#something Disengage doesn't have??

[randomnameless]

I don't understand why Bernadetta fans feel entitled enough to claim she was robbed from CYL. It's not like she was an important character, her dad has more plot relevance than she does. I'm not crying "Robbed!" because my favourite secondary character hasn't won.

Eh,

Were you around during the A!Tiki redshiter who cried and ranted and made a general fuss everytime Y!Tiki received an alt?

Let's say the feh redshit is full of people who love their favourite characters, and some are prone to throw a tantrum whenever their fave isn't released.

Something Jugdral fans came to learn and accept during the past 20 years lol, that's why there's less outcries at "when the fuck is oldvis going to be released".

also, I'm not here to say whether Bernie's blazing performance in her base game has anything to do with how ardently some people rally behind her, but given the prevalence of 3H characters in the CYL picks, crying for Bernie is like pouring oil on a bonfire.

However, I'm also genuinely pissed at "Boobs'n'snakes" getting the first place, or how someone who appeared for 5 seconds and was only revealed to have assets and to simp for the self-insert, with hints of a "tragik backstory" is apparently the most popular female character of the franchise.

My fwend @crushednugget made an OC prediction and I hate how right it was ; I remember a time where the FE series weren't just a glorified dating sim, and as of February 2023, Gullveig winning CYL just hammered the fact that now, FEH at least, fully embraced the dating sim aspect.

[moononastring]

when are we gonna get the next smtb chapter?

I'm feeling unmotivated so I'm unsure.

[vaspider]

Look. A little advice.

Once you get to a certain amount of Known on the internet or a subsection of it, or even in a subsection of a RL group of people, there are going to be people who will make up a version of you which exists only in their heads and which has absolutely nothing to do with who you are. It might better resemble who you were twenty years ago or it might never have had anything to do at all with who you were then or are now.

You cannot stop this. You cannot prevent this. Once you get a certain number of followers or a certain amount of attention, that's going to happen: people will make up stories about you which either look through a fun-house mirror at some small aspect of who you are and twist it and blow it up until it doesn't resemble you at all, or which just have absolutely no basis in fact whatsoever.

This is just another kind of parasocial relationship; it's the kind which really sucks to deal with, because it's so negative and so pervasive. It's very real, and the frustration you feel about it is very real. Nobody wants to be known incorrectly.

But. You can't control this. It's gonna happen. No matter what you say, no matter how precisely you say it, the people who want to misinterpret you will find a way to do so. This doesn't mean 'don't pay attention to what you say,' or 'don't be purposeful and precise with your language,' but it does mean 'don't obsess over the people who are determined to get you wrong.'

You can be the most anodyne, run-of-the-mill, unremarkable human being, and the people who are determined to hate you will find something that they can point to and say 'ha ha! I told you that Spider danced with the devil at midnight! I witnessed it myself!' (It will not help the situation if you are, say, self-admittedly stubborn as fuck, long-winded, and sometimes kinda fucking obnoxious, but please realize that in the end, it doesn't really matter. This is gonna happen no matter what.)

The people who matter will look at what's being said, wrinkle up their foreheads, and say, 'uh, man, it looks like Spider was actually playing with his dog at 9 am?'

That said, if you don't have elephant-thick skin from being a marginalized-gender human being who's been on the internet since before the web had pictures, there are some things you can do to make it easier when people making things up about you starts to get on your nerves:

Establish protocols for when it becomes too much: have someone read your messages, turn off your notifications, have time where you purposefully disengage.

Establish protocols for how you interact, period: "I will block people without guilt if they engage positively with the people who spread untruths about me." "I will answer everything in public so people can't lie about what I said, because it's right there in public." "I will not answer work-related stuff in DMs, that has to go to the work email." Whatever it is, create some boundaries for yourself. Stick to them. The people who push you to bend them aren't doing that for your benefit but theirs.

If you get someone who really hits your Weirdo Alarm, trust it. Yeah, block and report, but also, take screenshots and store them somewhere that isn't easily erased. I have an 'Internet Weirdos' folder, which makes it a little easier to deal with when people start doing things like 'making threats of physical harm to me and my family.' Don't fuss, just take a screenshot and chuck it in the folder. Having that record makes it easier to just forget that it ever happened, because you have a paper trail if anybody starts doing something Real Weird.

Spend time offline, with people who do actually know you.

Don't get lost in the version of you that someone else makes up in order to make up for the shit that's missing in their own life. You aren't required to play the part that someone else is trying to script for you. It is never to your benefit, only to theirs; you gain nothing by standing in that role for them, and you lose precious seconds of your one irreplaceable life.

You could be using those seconds to look at this video of how to pick up a duck, which I think we can all agree is a better investment of your time.

[bebsi-cola]

something i've noticed in my notes and more generally on disabled tumblr is the idea that disability - physical disability in particular - always comes with pain. as someone with chronic pain - in my joints and muscles, in my stomach after eating, in the migraines and headaches - i can understand that it can seem all encompassing. but the only key characteristic of disability is that it's disabling, not that it's painful. many disabilities do not come with pain either all or some of the time. for example being deaf/Deaf, blind, having limb differences, speech disabilities, cerebral palsy, MS, a number of neurological disorders including epilepsy, allergies, diabetes, sleep disorders, disorders that cause balance issues, conditions that reduce mobility, to name a few. i mean one of my most disabling conditions is my CFS and it doesn't cause me pain. although many disabilities also don't cause any fatigue either! overall i think it would be nice to the many disabled people who have no associated pain with their disabilities to disengage "disability" from "being in pain". i think it's also easier to understand, and easier for chronic pain havers to find the right posts. plus i think we've built up this notion that disability is only pain, suffering, and misery. which is disheartening by itself, but also alienating to people with a completely experience of disability.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being kind and civil with people who drive me insane?

So this is something that happens all the time and it's a pattern so to save your time, I'll only mention the one incident which that I got called out for several times, it's starting to make me think I might be TA.

I (34F) work in a grocery store. Maddy (???F) works in the security department and is in charge for looking through our grocery to ensure we didn't steal anything (our workplace is uncomfortably strict about this since many employees have stole in the past) She is very rude, I never liked her. She makes me so uncomfortable a lot because she yells all the time. At everyone. She never realized how offensive she is.

Anyway, sometimes I'd walk past her after my shift forgetting that I'm carrying grocery bags etc and she'd yell at me to get back there. It's always embarrassing because anyone who witnesses that would most likely assume I'm a shoplifter because of the way she's yelling. She yells about other stuff too mind you, don't think I always forget the fact I'm carrying grocery. They don't allow us to bring our bags inside and we have to keep them in our locker (according to her, I never heard this elsewhere). She yells at me if I try to take my purse with me if I'm in a hurry. She says it's ~the rules~ and we need to follow them but like, she the only security staff who's this strict about it. The others don't even bother to check our groceries because they trust we don't shoplift and it's actually stupid because we could still shoplift anyway and hide the items in our pockets and they don't perform a body check anyway (they used to in the past but were legally required to stop because of Covid).

How do I deal with her though? Every time she'd yell, I reply to her very calmly and attempt small talk to absorb her anger. For example, if she's angry about my grocery, I'd show them to her and ask stuff like "what is you favorite brand of milk/bread/egg etc etc"

She does engage but it never made her actually stop and think about her behaviors for a single second. I have always stopped to chat with her whenever I can and she always speaks calmly when I do, but returns to yelling when I "break the rules" as she says.

But here's the thing. My patience is limited. I'm like a battery, if you keep charging me, I'll eventually explode. I planned remaining civil with Maddy forever, but enough is enough and I accidentally lashed out. I lashed out on her ONCE only, I yelled much louder than she did, for 30 minutes, lecturing her about work etiquette. She was so surprised and taken aback. She told me "where did this all come from?" Like she didn't see it coming? She seriously mistook my patience and tolerance of her behaviors for friendliness. And that was the last time we talked, I reported her to HR the next day because I don't think she'll ever get the memo, and that's when I learned thst so many employees have complained about her already but they can't fire her because she an outsource and has strong connections in her company, management has already talked to her numerous times but she just doesn't listen, so don't call me TA for not communicating, it doesn't work with her.

