#as always i picture them as humans but nothing in this is explicit. so.

[cat-vase]

man!!!! i see ur posts and go hm... makes me wanna think about oscar and julien more ... i dont think abt them ENOUGH and everytime i see ur posts im like well ok i shouold amend this

SO TRUE!!!!! Glad you like them too!!! :D Here's some stuff from September <3 <3 The tense might change a lot, I reread it to try and fix it but it still might be kinda wonky.

—

It's day fourteen of Julien living with Oscar at the shelter and, quite frankly, it could be going worse. 

Julien's latched onto a quarter-used notebook Oscar found him, and most days he'll be found sitting outside on the curb with it. He'd sit there for days if Oscar didn't physically drag him inside to eat and sleep. Julien mumbled something about being used to being hungry once, and immediately was grateful he couldn't be understood. 

That was the only time he was grateful for it. 

He had torn the beginning of the journal out, looping his name in big cursive letters for the new beginning. He doubted anyone would take it; it wasn't like they'd be able to get anything out of it. But he kept it close and wrote his name, his full name, all over it just in case he forgot someday. He wrote everything he could remember down: where he used to live, what he used to do, where he was now, and what that fucking room looked like. He wrote about it in excruciating, painfully long detail, so he'd never have to think about it ever again. If you looked five centimeters to the left it was blue. If you looked ten it was purple. The glow pulsed every two minutes and thirteen seconds. It was burned into his vision and he had to close his eyes a lot. It made him dizzy now that there were other things to see. 

"Hey, Julie," Oscar says from behind him. Julien jumps and tears his eyes away from the couple he was watching across the street. He thought the building might be a dentist's office. 

"Bonjour," he mumbles. Oscar liked to know he wasn't spacing out. "Hi," he tried again. It didn't sound right. 

"Come on," he said, and Julien knew he had to stop for the day.

"Allons-y," he said before standing up so Oscar knew. He had written it down ages ago. Teaching yourself a language while just becoming a person again was hard and he was sure he wasn't doing it right.

Julien balanced his notebook against his leg, flipped to the first page, and scribbled his name down again in fast, scrunched-together letters. It made him feel better. Oscar peeked from behind him while he did it, and it made Julien realize something. If he could manage to remember how to say it, that was. 

"Oscar?" he says to get the other man's attention. It works. "Comment tu t'appelles?" 

Oscar looks at him in confusion, like normal, and Julien tries to find the beginning word in his head. Why? No. Who? Kinda. 

"What, uh..." He hopes it's the right one. He doesn't want to hold them up too long. "What is your name?" 

Oscar looks at him in confusion again. Dammit. 

"It's Oscar? Are you okay?" 

Julien groans at himself and runs a hand down his face. He was blanking on the important word. 

"Name, your- The-" 

What was nom de famille in English? 

He pointed at himself. 

"Julien Beaumont." 

Pointed at Oscar. 

"Oscarrr..." 

He drags out the end of the sound and opens his hand in a "continue" gesture. 

"Oh!" Oscar says, and Julien mentally cheers. 

"Mayworth. Not as cool as yours, I know." 

He has no fucking clue what Oscar said at the end, but that wasn't an issue. 

"Mayworth," he parroted, and he pronounced the "r" way too hard and dropped the "-th" at the end. Oscar found it endearing. 

Julien opened his notebook to a page he had memorized, and scribbled Oscar's last name near the top, next to his first. Oscar had never wished to know French more than right now. 

"D'accord," he mumbled to himself, before closing the journal, and looking up at Oscar. "Merci," he spoke clearer. 

"Yeah, yeah. Figures you should know." 

Julien, again, had no idea what he said at the end. Whatever. Problems for later. His voice sounded relaxed enough. They needed to go eat. Oscar Mayworth. It... suited him.

[blindmagdalena]

The Dark of Sleep

18+ 3k homelander x reader. no pronouns, no y/n. established relationship, angst, referenced child abuse, referenced sleep deprivation, insomnia, lactation/nursing (no pregnancy referenced), somnophilia, sleepy comfort sex, cream pie, cock warming.

Homelander wakes from a nightmare and seeks comfort in your ever welcoming arms, not minding that you haven't quite woken yet.

Settling has never been an option for Homelander. He has always needed someone who is fierce and will love him until death, who will be on his side no matter the shadow that befalls it. Someone who will destroy and be destroyed by him. He has always needed you.

Homelander doesn't sleep well.

Vought was always testing the boundaries of how human he really was. There came a time when he was a boy they began to reduce his sleep by an hour every few nights.

Each day they would repeat the same grueling tests to see at what point the lack began to affect not only his cognitive abilities, but his powers.

Given the sheer amount of Compound V in his system, there were some who wondered if he really needed to sleep at all.

It would have been miraculous if he didn’t. It would be one more aspect of his perfect design that they could pat themselves on the back for. 

Unfortunately for both him and them, it was not so.

When they realized the deprivation did affect him, they wanted to understand how badly. They continued the deprivation until they had reduced his sleep to nothing at all, keeping him awake by any means necessary. He begged for sleep. 

It’s a marathon, John, Vogelbaum told him. Eleven days. That’s the record for a human. You can beat that, can’t’cha, tiger?

Tiger. It always made him feel stronger when Jonah called him that.

Ultimately it was less about his perseverance and more about his endurance. He didn’t have much choice in the matter of whether or not he would fall asleep.

Every time he started to doze off, an alarm would blare in his room, startling him back awake. I’m sorry, he would sob, riddled with guilt for the perceived failure.

