#I have horrific kinks and I very much will make it your problem

[morgana-ren]

Every time I heard the tieflings cry, I remember how you sounded crying for me

Crying out his name im sure but im ignoring that in favour of Astarion with a crying kink

Hohooo can you imagine an ascended Astarion that just fully leans in to all these things? All these secret little kinks he has that he finally unleashes now that he feels fully free to do so?

Ascended Astarion with dacryphilia and loves his little Tav weeping for him? Something about it-- something about her vulnerability and the sheer power of it-- has him harder than a diamond. She just looks so cute, so small, so unbelievably irresistable when she's all choked up and pathetic.

Maybe he gets a little too rough with her 'on accident' because it drives him wild when her eyes get all watery. She tries so hard not to cry, but her lashes bead with silvery tears and she blinks, and it inevitably falls down the curve of her cheeks and he cannot help but watch, already twitching and eager.

Maybe he tugs her hair a little too much and he hears that soft little hiccup and he starts purring. Oh, his tough little Tav and her stiff upper lip, trying so desperately not to show vulnerability-- but she will. He'll make sure of it.

Maybe he chokes her a little too hard, or 'love-taps' her with too much strength, or some unfortunate little accident that has her shuddering with emotion. Maybe he frightens her, going a bit too far in his intimidation tactics (not on purpose, never ever on purpose, oh, he'd never do that to her, he just doesn't know his own strength is all--) and he holds his breath, just waiting for her to cry, already pulsing hot and ready to go--

The waterworks start even as she tries so hard to hold it in and oh, it simply drives him mad. She's hiccupping and sniffling and sniveling, cheeks smeared with her own pathetic tears, lip trembling as she tells him to stop, but it's too late for that. She's far too precious, and all he wants to do is make her feel better. Vulnerable and soft and sweet, so strong to everyone but him. Falling apart like the sweet, delicate thing she is, just for him.

It starts as an accident. It continues very much intentional. It's just a coincidence that he's just so good at making her cry.

He can't help it. He can't help licking the tears from her ruddy cheeks. He can't help cruelly mocking the absurd stuttering and whiny sounds she makes. He can't help puckering her face in his hand and forcing her to look at him as she cries, tears streaming down the slats of his fingers. Next thing he knows, his tongue is in her throat as he swallows her cries, hand on her neck so he can feel them bubble in her throat, already driving in full force--

[miupow]

‧₊˚✩彡 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 /ˎˊ˗ 𝚌.𝚢𝚓 *ੈ✩‧

┆ rockstar!choi yeonjun x fem!reader ╰--⪼ one of the hardest things about dating a rockstar is the distance; when he’s on tour he’s thousands of miles away, busy and unable to call, and you spend months alone in a cold counting down the days until he gets home. but your boyfriend put some extra time aside to make a very special video call to his favorite girl.

. . . RATING ! NSFW, MDNFI! . . . WORDS ! 1.7k . . . WARNINGS ! soft dom!yeonjun, daddy kink, lots and lots of pet names, praise kink, sex toys, facetime sex, mutual masturbation, guided masturbation, a little angst in the beginning

for @napofamoon's growing pain rockstar!txt event! this is also a little christmas gift for her and all of my followers~~ thank you to @taegimood and @wolfytae-exe for proofreading!

You purposefully let the call ring out for a bit before answering– you didn’t want him knowing you had been pacing for an hour, waiting impatiently by the phone. 

“Hey beautiful,” Yeonjun croons immediately upon you picking up, pretty bare face filling up the screen of your phone– he must’ve just gotten out of the shower, his hair wet and pushed back, black tank top and flannel overshirt pulled on haphazardly like he had been in a rush… sometimes you hated how he looked so beautiful so effortlessly. It reminded you just how horrifically out of your league he was. “What are you up to? How was your day?”

“Mm.. not much. It’s been boring without you.” You sigh listlessly, giving Yeonjun a tight, unconvincing smile. “I didn’t have work today so Yunjin took me shopping– got some things for the apartment, some new clothes. Waited for you to call. I’m honestly more interested in how you’re doing, babe.”

Yeonjun gives you an apologetic little grin, eyes unreadable– it does nothing but makes you feel worse. At least he was aware he promised to call three hours earlier. “I’m sorry it’s so late, we had a show.”

“I know.” You reply, a little curt. Yeonjun doesn’t have complete control over his own schedule, pushed and pulled around everywhere he goes by both his managers and his other band members, bending over backwards for breaks snuck in between press appearances and shows every time he and his band were on tour… you’ve beat yourself senseless trying not to let it get to you.

“I’m sorry, baby, I really am.” Yeonjun repeated, voice low as he leaned in closer to the camera. “There was a problem with the sound system so our open started an hour late, and then there was a fight in the pit so we had to stop for security to kick them out, and then Beomgyu wanted to get drinks after the show and–” 

“It’s alright, Jjun. I understand.” You cut in, voice soft. Yeonjun gives you a look like he doesn’t quite believe you. “It sounds like you had a busy night… you always have a busy night.”

“Yeah, I’m sure things are real quiet when I’m not around.” Yeonjun gives you one of his signature grins, lopsided and handsome, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Missing me yet?”

He wants you to respond with some snide joke, lighten the mood– Yeonjun’s begging for it, brown eyes nervously flitting across your face as his smile cracks and splinters, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. “So fucking much, Jjun.” you croak, “I miss you so fucking much.”

His face drops immediately, his unconvincing grin giving way to one much more solemn and sad– it makes your stomach churn, unable to stomach the helplesslessness in his eyes. “I miss you too, baby. I’ll be home soon.” 

“But when?” You press, even though you knew you shouldn’t. Conversations over ETAs only ever lead to fights– Yeonjun loved to make promises he knew he couldn’t keep. 

“Soon.” He repeats, his stare hard as he shifts on his hotel bed. “I’ll make it work. I’ll come and see you.” 

You knew he wouldn’t, but he was always such a sweet liar.

The look on your face must have given you away, because Yeonjun gives you a desperate, pleading pout, kissable lips pulled down into a grimace. It tears your heart to pieces. “Just bare with me baby, okay? The tour’s almost over, I’ll be home soon–”

“And then you’ll just go on tour again.” You spit, nastier than you meant for it to come out. The wide-eyed, guilty look Yeonjun gives you makes your heart drop to your stomach; you’re fairly sure you would have felt better if he had just gotten angry with you instead.

The sigh he lets out weighs a ton, settles on both of your shoulders. “Can we just talk about this later? We can talk about this when I get home, just– I love you. You know that, right?”

“I love you too,” You reply in a whisper.

“I love you more than anything in the world, baby, more than this.. stupid fucking job, okay?” You had never heard Yeonjun refer to his career as a “job” before… you weren’t sure what to make of it. “Everything I’m doing right now is for our future together; if I pull this off right we won’t have to work another day in our lives, do you understand? It’s fucking rough right now but we’ll get through it, baby, I know we will. It’s all for you, beautiful.”

“I love you,” you repeat, voice wobbly with unshed tears. You’ve heard this speech a thousand times but it never failed to break you down, make your heart full.

“God, gorgeous, I love you too. My everything. My future. Enough sadness, yeah?”

Yeonjun’s gentle, soft words snaps you out of your reverie, reminds you of your plans before getting lost in your own emotions– you hadn’t wanted this call to go this way at all… in fact, you had wanted it to go a different way entirely. You nod and quickly rub your eyes.

“Jjunie…” you start, still semi-sad voice melodic and now charged with a sweet, playful lilt. “I got you something, when I went shopping earlier…” 

Yeonjun catches your drift fast, his eyebrow raising with a mischievous grin; he was always so in sync with you, always understood your wants and needs like he could read your mind. “Oh? What’d you get me, sugar?”

You giggle, blink away the tears as you smooth your hands over your baggy sweater, play with the hem– you scoot back a bit, letting more of your body come into frame; Yeonjun hisses in a loud breath when he sees that sweater was the only thing you were wearing.. “I dressed myself all pretty for you, daddy– do you wanna see?”

“Fuck,” Yeonjun breathes, leaning even closer to the camera. His pretty brown eyes are blown wide, lids low as he bites at his plush lower lip. “Take it off, let daddy see.”

You’re slow in sliding off your sweater, teasing as you tug it up over your thighs, over your hips– Yeonjun drinks in every inch, hungry eyes locked on your thighs, and he lets out a low, nasty groan from deep in his chest when you reveal to him your pretty lace thong. 

“God, baby, you’re so fucking pretty,” he growls, “Turn around for me.” 

You follow his directions obediently, turn your back to show him your lace-covered ass as you finish peeling off your sweater— the sound Yeonjun makes is unholy, deep and nasty and matching the grin on his face. “Fuck, such a perfect ass. So beautiful.” 

“I miss you, daddy.” you whine, turning back to the camera to show Yeonjun your pout. His lips are gnawed raw, shiny with spit and pretty pink as he takes in greedy eyefuls of your bra-clad tits, coos at you so sweet and condescending. 

“Mm, I miss you too, sugar. Go on; show daddy how much you miss him. Take that bra off ‘n show him those pretty tits, hmm?” 

“Yes, daddy~” you purr, quick to reach behind you for the clasp. You’re teasing in sliding off your bra, let the straps hang off your shoulders for a moment before you take it off entirely. Your perky nipples pucker in the cold air, begging for attention— you know better than to touch without Yeonjun’s permission, however. 

He can read you like a book, knows exactly what you need as you squirm on camera. “Go ahead and touch, my good girl.” 

One hand flies to your breast, tweaking your nipple between your forefinger and thumb; the other moves to rub your clothed clit in tight circles. you let out a breathy moan at the feeling, fight every fiber of yourself to keep your eyes open— you don’t want to miss a single second of watching Yeonjun. He’s breathing heavy, hastily angled the camera down to show you the big bulge in his sweatpants. He strokes himself over the fabric with the lightest of touches, teasing the both of you as he pants into the microphone. “What I would do if I was there...”

“What would you do, daddy?” you ask lightly, feigning innocence, pinching your nipple with a whimper. You’re so wet you’re soaking through your little panties— you’re sure Yeonjun had noticed. 

“God, I’d fuck you so hard. Dressed up so pretty for me, you deserve a reward, fuck— I’d leave those panties on while I bend you over and fuck you good, fill you up with my cum… you’d let me, right angel? Let me breed that little pussy?”

You moan high in your throat, hips stuttering as you continue to circle your clit, play with your bud. “Yes, yes! M-more, daddy, I need more!”

Yeonjun squeezes himself through his sweats, snickers at your fucked-out face. “Oh, baby… how about you go and grab that little vibe you love so much, give daddy a little show?”

You don’t need to be told twice; nodding desperately, you reach for your bedside drawer and pull out your favorite vibrator, thin and pink and powerful enough to make you scream. You settle back into frame, position yourself with your thighs wide apart  so that Yeonjun has a full view of your drooling cunt, the soaked fabric of your thong clinging to your lips obscenely. You feel vulnerable and exposed, and you embrace it as Yeonjun drinks in your form.

Yeonjun’s too impatient to tease you, giving you an affirming nod so you can start running the vibe across your throbbing slit. “Don’t take those panties off,” Yeonjun orders, slowly untying his sweatpants. “Want you to play with yourself with them on, okay?”

You don’t like the sound of that. “But I want my fingers,” you whine, pathetic, “want something inside—“

“Nuh uh,” Yeonjun chastises, pulling his hard pink cock out and giving it a stroke— you hadn’t realized how much you missed it until you saw it again, cockhead flared and dripping precum. “Listen to daddy, baby. Nothing goes in that cunt except my cock, you hear me? Be patient— I’ll fill you up when I come home.”  

And it isn’t until after he’s made you cum in your panties, vibrator on your clit and fingers on your nipples, that he explains why; he has a surprise for you too. 

The rest of the tour was canceled. He’s coming home.

[opennwindows]

If you can, could I request BEN Drowned fluff / smut headcanons like about himself, with his headcanon age, hobbies, facts, what he is into or would like & want in a relationship, and what he would be like with a gamer girlfriend/ s/o?

If ya taking requests rn still?✨😇😊💖

Ben Drowned general + NSFW hcs

A/N: yes!! absolutely. i love getting to talk about how the pastas do their pastaing in my mind. i have so many headcanons for everyone that im excited to share!! also sorry i forgot to include the gamer gf part but i don't think it would change a lot of what i wrote!!

btw sorry for fucking dying i have been busy 😭😭 but no one worry i will still continue to work on requests!! if anyone has any marble hornets stuff they wanna request i will zoom you to the front of the queue so fucking quick. anyways enough of me yapping.

cw: 18+ nsfw, toxic relationships, crying kink,

GENERAL

ben is mentally and physically 22, but he can be quite emotionally immature at times. when he died he never stopped growing and maturing, his soul was just stuck in limbo. think like the worst waiting room ever.

he's surprisingly tall, standing at about 5'9. he's lanky but not bone thin. could easily get pretty far in a fight without his ghost powers.

the link costume only appears when he’s in his ghost form. so for example, when he’s messing with someone on their computer he’ll appear as the canon BEN we’re most familiar with. when he’s just chilling in his physical body, he mostly wears beat up hoodies and sweatpants.

contrary to popular belief, ben's not the hardcore gamer everyone thinks he is. sure, he'll play some overwatch or whatever when he's bored but he honestly just prefers to watch tv and browse the internet. understandably REFUSES to play any zelda games. if you were trapped in a video game for decades would you ever wanna touch it again? exactly.

ben loves to draw little comics and troll (see: horrifically traumatize) people online. god forbid you get into twitter beef with this man because he will crawl through your monitor at 3am and leave you with a crippling fear of technology. dude thinks it's absolutely hilarious. a true knee slapper.

lowkey has a sugar addiction. will slam down 4 cans of pepsi in one sitting. he's very lucky that he's basically a ghost because the kidney stones would be plentiful.

ROMANTIC

you know that guy with the blown out speakers in his car, lives off of energy drinks and burnt blue razz ice elfbars, swears aphex twin is the modern mozart and works on the grill at your local wendy’s? yeah thats ben. or at least would be him if he was still human.

“why would you need a chair, my lap is literally right here babe.”

would absolutely wear your skin if given the opportunity. not in a weird way. he’s just EXTREMELY touchy.

he needs someone who is significantly more organized and motivated than him. he can go almost a week without showering and it should honestly be considered biological warfare when he tries to smother you with affection during these episodes.

after awhile of you guys dating he LOVES the idea of y’all showering together. he has a fear of water and while showers aren’t too much of a trigger, your presence helps ease his anxiety.

favorite pet names: bro, dude, dawg, babe, bitch (non derogatory)

not really a romantic but he tries his best. a perfect date for him is just getting some takeout, watching youtube, talking about stupid shit and play fighting. if you want something more traditional or extravagant then he’ll oblige to make you happy but those types of dates make him feel quite suffocated and nervous. try to save those for special occasions.

now let’s talk about his problems because just like the other creeps he is ANGSTY.

he’s probably the most emotionally stable and healthiest of the group but he definitely still has his toxic traits, after all this man is a ghost that mentally tortures and kills his victims through manipulation.

ben would never ever get physical with his partner no matter how enraged he is but he absolutely is the type to do some mental damage when he gets carried away. ben drowned? more like ben gaslighted.

the type to say some shit that would keep you up for years and then kiss you the next morning like the argument never happened. he finds it easier to ignore problems than to actively talk and fix them. you’re gonna have to teach him some important communication skills or else you’ll grow to resent him after all the bottled up rage.

a bit too brutally honest and blunt for his own good so if you have thin skin the relationship would fall apart pretty quickly. he wants someone who can drag him twice as hard as he dragged you. bonus points if your insults are consistently funny as hell.

please watch anime with him and discuss it. he would propose on the spot, especially if you play with his hair.

pro player tip: if you want him to clean his disgusting room, help him and make it fun! he just needs a little push and motivation at times. and being around you makes him want to get his shit together.

big fan of late night make-out sessions. i’m talking like 45 minutes straight of just slobbering on each other’s faces with tongues down throats. if you don’t want his hands running over every inch of your body then you’ll probably have to chain him to the wall.