My friend Gloria (28F) and many others including our manager (F30s) told me I should've not been chatting with her, I should just ignore her and disengage. They think the fact I'm talking kindly to her will just make her assume she isn't doing anything wrong and encourage her to keep behaving like that, and that she'd think I want to be friends??? None of that is my intention. I just want to be civil to her to indirectly get her to realize her behaviors weren't acceptable. I'm setting a good example for her, to learn from me how she should treat people and soften her heart.

I was called TA because they said I didn't have to be civil with her if I knew I might eventually lash out (but lashing out isn't something I planned??), and I should've just avoided her and set boundaries. Gloria told me it's an AH move to go out of my way to interact to someone I despise when ignoring them is an option and that makes me two faced and makes the people around me wonder if I truly like them or I'm basically tolerating them, but this wouldn't happen if I they weren't rude in the first place?

BTW a similar thing eventually happened with Gloria because her attitude sucked with me and I lashed out eventually because enough is enough, she said she should've known not to trust me because of how I treated Maddy and I shouldn't have befriended her if I "hated" her so much. AITA?

[yawnderu]

sex pollen!Miguel ohara (axhlex worker) x fem!worker!nerdreader

where reader and miguel were testing an experiment with something,reader.said she needed to use the bathroom,when she come back she saw miguel breathing become more heavy,and saw that the experiment bottle exploded and glass piece on the ground (idk how to explain any scientific at all😭😭) then she ran Up to him and ask if he ok,she was checking his face and body if anything happened,if any wound,but then miguel just look at her like an prey,which made reader feel worry,but she she the feel away,and still ask him if he feeling alright to only get pin on the ground with her arms above her head, dawn 🗯 (the nfsw part cuz I suck ass at writing that😔✊✊)

I love this!! ♡

Sex Pollen — Miguel O'Hara x Reader

CW: Feral!Miguel O'Hara, dubcon, Miguel's claws come out during sex, rough sex, creampie, breeding, mentions of blood, Miguel using your cunt to jerk himself off.

"And then Hobie said—" You stop dead on your tracks, seeing Miguel's surprised expression as he looks down. You follow his gaze, noticing the shards of the now broken vial you both found inside a villain's HQ to examine it. It was supposed to enhance physical performance and resistance— though it hadn't even been tested yet to ensure what it truly was. And oh boy, you're in for a treat.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" You immediately walk up to him, avoiding the glass shards as you check his body and face for any possible injuries. Miguel doesn't say anything, yet you're there to see his shift. His long fangs are slightly bared, venom dripping down the corners of his lips as his breathing became heavier and sharper. The same red eyes that used to look down at you with patience now look like something else— Miguel looks like a feral beast, ready to pounce on its prey, and how unfortunate for you that is. He takes a step forward and you take a step back. This repeats until your back is almost hitting the wall, your hands going up to his chest to weakly try to make some distance between both of you.

"Hueles delicioso." He mutters in Spanish, not affected by your pathetic attempts to make some distance between both of you. He leans down, getting in your face as he forcefully makes you turn around and gently pushes you against the wall, his breathing hard on the back of your neck as his strong arms wrap around you. You can feel something hard pressing on your back.

"What did you do to me?" His husky voice whispers in your ear, bending his knees as he begins to rub his clothed hardening dick up and down your ass. You're too flustered to speak— the rude and snarky Miguel O'Hara is grinding against you like it's the most normal thing ever. What the hell was in that vial...?

"Miguel, st—" He covers your mouth with his large hand, successfully shutting you up as he manhandles you into the floor, his free hand pinning your arms above your head as he finds solace between your legs, his suit disengaging just enough to have his massive dick out. You can feel it over your stomach, the sheer size of it weighting itself down slightly.

"Cállate." He barked, though his words didn't have much bite on it, tone completely overtaken by his sharp breathing and soft grunts as he kept grinding against you.

"I think... I've heard of this. Some drug that makes your heart go faster and faster until it stops, unless you..." He seemed slightly hesitant to say this, as if he wasn't lowering your pants and underwear with one hand while your legs showed some struggle out of embarrassment. "Unless you cum." He muttered, completely enamored by the sight of your cunt. His suit disengaged on his fingers, immediately playing around your cunt as he looked up at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"Ayúdame, por favor." He asked for permission as if his cock wasn't already lined up to your cunt, moving the tip around it to soak into the wetness. Though you were nervous about this and utterly confused... Miguel was always hot in your eyes, and there had always been some tension between both of you. You nod your head and he responds by spitting into your cunt, soaking his dick with the saliva before he begins to slowly sink into you.

"Dios mío... you're so tight." He's holding himself up with his arms while he's on top of you, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he feels your warm pussy swallow him up. It takes all of his self-control to not ram himself balls-deep, knowing your much smaller body couldn't take it. He bit his lip softly, muffled groans coming out of his plump lips as he finally bottomed out.

He gave you a few seconds to recover before he began fucking into you faster and faster, desperate to cum once he was aware on how much his heart rate was going up. If his guess on the drug was correct, he have that much longer before his heart would stop. Your whiny moans were reassuring, though he could barely hear over the sound of his own breathing and his meaty thighs slapping against your ass. He looked down at you with a predatory look, grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing your knees to your chest, hissing at the feeling of your tight cunt.

"Mierda... así." He groaned out, not realizing his claws came out and were digging into your soft thighs. He was far too into his own head to even realize, ignoring the blood trail coming down to your pussy as he simply focused on slamming his dick into you as fast and as hard as he could, using you like you were nothing but a sex-toy he was using to jerk himself off. And quite honestly, that's what you were in that moment. He doesn't want to die.

He pushes your thighs together, holding onto them with his burly arms as his hips start to stutter, demeaning non-sense mixed in with praise in Spanish coming out of his lips as he pushes all the way inside your abused cunt.

"¿Quieres ser una mami?" He asks teasingly, not even waiting for your reply as his cum thick cum spills directly into your fertile womb. He's finally able to take deep breaths and regain his regular breathing after a second, still all the way inside you, keeping the cum in with his half-hard cock.

[zyafics]

BEFORE DAWN | Jason Todd

MASTERLIST (oneshot) | x Ex!Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — Jason suffers from a failed mission and needs you. Word Count — 3.0k.

Content — angst, hurt/no comfort.

Zya's Notes — this is my first time writing Jason, bear with me.

Loss is a frequent echo in Jason's life.

Weighted to the depth of his soul, anchored by his part. Since his birth, nothing but the blanket of death envelops his life—from his mother, to his time with the Joker, to the Lazarus pit that brought his resurrection. Because even if it did bring him back to life, the innocence behind his eyes was gone.

You've always known this. From the very first day you met him, Jason warned you he was damaged. At first, you assumed it to be a precaution he gave all his lovers because he didn't see himself as something worth loving. Some of that remains accurate. However, over time, you learned more about his secrets and tales and discovered his statement wasn't an exaggeration.

Because it's easy to love Jason Todd.

But it's just as easy to hate him.

Kicking off his boots, Jason steps inside his apartment and disengages his helmet from his head. He sets the red mask on his shelf, maneuvering to his cabinets in search for the hardest liquors in stock.

Tonight had been a rough mission. Despite the countless lives he saved, he still couldn't rescue a child from the massacre. All he remembers is the piercing screams, the little girl's pleas for help, his hushed reassurances that he's almost there.

But he wasn't. All there was left was silence.

Jason uncaps the glass and swallows a large gulp, moving to his bedroom. He lands on his bed with a thump, a groan slipping through gritted teeth from the pain.