There was never any answer.

His memories of that particular stretch of time are few and far between. He knows that on the fifth day, he started hallucinating. Only then did they finally allow him to sleep, realizing that–in his delirium–he could potentially destroy the facility if they didn’t.

Ever since those experiments, he’s had difficulty falling asleep. Guilt worms its way into his stomach each night, a cold dread that builds the closer he gets to a doze.

He never entirely got over the feeling of disappointment that came with the revelation he was indeed afflicted with this little aspect of humanity.

The scientists had seemed so excited by the prospect that he wouldn’t be.

He often wishes he wasn’t. The guilt is nothing compared to the nightmares that precede it.

Things began to change when you entered the picture.

Unlike him, you love to sleep.

He’d begun to think you might suffer from low grade narcolepsy with how easily you fall into it. Any time you’re being driven in a warm car, snuggled against his side watching television, or you’ve simply been stationary too long, you start to doze off with an ease that he’s never known.

It’s just really easy to sleep when I feel safe, you told him when he called you on it. I feel safe with you.

He had no choice but to kiss you senseless for that.

The time he spends with you changes his perception of sleep. Instead of viewing it as little more than a necessary evil to maintain the condition of his body and mind, he thinks of feeling your body against his.

He thinks of your breaths, deep at first and then growing shallow as you begin to dream.

He thinks of the way he holds you and–even more wonderful–the way you hold him, inviting him into your arms again and again for the explicit purpose of sleep.

No lingering threat of alarms or disappointed looks through a pane of glass. Just you. Just this.

I feel safe with you.

The nightmares lessened. Nowadays he generally sleeps however long you do, but old habits die hard. 

Homelander startles awake, heart racing, the after-images of his nightmare still flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinks.

It takes a moment to register his reality: cuddled up snug against your back, wide awake too early in the morning, the sun only just starting to rise. He exhales roughly, nuzzling at the back of your neck, then your bare shoulder.

The weight of you in his arms is a constant warm comfort, the smell of you intoxicating. He's not even sure he could sleep at all without you anymore. 

Even the way you snore endears him.

He holds you close while the nightmare fades into the back of his mind, his pulse gradually slowing, soothed by the steady beat of yours.

Given the chance, he can't help but explore you. He runs his hand along your naked side, trailing the slopes of your body from your ribs to your outer thigh, then back up. He knows the shape of you as well as he knows the New York skyline.

At times he feels like every curve of you was made just for him. Under the sensitive pads of his fingers he can feel little goosebumps prickling along your skin where he touches you, featherlight and ticklish.

You make a soft sound in your sleep, giving him pause. The corner of his mouth quirks slightly.

Mmm...

He kisses the junction between your neck and your shoulder, ghosting his hand back down your body. On the slide back up, he cups your breast. Supple and full, with every drop of it dedicated to him.

That you do this for him is still a wonder. That you would allow him this forbidden thing without judgment or agenda. It leaves him awestruck: one more trauma that you’ve spun into golden comfort.

He thumbs gently at your nipple, coaxing it until wetness seeps onto his thumb. His cock gives an answering throb at the feel of it, of your body responding to him involuntarily in your sleep. 

"Babe," he whispers against your skin. No response. He licks his lips, his own heart rate picking up with excitement. He kneads your breast slowly, his mouth bone dry, achingly thirsty for the answering rivulets of milk that drip onto his hand.

Still you don’t wake. He gingerly lifts away from you, helping you to roll back into the dip in the bed his hand pressed into it creates, your torso turned towards him.

You’re deep asleep, your head lolled to one side. 

Leaning in, he meets your pearl-soft skin with a kiss just at the swell of your breast, peppering more further down. Your scent fills his nose, sharpest in the line between your breasts. He runs his mouth slowly over them, between them. You smell of maple and summer rain. Heady, sweet, wistful.

“Babe,” he says once more, voice too soft to actually rouse you.

Just enough that he’d be able to say he tried to wake you. That you’re not even conscious adds to the taboo nature of what he’s about to do, thrilling something deep inside him.

Despite your encouragement, getting what he’s always wanted has never stopped feeling like thievery. Like something he was never meant to have.

His stomach flips while his cock throbs as he takes your nipple into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut. He rumbles a quiet moan for the taste of you filling his mouth, tongue pressing against the firm bud.

You taste sweeter than you smell, your skin even softer against his tongue. He sucks slowly and gently, flooding his mouth nearly to the point of spill before he swallows, greedy for the taste of you.

You sigh a sweet little noise and his heart jumps again, lids flickering open to glance up at you.

Still asleep.

He rolls your nipple with his tongue, presses it into his top teeth just enough that more nectarine warmth spills into his mouth and you shiver against him.

Fuck, he thinks, nearly moans the thought aloud into your skin. Arousal mingles with the cream-sweet smell of you and it sends a pang of heat through him so intense that his body curls against yours, his hardening cock pressing into the curve of your ass. 

He moves his hand a touch more firmly down your body, over your stomach, further until his fingertips brush your clit. He begins rubbing slow, gentle circles while he continues to suck.

You moan so very sweetly, a breathy sound pulled from deep in your chest even as you sleep.

Resisting the urge to bite, he holds you to him, grinding against your ass.

He's achingly hard now and more than a little desperate for your active participation. He lifts from your breast with a wet pop, panting softly.

"Babe," he murmurs, louder now, more urgent. "Honey... Wake up," he says, breath tickling the shell of your ear. He rubs more firmly between your thighs, coaxing you in more ways than one.