NSFW

okay. so he’s a little inexperienced with his hands. he’s just a slow learner. be vocal with him about what you like!!

ben's about 7inches and slightly skinnier than average but he will have you seeing stars in record time. the dick game is no joke. he tends to go fast and deep most times.

i can see him being a switch in the idgaf-as-long-as-i’m-fucking way. dude will go with the flow and will try mostly anything.

definitely one of the least aggressive pastas during sex. he has sadistic tendencies but he’s more of a edge/overstimulate you until you cry versus a beat the shit out of you and rip hair out of your scalp type. he’s pretty vanilla given his occupation.

despite his love of roasting the fuck out of you on a daily basis, the only words that come out of this man’s mouth is heavenly praise. he looks at you like you’re the most gorgeous being on the planet and he’ll let you know it.

he loves to whisper praises into your ear while you ride him.

he's more of a receiver than a giver when it comes to oral. he'll absolutely spend hours between your legs if given the chance but nothing beats the sight of you on your knees and teary eyed with his length in your mouth.

he can be a bit of a head pusher but just let him face-fuck you every now and then, hearing his loud moans will be worth it.

did i mention how much of a crying kink this man has? you guys could be on round three and if he stares at your teary eyed fucked-out face for longer than 10 seconds he'll immediately get hard again. you'll have to beg him to give your poor body a break.

he's also into choking but only if he's the one doing it. if you try to restrict his breathing he'll panic and the mood would get ruined.

[radlymona]

hi. I am genuinely not trying to start shit or argue here, can I ask why you are so against labels (that have been around for ages) like transgender, aromantic, polyamorous, and queer (when its used to describe someone who isn't a strictly homosexual man)? as someone who identifies with multiple of these labels I think that we should let people be and let them call themselves what they want. even I don't understand or agree with every single label in the queer community, but as long as it doesn't hurt others I'm not gonna go around arguing, cause in the end it won't get anyone anywhere. I am genuinely curious.

(although I do agree with you on one thing, that being a furry/into certain kinks doesn't automatically make you queer)

First, thank you for your very considerate and kindly-worded ask. I appreciate wanting to have an open and honest dialogue about this issue.

Second, I understand the exact thinking behind “we should let someone use a term if it doesn’t hurt anyone,” because I was very much in this mindset before getting into radical feminism.

But the problem is a) these labels DO hurt people and b) words need to accurately describe reality. Otherwise they’re meaningless.

To go into more detail:

a) Certain “Labels” DO hurt people:

"Queer" is a term that is offensive to many same-sex attracted people, especially in older generators. For decades it was used as a horrific slur, especially against gay men, and is often associated with gay bashings. Ergo, when people label themselves as "queer", they're identifying with a slur that hurt an untold amount of lgbt people in the past. It also forces the word to become detached from its original meeting, and thus erases the very history of it.

"Pansexual" as a term is offensive to many bisexuals. It seeks to promote itself as an elevated, more inclusive sexuality by being like "we are attracted to ALL Peoples regardless of gender! #heartsnotparts." The implicit meaning of this is that the existing sexuality (bi) is not inclusive enough. Other terms like omnisexual have the same issue. Funnily enough though, Pan has become less used in recent years and instead replaced with the above "queer".

b) "Labels" to be worth a cent, need to accurately convey reality. I.e those who identify as homosexual need to be only attracted to the same sex. Otherwise anyone can identify into that label, and co-opt the resources, history and culture of that group. As such, what labels do is help us identify which groups actually belong in the lgb community as it was founded- by and for same-sex attracted people.

Transgender isn't an incorrect term. Some people decide to transition to the opposite sex. I don't disagree with that as an experience that happens, I'm critical of the conflation of sex and gender by trans advocates. Despite all their slogans saying otherwise, I've seen this conflation increase exponentially in the last few years particularly in regards to single-sex women's spaces and experiences of sexual orientations. I also want to point that historically the "t" community involved in lgb spaces was overwhelmingly gay men who identified as transexuals due to intense homophobia and dysphoria. They're already included in the "g". The problem is that the modern trans community has less and less to do with the original meaning. But that's a different conversation.

Polyamorous is not a sexual orientation. No one is born with a specific attraction against multiple people. This is in contrast to lgb people who are born as their sexuality. Ie. A person is born gay, not polyamorous. The latter is a description of the type of relationships people engage in. It also doesn't belong as a label in the lgb community, because heterosexual people can be polyamorous by only wanting to be with multiple partners of the opposite sex. The lgb community doesn't mean "everyone who isn't explicitly heterosexual, gender-conforming, monogamous." It's of a specific group of same-sex attracted people with a shared history, experiences, and occassionally culture.

In the same vein, neither aromatics and/or asexuals belong in the lgb group. Because they lack same-sex attraction. Not helping things is the "grey-aspec" orientations that muddle up the waters by trying to explain every minute facet of sexual attraction. I.e. only feeling sexual attraction sometimes does not make you lgb.

Overall what I'm getting at is that words have meaning. Trying to change the meaning of certain words, implicitly tries to erase their history. Trying to include every label under the sun in the lgb community, means that you're ascribing a history, culture and experience to a label that may have next to no relationship with that original community. You can have and use as many labels are you like but at the end of the day, if they're being used to co-opt experiences of same-sex attracted people then they are indeed hurting people.

To be explicitly clear:

Sexual orientation equals who you're attracted to.

Not how, or how many, how little or how much.

And who you're attracted to is based on biological sex. You are innately born with this- probably the most foundational point of the lgb community.

[syekick-powers]

Okay, so Sevylle and Cyprus: 1, 2, 4, 5, 8, 10, 11, 12, 14, and 15

1. On a scale of “is occasionally forced to bathe” to “Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for” how involved is your OC’s Skincare routine?

Sevylle: they dont care super intensely about their skin. eilari aren't prone to acne and sevylle especially doesn't experience many skin problems. if they do any skincare at all it's putting on lotion after a long bath to make sure their skin doesn't dry out.

Cyprus: definitely puts on some amount of moisturizer and an enchanted anti-acne cream after washing her face every day.

2. What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

Sevylle: sevylle is the kind of person who doesnt have strong feelings about food. if it's edible it's food. doesn't even blink at the weird invertebrate delicacies her parents served her. the only thing she cares about is if her food is edible. that's it.

Cyprus: has a huge uncontrolled sweet tooth. absolutely loves sweets of any kind. doesnt like vegetables too much but will eat them if they're cooked to mush. will only eat replicated meat and refuses to eat naturally grown meat. cannot handle spicy food and will cry if her food is too spicy. mostly eats replicated meals even though she knows how to cook because the Effort

4. What’s your OC’s response to being asked for money by a homeless person?

Sevylle: quietly hand them a decent amount of cash when no one's looking.

Cyprus: get really sad and hand the person every last bit of cash she has on her.

5. Does your OC get lost easily? What do they do when they do get lost?

Sevylle: it does not get lost SUPER easily. generally speaking it'll only get lost in somewhere that's really easy to get lost in, like a literal maze. if they do get lost on foot, they'll get frustrated, but then will deactivate the magic dematerializing their wings and just fly upward until they can reorient themself.

Cyprus: navigates by landmark. gets lost easily in recognizable areas and panics, calls her dad, and just sits there trying not to cry until her dad or one of her uncles comes to collect her.

8. If your OC had to take the S.A.T. tomorrow with one night to prep, how would they do? both emotionally and academically.

Sevylle: would not stress out about it much before or after. would easily ace all the reading and writing-focused parts of the test and do mediocre on the math.

Cyprus: would cry and die before during and after. would do mediocre on everything except the math, which she would horrifically bomb.

10. On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

Sevylle: would definitely be kind of freaked out, but would attempt to keep a cool head. would probably write some absolutely banger music about it afterward.

Cyprus: would be a mix of terrified and horny. would be crying and freaking out and vaguely fantasizing about the aliens fucking her until they put her back. 100% develops an alien abduction kink afterward and roleplays it with her partners to cope.

11. What song is 100% garunteed to get your OC beyond turnt and will be sung loudly and emabarrasingly, either in public or the shower?

Sevylle: there are many. sevylle knows a lot of different musicians. i havent figured enough out about the culture of ledaveth to name any that are specific but think of some bohemian rhapsody level songs that sevylle is obsessed with.

Cyprus: she doesn't really much like super active music but there are a few songs by certain artists that get her very turnt. she's just too self-conscious about her voice to sing them anywhere but in the shower.

12. What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies thier neighbors?

Sevylle: sometimes she will dream up a piece of music and wake up in the middle of the night and obsessively try to play it on their guitar while writing it down on some sheet music until the madness releases her and she goes back to bed. the neighbors will hear her frantically plucking out some random musical phrase over and over at 3am and wonder if there's a ghost trying to send a message via guitar music.

Cyprus: DEFINITELY her tendency to invite sketchy people over for booty calls at 3am and have loud sex in the wee hours of the morning. her neighbors hate it so much.

14. What thing did your OC’s parents do that your OC wishes they had a better explanation for?

Sevylle: definitely wishes their parents had done something about how much talayth seemed to resent sevylle for taking "youngest child" status away from her. the two of them have a miserably bad sibling relationship and sevylle did not understand why none of their parents did anything to mitigate this.

Cyprus: honestly i feel like cyprus and feythan mostly have a good relationship, but cyprus does wonder sometimes why feythan seems to pursue such a sketchy line of work.

15. How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that been?

Sevylle: only really zones out at work when there's a lull in customers. this rarely results in issues but will sometimes have sevylle be struck with inspiration about some music or poem they'd been working on and force them to make a note in their phone about their sudden idea.

Cyprus: goes into autopilot when working on art; this however is a good thing as she tends to make mistakes if she thinks too much about what she's doing. tends to also zone out and think about sex when not doing anything important, which does cause problems sometimes but nothing serious.

[diorcities]

the swan

pairing: haechan x reader.

genre: smut.

content: corruption kink, mirror sex, female fingering, ballet context.

masterlist — req

inhale exhale.

there was a certain grace in the way your movements were synchronized. or so you thought. tender touches like petals rubbing against soft skin. breathing mixing in the air between. eyes staring at each other, existing, both, in the ether.

on the other hand, the furtive glances of the others present made you feel nervous. or so you wanted to believe, seeing how you shivered when the piece of music stopped, and your partner's warm hands rested for a moment longer than they should on your waist. his chest against your back, feeling it rise and fall quickly, erratically. you tried to suffocate your agitated breathing when you saw the man put a hand to his head.

“you better not look like this at tomorrow's performance,” he said. “YOU HEARD ME!!?” the horrific scream made you decompose for a moment, to recover and manage to say in unison: “yes, sir”.

when your ears stopped ringing, you managed to notice muffled laughter under collective breaths. and the dance teacher seemed to hear them too. one look at them silenced them all. however, their looks… you scanned the room nervously. a dozen faces that seemed to drop blades.

“jealousy,” answering your question. his breath hitting your ear made your heart skip a beat.

when you looked again, you could see it clearly. jealousy. in their features. but you did not understand what the reason was. was it because you were given the starring role, or because you were given the starring role with him?

because without a doubt, lee donghyuck was handsome. attractive. slender legs and broad back. and strong arms that you wanted to hold you forever. his face could have been carved by the angels themselves, and there could be no doubt that it was true. with a lethal smile and lips that resembled silk. pink, as if constantly bitten. perhaps for him, perhaps for lovers. and his attitude. you liked to call it predatory attitude.

when the room was cleared, the man's expression changed. his fury would end up falling on you, seeing how he approached your place. “i was told excellent things about you” he spoke. “and all i see is mediocrity,” he spat, “you'd better fix this before tomorrow. or it will be the last time you see the spotlights again”

or it will be the last time you see the spotlights again.

your hands splashed water on your face, unable to get that phrase out of your head. it was going to drive you crazy. all your life you had only heard compliments. nothing has ever cost you so much. except this. you looked incapable of performing a dance like this. and it was the first time you felt such a thing. the feeling was... detestable.

“do you know what's the problem?” his voice took you by surprise. even more, knowing that the place where you were was the women's bathroom. his presence was very unexpected. he looked at you through the mirror as he came up behind you. there it was. feline gaze. grabbing one of your suspenders in his fingers and tugged, only to release it once stretched. the lash burned of course, but it also tickled your insides. “you are inflexible,” he confessed.

the term left you stunned. “inflexible?” though the way he said it... he probably wasn't referring to the adamant term you were thinking of. “conservative, perhaps,” he said afterwards. you stood up from the sink and faced him. “what makes you think that?” the question elicited a smile from him. and the way he looked at you also made it known that he was getting just the reaction he wanted.

“you look over your shoulder at everyone,” he explained, “because they're not like you,” he added later, “they don't live like you.” his eyes swept over your body, stopping at the pendant at your neck. but studying his gaze, maybe he was looking at something else. “is that, or you are quite pretentious”.

“neither one nor the other,” you replied. your voice threatening to break. it was the fact of being there, alone, with him, a few centimeters away from each other that made your system give random alerts. you didn't know whether to run or stay there. you sighed when you saw him arch an eyebrow, with little curiosity. you were reluctant to tell him the real reason, but you had no one else to ask for help. coupled with the fact that he was your dance partner. there had to be some confidence in that.

“i don't know... what he wants from me,” confessed. your shoulders sinking.

“he wants you to free yourself.” you laughed, “yeah, well, i don't quite know your description of freeing but mine is quite different and...”

“have you ever touched yourself?” your eyes flitted to him. a light blush adorned your cheeks, while you felt your neck burn. surely he noticed, as he smiled wickedly. “my sweet yn, are you...?”.

“of course not,” you answered quickly. “then?” he asked.

“i had never seen myself in the situation” you explained, with some hesitation. he clicked his tongue. “well, i'm afraid this situation warrants it,” he said. he looked at you deeply, and you feared that he would see your inexperience in your eyes. “think of me while you do it,” he whispered, before disappearing through the door.

—

your eyes fluttered, unable to fall asleep. your fingers rubbing against your belly, tickling you. not the same way he made you feel back in the bathroom. you cursed.

think of me while you do it.

were you really going to do it? your fingers went down, under your underwear. the slight touch causing you to fists the sheet. feeling how wet you were, just from his words. your fingers rubbed your clit, a small gasp falling from your mouth. eyes shut. an electric wave washing you over. the fleeting image of donghuyck going down on you made you insert two fingers in. stargaze. buzzing.

you covered your mouth when incessant sighs came from your lips, filling the quiet room. your hand being replaced by donghuyck's, his fingers going in and out of your pussy, touching the exact point to touch the sky with your fingers. his mouth going down, biting, licking. each thrust his name spilling from your mouth, each flick of his tongue a moan filling the air. your legs spread open, imagined his fingers touching your sweet spot, over and over again. the devastating climax breaking free, your moves becoming more erratic, dancing with your walls clenching around them. a sweet burning remaining in your entrance.

—

eager for more.

your hand reached the phone in the nightstand. fingers typing in the screen his name.

can we meet?

a whole five minutes passed.

where?

your hands went to the mirror in front of you, seeing your face disfigured by pleasure, with furrowed eyebrows and mouth open. the velvety feeling of donghuyck coming in and out of you. one of his hand grabbing your shoulders, while the other rub your clit. his groans like music to your ears. a melody you could hear forever. his rhythmic thrusts pushing you against the sink. deeper. alternating between fast and harder. leaving you without breath, feeling brainwashed.

his hands mandhandling you. controlling your hips and arching your back so he can push deeper.

with nothing more than the feeling of his cock burying deeper, making you rolled your eyes, dazzling, fuzzy. a single thought of joy made you continue, wanting him to never stop.

—

“there they are.” the man clapped with a satisfied smile on his lips. the show was over. the performance was brilliant. “my golden couple,” added. “and my swan,” stated, looking at you.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

“Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[binxyu]

Desire. The word of many meanings. Lust? Money? People desire what they can not have. You? You desired power. The power to hurt those who had wronged you. San? He desired to have you and if offering you your desire would get him that then he was going to give it.

>>Pairing: Choi San (dom) x fem!reader (sub) | demon!san x power hungry!reader

>>Word Count: 3.6k

>>Genre: Oneshot / Smut

>>Warnings/Kinks: Demonic themes, yandere themes, bondage, branding, biting, blood play, choking, cockwarming, corruption, creampie, degrading, fingering, marking, murder (graphic), oral (receiving), overstimulation, size kink, slapping, and spitting/saliva

“Do it”.

