, a rather familiar shh, don’t worry baby, keep eating, I’ll take care of it making your expression morph into one of disbelief, the audacity of this stranger being so familiar and strange shocking you for a second too long.

Soon the blond man is waving his hands in apology, a stuttered I-I didn’t know she was already taken, I’m sorry man making you splutter, standing up from your chair.

Nobunaga’s brow twitches as he grips the hilt of his sword, whipping it out in one quick motion and making the blond shrink back, wincing and visibly sweating in nervousness. You grab at the man’s kimono, intending to talk some sense into him, but before you get the chance he’s stiffening up, the feeling of your hand against his kimono making his whole body shudder, brown eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He turns around, Adam’s Apple bobbing harshly as his dilated eyes hazily focus in on you, jaw clenched tightly. Not now babe, I’m busy, but later… later we can do whatever you want, princess.

You recoil, face twisting up in disgust as he turns back around, lunging at the man who screams and scrambles backward, onlookers staring with wide eyes and dropped jaws. Get the fuck out of here, don’t ever come near her again or I swear to god I’ll slice you up into a thousand pieces and feed you to the neighborhood dogs. Clear?

The blond man nods frantically, gulping and stumbling backward over his own feet, and Nobunaga can only spit on the ground and sheath his sword, turning his back on the blond man who whirls around and sprints away.

You stare at Nobunaga, eyes wide in confusion and fear, but the second that brown gaze meets you, all traces of rage and fury have disappeared, instead replaced with worry and concern and a disturbing amount of fondness.

He rushes forward, grasping your hands in his bony fingers, grip tight enough to have you freezing up, not sure of what to say as he examines your hands, studying every detail in earnest. You should be more careful, the outside world is dangerous baby, you shouldn’t be out here with all this filth.

You’re not sure what’s happening as he guides you to sit back down, moving the pastry up to your mouth and forcing you to bite – effectively feeding you – before grinning dreamily and leaning down to press a much too heated kiss against your forehead.

(You force yourself to pretend to ignore the light groan that accompanies his kiss.)

You aren’t sure what’s happening, but as he tells you a rather ominous see you later, babygirl and leaves in a flash, you’ll be too shocked to do anything but stare at the now empty space previously occupied by his body.

And as he slices the neck of the blond man who dared try to approach you later that night, Nobunaga can only dreamily sigh, staring down at his hands that had touched your own, held your beautiful hands and felt your soft skin with loving eyes, bringing them up to his trembling lips to lick and kiss, eyes rolling to the back of his head because god, how can just the trace remains of you taste like heaven?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Nobunaga is honestly quite quick to steal you away; because of his more delusional mindset of how you feel towards him and what your relationship really is, his self control and patience are quite low when it comes to you.

He sees you as just as utterly and madly in love as he is, just as desperately and pathetically in need of him as he is you that it just makes sense for him to hold that chloroform soaked rag over your sleeping lips, to feel your body go limp in his grasp as he lowly moans and clutches you tighter against his chest.

(The straining cock trapped in his kimono makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that it would be just so easy to slide those panties to the side, to finally feel that warm and velvety cunt clenching down on him like a goddamn vice…) But he steels himself, instead carrying you towards the little, modest house he’d bought for the both of you in a tiny, rural town a few cities over.

He feels justified in stealing you away, not an ounce of doubt or guilt settling into his stomach throughout the planning process and throughout the actual procedure – you love him just as much as he does you, so won’t you be glad to learn that you’re finally getting to become really his, that your relationship is finally getting to really start?

You were playing hard to get before, acting so oblivious to his presence, pretending like you didn’t know he was there watching and wanting you, standing guard outside your bedroom door only to join you in bed once you’d fully fallen asleep, but now you don’t have to pretend anymore.

You don’t have to try and pretend like you don’t worship him as he does you.

You don’t have to try and keep his attention on you by acting like a silly little girl and not picking up on any of the obvious signs left around your apartment and life of his presence (the long hairs of his on the shower walls had to have been noticed by you, as the way they’d appear at times when you hadn’t showered recently must’ve been suspect, just as the strange additions of mysterious jars in your refrigerator must have tipped you off to someone taking the time and care to add to your culinary palette and diet).

He’s just so excited – he’s known from basically the beginning that he’d be kidnapping you, relocating you to a shared home with him where he can keep an eye on you and take care of you, love you and give you the life he knows you want and need and deserve.