With a sharp inhale you finally wake, disoriented with sleep.

"Mmm, wha—Nnnngh..." you moan, reflexively grabbing him by the wrist.

He always runs warmer than you, but even so he can feel how hot your skin is against his. You come out of sleep with feverish need already in full gear, your cunt velvet soft against his fingers.

He exhales a heated sigh along your neck. He uses the arm crooked under you to catch hold of your jaw and turn your head to face him, kissing you fervently.

"Need you," he murmurs between kisses. "Couldn't help myself," he says by way of half-hearted apology, the words tumbling out in an urgent stream of desire. “M’so hungry.”

He craves more than milk, more than a fuck, more than pleasure and flesh. He knows there is an emptiness inside him–knows even the people who put it there–and that so few things in this world have ever scratched the surface of what it would mean to fill that pit.

Your love has come the closest.

Settling has never been an option for him. He has always needed someone who is fierce and will love him until death, who will be on his side no matter the shadow that befalls it. Someone who will destroy and be destroyed by him. He has always needed you.

Still half asleep, you reach between your legs, beyond his hand, and grasp blindly at his cock, surprising a breathless little moan out of him. Parting your thighs, you guide his cock between them and then tighten them back together.

"Don't stop," you tell him, voice frayed with sleep and arousal in equal parts.

He eagerly puts his hand back to work massaging circles over your clit, stopping only briefly to bring his fingers up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth, savoring the heady flavor of you while thoroughly wetting them before he puts them right back where they belong.

He thrusts against you, fucking the plush, warm space between your thighs, your cunt wet and perfectly soft along the top of his cock.

Hooking your arm over the back of his neck, you slide your fingers into his hair and grip it gently, bringing his mouth to yours. He licks your own taste into your mouth, groaning his pleasure, his fervence. You clench your thighs until he breaks from your lips with a gasp.

“Inside,” you urge him, licking your lips. He stares at the shine of them, transfixed by how kiss-swollen and delicious they look. “I want you inside me.”

He nods deliriously, pausing his stroking of you in order to align himself, letting out a shaky breath for the wet heat of your cunt against the head of his cock.

The novelty of this never dies; how fucking good it feels when your pussy opens to him, the silky pull of your quivering walls stealing the breath from his lungs.

The hungry flutter of noise that scrapes up your throat as he bottoms out nearly makes him come then and there.

He screws his eyes shut, filling both palms with the weight of your breasts, kneading with tight restraint, spurred by the quickening breaths that bloom from your parted lips.

Your eyes meet his, bleary and wild.

“I love you,” you say breathlessly. “Mm, you feel so good. Harder, wanna feel your strength,” you moan, breath hitching when he obeys you, when he lets go just a fraction more of his power and his skin slaps against yours with force enough to make you gasp.

Your words wrap tight around his heart like a fist. He swallows the lump in his throat and kisses you once, twice, thrice, each one more desperate than the last.

He holds your stare, lips parted, brows furrowed. He’s never fucked someone who holds his gaze the way you do. It’s as if you don’t want to miss a single moment of the pleasure you give him.

It drives him insane.

He wants nothing more than for you to never take your eyes off of him, to shower him always in your love. Your attention would be wasted anywhere else.

You were made for him.

“I love you, too,” he says, voice strained, hips rolling in sharp, deep thrusts that really make you start to sing for him. "Ffffuck, fuck," he moans, thrusts turning jagged the closer he climbs to his release. He slides one hand down your side, hikes your leg up so that he can fuck you deeper. 

He's determined to bring you to the edge with him, adjusting until he finds the angle that makes you cry out and yank his hair.

"Homelander," you gasp, your skin pricking with goosebumps, pussy locking up around him the closer you get.

You're fully awake now, shaken from the haze of sleep, but helpless to do anything but hold on against the onslaught of his thrusts. You squeeze his hair with one hand and grab his wrist with the other.

"Oh, god. That feels so f-fucking good, gonna make me, make me—"

He doesn't get to hear the rest of it, but he feels it.

He feels your whole body tense in exquisite agony; your hold on his hair tightening, your nails biting ineffective crescents into the invulnerable skin of his wrist, but it’s the soaked convulsing of your cunt quivering tight all around him that hurls him over the precipice of his own release.

His brows knit tightly together, eyes screwing shut right before that last tether of control snaps and he drives his hips up. He comes hard on that deep thrust, spilling load after load into you, your pussy greedily milking his cock with the aftershocks of your own climax.

He forgets to breathe for a solid minute, the orgasm shaking him to his core. He sucks in a shaky breath when the tremors settle, exhaling roughly as he gently rocks his hips into the wet mess he's made of your cunt, burying his face into your chest, nuzzling at the same breast he’d had his lips on.

The two of you spend a few moments just breathing, gradually floating down from the high of it, peaceful silence falling over you both. He nuzzles you, smiling dreamily in the aftermath of his pleasure. He kisses your breast as you stroke your fingers through his hair. 

When you cup the back of his head, subtly pulling him to your chest, he takes the hint and sucks your nipple back into his mouth, exhaling a deep breath from his nose.

He falls into a near trance like this, his eyes heavily lidded and glazed over. Your fingers card through his hair, your body a warm sanctuary that he keeps himself buried deep within, your limbs slotted perfectly against one another.

Each stroke along his scalp sends pleasant tingles down his spine. You bring him a peace that he once could have only imagined for himself.

He feels your love in every tender touch, hears it in the steady thrum of your heart. He's thoroughly addicted to you, intoxicated by the effortlessness with which you soothe him, with which you love him.