There had been phone calls and pings from the Batcave, where he was sure the rest of the family had found surveillance of his gruesome mission, but he didn't have the energy to answer. Louder than the rest, he hears the moronic ringtone Dick set for his number playing on a loop, like an irritating itch that refuses to die down. Ignoring them all, Jason drinks from his bottle until there's nothing but droplets left.

That's when he hears a shy creak from the front door.

His body hums with heightened nerves, not easily seduced by the copious quantities of bitter alcohol Jason tried to force down his throat. He highlights every sound echoing through his empty apartment—the leisure clicks of heels against hardwood, calculating the distance it travels—and by the time his bedroom door cracks open, you peek through.

At first, he thought he'd imagined you. That happens. A side effect of the Lazarus pit, Jason managed to control it after years of training—to distinguish between what's real and not. But it comes back on occasion. However, nothing was worse than the episode months after you broke up with Jason.

"Hi, Jay."

Jason blinks. His hallucinations never spoke. They always observed and trailed after him as a figment of his imagination, a shadow from the corner of his peripheral. But they always remained silent. Taunting, even.

That's how he knows this is real. You're really here.

He should feel a cool sense of relief wash over him. It's been months of anguish and grief from missing you and wanting you back. It didn't matter that the breakup shattered him, he knew that if he saw you again, he would welcome you back with open arms.

But none of that arrives. All that came is hurt.

"What are you doing here?" He rasps, and despite his attempt at keeping his hostility at bay, they seep out like spits of venom.

You flinch, gripping the doorknob tighter as you resist the urge to run. "Dick called me."

He huffs, "Dick's always in my business."

"Maybe it's because he cares about you."

"If he cared about me, he would've been here."

Jason's words weren't aimed at his older brother. It's a direct shot to your chest, but Jason doesn't have a speck of remorse. His eyes are bloodshot, making his irises glow, and his expression hardens into sharp lines. You'd told Dick this was a bad idea, that Jason would want nothing to do with you, but the eldest refuted that you're the only one he would be willing to listen to.

Perhaps, once upon a time. But not now.

It's easy for you to leave, turn your heel, and exit the apartment complex without another exchange. But you don't. It's only been a few months since you last saw Jason, but you can't pretend that you don't miss him. Don't long for him every night. Don't check the news and headlines for any articles regarding Red Hood and his nefarious activities after dark.

Pushing the door wider, you step into the familiar bedroom and approach Jason, each step feels heavier than the last. He eyes you carefully as if you're prey entering a trap, and you grab the bottle clung to his chest before looking at the empty content.

His hooded gaze raises, "Didn't know I was supposed to share."

You scoff, but your shoulders loosen slightly. You set the bottle down on his nightstand, grabbing his muscular arm and hauling him up from the mattress, with difficulty because of the weight of his gear. Like a practiced choreography, you unlatch his belt, to the straps around his pecs, and unload them to the closet where it's stashed for the next day.

Jason says nothing as you return to the space before him, making a conscious choice to not meet his stare. You're surprised by his lack of resistance, especially as you drag him to the nearby bathroom, flicking the light on, and setting him in front of the sink counter.

When you pull out the aid kit from under the cabinets, Jason finally breaks the unbearable silence. "You remembered."

Your breathing lulls and you sink in the memories of the past. Long nights of patching Jason up, after his encounters with criminals and felons—the whips of clashing blades and the graze of bullets on skin. You even took a medical course at Gotham College to better equip yourself on how to take care of your boyfriend.

Well, ex.

"How could I forget?" Your voice is quiet, almost indistinguishable, but Jason clings to every little word. "I was the one restocking it."

"Do you remember your training?"

"Of course I do," you say. "They don't give out As for anybody."

A faint smile breaks out across Jason's face, even if he didn't want it to, and you lift your head to discover the easygoing expression. You return with your own grin, and a moment, suspended in time, there's a place where you forget the broken status of your relationship.

Despite the rough exterior Jason tries to exert, attempting to hold you at arm's length, his eyes soften upon meeting yours, tracing your features as a way to drink you in after months of agony and separation. They linger on your lips for a moment longer than necessary, wondering if they still taste the same as before.

But as quickly as it came, it left. Jason turns away, curling his hands into fists, his jaw sharpening by the grind of his teeth. Remnants of his anger remain, pulsing, eruptive, and targeted at you. It dulls with every passing moment in your presence, but it isn't fair. You can't return exactly as you were as if you didn't add to his misery.

"Jason?"

"Just finish up," he snaps, stonewalling his emotions to keep himself safe. "I don't have all night."

You sigh. Unraveling the roll of gauze, you examine the cuts and bruises on his shoulders and forearms. It isn't too bad. Jason has always been good at protecting himself—and you—so you believed the blood soaking his shirt was mostly his opponents rather than his.

When you grab the isopropyl alcohol, the can is light. "It's empty," you murmur, setting the gauze back in the kit. Jason glances at the bottle in your hands.

"It's—"

"I know," you mumble with a nod, slipping out of the suffocating bathroom before clinically moving through your old apartment, and finding another bottle behind one of his doors. When you're about to return, you catch a whiff of lavender in the air and freeze, searching the room to find a lit candle sitting on the island in his kitchen.

Your expression softens, admiring the glass filled with wax before you make your way back to the bathroom. Jason's attention is set on your phone sitting on the counter's edge.

"Someone texted you," Jason informs, his arms crossed against his chest as his gaze drifts to your face.

"Oh," you set the bottle down as you pick up your phone, reading the message.

Jason studies your expression, wondering who it could be. He didn't check out of respect for your privacy, and he's holding his tongue from asking, but a curious thought pounds at the edge of his mind. Did you move on? He couldn't resist by then. "Who is it?"

"Tim," you answer, setting the screen face-down on the countertop. "Also, Damian. He says to 'get some rest, Todd,' and that you still owe him a match tomorrow morning."

You punctuate your sentence with a soft smile, hoping to simulate the feelings from before, but Jason doesn't return the gesture. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and a sting surges through his veins. "Didn't know you still kept in contact with my brothers."

"Didn't know you still kept the candle."

If Jason was surprised by your response, he doesn't reveal it. He leans against the edge of the sink, the porcelain digging into his spine as his arms remain crossed over his chest. "You were right. The aroma covers the smell of blood."

Your lips curve with surprise, your eyes brightening from his admission. "I was right?"

"Don't let it get into your head."

"I wanna hear it again."

He says your name as a scold, but you merely beam from his words. There were some suggestions you gave Jason when you lived with him—making his place less James Bond and more homey. Before you came, he tracked grim and mud into the living area, wafted a tingeing scent of copper, and covered the entire apartment in weaponry and computers. You adjusted some things, but they were accepted with reluctance, and you hadn't expect Jason to keep any when you left.

Jason mirrors a gentle smile on his face as he watches the excitement radiate from you, reminding him of an easier time. That's how the start of your relationship felt—giddily, charming, and loveable.

"Your turn," Jason declares, uncrossing his arms and returning them to his side.

"There's not much to say." You admit somberly. "I keep in touch to make sure everything's okay."

"With everyone?"

"Dick, Tim, Damian..." You trail off, contemplating adding the last member. "And Bruce."

You study Jason's face as he absorbs the information, but nothing helps you identify his emotions. That's one of the difficult things about being with Jason. He never reveals his true emotions to you, always making you guess his thoughts. He doesn't tell you when he's hurt, or angry, or happy, because he keeps it all to himself.

At first, it didn't bother you, because you knew he didn't trust easily. But, sometimes, it feels like he didn't trust you at all.

You can't bring yourself to ask, to beg him to talk, so you go back to helping him with his wounds. In the silence, you clean the cuts, layering a thin layer of ointment cream over the scars, and bandage him up. By the time you're done, Jason remains as quiet as he was before.