And Nobunaga, for all his faults, is a man of his word – so when you wake up in a strange bedroom and a pile of stuffed teddy bears and bunny rabbits a few feet high sitting at the end of the bed, the dark haired man giddily staring at you from the doorway, things will slowly become more and more normal to you, familiar despite your numerous, loud and desperate complaints.

Essentially, once Nobunaga decides that you’re his, his obsession forming so strongly and irrevocably, your destiny as his captee is set in stone – and good fucking luck leaving, because Nobunaga will never leave you a moment of peace, and unless you want to be dehumanized even more (perhaps you need someone to use the bathroom with you from now on, or to spoon feed you meals and dress you and brush your pretty hair and bathe you), you’d better accept your life with him.

After all, you don’t really have a choice.

As a captor, Nobunaga is, more than anything, absolutely suffocating. He’s always there, those dark eyes watching your every move, glistening with excitement and adoration and desire, to the point where you’ll eventually stop noticing, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck feeling normal and common place.

He’s similar to a hawk in many ways; he’s analyzing everything you do, staring and waiting and predicting your movements, already there and prepared with what you need before you can even think to ask. He wants to be your provider, to be the man you depend on, the man you need, and because of this he’s doing everything in his power to make you think of him that way, to force the idea of him caring for you to become something you honestly believe.

He’s supplying the small home with all of your favorite foods (though, as time passes he becomes less and less likely to let you eat them, if only because they’re just so unhealthy, and he can’t have his precious baby destroying her body like that), keeping dozens of pillows and blankets on hand for you (all with colors and patterns that are just so cute; little flowers and tie-dies and lots of purples the same shade as his kimonos), and wonderful smelling shampoos and body washes (all fruity scents, because he likes when you smell so sweet, so damn delicious that he just wants to take a bite of you and taste you).

He’s fixated on this concept of being your big, strong provider, a true man in the relationship that cares for his sweet, weak woman, in return for your undying love and affection towards him. And really, that is exactly what Nobunaga expects from you – he expects you to act like a happy girlfriend, as if you’re just as hopelessly obsessed with him as he is you, and he will be demanding this treatment from you.

Very early on he’s expecting you to get physical with him; his cold fingers are always sneaking between yours, clutching onto your hand so tightly you can’t feel your fingertips. He’s wrapping his arms around you constantly, hugging you and pressing every inch of his body against you, leaving absolutely no space for air between you.

(He especially likes to hug you from behind, elbows pressed against your waist, and resting his chin on your head or shoulder – and, if you’re unlucky enough, something rather insistent and throbbing pressed into your ass, begging for your attention.)

He’s kissing you within a month of you being trapped with him, thin lips pressing against your own with much too much passion, his eyes fluttering closed and hands eagerly clutching at you to pull you ever closer.

He’s forcing you to cuddle with him, situating you so that your face is against his chest, one leg thrown over his pelvis, your hair tickling his nose and he deeply, deeply inhales, whispering a soft goodnight to you and cheekily telling you to dream of me baby, and tell me all about it in the morning.

And, of course, he’s not especially receptive to you denying him of any sort of attention – particularly physical attention. (Heaven forbid if you refuse to hug him or let him cuddle you – you will be forced, because although he’s tall and lanky, he’s much stronger than he appears, and you will be no match for his force. And god, if you refuse him when he’s got you on your knees in front of him, a hand reaching into his kimono to pull out his cock, already bright red and dripping precum? Well, he doesn’t like throatfucking you, but you obviously need to be taught a lesson.)

He’s just needy, desperate for you in every possible way, and your tolerance of him will come on disturbingly quickly. You’ll hate him at first, passionately and vehemently, but the longer you’re with him the more your fight will die out, if only because your hope dies alongside it, the knowledge that you’re stuck with him forever lowly settling in your chest.

You’ll grow complacent, maybe even learning to enjoy the way he coddles you, the way he smiles so fondly at you, the way he spoils you rotten, maybe even the feel of his cock. You may hate yourself for it, but you will eventually accept your new life – and Nobunaga won’t even really notice, only seeing your rebellious nature slowly dying off and your love for him finally, finally shying through.

It took you long enough, he thinks, but it doesn’t matter now; how can it, when you’ve finally gotten over that shy phase you seemed stuck in and are now able to fully express the devotion you feel for him?

How could he ever complain, when you’ll be spending the rest of your life by his side, the rest of eternity?