“God, that was amazing,” you murmur. The praise is so tender, so earnest that it helps him come down slowly from his high, turning his freefall into a gradual descent. “You're amazing."

Once satiated–at least for now–Homelander pulls from your breast with a soft pop, placing a kiss upon it before adjusting properly behind you, allowing you back onto your side. He nuzzles at your neck, kissing the shell of your ear. He moves to pull out, but you stop him.

“Stay,” you tell him, voice wrung out and as sweet as a vanilla milkshake. You stroke his thigh, nails scraping exquisitely along his skin. He loves the way you feel against him after he fucks you; warm and thoroughly claimed. “Feels good.”

Smiling–amazed by all that you are–he eases himself flush to you once more, wrapping both arms around your middle and squeezing as tight as he dares, wringing a cute little hum from you.

You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing his hand in turn.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs at your ear, brushing his lips over the shell of it. He’s been in relationships before–he’s loved before–but it’s never felt like this. It never felt like something eagerly shared with him until it was coming from you.

Now that he has it, he’d sooner burn the whole world down than ever be without it again.

You give a ticklish little shiver against him. “Go’sleep,” you tell him, snuggling into your pillow. “‘Fore I get grumpy.”

He laughs, settling his head down on the pillow behind yours. “Is that a threat?”

“Mmhm,” you say, and before he can respond, you–in all your delicious cruelty–clench down on his spent cock hard enough to make him groan.

He buries his face into the back of your neck, exhaling a rough little breath. It won’t be long before the wet heat of you riles him right back up and he’s ready to go again.

“Gonna make me hard again,” he warns, licking his lips. He’d much rather go for round two than go back to sleep.

“Gimme another hour,” you say, the words beginning to slur as you fade back into it yourself, a smile audible in your voice. “Then you can make that my problem.” He grins, those words like music to his ears.

Just as he said–you’re fucking perfect.

[invinciblerodent]

These days I kind of can't stop thinking about how much I enjoyed the possibility of being from Orzammar in Origins, specifically because just being who you are put so much of the early game in a wholly different context.

Like, a dwarf from Orzammar has, by definition, lived literally under a rock their whole lives!! They've never left the underground, and yes, while that also makes their ignorance of surface squabbles (the mage issue, the Ferelden/Orlais conflict, everything with the city elves and the Dalish, etc.) make a lot of sense, it also comes with so many interesting new angles that I'm honestly so surprised still that I've never really seen it mentioned very often, if at all. (Even though we even get an explicit moment to reflect on it, when leaving with Oghren.)

In Origins, the moment a dwarf first steps out through the gates of Orzammar and begins the game, is a profoundly life-altering experience. Dare I say, even more so than it is for an elf or a human. Because stepping out, for the first time, they are entering an entirely new world, and for the first time, in front of them is a vast expanse of nothing but air.

The end of the prologue, it's not just a fundamental personal change that awaits you, it's also a displacement so complete, that it's absolutely dizzying to even think about.

That first time a dwarf feels the sun on their skin, they are made sun-touched, a surfacer: stripped not only from caste and kin, of identity, but also faith and memory, any favor their ancestors may have still held for them, and any possibility of ever returning, as far as they know. (Aeducan may even have a bitter little chuckle over the irony of how they could very well have just one day before shrugged off the concerns of their surface brethren completely, only to be made one of them now.)

Their whole lives, they had always been able to see the opposite wall of the cave, or at least to know for sure that it's there, along with the miles and miles of unchanging, crystal-littered rock stretching protectively over their heads-- now all of that is gone. There's nothing between them, and the infinite and ever-changing blue, grey, orange, black of the open sky they've never seen, and in the distance, there's no wall-- just glorious, humongous mounds and spires of rock jutting up into the belly of the sky, the likes of which they've only ever seen from the inside.

Orzammar, despite no sunlight ever penetrating that far, is always lit bright, and it's heated by the lava streams and pools below. A dwarf has never known anything colder or warmer, brighter or darker, never seen seasons change... the biting winds and the frequent rains in Ferelden are completely new to them, not to mention the terrifying cracks of thunder that sound like the very Stone over them cracking in two, the bright flashes of lightning illuminating the night for but a moment, or waking in the middle of the night to what sounds like countless fingers pat-pat-patting the tarp of their tent, or the fact that animals -which are varied and plentiful and wholly alien- sometimes just randomly fall into the sky, like the rumors say! They might know academically that with birds, that just sort of tends to happen, but they've never seen one take off!!

Hell, all of surface flora and fauna are completely new to them-- it's likely they've only ever seen a tree or a dog in a picture book. Flowers, they've likely only ever seen as an expensive and frivolous luxury few can afford to have for a while, and even then, they are by necessity brought in removed from their roots, dead, wilting, taken from their natural place... while here, blooms just spring up underfoot willy-nilly, not entirely unlike mushrooms at the home which is not theirs anymore.

And... there must be something organic, something comfortingly animal to the scent of hundreds of warm bodies crammed into a sealed hole in the ground-- which is just gone now. The air is fresh, clean... empty, cold, lonely. No smell of spilled ale, piss, and vomit, no thick scent of the combined breaths and bodies of all their people... no scent of belonging, the air that moves their lungs now is no longer that which has moved those of all they've ever known, and every breath washes more, and more, and more of who they once were from inside their very body.