The voice rang in your head as it always did. It was similar to a little devil on your shoulder. Someone telling you to do the worst you could do.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to”.

You closed your eyes, the gun shaking in your grip. You had nothing against this person but the voice in your head knew how much you enjoyed the thrill.

The thrill of pulling the trigger.

The thrill of having the power to do so and end someone else’s life.

“We had a deal, baby. Each kill I help you with in your favor will result in one kill for me. Kill him”.

Your finger felt controlled, a silent pull to just come forward a little. Just enough to send a bullet into the man’s chest.

He looked at you with such pleading eyes, coated in the finest ocean blue that could have any other woman in his hands.

Not you.

You were in love with the voice in your head.

A voice you couldn’t explain. A voice that offered you power in exchange for completing their dirty work.

Finally, you let yourself fall to the desire and pulled the trigger, a bullet flying into the man’s heart.

“Good girl”.

It was a raspy voice, one full of authority and mischief. You knew the voice better than you knew your own family’s.

A wave of relief overcame you when the voice went quiet. You looked at the man in front of you and wondered what he could have done to have been so worthy of death.

The gun was placed back into your pocket once the safety was on and you simply walked out of the place. You couldn’t dwell on what you had done. It was all worth it in the end.

Miraculously, the deal between yourself and the voice was true and, as you killed upon their request, you gained more power. More reputation and strength.

There was odd downsides to this deal, however. Like the dreams that occurred every night.

Dreams about the same man that left you wanting so much more when you woke up.

“Oh, it’s you again”, your voice seemed to echo in your own bedroom as you looked at the familiar... creature.

“Who else would be here?”, there it was. The same voice that appeared in your head throughout the day.

You felt witless. He was right. No other thing or person visited the realm of your dreams as often as he did.

“You did well today”, was all he muttered when you remained silent. All you could do was stare at him as he walked closer.

His wings were a masterpiece on their own, a marvelous display of black. It was a beautiful way of showing he was rather symbolic of darkness.

His eyes glowed a blood red as they looked into your’s, his pupils blown out due to his hunger. You winced as his fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face to examine you as if he was deciding if you were worthy of another night with him.

“You still won’t tell me what or who you are”, the creature chuckled, a sound so unfitting for him.

“You’ll find out soon”, and he was gone.

Another unspoken rule of the deal between you and the creature was isolation. You were not permitted to speak to others.

That much was clear when one of your co-workers was found drained of blood, a horrific sight to anyone but you. You had seen it before and that’s when you realized you were literally in a deal with a devil.

So, you avoided others in hopes that the little devil on your shoulder would keep quiet. No one would get hurt that way.

You were wrong. Horribly wrong.

You hadn’t realized but people slowly disappeared when they were around you. Just because the little devil wanted you all to himself.

“Y/n, come here. I need your help”, your boss ordered you and you felt an itch within you. An itch and desire for that control you were used to.

Reluctantly, you walked over and picked up the heavy box.

What is this guy moving? Rocks?

“Where to?”, your soft voice asked politely, sucking up to the man that could potentially give you more wealth than you could imagine.

“My office obviously”, his tone was cold as it always was and you nibbled your bottom lip in annoyance. You turned around, about to make your way out of the meeting room and to his office when you heard his screams.

Your head whirled around to see him on the floor, his finger pointing in sheer horror at something across the room. The door slammed behind you and your eyes finally found what he was screaming about.

“Hello baby”, there he was in all his unholy glory. The same man inside your head and your dreams.

“I figured I’d take care of your little problem here”, you shook your head, either from shock, fear, or denial. You couldn’t tell which.

“N-no you don’t have to”, the creature laughed at that and with a wave of his hand, the boss’s throat was slit. He quickly bled out and his body fell in a heap on the floor.

“I didn’t ask”, his smile was insincere, a warning to watch your mouth. You noticed it and shut up, noticing how his wings were not as perfect as they had been previously in your dreams.

The bone seeming to hold them together to his back was unnaturally bent, looking horrendous and painful. The feathers surrounding those areas were anything but perfect. Yet, he seemed effortlessly attractive.

“What do you want?”, your voice came out small and weak, a contrast to the usual powerful voice that came from your body. It was obvious the creature could take away your power just as he had given it to you.

“Surely you remember why I’m even here to begin with, little one”, the nickname shocked you as the memory resurfaced once again.

The shovel was cold in your grip, causing a bone chilling spark to run down your spine as you covered up the box. It was the standard recipe.

The bones of a dead black cat, a photograph of yourself, and graveyard dirt. All compacted in the small box now buried deep in the center of the crossroads.

You were younger at the time by a few years, a little more gullible. A little more desperate.

As the blood moon rose, you could feel the presence of someone else in the area. Well, more like something else.

The red light shun on him gracefully as he sat on the hood of your car, not caring how dinted it could become. Your eyes trailed down his body, engulfing any feature you could take in to remember him by.

At the time, his hair was a light brown and his eyes were not that blood red you had grown used to. They were a warm brown. They were so welcoming.

“Are you the devil?”, you wanted to keep your distance from him, but it felt like an invisible string was pulling you right to him. Your body soon stood in front of his own, barely away from being considered between his legs.

“No, little one. Just something awfully close. Now, what are you selling your soul for?”, the demon expected many things. Things he had heard so many times before. Money, love, saving, etc.

What he didn’t expect you to say was that you needed a way to get revenge on the murderer of your mother.

“What? You don’t strike me as the revenge type”, his infamous chuckle came after the words and you huffed. You hated being considered too weak or kind. People already played around with you for that reason.

“Are you going to help me or not?”, your hand found solace on your hip as you waited for his response. He hummed as if in deep thought before tilting his head in a teasing manner.

“Depends. What do I get in return?”, you noticed how his gaze had lingered on your hand, watching how it softly kneaded the flesh there.

“Keep our options open? You can have my soul or whatever you want whenever you want. I just want that man in the ground by the end of the week”, he didn’t expect the hint of sass in your tone but he loved it.

“I’ll need to put that in writing darling, but you have a deal”.

“Why did I not remember you before?”, you were sure you had never had that memory before now. The demon only smirked before walking towards you, his hands holding your waist. He rubbed them up and down as if he was memorizing every curve.

“I couldn’t have you running off. Besides, it was so precious to watch you think you had killed that man. You seemed so... proud”, he bit his lip, admiring you.

“It’s been you, hasn’t it? The voice?”, the demon nodded and took your jaw in his hold, tilting it every which way as if he was deciding to auction you or not.

“Yes. Your power comes from me and I think I’ve finally decided what I’ll be requesting for your end of the deal”, a thick lump formed in your throat, hoping that this wasn’t going to be your last day on Earth.

“You have been doing my dirty work for years now. No one is more fit to be my prophet than you. I want you to be mine. My little prophet”, your eyebrows furrowed as his words processed in your head.

“Prophet? For what?”, you had to sit down, walking over the body on the floor still and sitting on the desk.

“To be the next crossroad demon. Imagine it, baby. All the power you have now will be tripled, you’ll be immortal, and we’ll be together forever. I can tell you desire nothing more than power”, you found yourself nodding before you could even register any consequences. He had you at the power being tripled.

“How insatiable”, the demon tapped his fingers against the desk as he hovered over you, “if I didn’t know better than I’d consider you a deadly sin. I think you’re more greedy than actual greed is” before you could argue his lips were pressed against your own in a feverous manner. It filled your body with warmth from the tips of your toes to the very top of your head.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you kissed him back, feeling how his body got impossibly closer. You moaned into his mouth when you felt his crotch rub against your own.

“Unless you’re even crazier than I thought, let’s do this somewhere there isn’t a dead body”, he laughed once he pulled away, your eyes going to the forgotten body on the floor. Your cheeks went red as the demon picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His wings wrapped around your body, encasing you in a makeshift shield as black smoke surrounded you both. His wings opened up to reveal your bedroom and you realized something as your back landed on the soft mattress.

“Wait- what’s your name?”, contrary to popular myths, demons had no trouble sharing their names. He had just simply forgotten.

“San”, his lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting the skin there as if you already belonged to him.

“San”, you repeated, testing the name and a rumble came from the demon’s chest. It was so similar to a growl that you had to look around the room to make sure no animals were there.

“Fuck, say it again”, his hands gripped the thin fabric of your shirt but he waited.

“San. Please”, there was a hint of desperation in your voice and it was something San had never heard from you. It made his eyes go blood red for a moment.

“Are you sure you want this? It will change everything”, you stared into his eyes and, for once, there wasn’t any fear in you. They were warm as they stared back at you, a sure fire way of San telling you he would never betray you.

“I’m sure. Let’s be powerful together”, you nodded and the demon smiled, ripping the fabric of your shirt apart like it was just some dusty old rag. Your hands held onto his suit and then you remembered something.

“Can I see them?”, San stopped to ponder what you meant. That’s when you lowered your hands to the small of his back, your hands gliding over the cuts on his back. That’s when he knew what you wanted.

“I didn’t think humans liked them”, he chuckled as he took off his own shirt, his wings springing out soon after. He kept them tucked towards him to avoid hitting anything on your end tables and all you could do was admire them as you laid there.

“I love them. So beautiful”, your fingers gently stroked them, trailing along the curve of the bone as if to memorize the feeling of them under your touch.

San nodded with a sincere smile, one you had yet to see. It took you off guard but you loved it. San pulled up your skirt and groaned when he saw how wet your panties had become. They were stuck to your folds, showing everything to him.

“You’re so wet, baby”, you whimpered when he trailed his finger up your folds and back down again. He simply pulled the panties to the side and you gasped when you felt his spit coat your opening. He then plunged it into you with his tongue, thrusting it inside of you and swirling his tongue to cut your walls with his saliva.

That’s when he realized you were already clenching around him in absolute sensitivity and pleasure. He looked up at you as he slowly pulled his tongue out, watching how your eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”, you flushed red from the question no matter how simple it sounded. San already knew the answer but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Yeah, I am”, you sit up a little on your elbows, expecting the demon to stop. However, all he did was smirk and thrust his tongue back inside of you, causing your head to fall back. He swirled his tongue, searching for that certain spot inside of you that even you had never found before.

His fingers pinched and rubbed at your clit as he prepped you, causing your sweet moans to fill the room. The only thing San could think about was how badly he wanted to ruin you.

Eventually, he felt you were ready and he replaced his tongue with his fingers, scissoring you open. Then, he hit it. That special spot deep inside of you with his middle finger.

“Right there! Please”, you had never felt so good and your back arched as San kept hitting that spot with his fingers over and over like clock work.

You clenched around his fingers and he kept his pace steady as you came all over his fingers, coating them with your juices. He had you ride out your high and watched as you shook from the stimulation, barely holding onto his humanity.

He took his fingers out and you whined, feeling so hopelessly empty without them there. San licked one of his fingers, humming from how sweet you tasted. Then, he had another finger in front of your mouth.

You opened your mouth and he put the digit inside, your lips closing around it as you sucked on it to taste yourself. You did taste perfectly sweet.

“Sorry sweetheart, I can’t wait any longer”, you gulped when you saw something inside the demon snap. His hands quickly pulled his belt off and he tied your wrists together with them, attached to the bedpost.

You were too in awe from the sight of his cock to even care about the rough leather rubbing against your skin, his tip red and angry, coated in pre-cum. You wondered how it would even fit.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be just fine”, before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his lips were on your’s as he lined himself up with your pussy. He slowly pushed in and you began to fill the pain until... you didn’t anymore.

It was as if the kiss was enough to blur your nerves and, before you knew it, San was all the way inside of you. The sight of his bulge was prominent in your stomach and, when he pulled away from the kiss, you could feel the tip brush against your cervix.

Your feelings rushed back in and you felt the stretch but it was no longer painful, your cunt used to being stuffed now. As he realized you were fine, San slowly started moving, groaning as your walls hugged his dick. You were so small in comparison to him and it felt perfect. You felt perfect.

Restraint inside of the demon slowly disappeared as he pounded into you, his hips snapping against your’s. His hand wrapped tightly around your throat when you got louder, squeezing it to cut off the air going to your lungs a little. Your eyes rolled back from all the pleasure and stimulation.

“Such a pretty whore. You feel so good”, San chuckled darkly, licking his lips as he looked down at you. Your breasts bounced from the force and he watched them, almost mesmerized by the movement as his tip continuously rammed into your g-spot.

You winced when San slapped you, a red hand imprinted on your skin. The sting only seemed to add to the pleasure and he noticed, deciding to slap your clit just as hard.

“Fuck! San!”, your breathing got caught in your throat as he continued to slap it, hitting the nerve over and over to watch your reaction. You clenched around him again as you began to feel overstimulated, the knot in your stomach releasing all over his cock.

San followed soon after, filling you up so much that you could see the bulge stay in your stomach even when he had pulled out. Your heavy breathing was all you were able to let out as San undid the belt.

You expected for it to be over but the demon simply gripped your hips and spread your legs to straddle his lap. You could feel his hard cock rubbing against your pussy lips and a rush of arousal went to your core again, his cum covering your thighs as it leaked out of you.

“It’s not over baby. I wanted to really look at you when I mark you”, your eyes went a little wide when San moved your hips to grind against his erection.

“Mark? What does that mean?”, San just shushed you and gave you his mischievous smile.

“You’ll see”, you were too needy to even care as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, feeling for the first time how it truly stretched you out. San gripped the back of your head and pressed his forehead against your’s in an attempt to distract you from any pain.

“Ride me and you’ll be all mine”, his words made you roll your hips faster even if you already knew you were putty in his hands. You were already his and have been. He made sure of that.

Soon, you began to get tired and San smiled, gripping your hips to keep you moving. He didn’t seem angry but you could tell his impatience was coming through.

“Useless whore. You can’t even ride a dick properly”, you looked down in embarrassment from his words. It was the only time you enjoyed not having control, when San had it.

The demon took control and thrusted up into you, controlling your movements to meet his own. The new position made your mouth hang open in a silent scream, your body too overwhelmed with pleasure to even let out sounds.

Even without words, San knew you were close with how your nails dug into his shoulders and your little cunt clenched around him. As you both approached your orgasms he nuzzled his face between your neck and shoulder.

You came together and he bit you, causing a scream to erupt from your body. Your body thrashed against him but he held you still as he slowly pulled his teeth out.

The bite slowly healed to reveal a distinct ‘S’ marked into your skin. San smiled and watched as the blood from the wound went down your body and stopped at the curve of your breast.

“Good girl. Finally being put to use”, the demon leaned his face down and licked up the blood from your breast to the mark on your shoulder, sending pleasant shivers up your body.

He was still buried inside of you as he maneuvered you both to lay down, spooning you to keep you warm.

“Now you’re all mine. Remember that. Or this deal may not last”, you could tell the end was meant as a threat. You belonged to San and that was that.

“I’m all your’s”, you nodded and closed your eyes, trying to calm your body.

“That’s right. Forever”.

“Even in-“, you were cut off when he pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

“Even in hell. Then it will be...”, he hummed as he thought.

“Infernal desire”.

[hazzasgayvodka]

Panty Thief - Harry Styles

So this is kind of a trial run for this fic, I’m inclined to make this a series but I’m not sure how the response to it will be. I have lots of ideas for more parts to this but only if it’s what the people want haha. Here is my belated Valentine’s Day gift to all you lovelies I hope you enjoy this heavy daddy kink/dom harry fic I’ve been working on for ages!

p.s. everyone say thank you Nathan for giving me lots of smut inspiration this is literally based on him sorta 

pairing: daddy!harry x oc

warning: sexual content, smut, daddy kink/dom vibes so if you’re not here for that this is not for you

word count: 5k

In which Harry is a new student at Harley’s university and he seems to just keep popping up everywhere. The tension between them is palpable and she can’t get away from him, especially when he happens to knock on her door with a pair of her favorite red lace panties she left in the laundromat dangling from his finger. 

I roll my eyes as the lady in front of me in line takes out yet another handful of coupons from her purse at the checkout counter. The cashier looks almost as annoyed as I am, but still sporting a smile despite the absolute exasperation rampant in her eyes. She takes the handful of coupons and starts scanning them begrudgingly as the woman digs around in her purse for anymore and I hardly even notice my foot tapping as my eyes instinctively roll once again. I just came to get toilet roll, ice cream, and a bottle of prosecco and the universe decides today is the day coupon Karen ends up at the checkout line five minutes before I do.