PUNISHMENTS:

Because of Nobunaga’s delusional views, punishments don’t happen too terribly often. He’s generally able to write off pretty much anything you do that displeases him as simply you trying to tease him, trying to make him work for your love.

He thinks it’s almost endearing, at first, because of course he’s willing to put in the little bit of extra work to show off the depth of his feelings for you. He’s willing to indulge in your little game, chuckling and smiling to himself when you refuse to cuddle with him, only running a thumb along your cheek and whispering to you that he’s patient, but baby, soon or later I’ll get impatient and take what I want, and I know that’s what you’re hoping for. I know you want me to just grab you and never let go, because you like being so close to me, I know it gets you all shy and flustered, and soon we’ll do more than just cuddling. I promise, sweetie.

Of course, you’re most definitely not playing any sort of game, just genuinely wanting to be away from him and free, but there’s very little you can do to get that message through to him. He’s remarkably good at twisting every word and action you make into some sort of cry for his attention, into some declaration saying you want him, even if you’re screaming the opposite. He’s good at writing off nearly everything you do – with one exception.

The moment you try to physically injure him, Nobunaga’s face is darkening, those black eyes hardening and his fists clenching tightly. There’s absolutely no excuse for two people in love to hurt one another outside of the bedroom, and he runs into trouble trying to justify your actions.

It becomes very difficult to see you as perfectly in love when you’ve reached out with harmful intentions, and you’ll very quickly see a side of Nobunaga that you wish you hadn’t.

He doesn’t like hurting you, but he’s a firm believer in equity in relationships (ironic, of course, but he doesn’t see it), and comes to the resigned conclusion that if you hurt him, he must hurt you. It will never be enough of an injury so as to threaten your life, only enough to incapacitate you, but still.

You hurt him, more in his heart than his body, but still – he can’t have this precedent set, because in order to be a in a healthy, loving relationship, he needs to show you that he won’t tolerate such blatant misbehavior.

So really, you can lash out all you want with words, but the moment your fist touches him? Well, is the punishment really worth the brief moment of victory?

His arms feel like weights around your body, pulling you down and trapping you against his chest, the lean muscles pressing against your front.

You don’t like it – you can smell him, that cedar odor that he thinks drives you crazy, and you can feel the pads of his fingers pressed against the flesh of your hips, pushing hard enough to surely leave bruises tomorrow. You can’t stand the way he’s whispering into your ear, hot breath fanning over the shell and making your skin crawl as he tells you all about how he’s going to make you feel so good tonight baby, ‘m not gonna stop until you’re shaking, you know I love it when you’re fucked dumb and just dripping –

You can’t take it anymore, anger and pure rage climbing up your throat, and before you can stop yourself, your knee is moving, coming up and landing hard against his crotch, hard enough that even you wince. He lets out a strained gasp, a wheezing noise that has his arms falling away from you, and immediately you’re stumbling back, eyes wide as you see how he crumples to the ground, hand clutching between his legs as his dark hair fans around his face.

He’s groaning in pain, but as you turn on your heel to run towards the front door, you hear him. Baby, what the fuck? What was that? Why the hell would you – fuck, that hurts. His eyes open, having been previously squeezed shut in pain, and his face freezes as he sees you rushing towards the door.

You bitch, he snaps, and just as your fingers graze the doorknob, the cold metal brushing against your fingertips, you’re pulled back, violently so. You land against a hard chest, rising and falling very quickly, the anger settling in his veins visible.

He’s scary, you realize in this moment, with a few veins popping out of his neck and he struggles to control himself, his next words clearly strained and clipped. He grabs your wrist, tight enough to make you wince, and begins dragging you along behind him as he heads towards the bedroom.

Good girlfriends don’t hurt their boyfriends. A few more steps, and you’re passing the doorframe. Good girlfriends are sweet, and they don’t try to run away. They love their boyfriends, and they’d never, ever go and hurt them, especially in their favorite spot.

He’s seething, and he throws you onto the bed, eyes wide and fingers shaking. You’re frozen, honest fear making your whole body numb.

He comes closer, too close, until he’s hovering above you, looking impossibly tall and foreboding. Why would you do this? Why would you make me hurt you? Do you like making me sad, making me the bad guy?

Cold fingers press against your lower shin and foot, his shoulders huffing a bit. This hurts me, baby, I promise. But I have to, you have to learn your actions have consequences.

And with that, his left hand is pushing left and his right hand right, and a sickening, loud crunch fills the room, followed very shortly by your wails. Searing pain shoots up your spine and there are tears in your eyes, your body flailing as he moves to break the second ankle, your pain only doubling.