Being on the surface, it's like being thrust into an alien world, with which all just expects you to be intimately familiar. What do you mean the grass, the bugs, the birds, the leaves are strange? What do you mean you've never eaten leaves from this plant, fruit from this tree, the flesh of this creature you've only ever heard about? They laugh when you avert your eyes from the sky and try not to think about falling into it, or when you startle at the feeling of falling water suddenly hitting your skin, as if that was somehow funny, charming.

The night, which you've never before seen fall, is a comfort from all that endless, boundless seeing- but after the Joining, not even that is a relief.

Because if you're a dwarven Warden, all the dreams you've had in your life have been nightmares.

So you cope. You learn, and adapt, and endure.

Strong and immutable, like the Stone from which you were rent.

[pascalispretty]

Leading Blindly

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1966

Warnings: Reader is a sex worker, loss of virginity, Mando has a huge dick, woman on top, reader has a size kink, blindfolds.

Summary: A young Mandalorian seeks relief for the first time at a Canto Bight brothel.

A/N: My entry for Day Two of @absurdthirst's Kinktober - the prompt was 'Loss of Virginity'. I'm picturing an early 20s Mando here, but imagine what you like! My thanks as always to my beloved @misscharlielulu. (ao3).

The blindfold hadn’t been the strangest request you’ve ever received. The client had requested you specifically according to Lenera, the madam, as she helped knot the fabric tightly over your eyes. A Mandalorian she had whispered, almost in awe. You had waited in your room for the client, the heavy footfall signalling his arrival long before he spoke.

From sound alone you couldn’t gauge much; the heavy thumps of his armour as he set them down, the voice that sounded young even with the modulation provided by the helmet, the sharp inhale of breath when you pulled your silky slip up over your head to let him look at you.

His touch, when it came, was gentle but faltering. A virgin, you suspected. Everything spoke of newness and uncertainty, from the difficulty he had in articulating what he wanted to the hesitancy in the hand he rested on your waist.

Eventually he had agreed to lie back on your bed, his head propped up on the stack of plush pillows while you straddled his lap.

It’s how you find yourself in the Mandalorian’s lap, one hand resting on his abdomen as you slowly grind down on him.

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you whisper softly as you unfasten his pants. “I’ll take good care of you.” His breath escapes him in a hiss as your fingers slide beneath his waistband and wrap carefully around his cock. Even without your sight, there’s no mistaking it; he’s huge. You can barely wrap your fingers around the width of him, and the length is just as impressive.

In your years of working in the finest Canto Bight establishments, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen his equal on a human, much less such a shy one.

“Oh,” you whisper, trailing your fingertips down the length of him to better gauge just how big he is. “You’re so big.” For most men, it would have been nothing more than an ego stroke; for the Mandalorian, it’s just the truth. And unlike most men, who would have received such a comment with delight, the Mandalorian beneath you squirms.

“I- I didn’t know. Is it- Will it be a problem? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Instead of proud or aroused, he sounds embarrassed.

“Oh, you sweet boy,” you murmur, and he squirms again beneath you. “I can show you how to make it easier?” He whines when you make your offer, his gloved hands gripping harder at your hips.

“Yes, p-please,” he manages. It’s such a pity he won’t take the helmet off; you want to kiss his forehead and tell him what a sweetheart he is.

“You may need to take one of your gloves off then, Mando. Whichever hand is your dominant one.” Your fingers are still wrapped around his cock, stroking lightly. The thick weight of it in your hands practically making you drool. Certainly you can feel yourself getting wetter, slick pooling between your legs and making your thighs feel sticky.

His hands leave your waist, and you hear him slide one of the soft leather gloves off and drop it onto the bed beside him. With his glove off, he touches your waist again with new hesitance. You wonder how often he does this; has the chance to touch another person, with no barriers between you. It’s such an unexpected feeling of intimacy from a mere brush of the fingers, and your cheeks grow warm.

“You- you’re so soft.” He says, and the marvel in his voice is so endearing.

“Thank you, sweet boy.” With reluctance, you let go of his cock in favour of dragging your fingertips up the insides of your own thighs, gathering the slick smeared down your skin. You hold your fingertips up for his inspection, turning them to try and show the wetness glistening in the low light.

“The more aroused a woman is, the wetter and more relaxed she is. It’ll make it more comfortable, especially with what you’re hiding.” You tease gently, leaning back a little on his lap to try and give him a better view between your legs. With your own fingertips you part your folds, putting yourself on display for him.

“You see this, sweet boy?” You ask, tracing lightly over your clit and managing to make yourself shiver. “You want to make sure this gets plenty of attention. And if you have time, you should use your fingers inside too; it helps to open the muscles up.” He sucks in another breath, and you wish so badly you could rip the blindfold off and look at him, helmeted or no.

“Would you show me?” He asks eventually.

“Oh Mando, you’re so polite,” you say lightly, drawing a light circle around your clit. “You’ll spoil me for all my other clients.”

As far as you can tell, he watches intently as you play with your clit, showing him how to start slowly and softly, the signs a woman might make if she’s enjoying herself. The closer you get to coming, the more you feel him starting to squirm beneath you, and for one moment you wonder if you should stop, lest he finish too soon, before even getting inside of you.

“Keep going. Please, please don’t stop,” Mando whines at you – he must have noticed your hand starting to slow. “I want to watch, please-” The soft sincerity in his voice is what sends you over the edge, your free hand steadying yourself on his abdomen as you come. His hands clutch tighter at your hips, so hard that you hope he leaves you a mark to remember this encounter by.

When you get your breath back, he dips his ungloved hand lower.