“I like your hair.” A voice speaks up behind me.

I know they must be talking to me, I don’t believe any other boring college blonde in this line warrants a compliment like that but the bright purple curls I sport tend to elicit quite the reaction from bystanders, especially the uninteresting conservatives of Publix.

“How do you uh, get it that color?”

I finally turn my head over my shoulder to face the voice, a tall guy with tousled brown hair and quite the shit eating grin on his face. He’s obviously very pleased with himself finally getting me to turn around but I can’t be bothered to entertain this excited puppy of a man with more than a word.

“Dye.”

I’ve barely even gotten the word out of my mouth before I turn back to face the cashier with an uninterested eyeroll. He scoffs behind me, clearly not giving up that easily.

“Wow,” He chuckles, “At least you’re straightforward.”

I turn back around without thinking to face him once again, “Hair dye, idiot.”

“Oh, well I could have guessed that much.”

I turn away from him again just as coupon lady finally pushes her rattling cart towards the exit doors and the cashier gestures for me to come up to the checkout. I drop my basket on the conveyor belt with a thud and she rings it up quickly, sensing my impatience and clearly wanting to get me the hell out of here as quickly as she can. I pay and grab my bags to head for the door and just before I’m home free the voice is suddenly behind me yet again.

“So, are you really not going to tell me?” He asks, catching up to me outside, “It’s going to keep me up tonight, I’m waiting with bated breath over here.”

“Tell you what exactly?” I huff, finally turning to face him.

“How you get your hair that color, of course.”

I roll my eyes, surely, he’s not keeping this bit up for the sake of hitting on me in the fucking supermarket, “Do you want something from me?”

He chuckles a bit, and I’m glad to see my utter frustration is amusing to him, “I mean,” He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Maybe your name would be cool.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, I’m Harry-“

I turn and walk away before he’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth. What was he even in line to buy? He wasn’t carrying any bags.

Mental note: always wear headphones to the grocery store.

 ***

“You’re late.”

I collapse in the seat next to my friend Danielle with a huff. She gives me a certain look that says something like you’ve been late the past three times too, but honestly at this point she should know to expect it.

“I’m always late,” I groan, attempting to lean back in the incredibly uncomfortable library chair, “So, why are we at the library?”

“We have a math test tomorrow, or did you forget about that?” She asks, scolding me over the top of her math book.

“Of course I remembered,” I say sarcastically, “Math is my absolute favorite subject how could I ever forget we had a test?”

She rolls her eyes, turning her book to the right page to start taking notes and I try my best to follow along, “So do you have a legitimate reason for the lateness or just regular Harley excuses?”

“Actually, I do,” I say matter-of-factly, sitting back up straight in my chair, “There was a freak at the grocery store, dude would not leave me alone.”

“What was he doing?” She asks, suddenly interested.

“Just talking? I guess? He like wanted to have a whole conversation waiting to check out.”

“So, a nice guy just struck up some conversation with you at the store and that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I huff, closing the book once again, “I was just there to get groceries I didn’t need the extra human interaction.”

She opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off as a group of guys walk in the front door of the library talking at full volume. I can feel almost every person in the room turn in the direction of the loud noise at the front and suddenly my eyes land on him. There’s no fucking way.

“Dani,” I whisper, sliding down in my seat so I can go unseen, “Dani that’s the guy, the guy from earlier.”

“What?” She whispers harshly, trying not to stare as the boys get scolded by the librarian at the front, “You mean grocery store guy?”

“Yes!” I huff, electing to sit in my chair backwards so my back is to him.

“No way Harley, it just looks like him-”

“No Dani, it’s him,” I whisper, “Tall one with the curly hair in the black hoodie.”

“That’s him?” She asks, “You had a problem with that talking to you?”

“Shh!” I huff, “God he’s going to hear you, are they still at the front?”

“They um, yeah,” She stutters, her eyes diverting to her book again, “They’re still up there, at a table now.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the discomfort in her voice and turning around myself.

My eyes immediately lock onto his and I look away quickly, shielding my face from him with my hand and turning back towards Danielle.

“He’s staring right at you.” She says, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna go over there?”

“Why would I do that exactly?” I ask, my eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Because a hot boy is staring you down across the fucking library!” She whispers harshly, reaching over to smack me in the arm.

“More like a fucking psychopa-”

“Hey there,” I hear his voice cut in and my whole body cringes in on itself without my volition, “Fancy meeting you here.”

I turn around in my chair, forcing myself to face him while my whole face heats and I’m sure I’m the color of a rather ripe tomato. Something about the way he says hey there in that fucking accent makes my entire body tense up.

“Hey there,” I mimic, “Long time no see.”

I feel Danielle’s eyes on me as the words come out of my mouth, her gaze flickering between the two of us and watching the horrifically awkward exchange play out in front of her.

He laughs, electing to lean on the table, “What are you doing after this?”

“She’s doing absolutely nothing.” Danielle answers for me and I kick her under the table, making her wince.

“Glad to hear it,” He grins, his eyes zeroing in on me once again.

“I’m very busy actually,” I cut in, closing my textbook and throwing it in my bag, “We both are, but um, I’ll see you around.”

Danielle is looking at me with eyes the size of dinner plates as she frantically packs up her stuff, shoving it in her bag to follow suit. I stand up from my chair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and he rounds the table to stand right in front of me, the only thing between me and the front door.

“Can I at least get your name?” He asks, his voice incredibly deep clearly for only me to hear.

“Harley,” I quip, side stepping around him, “See you later uh, Harold is it?”

He gives me a very particular look as I walk away from him, taking steps backward and relishing in the smirk on his face. He knows what I’m doing. I feel Dani’s hand grab my arm and I finally turn around to face the door, walking through it, but even as I’m outside and carrying my feet down the steps I feel his eyes on me, drilling into the back of my head.

“The hell was that?” Danielle asks, “He was so cute and you just, you just blow it like that?”

“Harmless flirting.”

“You call that flirting?”

“Oh Dani,” I sigh, taking out a cigarette and lighting it between my lips, “I call that winning.”

 ***

I’m woken up with a start when I hear the loud roar of music start from Dani’s room. She always blasts music in the morning while getting ready for class. I look over my shoulder to check the time, at least she waited until 10 to start with the noise. My head is pounding ever so slightly, and I realize why when my eyes land on the empty bottle of pink Moscato on my bedside table.

I drag myself out of bed and into the tiny common space between our two rooms, “Good morning sleeping beauty,” Danielle teases, “I noticed the bottle of wine went missing from the fridge.”

“That’s bizarre,” I joke, “Must be a wine thief in the dorms. I’ll get on that mystery right away.”

She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes as I grab my basket of laundry from my room. I slide on a pair of slippers electing to go put it in the wash, so I hopefully have a single clean pair of jeans for class tonight. I call to Dani letting her know I’ll be right back and as soon as I open the door to the hall I’m staring at him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I groan.

He stops dead in his tracks, taking a glance over his shoulder to see me standing in my doorway. He’s dressed in only a towel, holding it closed while it hangs low on his hips. His hair is wet, clearly making his way back to his room from the showers and his chest and arms are rippling with muscles under his damp skin.

God those arms could crush me like a grape.

“Morning neighbor,” He grins, clearly getting a kick out of this, “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

“You’re in this building?”

“You bet, room 7C down the hall.”

“Well, neighbor, for future reference, most people in this building take their clothes to the shower with them.”

“You Americans,” He chuckles, starting to walk away from my doorway, “So prude, have a nice day Harley.”

He disappears down the hall and then behind his door and my mind gets to work on picturing what he looks like without the towel. You can nearly feel the tension between us in the air, it was palpable. I could even feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and lingering on my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head as I take a deep breath and start on my way to the laundry room downstairs.

I put a load in the wash, briefly tuning into the dramatic soap playing on the tiny TV hung on the wall. I decide to head back to my now empty room since Danielle left for class and end up wasting most of my day away on a bad Netflix original movie, only pausing half way through to go move my clothes to the dryer.

I order a pizza for dinner before my night class and go back downstairs to grab my laundry out of the dryer. Just as I’m opening the dryer and emptying my clothes back into my basket I get a text that the pizza guy is downstairs waiting for me.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I huff under my breath, quickly shoving all my clothes in my basket and slamming the dryer shut behind me.

I rush back to my dorm, chucking the basket of clean clothes inside before heading to the stairwell and nearly sprinting down them to get to the ground floor. I meet the rather impatient pizza guy downstairs before bringing the food back up to my room. I’ve just barely finished the first slice half way through a Criminal Minds episode when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, dragging myself from the couch and tossing the blanket off.

I open the door, rolling my eyes, “Dani, you have got to start remembering your key when you-” I’m cut off as I come face to face with him rather than Dani, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Hi,” He repeats, now dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt, “I believe you dropped something in the laundry room earlier.”

He reveals his arm from behind his back, holding out his hand with my bright red lacy thong dangling from his pointer finger. I can feel my entire face heat to match the shade of my panties, but I won’t let him get the satisfaction. I go to snatch them from his hand, but he stops me, gripping them in his fist instead and using them as leverage to pull me a bit closer to him.

“Probably want to be a bit more careful where you leave your panties lying around, darling,” He smirks, “Unless you want to leave them on my bedroom floor of course.”

It’s the final straw, those few words spoken in his deliciously deep voice absolutely dripping with that amazing accented tone, on top of the way he’s dressed, every muscle visible beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pulling him to me by my own grip on the lacy underwear between us, my mouth meeting his and his teeth instantly biting my bottom lip between them.

“Yours or mine?” He breathes out, pulling away from me just long enough to get the words out.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vacation,” He says, “Till Wednesday.”

“Yours,” I laugh, pressing my lips back to his, “Definitely yours.”

He walks me backwards down the hall to his dorm room, shoving me up against the wall as he unlocks the door, his lips working down my neck. As soon as the door is open he walks me through it, bending down to grab the backs of my thighs and hoisting me into the air. He kicks the door closed with his foot and I laugh against his mouth as he carries me past his bedroom doorway, slamming that behind us as well.

He lays me out on the bed, nearly tossing me right on top of the mattress, my lacy red underwear still gripped in his hand.

“Any chance you got something this cute under there?” He chuckles, holding them up in both hands to really show them off.

“Why don’t you come find out?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes, finally kneeling onto the edge of the bed and crawling over to me. He starts to lean over me, but I shove his shoulder, forcing him to lay against the mattress before swinging my leg over him. I can feel him underneath me immediately and it makes my legs clench together on either side of him.

“Hi,” I breathe, planting my hands on his chest and meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” He repeats back to me, that bright smile of his making my stomach flip, “You gonna come down here or...?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh finally leaning down and connecting our lips once again.

His lips are ridiculously soft against mine while the feeling of his muscles under his t-shirt are quite the opposite. He reaches up to cup my face with both hands, trying to somehow pull me closer as if we aren’t close enough as it is. I can’t figure out exactly where I want to put my hands; his shoulders, his biceps, god, in that amazing curly hair.

My hips start to move against him without my volition and he groans into my mouth, a deliciously deep reverberation that makes me grind my hips into him even more. He grunts against my lips, finally pulling away and resting his forehead against mine instead, breathing heavily.

“You alright there tiger?” I tease him, threading my fingers through his hair, “Need a breather already?”

“Shut your mouth,” He chuckles, grabbing me around the waist and trying to flip us over so he’s on top.

He greatly underestimates the size of his twin dorm bed when he does so, both of us rolling off the edge and tumbling to the shag carpeted floor beneath us. I expect the mood to be ruined, for him to get up and usher me right out the door because how awkward is this, right? I’m beyond surprised when he starts laughing, both of us splayed flat on our backs and heaves out a sigh as he rolls over to face me again.

“That was pretty smooth of me, eh?” He jokes, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, chuckling too, “No I’m okay, just gonna have a massive bruise on my ass most likely.”

He laughs again, finally pulling himself to his feet and offering me a hand to help me up. I’m not sure what I expect past that, maybe a hug to send me on my way now that the atmosphere has completely changed but that tension is still between us, the same tension that’s been building since the moment he said a single word in the supermarket.

The second I’m back on my feet he shoves me onto the bed and I can’t even begin to hide the shock in my features. He’s back on top of me in seconds, his lips pressed to mine and I’m sure the surprised whimper that leaves my mouth fuels his ego to the gods.

“You alright there tiger?” He mocks, and I resist the urge to reach up and slap him.

“Careful.” I quip, pulling away from him to meet his eyes.

“Careful?” He asks, quirking up his eyebrow at me, “I’m sorry are you telling me what to do sweetheart?”

I gulp, the smooth but stern voice he’s using making my thighs quiver. He seems to notice, his eyes darting down between us and a small chuckle escaping his lips. He looks back up at me, his eyes dark and brooding, before they flicker to my hands at my sides. He grabs my left wrist roughly, holding it above my head against the mattress before doing the same to my right arm as well. I’m nearly squirming underneath him, my entire body steaming to the touch as his eyes bore into mine.

“Something wrong, love?” He asks, the condescending tone to his voice making my whole body shake.

“Course not,” I pant, my breath coming out heavier than I anticipated, “Just fuckin peachy over here.”

He chuckles a bit, his grip on my wrists growing tighter, “You’re not very patient, you know that?”

I’m not sure what it is that’s making me writhe the way I am; perhaps it’s the countless months I’ve gone without sex since my last messy breakup, or maybe it’s the way in which this all panned out with a stranger over some fucking underwear, or fuck, maybe it’s just him and the way that cocky smirk on his face makes my insides twist.

“Patience is a virtue,” I say carefully, making sure to keep my tone even, “I’m more about vices.”

His left hand releases my wrist and I prepare myself for his hand reaching where I need him most, sucking in a breath between my teeth and letting my eyes flutter closed but it never comes. My eyes peel back open to see his hand hovering over my neck instead. He meets my eyes before his fingers finally grace the skin of my throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure almost as if to test the waters.

I’m nearly dizzy as he does so, the temperature in this room suddenly a million degrees. He removes his hand again, the pressure around my throat leaving me and I whimper in distaste, making him chuckle again.

“Poor thing,” He chastises, my legs clenching together on either side of him, “I can’t do it all though, if only there was a way I could hold down both your wrists and choke that pretty neck.”

I watch his hand dig into the pocket of his joggers and once again pull out the thin red lacy fabric of my panties, holding them between us.

“Mind if I use these?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to get a reaction out of me anyways.

“Yes, god,” I gulp, “Please.”

He grabs my hands, moving them completely above my head before wrapping the panties around them a few times, tying them together. He tugs on them a bit to make sure they’re pretty secure before looking back down at me, his eyes completely blown out in lust, his pupil swallowing his surrounding iris.

His lips are back on mine in seconds, his now free hands roaming my body before one hand rests on my neck, gripping the sides and applying a bit more pressure than the last time. I whimper into this mouth and curse myself for doing so as soon as my eyes flutter open to see that cocky smirk on his face once again.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He teases, and my hand reaches up to smack him before I remember I’m bound in a pair of my own underwear, “Ah, ah, be a good girl and stay still.”

Hearing the words good girl come out of his mouth makes my entire body squirm and he grins again, that lopsided condescending grin and I know he’s getting off on this, making me writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss my stomach, hiking my shirt up as he goes before working his way down and tugging my pants down my legs. I hold my breath in anticipation but when I look down the bed to meet his eyes he simply kisses the inside of my thighs, ghosting his mouth over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Fucking please,” I beg, my breath coming out in heaves, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Please what, princess?” He asks, my legs threatening to squeeze his head between them, “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You cocky bastard,” I huff, my mind getting fuzzier by the second the closer he gets to my center, “You know what I want.”

He stops abruptly, sitting back up from his small assault on my inner thighs, “What did you say, love? Care to repeat that? Couldn’t quite here you down here.”

There’s an edge to his voice, like glass, it cuts right through me and makes my thighs quiver, “N-no,” I stutter, “Didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” He grins, leaning back down between my legs, “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I suck in a breath sharply, but I won’t let him know how his words affect me, “Oh daddy,” I mock, rolling my eyes, “Need you so bad.”

He grabs me by the ankles, flipping me onto my stomach and sends an echoing smack to my ass, the stinging sensation that radiates afterwards making my toes curl. He flips me back onto my back, his dangerously dark eyes meeting mine as he spreads my legs apart once again, holding my thighs down against the mattress.