That's truly all Dick asked you to do. He couldn't get into contact with Jason, and knowing an unannounced visit from Nightwing would do nothing but provoke an argument, he thought to ask you to check-in. To make sure he isn't beating himself up over the loss in his mission.

You didn't have to clean him up. Take off his gears. Make sure he isn't hurt. But you did.

As you make your way out of the bathroom, you glance at the exit. Jason can return to his bed on his own two feet, and as you're about to bid a polite farewell, Jason cuts you off.

"Why didn't you ever check up on me?"

The question startles you. Turning to see him exit from the bathroom, Jason stops a couple feet away from the bed, keeping a safe distance from you. His gaze never wavers.

"Jason..." You swallow a bile forming in your throat. You didn't want to give him some pseudo-bullshit to comfort him. He has always appreciated the truth. "We were broken up."

He huffs, "Which was something I didn't want."

"I know."

"It destroyed me,"

"I know,"

"I needed you," he confesses with such rawness, you can't help but falter from the sound. Your hands clench into fists by your side, nails digging into your palms to ease the ache in your chest.

"I..." You stammer. "It was hard for me. Being your girlfriend."

The good has always been good; euphoric and phenomenal. But the bad had been bad; miserable and troublesome. You couldn't handle the whiplash of emotions, of being pulled to absolute highs one night to being dragged to complete lows. It was too much for your little heart.

"I love you, and I'll always will, but I just... It was hard."

Jason stares at you, and behind his strong demeanor, something cracks behind the armor. He swallows thickly, his mind running a hundred miles an hour trying to rationalize your confession. "Did you... did you move on?"

"Jay..."

"No, I don't want that," he asserts, despite knowing a positive answer would wreck him, "I want to hear it. Was it easy to forget about me?"

"Jason, please," you beg, throbbing pain eliciting from your clenched palms as tears crowd your vision. "It took everything of me to step inside your apartment. To see you. When Dick called me, I truly didn't want to go, but he said you needed me."

His breathing slows. Pieces forming together. "And you came."

You nod once. "And I came."

He says nothing, his chest rising and falling with unsteady beats, and you can't help but take this as an opportunity to bid a formal farewell. You can't take it. But just before you can take two steps towards the bedroom door, Jason calls out with a rough voice. "Stay."

It takes everything of him to say that. Vulnerability seeps into the very crevices of his words, to his dark eyes, waiting for your answer—waiting for you to deny him. "I'm... I'm not asking for anything else. I don't expect anything. But I need you tonight."

Your eyes soften. You know how hard is for Jason to talk about his emotions, about his needs. You know it isn't good for you, every rational bone in your body telling you to leave, but you resist against them. Extending your hand, Jason doesn't hesitate to take it into his palm, pulling you into the bed.

It's so easy. You slip under the covers, crawling over to Jason's side as you lay your head on his chest, laminating the irregular beats of his heart. His arm settles around your waist, brushing against your thin tee, in an act so endearing, so natural, it's almost forgotten that this is the first intimate touch in months.

It hurts to be around Jason. To remember the good times. To recount the worst. His breathing remains unsteady—not because there's any damage to his lungs, but because that too is a side effect of the Lazarus pit. When you first dated him, you thought every night's rest was his last.

It causes you to tighten your grip around his torso, needing to keep him real. Alive. Your breathing becomes steady when you feel his hand glide over your skin in soothing strokes.

"I thought you hated me," Jason admits after a long stretch of silence.

"I could never hate you," you whisper. "That's not possible."

"You left me."

You don't answer that. Abandonment can be constituted as hate in Jason's world and there's nothing you can say to make him believe differently. Lifting your head from his chest, your eyes wash over his relaxed features. The fluff of white hair in the mass of dark roots, the gentle slope of his cheekbones, jaw, and the crooked outline of his nose. It's as if you're trying to commit to memory all the changes that have happened since you've been gone.

"I'm here now."

Jason nods and you return back to your previous position. It's always been difficult for him to find his slumber, but he manages to find it easy with your presence.

But as he falls asleep, you can't seem to follow him. For a moment, you wonder why everything was such a problem. Why couldn't you have stayed in this relationship if the both of you brought to each other a sense of peace no one else can encapsulate? But, then you remember.

It's the mornings. The morning after every bad mission, every disaster under the domain of Red Hood. Jason would return to the streets, becoming more reckless, vicious, and death-prone than ever before to make up for the loss he had the previous night.

And it killed you. Sitting in this apartment, obsessively checking for any articles about how Red Hood finally struck his last time. Even though Jason may have been raised from the dead, given the opportunity of a second chance, he lives his life as if it's his first.

Jason goes out into the world believing he's invincible. And maybe he is. Maybe he can beat death once again. And again. And again. But you can't sit around and watch. Because every night, every day spent wondering if he is hurt, if whether he's going to walk through the front door, kills you.

So, by morning, when the sun filters through his blinds and a warm ray lands on Jason's scarred and healing skin, his muscles throbs with pain, and his head pounding with a mild case of hangover, he slowly opens his eyes one by one.

And he remembers. He remembers everything the night before. How you came. How you stayed. And when his hand drifts to the place on his chest, to find any remnant of you, he discovers nothing but the wisps of air.

Because before dawn, you're gone.

[eggyrocks]

DRUNK WALK HOME

chapter two: outline

masterlist

"mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight?" -bag of bones by mitski

All it takes is one look at Akaashi for humiliation to burn in her throat. He doesn't look at up at her as she approaches the library table he's reserved for them. She takes a steadying breath as she slides into the seat across from him, dropping her bag by her feet and crossing her arms over her chest. "Let's get this over with."

Akaashi looks up from his own spread of notes and an opened textbook, mouth in a thin line and eyes disengaged and disinterested. She tries not to flinch under them. Akaashi always looks at her like that, like she's nothing. He has this real talent for making her feel so viscerally hated with just a subtle once-over.

Her head is banging, a likely combination of a hangover and dehydration from all the gut-wrenching, body-wrecking, sobbing she's been doing. There is still smudged black liner darkening her eyes and dried out foundation flaking on her skin. The library lights are bright and yellow, and sitting under them makes her feel vulnerable, exposed.

It's kinda the same way she always feels around Akaashi, for some reason.

He flicks closed the smooth, glossy pages of his textbook and pushes it to the side. "Let me see your essay."

"I don't have an essay," she retorts, mouth dry. Sure, she has essays due. She has assignments printed out and stapled together that are crumbled at the bottom of her bag. But the only thing she has to show for any of it is a mostly blank Word document with four words written out: I don't fucking know.

Akaashi offers no reaction to this. That's the scary thing about Akaashi, she's learned in all of her time being hated by him. He doesn't have to do much for you to feel the weight of his hatred. Akaashi doesn't groan or yell or cuss or roll his eyes or snap at her. He just reaches down into his bag, grabbing something as if she were not there, and she can feel it.

He pulls out a folder, black and plastic, as he says to her, "Don't bother coming to a session if you don't have anything prepared again."

She bites down on the inside of her cheek and feels something awful churn inside of her chest. "Well, you bitched about me not showing last time, so."

Akaashi pauses, and looks up at her, the only indicator of emotion being the slight narrowing of his eyes. "We're not here for my benefit. I'll pass if you show up or not."

She doesn't say anything to this, she just taps her fingers against the skin of her arm, and tries not to cry in front of him.

Akaashi pulls a sheet of paper out from his folder and slides it in her direction. One page, Times New Roman, font size eleven. "Here's a guide on how to write an outline for an essay. Make one for every essay you have due and bring them back next time. If you don't, I'm emailing your advisor and telling them you're not showing up to your sessions."

"Yeah, but I am showing up," she argues.

"If you're showing up with nothing to work on, then you might as well not show up at all," he reiterates, as if he's talking to a small child. He then makes a point of looking her in the eye when he says, “And for the record, you should talk to Bokuto. Stop punishing him for not wanting to date you. It's not like you can blame him."