It’s excruciating, and through your bleary gaze you see the way Nobunaga looks pointedly down on you, the firm line his mouth is set in wobbling slightly, his own eyes filled with tears.

Quickly he’s settled beside you, one hand palming your cheeks and the other running a hand over your hair, quietly shushing you. Shh, I know baby, I know it hurts, but this is how I feel, too. This is how you made me feel, you don’t like it, do you? Shh, I know, I know, but you’ve got to learn that I’m your boyfriend and you love me, so you can’t go hurting me. Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here, hold onto me and the pain will go away.

You can’t think, your hands blindly clutching at him, but Nobunaga only sighs, thumbs coming up to wipe away your tears and a kiss pressed to your forehead. I know, but you’ve learned your lesson now, huh?

Somehow you shakily nod, shoulders shaking, and Nobunaga can only softly smile. If you look closely enough, you can even see his face changing, morphing from angry and teary and worried to that self satisfied smirk, the mask of delusion slowly falling over him once more. Good girl, now I’ll go get some water and ice, and I’ll spend all night making you feel better. Isn’t this great? Now, we can spend some time together, do you want some snacks too?

He leaves to the kitchen, with a big smile on his face, body shaking in excitement. Sure, hurting you wasn’t ideal, but now you’re stuck, unable to walk or move or do anything without him, perfect for him to dote on and care for, and now surely you’ll see just how much he loves you.

He wouldn’t be willing to care for you 24/7 if he didn’t, right? You’ll see, he’s sure – just you wait, he’ll smother you with his love, just to prove that he’s the only one you’ll ever need.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

While Nobunaga isn’t particularly sadistic or evil, he is completely out of touch with reality.

The thing that makes him so dangerous is that there really is no arguing with him; his moral compass is virtually non-existent, and he really truly sees absolutely no issue with what he’s doing to you.

There’s nothing wrong with how he feels for you, or the way he stalks you or cares for you or steals you away – he’s just in love, and he’s absolutely convinced that you are too. He genuinely wants to spoil you, to give you everything he can and then some, because seeing you smiling and happy makes his heart race, his palms getting clammy and his throat get all fuzzy.

He grows dependent on you, desperate to have your eyes on him and your hands on his body, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get you in his arms, locked under his roof, always eagerly awaiting his arrival home with your arms open and legs spread.

He needs you, in a way that makes his head spin and his heart ache, to the point where it hurts to not be near you, to not have you by his side. He’s driven by devotion, by the genuine belief that you belong together, and once he’s set his sights on you, you really have no hope.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to escape him, to outrun him, to make him fall out of love with you – he will find you, track you down and wrap you up in his arms where you belong, all the while nuzzling his face into yours, peppering kisses across your eyelids and cheeks, murmuring to you about how lonely he was without you, hoe he needs you and wants you and has to have you.

He’s deranged, but with time you’ll find yourself slowly losing your mind as well, caving into the belief that maybe he’s right, that you really do love him just as much as he loves you, even if you don’t know it. Maybe it’s true that your life is pointless without him – what had you really accomplished before he stepped into your life?

Maybe he’s been right all along – so really, just give in, let him smother you with gifts and kisses and cum, and you’ll someday be happy, too.

Someday, you’ll decide that this is where you belong, with him.

#yandere hxh #yandere nobunaga hazama #_lee's profiles #hxh x reader #_hxh #_nobunaga hazama

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everlasting-rainfall · 5 months

Text

-Yandere Alphabet: Figarland Garling-

What can I say? I’m in love with this evil as fuck moon man… I know that’s really fucked up of me considering his actions and the things that he does but I just can’t help it! Man’s hot

But keep this in mind while reading this or scrolling through my blog…

I HAVE NEVER AND WILL ABSOLUTELY NEVER CONDONE THE ACTIONS OF ANY CELESTIAL DRAGON, THEY ARE ALL DISGUSTING

Garling is a huge piece of shit and I won’t deny that like in all honesty, I would try to end him if he existed in our world if I wasn’t so sure that I would die trying to do so

But in fiction world, I wouldn’t mind him kidnapping him… Does this make sense? Probably but keep in mind that I don’t support his actions in the slightest… Okay?