“Want to try that again, princess?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, the edge to his voice making the whispered swear fall from my mouth involuntarily, “Um, yes.”

“Yes what?” He growls, leaning down to hold my jaw in his hand, his eyes drilling into mine waiting for a response.

“Yes daddy.”

“Now you’re getting it, good girl,” He grins, his hand that was gripping my jaw moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, “Now open up,” I oblige, slowly opening my mouth and he pushes his middle and ring finger past my lips. It catches me a bit off guard, but he only nods his head, “Get them nice and wet for me love, don’t want to hurt you.”

He pulls them from my mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to my lips. He chuckles a bit, clearly getting a kick out of how worked up I am for him before finally pushing my panties to the side and pressing his fingers into me. I instantly turn my head to the side, muffling the moan that escapes my mouth into my pillow. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing he grabs me by the hair, holding my head straight.

“None of that,” He says sternly, “Wanna hear your pretty sounds, babygirl.”

I’m dangerously close to the edge just from the words pouring from his mouth in that accented tone that makes my entire body shiver. That condescending smirk finds its way back to his lips and I know that he can tell I’m close, just teetering on the edge already.

“Needy little thing, are we?” He teases, “Already gonna cum and daddy’s barely touched you yet.”

His words are almost just enough to push me over the edge, but I hold off as much as I can, straining away from his touch as much as I can with my hands bound above my head and his weight on top of me. I feel the particular twist in my stomach, that burning sensation in the very pit of my abdomen just as my eyes squeeze shut and my vision goes white. His fingers work me through it, his mouth finally hovering over where I need him most, sucking my sensitive bud into his mouth and making me shake.

I feel his fingers withdraw from me and suddenly he’s pushing them past my lips once again, but this time I taste myself on them, swirling my tongue around each one to suck them clean. I meet his eyes as he pulls them from my mouth and my hips involuntarily buck up to meet the bulge prominent in his pants.

“Still needy, are we?” He chuckles.

“Please shut up and take your pants off already.” I beg, my hips bucking up to meet him again.

“You see I would but,” He starts, sitting back on his heels, “It seems I don’t have a condom, would you happen to have one?”

“Would I, no, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I stutter breathlessly, my blood starting to boil in disbelief, “What kind of guy doesn’t keep a pack of rubbers around you idiot?”

“Careful,” He warns, his voice dropping into that deep calculated tone that makes me shiver, “And perhaps a guy that just moved in this week and hasn’t necessarily had buying rubbers on the mind,” He says, “That is until he met a spunky purple haired girl in the supermarket.”

His words make my stomach do a few somersaults, but I don’t let it extinguish the pissed off fire burning in my stomach knowing that I won’t be getting the relief I desperately need right now.

“You’re serious?” I ask, “You don’t have any?”

“Serious, darling,” He chuckles, “But instead of moping about it, you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you daddy when I’m done, understand?”

I nod my head vigorously, despite wanting to do the exact opposite. What kind of hold does that goddamn accent have on me?

“Good,” He smiles, clearly pleased with my response, “And maybe if you’re a good girl next time daddy will remember to hit the store.”

“Next time?” I ask, not filtering the shock from my voice.

He laughs a bit, reaching up to finally untie my hands, “Yes, next time, did you want this to just be a one-time thing, princess?”

I can’t form the words I want to say as I sit up a bit, rubbing my wrists only slightly from the rough fabric of the lace wrapped around them, “I um, I don’t-”

“That’s what I thought,” He smirks, standing from the bed and holding out a hand to me, “Now come on, didn’t you get pizza?”

I smile, taking his hand and starting to stand to my feet, my legs a bit wobbly and I’m thankful for the stability of his arm to lean on.

“Do you have anything to uh,” I start, cringing when I feel the wetness in between my thighs, “Clean up with?”

“Nope,” He says cheerfully, “You keep that pretty mess I made between those thighs, babygirl.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m cursing him for his lack of condoms and the ache between my legs as I pull my pants back on, following him to the door to the hall. He stops abruptly just inside the doorway, turning back to meet my eyes.

“What’s my name?” He asks cheekily.

“Harry,” I say confidently, “Why? Are you worried I forgot already?”

He grabs my ass in his hand tightly, squeezing the skin, his voice calculated, “I said, what’s my name?”

I gulp, leaning into his grip on me a bit more as my knees wobble, “Daddy.”

He releases his grip on my ass, giving it a quick smack, “’Atta girl, let’s get some pizza in you so you’re ready for round two,” He grins, throwing his arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side as we walk down the hall to my room instead, “Maybe after we can hit the store, I seemed to have forgotten to pick something up last time I went.”

[bigkpopstan]

About the cnc thing: I think some people might enjoy writing or reading somno since you can portray the person consenting to it before hand, but feel uncomfortable at the idea of actually playing out a scene where somebody pretends to resist. Which is totally understandable and valid.

However, I love cnc, somno and also just straight up fictional noncon/dubcon, so you're not alone in that at all. It's been something I've wanted to explore with my writing since the beginning but for a long time I was hesitant. Blogs writing that kind of content were few and far between, and the handful that did seemed to get pretty nasty hate for it at least occasionally. Additionally, they were also all sub!reader blogs, so I wasn't sure how people would react to it.

Maybe it's just my experience, but I feel like recently there is more understanding about r*pe fantasies, problematic fiction and how they doesn't necessarily reflect people's actual views or desires. I feel like it isn't as taboo as it used to be. I've started seeing it more often in the kpop fanfic community, and since being more open about it myself I've actually gotten quite a bit of interest and nobody has gone out of their way to give me crap about it. I'm not saying people don't still receive hate making that kind of content, but it seems now people are more likely to just ignore/block something if they know it is upsetting or triggering for them since they know it's not intended for them.

Cnc is a very common kink, so I'm sure there are plenty of other people on here who are secretly into it as well. On top of that, since it's not something everyone writes, there's very likely a potential audience that isn't being catered to very much with most fanfic. So I don't think it will be too hard to find an audience.

This kind of fantasy is really common, you're not the only person who enjoys it by a long shot. I know r*pe fantasies about being the "perpetrator" is something that people don't really talk about, especially when it comes to women and femme-presenting people. We're supposed (I feel like I didn't get as much of this, but it's still a big problem in a lot of cases) to be submissive and super accommodating all of the time, and finding enjoyment out of having any kind of power is often a big no-no. I know what it's like to feel like you're the only one, to try to find out more about it online only to find article after article telling you "Oh yeah it's totally fine and normal for women to have r*pe fantasies, it doesn't mean they actually want to be r*ped. :)" I mean I'm glad other people can feel reassured in that, but that's not the kind of fantasy I mean. I thought that if they're specifically only saying that fantasising about being a victim is okay, does that mean that my fantasy isn't okay?

It doesn't make you bad, or mean that you actually want to hurt others. You can be excited by the fantasy of having total power over another person, "taking what you want", etc. in a context where nobody is actually being hurt, and still have the basic human empathy to realise that it's a horrific crime that completely violates a person's bodily autonomy. It can have absolutely devastating consequences to the victim's life and cause immeasurable harm. You can be into cnc/enjoy content that portrays noncon/dubcon, but have no desire to actually inflict that kind of harm onto another human being.

Btw, I hope this doesn't come across as me being presumptive. I'm not at all assuming this is how you feel, it's just something I've struggled a lot with in the past and might be beneficial to others who see it.

I actually really enjoyed reading your whole like explanation? Which is something now that you’ve mentioned that I didn’t realized I noticed. Most somno fics do have the consent talk or at least it being mentioned before it happens. I don’t remember a cnc fic I’ve ever read that had the talk before hand, but also even with other slightly more out there kinks fics tend to not have the talk in them. I don’t think I was going there with that but was pointing out an observation I didn’t notice I had until this ask.

read more cause this is long

cnc/somno I enjoy but personally the dubcon/noncon genre of things haven’t really been my thing but I personally have also never thought anything horrible about people who have read/write it bc again, fictional. like you said just bc people fantasize about it doesn’t mean they actually want it to happen to them or them doing it to someone else. I just hopefully more people adopt the “everyone has their own interests and that has nothing to do with me so I’ll move on” mindset.

I’m actually really glad you came in here with this I feel like how do I articulate this-I feel like it’s educational for people who don’t know much or anything at all about these types of interests and talking about stuff like this is nice for lack of better words.

Personally though I did I’m emotionally but I did get upset at the fact that-idk I’m a very soft person and even with my hard kinks I would be worried to push it so the fact that there are people who are-not worried about other humans or their partners is very upsetting.

I’m genuinely sorry if this response seems dry I have like no idea what to add to this bc you talked so well and I agree so I’m just like reiterating/agreeing with everything 😭.

also about the fantasy thing other than the “oh it’s normal for women but it doesn’t mean they actually want it to happen” …I don’t think I’ve seen any conversation about it being the other way around, like ever. I feel like that’s something that’s still taboo?? bc I feel like if we (in a general sense, like anyone) we to talk about men having them it’d seem like they’d actually want it to happen and they’d be written off as a predator. women having them would obviously be a rarer conversation where people would probably actually-it’d probably lead into the “well men want” that whole bs take; double standards. I also don’t know where I’m going with this or there was a point or if it’s just another general observation thing I wanted to get off my chest bc It came to mind. also the fact that people don’t really see women as threats for the talking about women having them.

one last thing I wanna mention, if I ever have had more noncon/dubcon thoughts I probably would have immediately shut it down, pushed it off and changed the topic in my brain. I think that my way of thinking like most others is/was “I don’t want to do that so why would I want to think of that” or “if I think about it too much maybe I’ll actually want to do it to someone” which it’s a fantasy, that’s not the case. people who don’t actually have the desire/want even if they think about it won’t want to do it which I realize again is just reiterating what you said in a different way.

[advocaado]

Fiction does not exist in a vacuum and absolutely can and does affect reality.

HOWEVER

Before you pin on your thought police badge and march off to start attacking people on the internet for the media they consume and create, let’s take a minute to talk about nuance and identify some actual problematic trends in media which have real life consequences.

The big question you need to ask yourself before you decry a person or piece of media is: Is that person/piece of media promoting, validating, and normalizing trends or acts that hurt real people? Or is that person/piece of media exploring a dark theme in fiction/harmlessly indulging in a kink?

Below are some examples of cases where “problematic” content in fiction is a danger to real life people, and many where it isn’t. This will not be an exhaustive list. I don’t have endless amounts of time to sit here and talk about every problem in fictional media, and even if I did, I wouldn’t, because there are many more things I’d rather do with my time.

Disclaimer: No media is 100% problem free. No human is 100% problem free. Engaging with others online to discuss problems in media is totally fine. If you don’t like something, it’s your god given right to bitch about it. Bitch to your heart’s content. Just don’t be an absolute ass cloak about it.

Example 1: Huckleberry Finn

This book famously contains racism. Is this a problem? No, not really. Listen. This book is literally about how racism is bad. The message is to not be a racist piece of shit. That’s the takeaway. If you got any other message from this book you need to work on your reading comprehension. Books that teach lessons are good things and impact society in positive ways. This book does literally the opposite of normalizing, promoting, and validating racism. It’s taught in schools for this exact reason. It’s not sugarcoated and that’s exactly what makes it powerful.

Example 2: Fairy Tail

The famous complaint about this and other works by Hiro Mashima is that the women are overly sexualized. Over sexualization of women is a big problem in media across the globe, but particularly in the media that comes out of Japan. It’s a problem that absolutely does affect real women. More on that later. But is Mashima really the big perpetuater of the kind of gross male reader voyeurism that has such a fierce grip on the anime industry? Actually, no. Not really. Yes, almost all the female characters in Fairy Tail are hot and have big boobs in a way that appeals to men. However, the lens through which Mashima tells his stories is not voyeuristic. He doesn’t go out of his way to draw panty shots or sexualize female characters nonconsensually. 9 times out of 10 the women are sexy because they want to be and do it in a way that is empowering for them. There are occasional exceptions, but by and large Fairy Tail is not the big offender of female objectification in anime. Moreover, almost all its male characters are hot and have six packs and idol hair in a way that appeals to women. Everyone is hot. There is no deeper meaning here. Enjoy this series if you like to watch hot people having fun and going on adventures together.

Example 3: Goblin Slayer

Oh, boy, Goblin Slayer. Now here’s a can of worms. Many upon many have decried GS for its inclusion of rape scenes and mentions. The goblins in GS have no females of their own species so they must impregnate human women to continue their race. This sounds utterly awful and it is. But is this finally our shining example of a dark theme in fiction that is problematic in a way that is dangerous to real people? Sorry, but no. Firstly, the concept of a fantasy creature who needs to use humans to reproduce was not invented by Kumo Kagyu and is in fact common in folklore around the world. He didn’t make it up as a way to condone rape. Could he have? Sure. But that’s not the reality of the series. The assault by goblins on human women is not treated as a good thing by Kagyu. It is shocking and horrific and has big consequences within the narrative for both the goblins and their victims. It isn’t treated lightly and does not serve to normalize, validate, or promote rape in real life. The reader/viewer is meant to be disgusted by the goblins, and these scenes, which are few and brief, serve their intended purpose. Nobody is going out and assaulting women in real life because they thought it was cool when the goblins did it in GS.

Oh, but Goblin Slayer, I’m not done with you just yet. Because while it would be a huge stretch to label the inclusion of rape in the series a danger to real life people, there’s something else that you don’t need to stretch nearly so much to identify as such. Remember when I talked about the voyeuristic male gaze being a concerning trend in anime? Well, GS has that in spades. The normalization of sexually objectifying women in non sexual situations is very much present in the series. Describing in loving detail the chest size/shape of every female character often and with gusto is a big part of the light novels. Kagyu loves to describe what a girl’s boobs are doing while she’s sitting at a table eating or doing any other mundane thing for no reason other than to sexualize her for the reader. He made the intentional decision to make Sword Maiden, a rape victim, very overtly sexual for the male gaze without the character having any agency in it. Sword maiden isn’t trying to be sexy. She doesn’t own her sexuality. Hell, she’s blind. Being sexy doesn’t empower her. She’s just fap fodder for the male reader. These things normalize objectifying women and are part of a longtime trend in anime which have real world consequences for both women and men. The sexualization of nonconsenting women is a huge problem in Japan and very much promoted through their media. Anime and light novels continue to send and perpetuate the message that objectifying women is okay and natural for boys to do, and while Kagyu certainly isn’t the worst offender, he’s happily hopped aboard that trolly because he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. And he can’t, because it’s been SO normalized.

Example 4: The Birth of a Nation.

This movie, while entirely fictional, is straight up anti-black propaganda intentionally made to spread hate and fear of black people. Obviously this is incredibly problematic and harmful to real black people. This movie was designed to be that way. The message is very clear. It’s a movie meant to rally whites against blacks, and it did. Horrifically so. Typically media containing hateful messages is less overt about it today, but abusing stereotypes and caricatures of real groups of people and otherwise intentionally perpetuating harmful ideas through fiction is a shitty thing to do and should be wholeheartedly condemned. (Note the keyword “intentionally”. If an author does this out of ignorance, which is all too common, rather than condemn we should seek to educate. People are capable of learning and growing and canceling them for mistakes made in ignorance is every bit as shitty as the mistake they made in the first place.)

Example 5: Fanfiction and shipping

At last, we come to fan media. This is where “don’t like don’t read” becomes the golden rule. Indulging in a kink or exploring dark themes in fanfiction is harmless 99.9% of the time. Fanfiction simply doesn’t have the reach, and thereby the influence, that mainstream media has. If someone wants to write something really fucked up, that’s their choice and nobody is making you read it. Unless the author is outright condoning harming real people, it’s really not your business what they choose to write about. Furthermore, deciding to read fucked up fanfiction does NOT make you a bad person. As stated before, the human psyche is messy and the world is not squeaky clean or a safe place. People are drawn to dark things and there’s really nothing wrong with that so long as real people aren’t being harmed. If something makes you uncomfortable, don’t engage. Protect yourself. You’re not making the world a better place by harassing people online. You’re just being a jerk and honestly doing far more harm to real ass people than that 20 year old writer on AO3 who wanted to write a story about Sasuke having sex with Naruto’s son because of 10 years of repressed sexual impulses toward Naruto.