And with that, Akaashi scoops up his remaining textbook and notes, and he leaves. She watches as he marches towards the front exit, and does not look back at her once.

extras!

tendou gets really into pasta dinner

yn is friends with like everyone. like almost every single person on campus has either met her, hung out with her, or has heard of her. she has a lot of friends and its rare for someone to not like her

which akaashi finds baffling

yukie and akaashi were closer in high school but pretty much stopped talking once it became clear to yukie how much akaashi does not like yn

she does not play abt yn she absolutely chose her side and will die there

same with kaori though she is a little less intense about it

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @bedeater @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @crownj1min @frvppe @mollyrolls @karasyuu @ciderscape @phoenix-eclipses @s1ckntw1st3d @cnnmairoll @soobin1437 @worldgyu @snail-squasher @dragonictears @ferntv @reignsaway @Lisoozi @staygoldsquatchling02 @gsyche @yuminako @spicana @hermaeusmorax @shoyostar @whorefornoodles @hqsimprevival2024 @atsumuenthusiast @lemonocityyy @itsdragonius @robinphobia @aboveasphodel @savemebrazilhinata @lllaw @dreamingofyeo @milesmoralesluvs @miliondollagirl @kitnootkat @soulfullystarry @bows4life

[citrustan]

i see u are taking drabble requests!! could i very gently very nicely ask to plz have a yoongi x reader drabble? it can be angsty fluffy or smutty i just rlly miss yoongi, aaand thank u in advance!!

thanks! i will choose all three (barely-there smut bec i just need to get comfortable w it through practice)

love-daze (myg)

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: unrequited love?, friends to ?

warnings: methinks this can be considered infidelity but not really?? as for the characters, all's open to interpretation. :p unedited. this is raw raw ok.

"Should I stop?" You whisper, unwrapping your arms from around him.

After a few beats, still zoned-out, Yoongi moans in disapproval, "No, keep going, this is fine."

He adjusts you on his lap and tilts his head back.

Still unsure, you go back to placing soft kisses all over his neck. Desperate to make Yoongi happy, you put a little more energy into it as you begin to gently grind on him.

Occasional whimpers and sighs float around the cold room. While that would seem to be enough to send you over the moon, it doesn't seem to help you this time.

"Yoongi..." You tiredly sigh.

You want to make Yoongi feel good, but at this point, you know he's too distracted.

Thinking of her.

And you find that unfair. He was the one who called you after all. Because he knew you'd always be around. Only for him.

You were never shy about your feelings for Yoongi, so when you couldn't get him to reciprocate romantically, you figured you'd give it a shot anyway and offered yourself for him to use whenever he wanted, for whatever he wanted.

Yoongi was intrigued.

He seemingly never did end up needing you though.

Until now.

Two hours ago, Yoongi came over to tell you how his girlfriend had turned down his marriage proposal a few days ago.

One hour ago, you tried to talk him into giving her more space.

Thirty minutes ago, he ended up calling her anyway, which in turn made her distance herself even more, telling him to not call her again.

And now, Yoongi has you naked, on his lap, trying to make himself forget about everything--- his girlfriend, her rejection, his humiliation, their sadness... just all of it.

Yoongi wanted to hurt her, too. His own pleasure is just a bonus. He knew that if she ever caught wind of you and him, it'd destroy her.

For some reason unknown to Yoongi (and you), Sera always had been insecure about you. Not that Yoongi gave her any reason to be, even offering to seize all contact with you.

You had cried for days when you accidentally heard about it through one of your mutuals. Yet, you understood, and continued to love him silently while distancing yourself from the couple.

Yes, you loved him but you would never try to steal his happiness away or break up a relationship.

Both Sera and Yoongi noticed the lack of your presence in their lives.

During that short period, she also observed how Yoongi seemed moodier and a little more disengaged in general.

For a while, Sera thought she might've just been a masochist or something because what other reason did she have to refuse Yoongi's offer?

She felt guilty because she didn't want to be the kind of woman who stopped her faithful boyfriend from having friends. She felt guilty because she had always known about your interest in him but had decided to pursue him anyway.

She felt guilty when she saw the look on your face when she was first introduced as Yoongi's girlfriend. She remembers how defeated and sad you were. One would expect jealousy, or anger, or even hatred, but you were always cordial with her.

She felt guilty when he asked her her hand in marriage because it came out of nowhere, and she knew it was Yoongi's attempt to salvage what was left of them.

It's probably karma, she thinks. Sera felt like an intruder in your lives even though she was the girlfriend. Even though Yoongi never really looked at you in a way she would be worried about, she just... felt something.

Which is why Sera isn't surprised to see Yoongi at your place now. She saw it on your Instagram story, but it was deleted almost immediately.

She doesn't know why Yoongi never let you in, and selfishly hadn't cared.

All she could do now was watch the man she loves be with someone else. As you had done.

Yoongi finally looks you in the eye, expectantly, brows somewhat raised.

Again, you ask, "Are you really, really sure you want this?"

Yoongi sees the loving look on your face and his breath hitches. You didn't deserve this.

The long pause answered all your questions.

You don't know why you're disappointed, you had offered yourself to him. It was your choice.

Sadly, giving him a tight-lipped smile, you sigh.

Before you could speak, he tilts your head towards his own, making your foreheads touch.

You gulp, afraid of what he might say.

With a shaky voice, he rubs his thumb on your cheek, "I'm sorry." - "For what?"

"_____, you deserve to be treated with respect. And, I'm sorry I failed to."

"Yoongi... I'm not offended... I told you, I'm okay with this." You pout, confused.

"Exactly. You shouldn't be. I won't take advantage of you like this." Yoongi is stern. Mostly speaking to himself.

But you don't care, "What if I want to be taken advantage of?"

"_____..." He's breathless.

"Yoonie... I can feel you. I want to be used. I want you so bad. I always have." You resume grinding on him, "You want me so bad. I know you care about me, Yoonie."

He firmly places his hands on your waist. You expect him to grab your cute butt, but instead, he holds you in place, "_____. Not like this. We're too... vulnerable. This is new. Let's not rush into anything."

At that, you instantly snap out of your love-daze.

What did he mean by 'this'? Let's not rush into 'anything'?

Your face was expressive, making him smile a little. You then lift yourself off of him.

Yoongi's forcing himself not to ogle your tits or the string of your sticky wetness detaching from his trousers as you moved to sit next to him.

The two of you have a lot to heal through.

Yoongi stood up from your couch to retrieve your crocheted throw which he then uses to swaddle you. You stare up at him with big eyes as he wrapped the material around you, making him playfully scoff.

Yoongi kneels in front of you, "I don't know how to thank you for being there for me, _____." He has a solemn face.

Meekly, you suggest, "We can just... talk if you'd like."

Placing a hand atop your own, he softly smiles, "I'd love that, _____."

note: ok like ack-chu-ally idk what this turned into i just wanted to write like a 100 word thing about reader patiently waiting for yoongi to realise his feelings for her

But I Just Couldn't STop going on and im curious to see the response to this because I think I hate it kinda

[bugs1nmybrain]

✨️ L Lawliet w/ a Shy & Insecure Reader Headcanons ✨️

Notes: I got real specific here. I need some validation haha. I swear if L ever complimented me I'd implode and then explode like I've done many times in the DS game (don't make fun of me >:<)

I'm adding pink text and sparkles to the title. Cope with it DN twt

Warnings: 18+!!! There is some sexy content, no gendered terms or pronouns. I tried being inclusive with the sexy stuff. Talks about poor self-esteem and insecurities. L being his rude ass self at one point. Reader described as quiet. I did indeed write L as a sweetheart, and I don't regret it one bit! :D. Not proofread

For starters, shy isn't a problem for L. He appreciates that you're quiet and relatively polite. It makes it easier for him to get away with dating you because he knows you're not going to be obnoxious around headquarters, and there's a good chance you'll never even mention that you're his partner

He finds it vry cute. Especially when you stumble over your words when he flirts with you. His pride is very comfy with you.