“Can I?” He asks, and you nod enthusiastically before he can even clarify what it is that he wants. You moan loudly when he dips his fingers just barely into your cunt, a low groan rumbling through him as he feels just how wet you are.

“Oh, that’s it, sweet boy,” you murmur as he carefully slides one of his fingers into you. It presses deeply inside you, so much farther than your own can reach. That familiar heat starts to build again in your core, flames licking your insides as his finger brushes past an electrifying spot within you. You start to rock your hips, fucking yourself on his finger. He soon responds in kind, matching your pace as his gloved hand clings to your hip.

“Another, another,” you beg breathily after a moment. His fingers are thick, but you know his cock is so much thicker; you want to be as prepared as you can be. You whine as he slides the second finger in, your muscles easily flexing to accommodate him. Still riding his fingers, you bring your palm up to your mouth and spit, before wrapping your hand around his cock again.

He groans at your touch, his cock throbbing in your hand, and you can’t take it any longer.

“Mando, sweet boy,” you pant, his fingers still working inside you. “Are you ready?” No words escape him, just another low groan as he slides his fingers out of you. He’s breathing raggedly, even through the modulator of the helmet, and you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock. “I need you to tell me, sweet boy.”

“Ye-yes,” he manages. You notch the head of his cock against your opening, your muscles straining to accommodate the blunt, weeping tip. Slowly you ease yourself down onto his cock with tiny flicks of your hips, impaling yourself gradually. Beneath you, Mando is doing his best to hold still, to resist squirming for fear of hurting you.

“That’s it, sweet boy.” Your time with him so far tells you he enjoys being praised. “You’re making me feel so full.” With the first few inches of him buried inside you, you get braver with your movements, taking more of him with every downstroke.

By the time he bottoms out inside of you, you’re so full you can barely breathe. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this full, not even when that pretty Twi’lek socialite had paid you to let her fuck you with her fist. You rest your hands on the planes of Mando’s chest, your fingertips flexing as you try to adjust.

Your client isn’t much better off than you are. His breathing filters raspily through his helmet, his hands clinging to your hips as he tries to ground himself. When he gives a tentative thrust upwards, you moan loudly, the sound completely unfeigned.

Between the two of you, you set a relatively slow pace. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s made that much clear, and you expect he also doesn’t want to end things too quickly. His first attempts to meet your movements are erratic, but he learns to follow your rhythm, rocking up into you as you ride him. His gloved hand remains anchored to your hip, his bare hand begins to roam over your body, cupping one of your tits and squeezing carefully.

Mando braces his feet on the mattress behind you, allowing him to push somehow deeper inside of you with his thrusts. You tip your head back and moan, trying to recall when you had last experienced this much genuine pleasure with one of your clients. It’s not long before you start riding him in earnest; you don’t expect him to last long no matter what you do, but you want to enjoy his masterpiece of a cock as much as you can.

It’s not long before his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing coming harder from beneath the helmet. You try not to be too disappointed, instead quickening the pace, fucking yourself harder onto his thick cock.

“I’m- I think I’m gonna come, where…?” He eventually manages between low groans, and you arch your back as pleasure races up your spine. You won’t come, not so quickly, but it still feels delicious to hear the Mandalorian sound so utterly wrecked beneath you.

“Wherever you like, sweet boy, wherever will make you feel good,” you practically purr at him, your fingertips digging a little harder into the fabric of his clothes. His movements become clumsier, his hand squeezing a little tighter at the flesh of your tit. It’s not long before he comes inside you with a sharp groan, an almost pained sound; you hadn’t expected him to last nearly this long.

Even before he’s finished riding out his climax, you feel his seed start to drip out of you, forced out by the sheer size of him. You give him a moment, letting him catch his breath. He doesn’t relax though; even as his cock is softening inside you, the bare hand on your tit disappears, only to come back to your hip once again gloved.

Carefully, he lifts you off him, ignoring the come dripping out of you as he sets you on the bed beside him. With the blindfold on, you’ve no way of gauging just how much of a mess you’ve made, or what kind of state his clothes might be in. You listen silently to his movements as he stands and begins to put his armour back on; the soft clips and buckles, the heavy tread of his boots as he steps back into them.

“Am I- do your clients normally say thank you?” He asks eventually. You’re so taken aback by the question that you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a client quite so polite as you, Mando.” You’re in no hurry to move; you lounge back on your bed, legs spread obscenely. “Come back sometime; I’m dying to see how much of that cock of yours I could fit in my mouth.”

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@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu

[pastel-greene]

The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 - Magnets | Chapter 3

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), and more to be added as story progresses

Word Count: 6.4k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

Sukuna’s POV

Screams ring out in his ears as he plows into the concubine beneath him. Tears fill her eyes and blood trickles from various bite marks he has left across her body. Her hands helplessly pull against her restraints as her thighs beg to close and bar him from the assault he’s laying on her insides. Both of his cocks stretch her to lengths she doesn’t have as she writhes in pain, his pace so brutal he thinks he hears her pelvis crack. She tries to form pleas for him to stop but her tongue doesn’t let them pass, as she knew he might just kill her on the spot. So she just spasms there screaming and accepts the assault.

He couldn’t care less about her pain, he almost wanted to completely destroy her, slam into her until she splits into two and finally shuts the hell up. But that would affect his relationship with her father. He controls a substantial farming operation that keeps the land from starving. In his youth, he would have just slaughtered the world and been done with it, but what’s the point in being King if there is nothing? He had found that some people had an ounce of worth for their intellect. They may not be worth a damn as fighters, but they created things he had come to enjoy. Like this delectable slut crying beneath him. Her curves were full, her skin soft and supple, her eyes always so full of fear driven obedience. A perfect fuck toy in his array of options.