I could say more but I’m tired and ready to celebrate my Friday by getting drunk. Feel free to interact if you want, just do everyone a favor and don’t be a dick.

TLDR

Things that make you a bad person:

Murdering people

Sexually assaulting/harassing people

Having sex with children

Creating or indulging in porn of real minors

Harassing and sending death threats to real people over the fictional media they create and consume

Espousing, condoning, or perpetuating hate toward marginalized peoples

Espousing, condoning, or perpetuating hate toward anyone tbh

Using fiction as a vehicle to promote, validate, and normalize causing harm to real people

Generally being an ass cloak

Things that DON’T make you a bad person

Consuming media that contains problematic elements

Creating media that contains problematic elements so long as you aren’t promoting, validating, and normalizing harmful acts toward real people

Writing fanfiction

Reading fanfiction

Shipping whatever you goddamn want to ship

[imnotwolverine]

Happy New Year, and hello 1000 followers!!

Hello dear readers! Welcome in my writing nook, and welcome in 2021 - FINALLY!! 

2020′s been a long year. A sad year. A year that felt like March for 9 months straight. A year that left a little dent in my corner of the couch as I was huddled away, writing in the most awkward positions because my cats tried to get on my lap alongside my laptop (it doesn’t fit - trust me, kitties). 

But, it was also a fun year; I could spend long hours reading and writing to my heart’s content. Meeting new people, and discovering kinks and fantasies I never knew were even a thing. To that; thank you my fellow horny bitches, you gave me the perseverance to work on getting proper orgasms, buying a sex toy and making my boyfriend very confused about what-the-hell was going on with me. (thankfully the shock is now gone and he’s enjoying this new horny me far too much 😂)

In more fun news; I just noticed my once small reader tribe has crossed the 1000 follower-mark (WHAT?! HOW?! YOU GUYS AND GALS ARE AMAZING -- *bounces off the walls*) 

I don’t really know how to thank you all for your love and support in reaching this unique milestone. But to those who are just crazy about reading, let me share with you something from my vault of short stories - a little side project next to this blog, to practise my writing ❤️

The Keeper

This new world order was hardly orderly.

--

It was dusty chaos, filtering in through the sole newspaper-covered window above the door that had just veered at the return of the Old Man, his persistent coughs making that same dust curl and swirl through the air.

Feeling my old bones crack, I took a moment, stretching out on my paper throne of Descartes’ body of work, before I jumped aside so he could add his new-found treasures to this grand collection of paper-bound napping nooks.

It was a good new stack. Six thick covers, the pages yellowed and musky in smell. Perfection, really. Old, gold, glorious perfection. But the Old Man didn’t seem to share my sentiment; his leathery face was wrinkled with concern, heavy brows furrowing like a thick hairy caterpillar above his gentle eyes.

Finding a new spot I swished my long tail, more dust swirling up in the single streak of light that caressed the silhouette of the Old Man.

I hadn’t seen him this worried since we met all those long years ago, his warm hands taking me to this dusty good place that I called my home. Our home. A home that oozed old world magic; thousands of books all lined up in ceiling-high cabinets, their vastness somewhat resembling the sky-high buildings outside; that is however where the comparison stopped. This place was warm, kind, soothing. It smelled nice, felt nice, housed mice - my favourite.

Outside, the world was cold, white, wicked. It smelled of chemicals and disdain, the presence of nature and animals one not wished for in its green, disorganised beauty. But the Old Man had been different. Had been. Right now he moved with the same hasty manner the men outside did, his heavy feet moving daintily past the hastily stacked collections, the structure in them long gone.

The same had happened to the ever structured and unchanging man I once knew; The Old Man was looking older each day, which was strange for a being I thought immaculate and immortal. In my long years of life I had never truly ever seen any differences in this man, his wrinkles ever wrinkly and his eyes ever curious. But, these past few weeks I started having my doubts. I never liked change, but change was suddenly here in abundance. I could hear it on the nervous streets outside. I could feel it in my aching bones and the knits in my pelt. I could feel it in the lack of scratches I received, the Old Man suddenly more occupied with the world outside than in.

This new world order was a terrible thing indeed.

Stretching up my aching back, I curled my tail around my paws, watching as the man passed yet again, his eye catching mine for just a second, his feet slowing down so he could give me a long overdue sign of affection.

“Hello Minnie.” He said gently, his warm voice making my muscles tremble in delight, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait yet a moment longer. Duty calls!” And with that he disappeared once more, the door hastily closed behind him as he moved back out into the streets that no longer had names.

Everything was changing and I didn’t like it one bit.

--

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away - or actually a few streets from here - I lived a perilous life of hunting, fighting, mating and waiting. You see: I was not made for the streets I lived in, the large neon lit signs up above too bright for my eyes and the food too sparse to feed the real hunger inside of me. The hunger that goes beyond the growling of the stomach; it was the hunger that gnawed at my brain and my heart as I watched dark figures pass by beneath their umbrellas, their eyes not directed at me, but at my much shinier counterparts on those sky-licking white screens.

e-Cat, e-Book, e-Love..e-Life. The words sparked with promise on beaming backgrounds, luring in the attention of the drifting souls down on the streets. Luring them in to look up, up and away from the truth that could be found right at their feet. A truth that once, an age or so ago, was so very normal.

It must have been a good time then. With ear-scratches and hugs and real talking; I had once even seen humans talk so close to another that their lips touched. And they seemed to find it very agreeable indeed, their lips curling in what the Old Man had explained to be smiles.

Smile (verb)

Form one's features into a pleased, kind, or amused expression, typically with the corners of the mouth turned up and the front teeth exposed.

Humans are peculiar beings.

Then, one day, someone looked down, not up. A man, a dreamer probably, his step shortly disrupted from his travels as our eyes met and, just like that, I was invited into his life, his shovel-sized hands picking me up and stuffing my scrawny bones beneath his warm jacket.

The Old Man.

--

“Why..I thought you had gotten rid of this?” A new voice entered the small haven of books, the door swiftly closed again. Their hushed voices made me blink open my eyes, a flickering light turned on to brush artificial light over the Old Man and the new person. A Young Woman.

She was pretty I think. Her hair cut just beneath her ears and her body wrapped in a large, fresh smelling jacket. I liked her smell. She smelled of my creatures, two males I think. And so with a little more curiosity I yawned and stretched, welcoming the two back in my domain.

“Hi there Minnie.” The Old Man wistfully scratched me behind the ear.

His voice sounded fragile as crystal, his eyes looking equally translucent as they shimmered in the low light of the single light bulb.

“OH..what am I to do, Dee? It’s just..” He turned back towards the woman, her eyes still looking in honest amazement at the huge collection of books stacked up high to the ceiling.

“Well..this is more than a ..little problem, Badger.” She looked back at him, teeth biting down onto her lip in thought. Humans sure had a weird way of expressing distress. Why didn’t she just hiss or growl? Furl up that pretty mane of her? - At least she got the eyes right.

With a quick flick of her large pupils she looked at me, then the books again.  

“Alright. I’ll..I’ll see what we can do.” And with that she disappeared back out of the door, back into the mayhem of white light and clicking feet on cold pavement.

--

“Hahaha. Oh, aren’t you a happy little purr-machine?” His large hand stroked comfortably over my back, my legs stretching out a little further to give him extra length to touch and soothe.

“How about I read you something, hmm? Ever seen one of these?” He picked an object from one of the shelves, the thing foreign, but smelling of forests and sweat. I liked that smell.

“It’s a book. A very old, nearly extinct..book.” He shuffled a little in his seat, his hand scratching over my chin as he sensed my shock-surprise at being moved. And then he opened this so-called ‘book’, his deep voice sending warm vibrations through my body, my eyes closing slightly as I let him take me away to another world. A world with a thousand trees. And nymphs. And gods - which I think from his descriptions, are like humans but then ever older.

Every few minutes or so he would turn a page, a new whiff of smells entering my satisfied nostrils. I was warm, safe and quite content, my muscles vibrating along with the man’s words as he relieved the ache deep in my soul. I had never heard or smelled such words as his, but I liked them very much.

--

A loud crack burst open the door, that fierce white light burning my eyes as I quickly skedaddled, getting out of the line of sight of whatever horrific beasts were here to break into my sanctuary. Humans, their smells not to my liking. Too much rubber, plastic and other synthetic whiffs.

“Take him.” One spoke, the others following his curt instructions, the Old Man being mercilessly dragged from the corner where he trembled like a child, his large body not small enough to hide behind the books like I could.

It all happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure whether it had happened at all, the small room quiet and the dust settled before I dared to look again. I waited and waited. The night came and went, but the Old Man didn’t return. My hunger did though. The gnawing, aching emptiness made my bones clatter in their furry furbishments and I tried my best to understand the words the Angry Men had spoken.

“Incinerate elsewhere. Risk of attention. Incinerate elsewhere. Risk of attention.” The words had near eaten me alive when the dark door opened finally, the satisfying scent of two tomcats alerting me it was her. She was not happy though, my heart already aching for her before she could switch on the light, her tears muffled behind a pale hand.

“Oh gods.” She squirmed when the light bulb flickered on, her eyes roaming over a new trail that led over the floor, the smell reminding me of food..though I hadn’t found any, anywhere.

“Oh gods..Badger.” Her eyes started to rain, her lip trembling in pain as she cried out.

That is the moment when I crawled out of my hiding, my careful paws walking towards her until she noticed me, her lips curling up in what I learned was that good emotion. A smile. Though on her it looked a little weird - were there more types of smiles? 

“Minnie.” She whispered, picking me up to cuddle until our short interaction was roughly disturbed by a sound outside. “Shit..Fuck..Okay we need to go.”

And, again, I found myself in the insides of a jacket. This time hers.

--

From the insides of the nice smelling jacket I heard a million voices spinning around us. Some human. Some metallic. Some whispering, some loud. My ears were folded flat against my skull by the time the world quieted again, the two of us landing on a mattress in a mal-furnished room; there were simply too few comfortable places to lay on, the mattress the only surface that was to my liking.

The Young Woman got up, her nose sniffling with the threat of more tears as she conjured up some food and water. Strange food and water. The type that was the standard these days. Tasteless. Shapeless. Soulless food. And disgustingly sterile water. Blergh.

But thankfully this new place brought me something good: the woman was more than eager to hug and cuddle, her body sinking down onto the mattress again so I could crawl up to her, her eye-water sinking into my fur as she held me close.

I wanted to speak to her then, and I did. I talked and talked and talked. But I’m not sure if she understood me. Why was all this water coming from her eyes? Was she the goddess of rain? I leaned in heavier into her warm chest and felt my muscles buzz with eagerness.

And then she found it. My greatest secret. The thing that the new world order was supposed to hate according to the Old Man.

Scratching my chin, I easily surrendered it to her, her fingers removing the small tube from my collar, unscrewing and finding two things: a miniscule piece of paper, reminding me of the smell of home, and some type of metal pill-tube-thing.

Silently she read the words, her lip trembling again with emotion, before they turned into a watery smile - happiness, love, good!

“Oh, I will..I will.” She mumbled.

Curiosity sparked in me and I spoke to her again, begging for her attention: “Please tell me what it reads!” -- And of course she couldn’t understand my words, but the sentiment was clear I think, for she now finally read it aloud:

“Code Minerva. Keeper of Wisdom. 112049 - Erase after uploading. Ps. she loves ear scratches.”

--

It was the day the new world order fell into true chaos.

I liked it very much.  

--

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[lachryphage]

if your “activism” disproportionately hurts the very people you claim to protect, you need to rethink everything you’re doing.

this stuff going on in fandom right now? it sounds EXACTLY like the kind of shit that I’ve heard from “kink critical” ““feminists”” -- and dealing with this flawed logic in regards to kink is the only reason I didn’t fall into anti rhetoric.

they get you with stuff that’s true and easy to agree with, and specifically stuff that will elicit an emotional response. our society sexualizes children; abusive relationships are treated as normal and sometimes even desirable; there are too many rape scenes depicted in main stream media... but they quickly turn this criticism away from the people in power and instead target those who are hurt by these disturbing societal norms. 

I have read with my own eyes that big movie producers that depict heinous acts of sexual violence are the same as women and queer folks that depict similar situations in fan works. it’s the “it’s never ok to think about this even if it’s to cope” argument. 

but how can you not see this as flawed??? a wretched man with fantasies about expanding his power, a man who creates things that millions of people will see, is in no way comparable to a young woman who’s experienced horrific abuse and is trying to understand what’s happened to her, trying to reclaim the power that was forcibly taken from her.

there hasn’t been much research on this -- sexual topics of any kind are notoriously difficult to collect data on because of the taboo and shame surrounding sex in general -- but what research has been conducted reveals that amongst women, rape fantasies are extraordinarily common. 

according to anti logic, women need to stop having these fantasies because it perpetuates rape culture, and they would point to the fact that many women don’t have these fantasies as evidence that thinking about such things has no explanation beyond perversion. this is exactly what kink critical feminists believe. and because they’re originally roped into this rhetoric by things that are easy to agree with and elicit emotional responses, most never question their beliefs.

but the real reason women have these fantasies is because they’re survivors, or the possibility of becoming a survivor is so real that the fear has rooted deep in their psyche. when people criticize women for their taboo fantasies, they are victim blaming.

fandom is disproportionately female and/or queer, and when you attack people who create and consume works that depict abuse, rape, CSA, or any other form of sexual violence, you are very likely attacking survivors.

you don’t have to understand this kind of coping mechanism, you may find this sort of thing viscerally disturbing, but ultimately your refusal to accept that people use disturbing fantasies to cope is a lack of empathy, sympathy, and compassion, and it blinds you to the real roots of the problem.

I don’t give a shit if you think that there’s no way to engage in such content ethically, you can believe that it’s unhealthy all you want, but this stuff will ALWAYS exist if abuse is happening in real life, and that’s where you need to turn your focus: REAL LIFE. 

instead of attacking people who are likely survivors, work to address the root causes. our society enables abuse of all kinds through systematic power imbalances, the structure of the nuclear family, economic inequality, a justice system that favors the powerful, etc. etc. put your money where your mouth is and start fucking working on things that will actually make a difference.

and yet antis believe that bullying survivors to suicide is the way to make the world a better place.

[mandadoration]

know your place

summary: Mando catches you with intentions to turn you in for your bounty, but you’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with someone like him. You’re determined to make the Mandalorian beg. 

word count: 5, 128

pairing: mandalorian x smuggler!reader

warnings: slight dub-con elements (aphrodisiac), non-consenual drug use, smut, handjob, sub!mando, use of bondage, mentions of drugs, praise kink, thigh riding, dirty talking, teeny tiny pain kink, explicit sex 

a/n: I guess I really have a thing for his cuffs? Also, don’t ask me where this fic is in terms of timeline- I have no idea. 

“She’s dangerous,” Greef Karga warns. “You aren’t the first bounty to have gone after her, but I trust you’ll be the last.” He slides a fob and puck over the table. 

“What is it that makes her so dangerous?” Mando asks. He views your puck. You aren’t particularly threatening. Hell, you’re even smiling brightly as the hologram of your face spins around. If he’s being honest, Mando wouldn’t have pegged you for a criminal. A farmgirl, maybe, or some handmaiden to some nobility in the Core Worlds. “She’s just a spice runner, right?”

“All spice variants. And death sticks, snuff, sweetblossom, rissle stick, slick,” Karga adds on. “That’s not even all of it. If you can smuggle it, she’s got it.” His tone is unusually serious. It’s no wonder why; this bounty is definitely one of the higher ones. The price tag on her head was lucrative. It’s enough for a month or two’s worth of rations, and then some. 

“Really? That many?” Mando asks. “Sounds dangerous.” Most smugglers only chose to smuggle one or two things at a time. It was much too risky to try and transport so much across the galaxy. And by the sounds of it, this bounty sounds like she’s practically supplying half the galaxy. Maker knows how many other criminals she knows. “How’d she survive this long?” Karga shrugs. 

“The other hunters refuse to talk,” he explains. “And those are the ones that have come back.” Mando watches your hologram bust rotate, your dazzling smile making you look deceptively innocent. He takes you puck and the tracking fob. 