Anywho…

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Abuse, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Noncon, Forced Pregnancy, Celestial Dragons Bullshit, Violence, Blood, Mind Breaking, Slavery, Stalking, Removal of Rights, Sex as a Punishment, Other Things Typically Associated with Yandere

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL-!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Honestly I feel like at home, he would seem fairly normal if you aren’t plotting an escape or anything like the worst thing that he does to you is make you wear a collar with his name on it and cockwarm him while he handles work regarding the Holy Knights

He probably expresses his true affection to you at home by reminding you that you belong to him and no one else as that is the highest honor that he could ever bestow upon you so when he leaves those marks on your body, that’s him genuinely trying to show you affection

As for outside the house? That’s when things get really intense as his affection is dialed up quite a bit like he still has a reputation to uphold but the touching is a lot more often like it’s better to stay home if you don’t want his lips kissing at you every time someone looks your way

Maybe if you’re good as well then Garling will treat you to something romantic like maybe he’ll arrange for a nice meal to be shared between you both somewhere in the properties gardens

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Garling is willing to get incredibly messy when it comes to his darling like I can imagine that when he takes you out if someone comes up to the two of you and they just so happen to be looking at you too much for his liking then he has no qualms about performing an execution right then and there

He doesn’t even care if you see it in all honesty as that’s just a reminder for you to not try to escape as he’ll do that to anyone he thinks has you

Bitchass Celestial Dragons quickly learn also to not gossip about you because there’s no way that you’re one of them as that ended horribly for the person who did it and got caught doing that like so many of them still have nightmares about it as Garling showed no mercy

He doesn’t care about blood as any amount of blood spilled for you is worth it in his book… Plus it’s not like it can’t be cleaned up…

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Without a doubt, you were either a slave or just some poor unfortunate civilian when Garling took you as his partner. I feel like despite either circumstance though, he treats you much of the same and it all depends on how good you’ve been

Have you been good? Garling will give you free roaming of the home, you aren’t allowed to talk to anyone and he expects you to act on his schedule like if he’s getting ready for bed at nine then you’re going to bed too unless you went to bed earlier

Have you been bad? Now he’s being cruel to you as you aren’t allowed out of the bedroom unless he’s with you, he’ll be much rougher with you as well like I’d request some medicine when he deems you as good again for when his fingertips dig into your arms

Also did you try to escape recently? You aren’t leaving the bed unless it’s for the bathroom now… You’re in deep trouble and this is where he’d mock you, he’d mock your plan and how you carried it out as he points out all the flaws and how stupid you were to think you could get away from him

Continue to try to be bad after an escape attempt? You need to be re-educated… He’ll force you back into being good…

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

You think he wouldn’t? This is Figarland Garling… The man with so much power that he can judge Celestial Dragons and get away with it, this man has problem with doing things against your will…

The amount of times that this man has forced kisses onto you is so high that you lost count a long time ago, it’s to the point where just about every single day starts off with a forced kiss from Garling as soon as he sees you

Plus the amount of times that he’s forced your body into all sorts of positions in order to fuck you and satisfy his urges alongside fuck any rebellious thoughts out of your head is incredibly high like you could probably keep track if you really thought about it but still, it would take a while

He’s probably even forced you multiple times to get on your knees in front of him after a long day and pleasure him with your mouth until your mouth is full of his cum or your face is covered in it

If you thought that collar around your neck that he never lets you remove was the only thing he’d force you into? I’m afraid that you’re mistaken…

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I feel like towards the beginning of your relationship, Garling is very reluctant to be vulnerable to you as he still doesn’t know quite what you might be capable of but later on in the relationship… There might just be that one day every once in a while where he is…

Part of you wants to use the opportunity for this to escape him but you never really do as these moments are the most peaceful with him like this is probably when you feel the most like you’re in an actual relationship with him and not a prisoner

It’s during these moments where you might find out things like if this is Post Gods Valley then he expresses his genuine sadness at having lost Shanks among other things, he tells you about things during moments like these and he doesn’t even get a serious look on his face when you get up to grab something

Don’t get too comfortable though as you’re still his prisoner and if you try to make a break for escape after excusing yourself to use the bathroom or something, he will be absolutely pissed…

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Oh this man would find it endearing if you attempted to fight back against him, he is the leader of the holy knights and champion of Gods Valley but here you are trying to brandish a weapon against him and make demands? It’s honestly cute and he isn’t bothered at all

He might even give you a chance to rethink this and put your weapon down before you get hurt but if you don’t listen and try to attack him then you won’t even know what happened as you’re suddenly disarmed and pinned down to the floor