He slams into her rougher causing her eyes to go wide as he penetrates her cervix. She is so perfect yet so fucking disgusting. She no longer felt right, her obedience no longer made his cock twitch, her perfect skin no longer held the attraction it once did. She was weak, pathetic, and not you. You. A cocky bitch just begging to be knocked down a peg. Begging to be forced down with his weight and torn apart from the inside. Would you scream for him? No, you wouldn’t be that boring. You would be calling him dirty names no one else would dare to. You would hurt him every time he hurt you and fight him every step of the way for dominance. You wanted to fuck him? What a joke. You didn’t know what you were asking for, and if he decided to, it wouldn’t be your choice to begin with.

His cock finally starts twitching inside the useless sow beneath him as he pictures fucking her. He hated that it was so difficult to touch you, he wanted to feel you more. He wanted to bury his face in your neck and get lost in your smell. He wanted to cover you in his smell so he could inhale the birth of your combined scents. He wanted to bite you until your skin broke and leave you covered in bruises from his mouth’s assault. You would look so fucking pretty marked as his. Even better if his claim to you reached even your insides. He would cum in you over and over again and keep you too full of his cocks for any of it to escape. He wanted to marinate your insides with his seed until they would only wet for him. He wanted you in his bed covered in blood, sweat, cum, and tears as you took him better than any other bitch could and begged for more instead of pushing him away. Fuck yes, focus on that picture, yes, yes, yessss.

With a few more pumps he was filling his concubine’s holes with his seed until it came bursting out past his cocks. He panted a few times before looking down. He felt a wave of anger wash over him at what he just thought of. That girl is a peasant, a run through whore with no respect. He didn’t want to fuck you, he wanted to put a spike through your eye socket and let your nude corpse hang from his throne. It took everything he had to not take his anger out on the passed out girl beneath him. It wouldn’t bring him real pleasure anyway and would cause more trouble than it was worth. He pulled his cocks out and used her sheets to wipe them clean before grabbing his robe. He had more hearings to attend for the day and a good idea of how he was going to let off steam. For the villagers’ sake, there better not be many.

(Y/N) POV

Your new servants had come not long after Geto left. They took your measurements and went over design specifications with you before taking down your preferred booze. You had spent the rest of the day in your room, taking a mental inventory of everything you now had. Your room was ridiculously huge. You genuinely weren’t sure what to do with everything in it. You had a large mat for sitting and a table in the middle of it that you had decided to move to the side of it. You doubted there were enough people here to need the other side available for seating, and the newfound space gave you room to workout on. You knew there was a shared training space, but you figured you could occasionally do it here if there was someone already there. You figured you had pissed the King off earlier and wanted to avoid him when you could, because you knew your smartass mouth would end up losing you visitation days. You don’t think Uraume liked you either. Geto might be fun to spar with, so you probably wouldn’t run if he was there.

You looked around at your empty shelves. You asked the servants what people usually filled them with, and while they weren’t sure what the other sorcerers put in them, they guessed relics, personal items, or books. You weren’t one for keeping stuff as you considered most of it to be clutter, but you wondered about where you could get books. You thought of the anatomy and science books Ireiri used to keep and sometimes show you parts from. You missed her. You missed Kento too. Your whole life was miles away. Or well your old life. Until further notice this was your new life. You sighed as you pulled back the curtain to look out the large window that acted as one of your room’s walls. The sun was starting to set. They were probably just waking and would soon find the letters you had sent for them explaining that you would be working here for a while and not to worry. You were going to let yourself continue to steep in useless emotions when there was a knock on your door.

Before you could respond it swung open. The King himself sauntered into your room like it was his, and well technically it was but you would still call it rude. You bowed your head to him and kept your eyes on the floor as he walked up to you and sniffed.

“Good girl, not a drop of alcohol in you. I didn’t know you were capable of following rules after your earlier outburst”, he said while towering over you.

“What can I say, I am full of surprises my King.”

“King Sukuna, address my name in all of its glory”, he said with what you were sure was a pompous grin.

“Forgive my error King Sukuna. I didn’t mean to hurt your name’s ego”, you said knowing damn well you shouldn’t but couldn’t help it. You wanted to rip the stick out of his ass and beat him with it.

A loud crack echoed throughout your chambers as you felt a slap land on your cheek for your insolence. The impact caused your head to slump to the side, before you cocked it up at him with blood ridden smirk. He had busted your lip, so you straightened your stance and let him watch you lick the blood from the corner before resuming your bow.

“Crazy brat”, he said while thinking about how well you took his strength. Most people would have been left with their heads facing the wrong way from that hit, but instead you smirked through blood tinted teeth. “And to think that I had come bearing gifts. I don’t think you deserve them if you can’t keep that mouth under control though. Naughty bitches shouldn’t be rewarded”, he said with a smirk while using one of his hands to tilt your chin up. “What happened to the good girl that greeted me?”

You fucking hated these pet names. You knew he was just taunting you, but you also knew you would have to comply to get your gifts and for him to leave. And you really wanted a drink at this point. “I sincerely apologize King Sukuna”, you said as you continued to stare up into his eyes. His upper set stared back into yours while the bottom set looked down at the blood smeared across your lip.

“Let me touch you without you leeching my power and I will consider it forgiven.”