“I’ll bring her back,” he says. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

--

Of course you knew that at some point, the infamous Mandalorian would be coming after you. Several people from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had tried to cash you in, but you wouldn’t let them. So when you had caught word that he had your puck, you had been on guard immediately. You make far too good of a living to give it up. 

But the Mandalorian?

That’s going to be a challenge. 

You’ve heard about him in your little (well, not little) criminal circles, watching as some of your clients have been picked up by him. You’re always quick to leave at any sign of trouble. You didn’t become a major supplier of drugs by being careless, stars, no. That’s why when you’re supplying high quality spice to some big wig, you’re swathed in layers of servant’s robes as you stealth through the town, scarf over the lower half of your face. 

You make sure that as you go through the city, you keep an eye out for any shiny piece of armor, making sure you bat your eyelashes at vendors and practically sashay through town, keeping a hand under your clothes, where your package was disguised as a pregnant belly. An old trick, but more effective than people would think, especially if you were in a less-fortunate part of town. You’ve even gotten some credits from sympathetic nannies who coo about your faux-baby in the past. You aren’t going to complain. You guess it does look weird when you go to a club to meet your client though. 

The guard at the door recognizes you, of course, and you nod at him as you slip through the back door. “Slythmonger,” he grunts. Just because you knew each other doesn’t mean he thought that you were lowly, especially when he eyes your fake belly. 

The club is filled with barely-clothed aliens and humans alike, all sickly sweet smiles and big eyes. You stick out like a sore thumb even more, but your clothes blend in with the dark. As you walk through the club, sticking close to the walls, you slip deathsticks to familiar customers who slip you credits in return. You get to a closed off room, knock three times, and slide in, squeezing your belly as you do. 

And you stop.

Because your client is staring at you with wide eyes as the Mandalorian sits across from him. If you thought you were out of place, the Mando looks like it even more, shiny beskar stark against the velvet cushions. You immediately slide your expression into one of anger, narrowing your eyes.

“Honey,” you grit out, glaring at your client who gives you a look of confusion. You huff and put a hand on your belly, rubbing it as if you were really with child. “What did you do this time?” You motion to the Mandalorian. At this point, you can hope that your scarf covers your face well enough, and that your client will be smart enough to catch on. 

“What?” he asks stupidly. Apparently not. 

You slowly stick your hand into a side pouch containing magic powder as you advance to your client. 

“You obviously did something, sweetie,” you say, voice low, “if a Mandalorian is here.” You see the Mando tilt his head as he looks at you. You eye him from the side. “Are you with the guild?” you ask him, voice dripping with false fear, protectively covering the package. He gets up, and you tense, but he pulls out a puck and activates it, showing your face. And suddenly you’re glad for the loud, pulsing music because if it had been quiet, the tracking fob you’re sure he holds would be beeping loud and clear.

“I’m looking for her,” Mando says. “She delivers spice to your… husband here,” he says. “Have you seen her?” Either he’s a really good actor, or you’re a better one than him and have him fooled. You gasp and whirl to face your client.

“Spice?” you hiss at him, who honestly looks more scared at you than he did at the Mandalorian. “You’re doing spice?” 

“Um, yes?” he stammers out. You sob dramatically, turning away as you try to scan for more exits. Looks like the door you came in is the only one, unless you can somehow fly up and go through the vents before the bounty hunter can snag you. 

“I cannot believe this!” you cry out. “I’m due in a month! A month! And you’re out here doing drugs.” Your wailing makes Mando wince. “Where’s the money?” you demand. Your client scrambles to dump out the credits onto a nearby table and you scoop them out and count quickly. “So this is where it goes?” you screech. You tuck them away. The most he could do was pay you for the horrific acting you had to do, pretending that he was your husband. “I was reluctant for you to even start up this… this harem!” you say, motioning to the dark room and the door. “But I draw the line here!” You turn to slap your client, but in the middle of your theatrics, your fake belly drops down and out under your skirt, spilling carefully measured bags of spice all over the floor. The room falls silent as you stare, and turn back to look at the Mandalorian. 

“Oh dear,” you say weakly, “the baby.” And you blow a handful of powder into his face, ripping off your servant garb and dumping it over his helmet. Although it wouldn’t as potent with the helmet on, you can disorient him. You burst through the door and sprint out of the club and side door, ignoring a very disgruntled guard as you dash into the streets.

“Get back here!” you hear him shout. Shit, he got out that faster than you thought, but at least the powder worked somewhat. He ran straight into a cart as he left the alley. But you have no time to gloat.

You dart through the annoyed crowd, and you can track where the Mandalorian is from how fast the people part behind you. As you run, you dig in your pockets for anything you can use. You curse when you realize that your only syringe was empty, and you didn’t have a replacement medshot. And you really didn’t want to waste your last vial of love-wallop. That shit was expensive on the market right now. You skid into another alley way, but you go cold as you realize it’s a dead end. You don’t stop running, even as the wall gets closer. At the end, you can see a door on the left. If you got there in time, you did have--

You trip when something tangles around your legs. You yelp as you go down, palms scraping against the dirt. Scrambling back, it tugs on you, and the Mando drags you closer to him. 

“Nice acting,” he says, his voice rough behind the modulator. He’s out of breath and taking deep inhales. “Almost had me.” You scowl, and he throws cuffs at your feet, keeping his blaster trained on you. “Cuff yourself.”

Glaring at him, you untangle your legs from the wire he used and snatch the cuffs up. There’s no way you’re letting yourself get caught without a fight. He’s watching you carefully, but you’re fast, faster than him at least, and you chuck the cuffs at him and blow another handful of powder in his face. As he doubles over in pain and disoriented from another dose, you kick his blaster out of his hand and expertly dump your vial into the syringe, and tackle him, climbing on his back as you grit your teeth and try to find a patch of skin. He tries to buck you off, but you stab your needle into his neck before he can. Mando yells in alarm and does eventually manage to throw you off, but it’s working fast, and soon he’s swaying on his feet. 

“What... what did you--” he slurs, but he tips over before he can finish. You huff as you toss the empty vial and syringe aside. It shatters as it hits the wall and you crouch down next to him. Mando reaches up, but you simply push his hand back down. He’s too weak to fight back. “What’d you put in me?” You purse your lips. 

“Love-Wallop serum,” you answer. “That was expensive, Mando. That’s gonna cost you.” You admire his get-up. If that was really beskar he was wearing, you could afford to hide out for months while you gather more supplies and lie low. “It’s not usually meant to be injected,” you hum, grasping his helmet and tilting it as it glints in the sunlight. “Although, maybe I can change the formula a teensy bit.” You peer at the injection site. It’s a little irritated from the rough jab, but it fades away as a flush creeps up his neck. 

“I thought…” Maker, his mouth is dry, and he feels floaty as the serum works through his system. “I thought you were just a slythmonger.” You chuckle. 

“When you’re in this trade for as long as I have,” you say, leaning in close, “you learn a thing or two.” You watch as he moans and attempts to get up. A simple nudge discourages him as he plops back on the ground with a soft thud.“Now, how am I gonna get you out of here?” you murmur. 

The last thing he sees is your frowning face as you get up to pat the dust off of you. 

--

When Mando finally comes to, his head his aching, and he’s burning up, an ache deep and low in his gut. He’s sees you lounging casually across from him with a watchful eye. Mando jerks and tries to reach for his blaster, but his hands are tied above his head. With his own cuffs, magnetized and stuck to the wall. 

This is what they call irony, he supposes. 

A quick glance tells him that he’s in some kind of hideout, junk and trinkets lining the wall, and a pile of crates pushed up against another. It’s dim, the only source of light being a lamp next to a cot and what little sunlight that’s being mostly blocked by curtains. He shifts, and realizes all his gear has been stripped from him, including his vambraces and armor so that he’s left in his shirt and pants. Not even his boots are on him. He worries for a quick second in this moment of disorientation that his helmet’s been taken off when you speak up. 

“Your helmet is still on, don’t worry,” you say, shifting legs so that one is crossed over the other. You’re not stupid, after all. “What’s your name?” Mando doesn’t speak, but instead scans the room for anything that could help him get out of this situation. There’s a door or some kind of hatch in the far left corner, and another to what he thinks is the refresher, but everything surrounding him is moved far out of his reach in every direction. “Let me ask you again,” you say cooly. You get up, and run your boot up his leg, sending tingles up it and up his spine as he lets out a soft groan. “Tell me your name,” you say, sweetly.

“Din. Din Djarin,” he gasps out before he can stop himself. It’s hot. Much too hot in here even though he sees that you’re wearing a leather jacket to protect yourself from the slight chill. He’s aching, and he wants to dig his hands into your soft flesh. 

Where did that thought come from?

“Well, Din Djarin,” you say, and it should be illegal how sinful his name sounds coming from you. “You’re gonna be my little experiment. How about that?” you murmur. You crouch down next to his and rub your thumb on his upper thigh. He bucks up into the air, and you hum when you notice the bulge in his pants. 

“What did you put in me?” he grits out, straining against his cuffs. You remove your hand and get back up, and Mando has to bite back the whine that threatens to leave him at the loss of contact. You take off your jacket, sling it over a chair, and pick up a vial of shimmering pink liquid. 

“Love-Wallop,” you answer. “It’s usually in a pill form, but my customers complained it took too long to dissolve, so I made it into a serum.” You glance at it and then to him, rolling the vial in your fingers. “Although I am starting to wonder if I can safely make it for injection.”

“You roofied me?” he asks. You make a face. 

“No!” you protest. You huff and roll your eyes. “What it’s supposed to do is make you more… susceptible to suggestion and seduction,” you continue. You place the vial down on a table and squat down next to him, and run a warm hand up his shirt. “Enhance what’s already there,” you continue. “You’re burning up,” you note, and use your other hand to palm him through his pants. He lets out a low moan, grinding up against your hand. 

“Yeah?” he groans, “That’s what happens when-- stars -- you get drugged.” You laugh, and pull your hands away, laughing harder when he struggls against his bonds to follow you.

“I guess you’re right,” you say amusedly. You reach for your jacket. “Shall I leave you here?” you ask coquettishly. “Let you ride out this little drug trip? Mind you, I don’t know how long it lasts or what happens when you don’t deal with... this,” you warn. You dig the heel of your boot on his erection, just barely enough pressure, but enough to tease him, to make your point. But a moan drags itself from his mouth. His head rolls back, and you’re willing to bet your entire stash of alderaanian snuff that his eyes are rolling back as well. You kneel down to unbuckle his pants and slide them over his hips, grinning when he subconsciously lifts his hips to help you. Maker, you wish you could just snatch that helmet off of him, see who it was and stick your fingers in his mouth. You think that he must have the softest lips, judging from how sweet every sound he makes is. 

But you aren’t that cruel. 

You are, however, cruel enough to pull his cock from his underclothes and let it go, watching it as it bounces up and leans against his belly. The trail of hair that leads up his hair only fuels your desire to see if the curtain matches the drapes. You absentmindedly rub the tip of cock with a single finger, smearing precum around as it twitches under your touch. You sigh dramatically and wipe your finger on his stomach before getting up, knees cracking as you turn away. 

“But you’re right!” you say. “You’re drugged, and I shouldn’t help you anyways, Din Djarin.” You voice drops to a whisper. “Even though I would very much love to help you and your little problem.” 

“You can’t- You can’t leave me here,” Mando protests, voice raspy and thick with desire as he eyes your figure. He feels hotter than ever, and sweat is dripping down his neck. You swing your leather jacket back on and turn to face him with hands on your hips. 

“Of course I can,” you say. You lick your lips as you drink in how desperate he looks. If it were anyone else, you would leave them, but this Mandalorian intrigues you. Maybe you can… Just this once… “But I will reconsider,” you propose, “if you ask nicely.” 

“You expect me to beg?”

“I expect you to ask nicely,” you correct, but your face splits into a feral grin. “But begging would be nice.” Mando doesn’t speak. He’s mulling it over, considering the pros and cons of ‘asking you’ to help him. The need is bubbling in his belly, and his cock is painfully hard. And you know it. Even if you can’t feel what he’s going through, he’s telegraphing his thoughts as he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, squirming where he’s sitting on the ground of wherever he is and canting his hips towards you. “What do you say?” you ask, the smile on your face reminiscent of the one on the puck, bright, but with an edge that screams predatory. He wants to, Maker knows how much he feels like he needs you, but his pride--

“No.”

-- gets the better of him. 

As soon as he says it, as soon as he sees your face drop and harden, he regrets it, he wants so desperately to please you, but he bites his tongue and keep quiet, even as his breath comes in pants as he’s thrusting into the air. You tilt your head, frowning. You want to ruin him, make him come apart under your hands; you probably want this as much as he does, but instead you shrug. 

“Okay.” And you sit down back in your seat in front of him, legs spread as you watch him. 

“Aren’t you going to leave?” Mando asks. He burns with shame under your gaze, and his cock twitches again. You shake your head. 

“No,” you say. “I said that you were going to be my little experiment,” you remind him. “I make good on promises, Din Djarin” and give him a sly wink. Mando grits his teeth, and directs his gaze somewhere else, anywhere but your piercing eyes and searching gaze. You hum and lean back. You can wait this out. You’re patient. 

This will be interesting.

--

The sun has set far below the horizon, and Mando’s cock is still hard by the time he finally speaks up. 

“Can you…” He clears his throat. He’s absolutely parched, and swallows, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Can you let me go?” he asks. You look up from where you have been mindlessly scrolling through your data pad. 

“Hm?”

“Can you let me go?” he repeats. You furrow your eyebrows. 

“And why would I do that?” you ask. You put your data pad on the table next to you and get up to stand next to him, looking down. Mando scrambles for an excuse in his rattled brain. He’s pretty sure with the way his temperature is soaring his brain is fried by now. 

“I’m sure you’re busy,” he says, and cringes with how unconvincing it sounds, even to him. “And have other things to do.” He doesn’t think too long on that, though, because you take a seat next to him and he catches a whiff of your scent, and he’s yearning for your touch again. He wants you so bad, or your hand, at this point he’ll take anything. 

“I am doing something,” you say simply, and lean forward so that you’re leaning against your hand. “Watching you.” You trail a finger up his side. “Waiting. Thinking.”

“Waiting for what?” he breathes. 

“Something,” you say with a sigh. 

“Thinking about what?” 

“How much I would love to wrap my hands around your cock,” you say bluntly, and you scratch your nails down his side. “How I would make you beg for it,” you continue, leaning in close so that you’re right by where his ear would be. “How you would beg for me to fuck you, or beg for my mouth or anything to let you cum.” You slide your hands up his shirt again, palms smooth across his scarred torso, and you tweak a nipple before pulling them back out again, and give his cock one, two, three pumps before you let him go. The lust makes his head cloudy, and at this point, he would let you do anything to him. You lean away from him. 

You tease, he thinks. And he can’t take it anymore. His resolve breaks. 

“Please,” he whines, and you freeze. 

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he mutters, but your grin is hungry as you lean back in. 

“Say it again,” you command, and once again, he feels the inexplicable need to tell you everything as you scent fills his nose again. 

“Please.” 

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Oh Din Djarin,” you whisper, and the effect your voice has is devastating, “all you had to do was ask.”

Mando nearly cums right then and there when your unyielding grip wraps around his cock, stroking him in long, tight motions as you swing your leg over him to get a better angle. The pleasure is overwhelming. You reach over him, somewhere he can’t see, and you pull out a vibroblade and point it at the base of his throat. His pulse quickens, thinking that you’re about to slit his throat, but instead you catch the top of his shirt and slice it off. You throw the blade over your shoulder and you run your free hand all over his tanned skin. He growls when you twist your hand, and he bucks up. 

“You’re doing so good,” you moan, grinding against his muscled thigh as it flexes. “So good, Din Djarin,” and it’s true. Although you can’t see his face, you see how his chest is flushed and warm, the blush crawling up his neck, and the way he moans is beautiful. “I wish I could keep you,” you mutter, and hiss when you rub your clit just right against him. “Stars, you’d let me do anything to you, hm?” You kiss his chest and start peppering little nips and bites up his neck, sucking a particularly dark mark right on his pulse point. “Answer me.” You cup his balls and stare at him. 