You are a perfect parallel play lover!!! He's grateful that you don't pester him when he's busy, but he doesn't mind you being around him. You can draw, do homework, write, play video games, anything. He just appreciates your company. He's also 100% paying attention out of his peripheral vision.

But because you're quiet, sometimes you don't share all of your thoughts with him and it can make for a satisfying relationship. L sure as shit isn't disclosing a lot of stuff, so he sees it as even

A lot of your secrets are insecurities, though. You worry a lot about your competency as a romantic partner. Whether it's your intelligence, physical beauty, personality, interests, anything really. You're always anxious that you're not enough, and not enough for him.

L knows well that you lack confidence. He's torn, actually, because he wants to see you become more sure of yourself and he'll try to help. He teaches you skills when he has time and makes sure to compliment you when you do something good. Sometimes he stretches the truth in his praises just to make you feel better. He knows you value his opinion a lot.

However, your insecure nature is an easy opening for him to get away with a lot. Nothing that serious, but secret tests are a given with L, and he does like to test if you'll push through him not given you the validation he knows you want. It actually does make him feel like 10% bad, though, and he'll make up for it.

He understands why you're insecure, but at the same time, he thinks it's silly. Especially when you admit to him that you're worried about your physical appearance or sexual abilities. It's in those moments he just wants to tell you to stop because "have you seen me, y/n?"

But yes please flatter his ego

When you started sleeping together it actually was pretty smooth and natural

I truly believe L was a virgin until you, so he probably wasn't much more confident than you

The doom of adult virginity/inexperience is that everyone expects you to be pornographic by now, and for an insecure person that can be very demanding

L doesn't expect that and won't be disappointed by something slow and "vanilla." He likes that, honestly. But of course, if/whenever you're ready for something more spicy, he's very open to communicating about it

This guy is just happy to touch you, period

If you fumble because you're nervous, he's not upset, but he'll redirect you with affirming words

He does admittedly get irritated by consistent nagging and the self-deprecating comments you make. It annoys him after a bit. He'll likely disengage to avoid hurting your feelings, but if you're persistent, he'll give it to you straight.

"The only thing you should be insecure about is that you're a broken record."

Fight the tears

It actually does make him upset when you doubt him and his love for you. It makes him feel like you don't trust him. L is aware that he's deceptive by nature, but he wants you to trust that he values you. He certainly wouldn't be in a committed relationship with you if his feelings weren't genuine

So he reminds you. Again. And again. That he wants you in his life and treasures you

You're lucky that he loves you so much

Sometimes, you'll go through periods of isolating from him because you're afraid of bothering him. Trust me. He's glad to have time to work, but he does pick up on your distance quick

You're so afraid of asking him for attention

or even just a bite of his cake. He always offers, tho.

But yea. L is a busy guy and comfortable in seclusion, so he isn't that clingy. He can go a long time without checking in on you, which doesn't help the paranoia

When he decides to take a break for once, usually his first instinct is to either 1. Get coffee or a treat, or 2. Make a bee line to see you!!

OR 3. BRING YOU FOOD TO SHARE

Know that he loves you much more than most things. You are his priority, even if his work takes precedence at times.

He'll attempt to build your trust over time because he understands how hard it is to believe in someone's honesty. It'll get better, and you'll likely start to feel more self-assured with him. L talks a lot, but he believes actions speak louder than words, so he'll show you how much he loves you through the little things because you light up his world after an exhausting day full of murder and nonstop thinking. You're home to him and he wants you to feel the same way about him.

[vixensdungeon]

You've probably asked yourself

What are psychology mechanics in tabletop roleplaying games?

Or maybe you haven't, because that's a term used by like two people because it was made up by me. But others have come up with it before me! Warhammer, for example, uses "psychology" to mean effects like Hatred and Stupidity that modify the behavior of units on the battlefield. And that's thesame basic concept we're talking about.

Psychology is a game mechanic that represents a character's inner life and modifies their behavior. Some would call such a thing a "roleplaying mechanic," but those people are silly with a limited idea of what roleplaying is.

Psychology mechanics fall broadly into three categories, or three C’s. They are:

enCourage: if you do X I’ll give you a little treat Coerce: do X or suffer the consequences Compel: you do X

Encouraging mechanics seem the most in vogue in modern design, though I think the other two have their place. (I briefly considered naming the first one Consent but that wouldn't reflect how the mechanic acts upon the character, and in truth the player consents to all three by playing a game with such mechanics in it)

One game I think is particularly famous for its psychology rules, that being Call of Cthulhu with its Sanity mechanic, and I think King Arthur Pendragon deserves a nod for its passions and such, but we’re going to talk about a different one. Paradigm shifting in its time, seen as traditional these days, it’s Vampire: The Masquerade, the cool game for sexy goths!

To help us delve into the World of Darkness, we’ll employ the guidance of Malcolm Fisher, a Lick currently operating somewhere in England. Say hi, Malcolm!

I knew the vixen was trouble the moment she walked into my life, with an air of mystery and danger, and thighs that-

Ahem, yes, thank you. I think we don’t need to hear from Malcolm anymore, wouldn’t you agree? Instead we’ll use his character sheet to explore the various psychology mechanics in Vampire.

Vampire 5th Edition doesn't actually have an example of encouraging mechanics that I can remember (correct me if I'm wrong), so we'll briefly dip into its predecessors for that. Malcolm has two archetypes, a Demeanor and a Nature. In his case both match: Enigma. Whenever Malcolm acts in accordance to his Nature, in this case by perplexing other characters through actions that turn out to make sense in hindsight, he regains spent Willpower. This encourages Malcolm to act a certain way.

V5's compulsions are, despite the name, a coercive mechanic according to the terminology I made up. When Malcolm suffers a bestial failure on a roll, he might suffer from a compulsion. We'll assume that in this case it's not the one specific to his Clan, Malkavian, but rather one of the generic ones: Paranoia (still appropriate for him). Any action not taken to disengage from any perceived threat suffers a penalty. This coerces Malcolm to act a certain way by punishing him for doing otherwise.

Finally we have the big one, Frenzy. This prevents a player from saying something to the effect of "I would simply not flee in terror from fire." I'm terribly sorry but that's not for you to decide. Unless one decides to ride the wave and not resist the frenzy, the Storyteller takes control of the character. Seeing a large bonfire after a particularly draining investigation, Malcolm fails his Willpower roll and falls into a terror frenzy. He will flee from the fire in the most expedient manner, whether the player wanted to or not. This compels Malcolm to act in a certain way, because he has no other choice.

And there you have it. That's the general gist of psychology mechanics.

[hgfictionwriter]

would you ever consider doing some jessie sex headcanons? we obviously see little bits during your smut fics but it would be cool to know your headcanons of jessie that inspire what you write!! (no problem if not:))

Jessie Headcanons - Smut Edition

Warning: Sex talk! Language.

Before your first time:

She starts off very shy. Takes her a while to even get comfortable initiating holding your hand when you first start dating.

She's also pretty stiff initially even with cuddling. You rest your head on her shoulder on the couch and she sits stiffly, afraid to move and disrupt you.

Bonus: The first time you kiss her in public, she goes beet red.

You encourage her and eventually she relaxes into physical touch with you.

You learn she's actually far more physically affectionate than you expected. Once she's comfortable, she always goes to hold your hand or has a hand on the small of your back. She wants you fully in her arms when you hang out on the couch together, pulled in as close to her as possible. She wants to fall asleep spooning you at night.

Sex is another story though.

Even though she's very affectionate with you now, she'll still turn away when you get changed even if you fully invite her looking.

You got out of the shower one day and had forgotten to grab a towel. You call her in asking for one and she averts her eyes and blindly hands you a towel through a crack in the doorway.