Honestly you might not even be in too much trouble with this as you’re still going to be punished later but he found this fun, part of him even hopes that you start to learn to fight just a bit better so these moments don’t immediately end upon you trying to strike him

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Towards the beginning of the relationship, he probably thought it was rather fun to watch you try to escape him as it was like some kind of fun fox hunt sort of situation where he would give you a small head start then chase after you as it wasn’t like you could get off the property

Part of him even somewhat enjoyed watching as you formulated plans so he could laugh at them when they inevitably failed later

But honestly later in the relationship, it’s more than likely grown a bit tiring like he still does occasionally enjoy hunting you down but now it’s happened so many times that he simply sighs and shakes his head when he’s noticed that you’ve disappeared somewhere

It’s why he gets so much crueler when you try to escape later in the relationship as he didn’t use to restrain you to his bed and mock you directly to your face at first but now it seems like that’s the only way that you’ll learn to tone it down or stop so he won’t have to cut your achilles tendon…

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Now that depends… There are two worst experiences that you could have with Garling in all honesty and it all depends if it is Pre or Post Gods Valley when he takes you…

If it’s Pre? Then honestly I can imagine that the worst experience you’ll have with him is being impregnated by him with Shanks and it’s not that he doesn’t want to be a father and is horrible to you as he’s elated to be a dad but remember that you’re a prisoner…

Plus as well, you have to eventually experience losing your baby boy when Gods Valley comes around which is hard for you as you just lost your baby and chances are that Garling isn’t sure how to comfort you other than holding you as you beat at his chest and blame him

If it’s Post? Then chances are that your very worst experience with Garling in all honesty is him deciding to take you to one of the executions of a Celestial Dragon who broke the rules especially if it was the one who got caught gossiping about you

In his eyes, this is great for you both as you can see just how much he cares about you if he does this to a bad mouther but for you? You feel like you’re gonna vomit and you might actually once the execution starts getting more and more brutal…

Those screams will never leave your head…

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

The future that Garling has in mind for the two of you is probably something that would feel sweet if you weren’t a prisoner like he wants to simply grow old with you… Live a long life with you until you’re both old and grey

Maybe even have a few kids together that will take over the Holy Knights and take over his position as head of the family when the time comes for them to do so

Garling has expressed this to you on multiple occasions like he’s even gotten quite a bit of baby fever as he’s already prepared a nursery and occasionally comes up and rubs your belly when he’s spooning with you at night

But he knows that he can’t have that until you accept that this is your life now and it will be your life for as long as you live…

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

When Garling gets jealous, people die… It’s as simple as that like if someone so much as dares to speak to you while the two of you are on an outing, not both of you, you specifically

Then chances are that unless it’s for something like someone trying to sell you something like a nice smelling perfume or a new dress then will spill blood but he would have still done that if not for the fact that you pleaded with him not to

So when someone does try to offer you something, Garling simply lets out a huff through his nose and warns them to not address you but instead either him or both of you. If the person who offered wants to stay alive then let’s hope that they’re quick with an apology and either a proper repeat of what they said or a retreat

This man does not cope well with jealousy and commonly lashes out without remorse, if it weren’t for you as well then everyone who spoke to his dearest one would be dead as in his eyes

He’s the only one worthy of doing so…

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Honestly Garling on a good day probably acts somewhat normal around you when in the house like to anyone who didn’t know, you would probably seem like a normal couple like he occasionally seeks you out to have conversations or to try to initiate intimacy but typically he leaves you be

He wouldn’t mind at all if you sought him out to talk about something even if it’s while he’s working on something as he can multi-task when it comes to you

But in public then it would become very clear that he is a Yandere as he doesn’t let you leave his side for even a moment and keeps a hand on you at all times, he keeps up how he is at home verbally but not at all physically

If you should be in the process of doing something in the home and run into Garling then his curiosity might be peaked depending on what it looks like so prepare for a small interrogation almost about what you’re doing when you're only trying to like move some things around to look nicer or something

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

I’m not entirely sure if Garling would have even bothered courting you at all in all honesty like I’m pretty sure that once he saw you and got interested then that was more than likely all that was to it except killing whoever you were with before him or the dragon that had you if you were a slave

Like the day that he approached was definitely also the day that he snatched you like he might have been watching from afar for a while but once he decided you were his, he just walked right up to you or had you brought to him