“Yes,” Mando gasps. He’s nearly sobbing from the pleasure, the relief of finally having his cock touched overwhelmingly good, and preening under your murmured praises. “A-anything, fuck, just don’t-don’t stop please--!” His words are choked out as he suddenly cums all over your hand, thick, white ropes coating it and splashing onto your jacket. You don’t stop stroking him, grinding against him as he cums, and the sound he makes is pitiful. It’s only when you cum, white-hot pleasure making your ears ring as you finally stop moving against his thigh, and you’re both heaving in breaths. You pull away, and wipe your cum covered hands in the scraps of his ruined shirt, and you get up to leave, but then you stop when your eyes trail down. 

“Are you still hard?” you ask him incredulously. He came so much, but yes, there it is, his cock is still hard and nearly purple at the tip. As if you didn’t do anything at all. The little noise he makes only further confirms it. You gnaw at your bottom lip, staring at his marked chest and neck, and you think that you have another one in you. 

Definitely. 

And so now you’re shucking off your jacket and unbuckling your belt, slick with desire. Mando is watching you, following your movements and watching as your deft hands push down your pants and kicking off your boots. As you sink down, taking his cock in one fluid motion, and the scientist in you vaguely wonders if the dose of love-wallop you gave him could be transferred via bodily fluids. 

That thought is kicked out of your brain as he snaps his hips up and hits that spot inside of you, going deep and so wonderful and it feels like he’s punched the breath out of you. You gasp out a breathy moan. 

“Holy shit,” Mando hisses. He manages to get his feet under him, giving him better leverage to thrust into your pussy, watching as you bounce on top of him. 

“Yes, yes,” you moan. You hold onto his shoulder, all hard muscle and tensed with how he’s pulling at his cuffs to make sure he doesn’t slip. Mando wishes that he could wind his hand through your hair and pull your head back, to bare your neck and mark you, but his hands are still above his head, and he’s sure he’s rubbed his wrists raw. Your toes curl as he fucks you, eyes glazing over as you spy your reflection in his helmet, and your eyes widen when you see how debauched you look. “Din Djarin, I am never letting you leave,” you groan, rubbing your clit. “Stars, your- your cock,” you yelp at a particularly hard thrust, “fuck!” With your free hand, the one not preoccupied with playing with your clit, you dig your nails into his shoulder for leverage, and dig harder still when he moans in response. 

“Do you- Do you do this to all the hunters?” he manages to gasp out, and you shake your head. “Do you let them, let them do this to you? Fuck you?”

“Just you,” you say. “Only you.”

The squelching that fills the otherwise silent room is absolutely disgusting, his hips slapping up against yours, your shirt still covered in his cum. You’re beautiful like this, he thinks, or at least tries to, but all he can do is try and commit the image of you, flushed and hair messy, as you bounce up and down to meet his thrusts halfway, rolling your hips now and then, his mind too jumbled to form worthwhile thoughts. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. “Soon, shit, if you keep doing that I’m--” 

“Cum,” you breath out, face twisted up in pleasure. There’s coil deep in your core that’s been winding up, and you know you’re close to making it snap. “Cum in me.” And he’s consumed with the desire to listen and hang on to your every word, and he cums. That does it for you too, the feeling of him filling you up, and you grind against him as you nearly wail with pleasure as you orgasm, rubbing your clit in fast, small circles, pleasure rolling through you in waves. 

When you finally come down, Mando is gasping for breath as he slumps back down, and you pry your iron grip from him and get up, his soft cock slipping out of you, but you think you see it twitch again as cum drips out of you. As you pad to the refresher, Mando is overcome with sleepiness and exhaustion. He’s been wound up for hours, he sure, that when he finally got his release, his energy is spent. Mando nearly dozes off when you come back with a warm, wet rag, and wipe your cum and his from his body. You wipe the sweat around his neck, running it gently over the crescent-shaped marks from where you had dug your nails in, and he’s taken aback from how tender and gentle you are with him. There’s a soft look to your face as you’re focused on cleaning him up to the best of your abilities, and he thinks that you’re not even aware he’s looking at you. When you pull away, he yearns for your touch, but in a different way this time, and you give him a small smile. 

“Sleep,” you command him, and he tries to commit this image in his mind, not the one before, of you in the warm light of the lamp in the corner, glowing with the drips of moonlight filtering in, and once again he listens to what you say, and closes his eyes. 

--

Mando wakes up with a start, neck sore, and he scrambles up when he realizes he’s no longer cuffed, and remembers the events of the night before, dropping the blanket that had been placed over him.

The hot desire that had consumed him is gone now, and instead his legs and arms are aching, wrists raw and irritated like he knew it would be, and he looks around for you.

But any trace that you were there before are gone. 

The crates of drugs, your leather jacket and pants, hell, even the furniture and lamp that was in the corner are gone. All that’s left is his armor and a replacement shirt next to him. When he bends down to pick up the shirt, a little jar tumbles out. He reads the label. 

Salve, it reads, in what he presumes is your handwriting. For Din Djarin. Compensation for partaking in my experiment. He cracks a grin and puts it back on the floor, pulling the shirt over his head and starts the process of buckling his armor on again, trying to ignore how disappointment rises in him when the tracking fob linked to your chain code doesn’t even let out a single blip. Before he puts on his gloves and vambrace, he smears the salve over his wrists, and watches as the irritation almost immediately disappears. It works better than most commercial brands, he notes, and much better than the one in his medpack, so he tucks it away for future use, then freezes as he pats his pockets. He curses when he realizes. 

You had taken all his credits.

[antis-delete-your-blogs-pls-thx]

Hi! Sorry to be bothering you, but I just want answers. So, I’m an anti, however recently I have begun to question anti ideology (especially considering how disgusting anti’s can be to pro-shippers), so I was wondering if you would be willing to explain why dark fiction is okay to consume? It’s alright if you don’t want to ^^

I'm always willing to explain! I'll try not to make this so long that you'll want to throw your device out the window, but chances are that's what's going to happen.

First off, thinking dark fiction is gross is okay and not what I'm against. I really don't like bloodplay, for example, and if someone asked me what I thought of that kink I'd say "bleh gross nty". It's the making judgements on people for not also finding it gross that I have an issue with. So if you "switched sides", so to speak, anyone who would expect you to magically like problematic shit is misunderstanding the point.

Anyway. To the real stuff! Psychology is a relatively new field, I admit, so there haven't been hundreds of years of official studies run on the effects of dark fiction on the human brain. But so far they show a correlation in increased aggressive behaviour in some people. So, definitely some people will not do well with it. However, this discounts some important other factors. Let's get into those:

Aggressive behaviour ≠ violent behaviour in psychological terms. There isn't any proof that aggressive behaviour transfers over to violent behaviour automatically, and in most cases we can safely assume it doesn't, because other things correlated with increased aggression (sleep deprivation, high temperatures, etc) happen often without violence. This makes a very small sliver of the population vulnerable to this risk factor. Good news! Risk factors can be mitigated with protective factors. This includes education, especially programs (called primary prevention programs) designed to promote communication, problem solving, and anger management. The basics of education are really up to parents and school faculty, not fanfiction authors. But tagging and trigger warnings are a good way to bridge that gap as much as we can, as labeling behaviour specifically with a "this is abuse" sticker in bold letters teaches people to recognise what abusive behaviour looks like. You can frame it romantically, but if you read the warning labels, which you always should, you can see through the romantic framing and into the true nature of the actions. For example, a Bakudeku fic labeled "unhealthy relationship", "abusive behaviour", "Bakugou has issues to work through", etc, acknowledges the nature of Bakugou's bullying. If there's fluff, it's still in a sense overwritten by the warning labels. And real life abusive relationships can have fluffy moments, too. Mine did. That's part of what makes them insidious, because you get used to the black and white "if they do bad things they can't also be shown to do good things, so if my abuser does good things, is that really a bad relationship?" kind of mentality that's common here. It is a bad relationship. Fluff doesn't discount abuse.

Next of course is that violent people can be attracted to violent media. So when antis draw causation from the correlation of aggression and media violence, they're not viewing the whole picture, which is vital in all statistical analyses.

Okay, you say. Right. But if we encourage problematic stuff, that means all fanfic will be problematic stuff, and that will normalise these awful things. Well, no. Not really. Underage tagged works (a tag that also includes teenager/teenager relationships) on AO3 are something like 1 percent of all works. That implies it's not going to be written about too often, and also shows that it doesn't have a great reach. The most popular fic of all time has, what, 600k hits? 600k people is a lot of people, but it's still not enough to normalise something as horrific as child abuse or rape. That's a societal moral. Changing something like that is a top-down process that requires A LOT of reach. And frankly, for the average person with the average moral compass, normalising that would be very, very difficult. People can definitely experience deindividuation and a sudden disregard for morals, but it doesn't usually come from the media they consume. It's usually a sense of freedom from reprimand and encouragement by a higher authority. And take again that it's only 1 percent of the fics on AO3, and therefore has halved traffic. It's not a significant threat.

Okay, but why would you want to write it in the first place? If it could be used to hurt someone else why even bother? A lot of things can be used to hurt someone else. It's about proportions. How much hurt vs how much good. Most predators are going to be using some other tool instead, so banning those fics and art that's disgusting doesn't make a significant dent in predation, and also limits the good effects that can happen (which include freedom from censorship, which is hugely important in maintaining a democracy). Another good effect is cope shipping and catharsis. Sure, this isn't always going to work. Hell, a lot of therepuetic techniques themselves don't work on everyone. But it's a legitimate method that, using the principles of exposure therapy, doesn't automatically mean retraumatisation. Whether the technique is helpful to a particular survivor should be up to them and their therapist. A random stranger on the internet doesn't know them well enough to make that kind of judgement.

And finally, even the most repulsive of fictional content doesn't depict things that have directly happened IRL. You can make fictional characters suffer and nobody IRL suffers instead. This is good for exploring things that can't be explored IRL. It can help curb impulses. When antis compare the suffering of fictional characters to real people, they're implying real people and fictional characters have equal rights. Real people always matter more than fictional ones. Fictional characters aren't people in the first place. No real person suffers as a direct result of dark fiction being written. Implying that the suffering they cause is equal trivialises the true gravity of real abuse. Real abuse always harms someone as a direct result. Always.

Anyway. Those are the most common discourse points. Hope that helped. Sorry it was long.

[livlepretre]

God I wanna pick at your brain so much. Its made me cry so many times that I don't even mind anymore. Okay, so, which is the strongest character you've come across in books/movies/shows? And what was the moment that you fell in love with Elena as a character? Also, which incident made you disappointed in her within the first 4 seasons, if any? Please humor me. You've made me discover my hidden interviewer... ❤

Pick away! And 💙💙💙your tears are watering the fic, thank you, it needs them to grow 

Hmmmm I think I’d have to go with Rand al’Thor from the Wheel of Time book series for the first question (soon to be a tv show if covid ever allows them to finish filming season 1!). Rand’s role in the book series is very much so the “chosen one” storyline, which is terribly fun to read but completely horrific and soul-scouring for him to experience, but what really gets me about his character is the emotional depths that the writer plumbs with him. I tend to gravitate toward stories about depression-- not surprising, I’ve had some serious bouts with it myself over the past 15 years-- and there’s just something about the intimacy of Rand’s emotional portrait as he spirals and burns-- his depression, his trauma and ptsd, the friendships that wither and the ones that turn out to be so profound and deep that they will not abandon him, even at the bitter end, the terrible anxiety and stress and anger and all of those things Rand feels that boil along... really truly awful things happen to Rand, and Rand does really truly awful things himself, but I suppose that what I love the very most, and the reason I’m so often misty-eyed whenever I read about Rand in the later books in the series is that there’s this thread of hope-- sometimes so thin it can be totally overlooked-- that runs through the whole thing. Hope that he will prevail, that he will make it over the finish line. Hope that he can figure out how to be a good man (again?). Hope that he will forgive himself. Rand really embodies the mantra that I told myself so often in my darkest times: when you can’t hold on, hold on-- and I can’t recommend going on that journey with him enough. (also in other news he’s a hero that hits all of my villain kinks so I am    L I V I N G for that)

Had to think about this for a bit with Elena-- because the thing is, there were definitely moments where I liked her a lot in season 1-- honestly I usually can’t be compelled to watch a show or read a book unless the main character is my favorite/I at least like them a lot, since, you know, we have to spend most of our time with them-- I really liked her when she slapped Damon during the Halloween party, I really liked her when she drank at the bar with Bree, I really liked her during the whole “steal the grimoire!” and 50′s dance arc. Like I mentioned above, I tend to be really sympathetic to characters who are depressed, and characters who are grieving, so it’s possible I was really predisposed to empathize with her. I think the moment I LOVED her though was in Let The Right One In, when Damon told her to wait in the car and then Elena completely disobeyed him and snuck into the house and saved Stefan herself. That was the first hint that Elena was willing to take HUGE risks, and that she had this uncanny bravery that bordered on suicidal and also it was a stunning display of her loyalty and her love. So, that entire thing just S E N T me. 

The disappointed question is really hard, because so long as the writing is good, I tend to really enjoy it when characters do bad or uncomfortable things-- things which in real life of course would have me on the war path, but which I tend to revel in when I’m watching. For example, if I were to try to judge Elena not as a tv show character but as a person, then definitely the whole thing with Damon would be a disappointment-- she should have wanted nothing to do with him after the way he used Caroline in season 1, and of course, the fact that he’s unstable to the nth degree-- but it’s a vampire tv show and so I have always understood the Damon/Elena thing as embodying the storyline of being seduced into darkness/metaphorical death, and yes, it’s terrible terrible terrible, but Elena is pretty much defenseless against it as a young orphan girl with no parents to guide her or offer her support, and no friends truly capable of it because they are also still kids (and because honestly a 26 year old aunt unused to laying down the law is not a sufficient substitute no matter how hard she tries). There’s a narrative reason why Elena is an orphan and it’s to make her vulnerable to Damon (and to Stefan, whom I think is pretty much as bad, he just pretends he isn’t for his own piece of mind). So, even when she falls in love with Damon, I’m not disappointed-- it’s the storyline I was watching and expecting because it’s a vampire tv show and that is what I signed up for. (I would say I was disappointed in the tv show for failing to make it as disturbing as it should have been though) 

So I think my only real source of disappointment in Elena is in season 4 onwards when basically she drops Stefan off of her romantic radar as soon as she decides they’re breaking up. This was my biggest problem with TVD in general, and where whatever was holding the increasingly fragile storytelling together really started to fall apart. For years I had chomped at the bit for Delena, but I didn’t want just “Damon and Elena get together and that’s that!” I wanted a reversal of the Stefan/Elena/Damon love triangle wherein Damon and Elena would be together but that tension and longing and understanding with Stefan would still exist and make Delena maybe untenable the way that Stelena had been. The show was really built on the complication of not just having a love triangle with both brothers in love with the unfortunately polyamorous girl, but with the brothers having their own relationship to deal with. The problem with knocking the Stefan/Elena leg off of the triangle is that it just made the Damon/Stefan leg shakier and it made the Damon/Elena leg much more boring than it needed to be. 

I guess I do have disappointment in the writing for Elena from the time she is turned into a vampire onward. When she was human, the writers made a huge effort to think of ways to make her a power broker in the group-- she was always negotiating, tricking, daggering, pulling dangerous stunts like slitting her own throat or stabbing herself or falling backwards off of those bleachers in order to trick her adversaries and win. The best thing about Elena was that she had this cunning mind and a ruthless streak that was shockingly cruel and balanced so well against her loving and kind nature. When she became a vampire, they just started having her use super speed and super strength to solve all of her problems instead of having her outwit her opponents and that was dull as dishwater. 

Also I’ve mentioned this before but I am dreadfully disappointed in her grasp of history (but that could be the school system’s fault, they jump all over the place in history class without any rhyme or reason as far as I can tell). I die a little bit inside whenever I have to hear her describe 1492!Katerina as “the sweet peasant girl.” Like, I’m sorry, Elena, how does a sweet peasant girl in 1492 find the resources and connections to travel all the way to England to cover up her scandalous pregnancy? It seems more likely that Katherine’s father was a land owner of some wealth or connection, and it frankly just embarrasses me so much to think of Elijah hearing her say this. (like, this isn’t having a problem with the idea of Katherine as a peasant, it’s just that she so obviously wasn’t that it just comes across as so painfully absurd and ignorant and also weirdly belittling of the peasants, like, oh, this sweet peasant girl, so innocent! so naive to the ways of the world! give! me! a! break!)