She needs encouragement. The first time you straddle her - one night on the couch while watching TV - you actually see her gulp. Her hands gravitate to your legs, but her eyes dart around and her cheeks are red. You kiss her deeply and her fingers immediately dig into your legs as she returns the kiss. You urge her to kiss your neck, and she does so - hungrily - after some coaxing. You start rocking on top of her and she moans before quickly clearing her throat and pulling back. She disengages, cheeks a deeper shade of red and starts talking about something entirely random and tries to direct your attention elsewhere. She leaves you high and dry and wondering what happened.

This happens a few times. You initiate and she starts getting into it before abruptly stopping all momentum.

Maybe you start getting moody about it. You're a bit colder and less affectionate because of it. She's confused, but takes a while to ask you what's going on.

Though embarrassed, you tell her what's bothering you. She's shocked. Of course she wants you. That's the problem. She wants you too much. She's not sure she can control herself appropriately.

And, truthfully, maybe she's a little self-conscious, too. She doesn't have a lot of experience.

However, she is well-read. In fact, she's been doing a lot of reading lately. Not that she tells you that.

First time:

She lets you lead and set the pace. Service Top, but without the dom aspect. Yet.

She's tentative and in her head; at least initially. She's overly concerned about trying to anticipate what you might want and what you might like.

Consent queen. Unnecessarily. Because you're desperate for her giving her very enthusiastic consent. Checks in a lot. "Is this okay?"

You get a glimpse of how her demeanour changes once she realizes that you love what she's doing and how she makes you feel.

She's a bit taken aback if you talk dirty. Doesn't reciprocate this time, but loves seeing this side of you and enjoys it.

Very intimate. It's not about fucking or mere physical pleasure, it's about connection for her.

Very into after care. Takes exceptional care of you and gets/does anything you need.

Ongoing:

You opened the dams. The Jessie you know in bed, on the couch, on the counter, on the floor, against the wall is so unlike the Jessie everyone else knows.

She's like a woman possessed. A woman on a mission. Nothing exists outside of you.

Very intense. Some people are fun and light in bed, and she can be, but Jessie's 'fun and light' is still intense. In the way she looks at you, the way she speaks, everything.

She's embraced the dirty talk thing. But her dirty talk often has emotional declarations sprinkled throughout. "God, I love the way you feel around me. Fuck, I love you so much."

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) possessive. Even though she knows you'd never stray, seeing someone else flirt with you or check you out gets her riled up. Not uncommon for her to take you home and fuck you so thoroughly you wouldn't dare forget that you're hers.

Takes control. But very much a soft dom. Wouldn't enjoy degrading you or humiliating you in any way. She takes control so she can adore you in every way possible.

Big time praise kink. Loves praising you - showering you with compliments and affirmations, but something just tweaks inside of her when you praise her performance in bed. It takes things to another level for her.

Gets off on making you cum. Doesn't need a lot in return or is quick to finish if she's done things for you first. Loves seeing you come undone thanks to her.

She herself isn't too loud in bed, but loves when you're loud. Again, just more validation for how good she can fuck you.

Stamina for days. Her stamina, combined with her eagerness to please you leaves you in an overstimulated state more often than not. She has to be mindful to not push you too far if you've been having sex often and with not enough time to recover.

Not into anything too kinky. Is really more focused on intimacy. Although she loves to use her strap on you (and she straps you down good), she relishes fucking you with her fingers and feeling the way you grip her and drip for her.

[ddarker-dreams]

Forgive me if this sort of thing has been explored before but picture this scenario: Chrollo coming home to darling having a panic attack. Why? What's going on?? She won't tell him, because it's a panic attack triggered by a phobia of something very mundane. She doesn't want him to know she has a phobia and she definitely doesn't want him to know what kind of phobia. To give an example let's say she has an irrational fear of mice. RIDICULOUS. He mustn't know. Lie lie lie distract disengage.

THIS ........ this setup does something for me........... i've recently fixated on this concept where you wake up from an awful nightmare, something like chrollo coldly ordering your death and for it to be as painful as possible.

you wake up, tears on your cheeks and sweat causing your nightwear to adhere to your skin. you're met with an unusual sight — chrollo's side of the bed is empty. cold, too. he must have been gone for a while now. any other night, this detail wouldn't arouse suspicion. if anything, it'd cause relief, that you've finally caught a break from his ever-watchful eye.

then your mind reminds you that chrollo isn't your only foe. it replays those images, those sounds, snapping and squelching as your grisly end nears.

you do what you can to calm yourself. splashing cold water on your face, drinking water, wiping the sweat from your brow; the way you go about everything is mechanical. he could do it, your thoughts taunt. this isn't the monster of your bed — waking up doesn't make the threat disappear. it only brings you closer.

with shaking hands, you open the door separating the bedroom from a moderately sized living space. you shove your pride aside and call out his name. softly, at first, and then at your normal speaking volume. nothing. would he really leave you on your own for this long without setting up precautions?

or maybe... is he preparing to finally do away with you?

the world goes on without your senses bothering to process anything. your body reacts like it would if an apex predator was gaining on you; all-consuming adrenaline, unsteady breathing, trembling limbs. this unrelenting whirlpool pushes you down to abyssal depths.

you're running out of air and it's too deep to surface.

then you hear a voice you recognize.

chrollo's kneeling down beside you, eyebrows furrowing, a prominent frown on his face. he rarely reveals this much emotion, small as it is. you can practically hear the gears in his head turning, attempting to piece together the situation and its severity. his hand is steady on your shoulder and the timbre of his voice soothes you. it's so consistent, so reliable, he always seems to know what to do and what to say.

you don't care to dwell on these bizarre thoughts. not now, not when you feel like you're drowning. an anchor is an anchor, even if it's a man you've sworn to loathe. it's okay to seek comfort, isn't it? no one could judge you. you can't judge yourself, either. you've been through so much — now and in the past — what's wrong with accepting the sweet fruit he's tempted you with?

you latch yourself to him. it isn't graceful or romantic, it's clinging to the lifeline that pushed you overboard to begin with. he lets out a soft sound at the ferocity of your grip. anyone else would've been knocked over by the sheer exertion of force, but chrollo didn't even budge. he must decide to discern the specifics later as he doesn't prod at you with questions. no, he reciprocates the embrace with an ardor that would've sickened you any other time.

you're babbling incoherently and yet he picks up enough to hazard a guess at what brought this about. he reassures you that he'd never harm you, that the thought alone makes him feel emotions he thought himself incapable of. he hugs you close, rubs his hands over your back, presses lingering kisses to your temple, and shushes you.

exhaustion catches up near the final tears you've shed. chrollo keeps himself still so as not to disturb you when you fall unconscious. he picks you up gently, brings you back to your side of the bed and puts you down. fondness envelops his heart at your now peaceful visage. he smooths out a stray hair cascading down your face.

all he intended to do was make a quick phone call, but coming back to you, with your glassy eyes and trembling lips, essentially attaching yourself to him like he's your sole source of comfort ... he might need to pinch himself to ensure he isn't dreaming.