But let’s pretend for a minute that he did attempt courting you. In all honesty, I feel like if you were a civilian then it resulted in you getting quite a few letters in the mail alongside some really nice gifts that he was sure you would love. One letter might even talk about wanting to bring you to a nice restaurant so you could finally meet and it’s during that meeting when he tries to be all sorts of romantic with you like he brought you flowers, he holds your hand on the table, every word that comes out of your mouth is like music to his ears even as you’re trying to tell him that this is nice but you don’t want to meet again as you aren’t interested

In one ear and out the other with that kind of talk for him! You will be his…

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Oh absolutely not… Garling has absolutely no problem acting the way that he does with you whether it’s in public or it’s in the privacy of your own home like yes, he does have a reputation to uphold but he doesn’t have much issue showing his true colors in public

Almost everybody knows when you’ve been bad in all honesty as well as on the rare occasion that Garling takes you outside when you’ve been bad, no one is allowed to address both of you as it’s only him plus he’s keeping you on an even shorter leash than he normally does

Like you are practically pressed into his side with how close he’s holding you and if he ever does cut your Achilles tendons then he has no issue with pushing you in a wheelchair when he takes you outside but he’s also has no issue with letting people see the bandages wrapped around your ankles

Almost everyone in the “Holy” Land whether they be slave or Bitchass Celestial Dragon knows how Garling is when it comes to you, it is absolutely no secret…

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Honestly I feel like Garling would definitely be into sex as a punishment like he is the kind of guy to toss you onto his bed and watch as you dig your fingers into the sheets or feel as you leave scratches down his back while he fucks all of those rebellious thoughts out of your head and make you submissive to him

It is the most effective punishment that he’s had with you but there is the occasion when if you need further punishment then he’ll simply leave you tied on the bed until you’ve learnt your lesson but there is the occasion leg breaking so you can’t run anymore

But we can’t forget the ultimate punishment if you don’t stop being bad though and it’s that he can and will cut your Achilles tendons if you don’t stop trying to run, he has no issue with permanently taking away your ability to walk

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

The simplest way to put it is that he has absolutely no issue removing any and all rights from you

Walking around the house is something that can be taken away, leaving the house to walk around the property is something that can be taken away, leaving the bedroom is something that can be taken away, the ability to use your legs can be taken away

Garling has no issue taking away anything from you like I’m pretty sure that he’s willingly deprived you of eyesight for an entire day as punishment by blindfolding you and then restraining you so you couldn’t take it off, you had to stay there for an entire day just listening and feeling things as he didn’t even let you know if he was there or not

But don’t panic though as any right that Garling takes you away from you can be earned back by simply being good and submitting to him like a good partner

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Garling strikes me as the type to be rather patient with you as if you have some things that make life just a bit harder like let’s say that you have a speech impediment then he’s willing to wait for as long as you need him to during your conversations for you to say whatever you’re saying

He doesn’t even appear to mind if you take longer than him getting ready in the morning although that’s likely very impossible considering his hair likely takes so long to style in the morning that you could already be dressed and almost finished reading a book by the time he’s done

Plus when it comes to your escape attempts, he hasn’t completely removed your ability to walk just yet so he is being patient but don’t be so confident that his patience for this is just as strong as his patience for everything else

He will get tired eventually and when the breaking point comes… Slice!

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Okay, let’s get one thing straight and it’s that if you somehow manage to escape and leave him then he will stop at absolutely nothing to hunt you down and drag you back home kicking and screaming if he has to

But if you ever die? That is going to absolutely destroy him as he genuinely wanted to grow old with you but now he can’t do that as you’re gone. Garling is not going to move on and if anyone tries to get him to do so like if he gets a love letter in the mail then it’s execution time

You were his and he was yours. You expect him to just forget about you and find someone new to pursue? No, no, no… The only reason that he doesn’t take his own life is because of his duties as the head of the family and leader of the Holy Knights

That is the only reason! And if anyone asks “Well what about heirs?” then he would simply say to leave it to one of his family members to carry on the Figarland Name as the person who was going to produce an heir is gone

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

I don’t think that I need to say anything else other than that if this man can do what he did at Gods Valley among many other things and seemingly not show an ounce of guilt

There is absolutely no way in hell that he would ever feel guilty about taking you…

And if he’s letting you go or even slightly entertaining the idea? Pinch yourself right now… You are most definitely dreaming… Or don’t as this is a really nice dream…

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

What brought about this side of him? In all honesty, I feel like Garling is simply a naturally born Yandere like this is quite normal for the Figarland Family to do this sort of thing with people