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

mickey soft-domming ian in non-sexual ways

for example sensing when his husband wants some guidance through a task. it doesn't even have to be a particularly difficult task - he's literally stood there beside ian (and behind him) gently walking him through making dinner. giving him lots of "mhm, like that"s and "there ya go, big guy - looks good" and praise for doing a good job. the food is always bomb, and there's nothing quite as tasty as the proud smile that beams across ian's face.

another example is how mickey can sniff out when ian's being stubborn about basic care things. like when their schedule has been weird for the day so their routine is off, and ian insists that he's fine, but he definitely hasn't eaten enough and is being a huge crab-ass about it. but instead of nagging him, mickey will drop into his lap and peel open an orange or something for them, very quietly talking to him as he pops a slice into ian's mouth, and then one for himself.

sensing when ian wants to stop making decisions and just breathe. so he spreads his thighs and invites ian over to sit on the floor between them, facing him. and ian does it. happily. he's perfectly content to disengage as mickey leads his head to the side until he's resting against the inside of his leg, his eyes drifting shut as mickey cups his other cheek and slowly strokes his thumb over his face.

the positioning of it has ian's body relinquishing power by pure muscle memory alone. and sometimes he even falls asleep like that - his cheek smushed and a tiny drool spot dampening mickey's pants. (mickey lets him doze a little, and then eventually helps move him up onto the couch so he can lie down between his legs, the side of his face smushed into mickey's chest this time.) when ian lays with his full body-weight on top of him, mickey knows he's finally gotten exactly what he needs. which makes him feel relaxed too.

idk, just...non-sexual domming - extra soft style. i think about it a lot.

[stuck1nthelimbo]

[ edging ] * jjk men x f!reader // 0.5k, 2nd pov, no beta, no specific male character, reader w/ a vagina, smut, masturbation, edging, fingering, implied intercourse || ✨m.list✨

The relaxing music of a mobile game floats around in the otherwise silent bedroom. Lying on your back, and the hood of an oversized hoodie covering your head, your nimble fingers work on unlocking online game achievements. Immersed in the fantasy world of the device, you fail to notice his intense gaze.

Leaning his head on the fist with the elbow jabbed into the mattress, his eyes trail down from the phone to the sole piece of clothing you’re wearing with the hoodie, white cotton underwear. He rests a hand on your stomach, but you pay him no heed. His limb dances around, sneaking around. The final destination is on top of your underwear. Your focus doesn’t waver, set on the game.

Fingers hover over the fabric, the pads of his digits barely brushing on the material. After a second or two, the middle and ring fingers nudge on the damp spot of the panties near the entrance. Your attention doesn't shift from the game. The long digits pulse on the underwear, rhythmically and lightly tapping against it, before withdrawing and flicking the edge of the material, gliding underneath.

As soon as his fingers come in contact with the clit, your hips jolt. Eyes might still be glued to the smartphone screen, but all of your senses disengage and concentrate on the middle finger that gradually but steadily presses between the pussy lips. The ring finger joins in, aligning around the sensitive nub, squeezing it between the phalanges of the digits. He teases until the whimper is forced out of you and as soon as your breathing becomes unsteady, he halts all motion. You whine, unconsciously humping against his hand that he yanks away as far as your stretchy panties let him.

You grip the edges of the smartphone, eyes stuck on the flickering screen. Your soaking cunt clenches around emptiness, twitching when his hand returns to its last location. The fingers resume the previous activity, sluggishly drawing circles on your clit. As time passes, his hand becomes aggressive, two fingers simultaneously grinding against the bud of nerves, with firm and erratic circling. A low gasp escapes you when those wandering fingers plunge inside and dripping walls clamp on them.

Your eyes, unfocused, stare at the screen of the device, the attention now entirely diverted to your nether region being violated. After a minute or two of edging, slowing down whenever you mewl, alerting him how close you’re to reaching an orgasm, his fingers empty your cunt. Instead, lay down flat on your pussy, covering it entirely, ceasing all movement similar to the last time.

With his hand motionless, you toss your phone aside, helplessly tugging onto his thumb and weakly pull, while confronting his wicked grin with overtly innocent and watery eyes. Something malicious glints in his. Stimulated, slumbering body props up, as his fingers fill your cunt, pumping in and out without an ounce of resistance. The clear wetness smears on the inner sides of your thighs, dripping onto the bed, the squelching sounds echoing in silence alongside your throaty huffs.

While his hand tirelessly works, he gradually positions himself between your legs, free hand clumsily feeling the outline of his painful bulge, ready for action.

a/n: in the middle of drafting, i realized i didn't have a particular character in mind; everyone fits the criteria, so imagine who you want, be free!! tagging with jjk tags, but you can imagine literally anyone lol [requests: open]

© stuck1nthelimbo; do not redistribute, repost, modify, or use in any way, form, and/or shape.

[yawnderu]

Parenthood — Miguel O'Hara x Reader

I love putting this man in situations.

Content: You kidnap a wombat and force Miguel to play house with you.

fluff, idiots in love, mutual pining.

"You brought a living wombat into my office." Miguel notes bluntly, staring at you dead in the eyes with an unreadable expression as his slow-moving platform lowers.

"I wanted you to see it." You retort, shooting him a playful smile as you put the heavy creature on the floor, trying not to cringe at the pain on your back from carrying it. You crouch down next to it, petting it like it was a domestic pet, and it lets you.

"You could have sent a picture." Miguel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he mutters in Spanish, not knowing what to make of the situation. Why was it always up to him to handle all this nonsense? He deals with timelines and the multiverse, what the hell does he know about wombats?

"Why on earth did you think you should bring this to my office?" He asks, jumping down from the platform and staring down at you and the not-so-tiny creature, hands on his hips.

"He was so miserable at the zoo! Now he's smiling and laughing— well, not really, but you get what I mean. He looks happier." You retort, looking up at Miguel to give him a sheepish grin.

"You're telling me you kidnapped a wombat just for this?" He looks between you and the wombat, who is now chasing you around. He's... both impressed and amused now. Impressed because you actually managed to do something like that, and amused because you would do something like that.

"What's his name?" He internally punches himself for falling for the bait. He knows he should have sent you away, maybe even have you arrested for stealing a zoo animal, but... you kidnapped the animal to show it to him, and it's playing with you, looking happy. It's... kind of endearing.

"I was thinking about naming him Miguel O'Hara." You answer teasingly as you lay down on the floor of his office, allowing the wombat to climb on top of you as your hands cover your face, feeling its tiny and gentle scratches on them.

"No— that's my name." Miguel says. This is adorable in the most unhinged sort of way, and he can't help but ignore the way the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly.

"Fine, then he'll be... Miggy." You poke your tongue out at him, sitting up as the wombat stays on your lap, being surprisingly calm. You made him tired by running around and letting it chase you.

"You call me that." He answered with a raised eyebrow, glancing between the wombat and you. He can feel his brain leaking out of his ears.

"Are you too selfish to share a nickname with a wombat?" You grin up at him, enjoying teasing him, just like every single time you're together. His reactions are the best, and he's so funny without even realizing, like a grumpy cat.

Miguel simply rolls his eyes, walking over and crouching down in front of you. He stares at you dead in the eye before disengaging his suit on his hand, reaching down to gently pet the wombat. His hands easily dwarfing the head of the animal, yet he's surprisingly gentle.

"Tell you what— this is my child, I'm its mother, and you'll be the father." Yes, you're trying to play house with the damn animal and Miguel. No, Miguel will not stop you, despite the way he rolls his eyes.

"I didn't sign up for this." He replies, yet he keeps petting the animal, scratching behind its ear. This girl could probably kidnap an entire herd of these if she so pleased... and he'd probably join in on it.

"You're insane." He tells her casually, though his words lack the usual bite they carry. "Actually insane." He loves her.

"You still have a huge crush on me, though." You retort teasingly, ignoring the way he's blankly staring at you, burning a hole through your head. He's probably making your head explode in his imagination.

"I don't." Miguel is a horrible liar and he knows it, yet that doesn't mean he won't defend himself against your horrible— but true accusations.

"You totally do." Your smug tone only makes things worse, forcing Miguel to try his best not to roll his eyes so far he could see his own brain. He simply sighs, ignoring you as he starts petting the wombat's tummy.

"Don't speak when I'm petting the baby. Cállate." It seems Miguel is getting a chance at parenthood with you, even when the "baby" is a 30kg marsupial. The thought of it makes the corners of his mouth slightly tilt up, looking down at the animal to hide it, yet you can still see it. The image of it puts a smile on your own face, yet this time, you keep quiet about it.