They don’t always do it as some of them have entered into normal overly possessive relationships with other Bitchass Dragons but a lot of the time, they wind up simply kidnapping someone and forcing them into the position of being their partner

Garling is a natural born Yandere, he has always been this way. He only started truly showing these tendencies however when he saw you and decided that you were going to be his

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

There would absolutely no chance at all that he would allow you to isolate yourself from him as he does force you to somewhat be on the same schedule as him and share a room with him so if you tried to isolate away from him then he’s going to seek you out and force an interaction if he has to

As for how he feels when you scream? The man honestly probably would just muzzle you in some way if you’re getting on his nerves but if he doesn’t do that then he’ll simply warn you that if you don’t stop then you’ll lose your voice and when your voice eventually does go hoarse then he breathes a sigh of relief

And crying? That would depend on what you’re crying over like if you’re just crying over being with him then he’ll let you cry it out but if you’re crying over something that he agrees is truly causing you pain then he’ll stay by your side and attempt to comfort you in his own Garling way which is probably like holding your hand as you cry or holding you close to him

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Honestly he probably does but unfortunately I’m not the best at coming up with unique stuff so I can’t tell you what it is unfortunately… My apologies…

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Absolutely nothing… Even if you think that you’re managing to manipulate him and that you have the upper hand, that couldn’t be further from the truth as he isn’t a stupid man and he isn’t going to let you get away at all

Granted you could get him to partially let his guard down like by pretending to finally be submissive to him but even that likely doesn’t work as when the day comes that you appear to truly have become submissive to him is when he’s dragging you to the bedroom and trying to impregnate you

In all honesty, that’s probably how you got pregnant with Shanks if this Pre Gods Valley but regardless… There isn’t a thing that you can do in order to manipulate this man as even if you were sobbing and on your knees to at least let you spend five minutes in public away from his side, he’ll say no even if you’re the most hurt that you’ve ever been

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

There is not a single doubt in my mind that he would hurt you someday like the amount of times that this man has threatened to cut your Achilles tendons is telling enough especially as he has actually broken your legs in the past

Garling has muzzled you like a dog if you scream too much, he’s broken your legs, he’s dug his finger tips so deeply into you that it’s left some prominent bruises, he’s probably even smacked you a few times for saying something that offended him a lot

But despite all of that, I can’t see Garling ever punching you or using his sword on you beyond cutting the tendons. Garling is willing to hurt you but not like that…

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Honestly despite how his treatment of you would say otherwise, Garling probably views you as a beautiful goddess to him like something that has more worth than literally anything in the Holy Land

He thinks that you’re something that only deserves to be touched and enjoyed by him, you might not notice when he’s fucking you but he is actually trying to take your pleasure into account when he fucks you

And how far would he go to win you over? Man would probably do quite a bit to win you over like he’s attempting to be quite romantic towards you once he finally has you by dressing you in nice outfits and taking you to nice places (if you’ve been good)

His end goal is to grow old with you after all and he does want to have kids someday but he doesn’t want to do that until you’re fully submissive to him and what’s one of the good ways to do that other than by breaking you?

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Probably not that long in all honesty like if he did attempt to court you at first then I’d give it about sometime between half a month and a full month to actually invite you on that restaurant date where he kidnaps you afterwards

And if that isn’t the case and like you were a slave or something instead of a civilian then it’s more than likely that very same day after meeting you for the first time is when he kills the Bitchass Dragon who claims to own you and take you for himself as you belong to him

Honestly, it doesn’t take Garling really that long in any scenario so it’s probably best that if you see a man with red hair shaped into a crescent moon style staring at you then it’s best to just start packing your bags and saying goodbye to your old life whether it was good or bad

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes. If it truly came down to it and nothing else was working to make you submissive to him as his loving partner and parent to his children then he would have no issue with breaking you

Granted it’s going to take him quite a long time to get to that point but chances are that once that day comes where he finally makes the decision to break you then there’s no going back as he is dead set on this course of action

Unless by some sort of once in a lifetime miracle, you can convince him to stop and that you’ll be perfectly submissive to him now then I’d recommend just letting go now as he won’t stop until you are broken

Don’t worry though as this course of action will only come after he’s gotten so impatient with you that he’s removed your ability to walk

#minors dni #yandere #yandere one piece #reader insert #read the trigger warnings #yandere male #Yandere Figarland Garling #Yandere Garling #Yandere Holy Knights #yandere alphabet #minor dni

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