You really didn’t want to but knew that there wasn’t really a way around it. Constantly disobeying him wouldn’t be fruitful in the long haul and definitely wouldn’t help you get out of this any quicker, so you sighed and slightly titled your head while still looking at him, “You may touch me for now”.

He chuckled at your allowance, “Why, thank you. How graceful of you to allow your King to touch you.” His hand reached out to your lip before his tongue appeared and lurched out, licking up the residue of your blood. You went to jump back at the unexpected appendage dragging across the side of your lip, but his hand grabbed your hair and kept you still. A feral look started unwinding in his eyes as he tasted you. A look you knew all too well. He was absorbing the Mother’s nectar that pulsed through your body, nostrils flaring as his senses became overridden.

“If you take too much at once your heart will stop— regardless of how strong you are. It will fuel you and boost your abilities, but it is a double edged sword. Not to mention I would die and you would be forever cut off from it”, you said hoping it would convince him not to give into the bloodlust that covered his features.

You weren’t wrong. He could feel his power grow, his blood pumping into his muscles, his ears could hear the smallest of sounds from a mile away, his eyes could see things in what felt like a bird’s eye view and zoomed in one at the same time. Is this how you always were? Was your body this in tune with everything around you? His skin was on fire. He could feel yours with such detail, the warmth it radiated, the power humming through it. If he concentrated enough he felt like he would be able to feel your feelings.

He shoved your face away from him and stepped back, “What are you?”

“A vampire”, you said with as straight of a face as you could.

He blinked a few times as his jaw hung open. “A vampire? They’re real?”

You burst out into a tearful laugh and slapped your knee, “No, of course not! But you should have seen the look on your face, it was almost cute”, you said before composing yourself and quickly trying to fix what you were sure was another mistake, “I apologize for joking with you King Sukuna. It just seemed like it would be funny. I am not a vampire, but I cannot tell you why my blood is like that. I have no issue serving you or allowing you to help yourself to it on occasion, but there are some secrets I must keep. Keeps things fun and fresh, y’know?”

No. He did not know. All he knew was that you were the most insufferable brat with the biggest balls he had ever met. You had just lied to and humiliated him and then laughed in his face. Then told him you would continue to keep secrets from him for your own entertainment. Honestly, he was baffled. He never had to deal with insolence like this. Most people would have never dared talk to him like this, and if they had, they would have been struck down on the spot. If you weren’t growing more and more useful by the day he would have already killed you. Maybe he could tie you up and use you as a blood bag, or kidnap one of those friends you wrote to. That would likely end up with an all out brawl between the two of you and as much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to kill you. So he just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Awh, you actually felt a little bad about how flustered he looked. He had opened and closed his mouth a few times before resorting to the classic sigh and bridge pinch. You guess there actually was a chance he had never been joked around with at length.

“I am sorry King Sukuna, truly. My joke was insensitive and disrespectful. I truly didn’t mean anything deeper than to get a laugh out of me and maybe you. I am sorry if I have upset you”, you said with your brows knitted together.

Pity. You were giving him pity. As if he didn’t feel angry enough, you were now looking down on him. “Give me your hand”.

You were confused and slightly nervous given the dark look swimming in his eyes, but you obeyed and placed your hand within his. Within a split second he was applying a crushing force to it, your bones breaking under his temporary boost in strength. You bit and sucked on the inside of your cheek to keep from releasing any noises or tears for him.

“Beg for forgiveness”, he said while digging his fingers in between the bones of your hand, blood dripping onto the floor. He watched as you stared up at him with anger lashing behind your pupils. He could feel your urge to fight him right there, but his urge was the same. He had put up with your cheeky remarks but for you to so openly look down on him as if he was weak enough to need pity was a line he wasn’t going to let you cross without consequence. He spread his fingers as the ligaments holding your knuckles tore apart. Tears swelled in your eyes but refused to pool over the edge. That’s it, cry for him.

God you wanted to take him into the realm in between and tear him limb from limb. You wanted to stab your energy through each of his wrists and wrap it around his hands before slowly pulling them off his body. You wanted to watch him scream in pain for you, but you knew that would be a shortsighted win. So you swallowed your bitter pride and begged. “Please, King Sukuna forgive me.”

“Beg harder brat”, he said while clenching his fist, your bones starting to snap sideways through your skin as blood now poured onto the floor.

You hated begging but fucking hell your hand hurt. You had experienced pain before but never have you not been able to end it. You hated him. Fuck joking around with him. Fuck letting him touch you. Fuck letting him experience your blood. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was a spiteful little shit too cocky for his own good. Maybe you could say screw it to the whole deal and just fucking end him here. Maybe your Mother would accept him as a gift and he could become a mindless slave for her and bow to you both. Fuck, you’d be damned if he would make you run to your mother for help though. You would turn him into a slave on your own. It may take time, patience, and groveling, but you would find a time to strike. Send your magic right into his mind and never let go. Poke holes into it until he is just a puppet for your amusal. And then you would walk him around the realm, leashed and on his knees for you. A good boy. Fucking asshole, you would ruin him, “Please King Sukuna, please forgive me. I am so sorry for what I said. Please stop hurting me. I promise I will be better for you, I will be good for you.”

Looking down at your teary eyes, the watered down blood residue on your lower cheek, your mangled hand drenched in red, and hearing you beg to be good for him had his cock twitching on the spot. He pulled his fingers out of your hands and licked the blood off of them, relishing in the feeling that washed over him again. “If you would just be a good girl for me all the time I wouldn’t have to hurt you like this, your words are so pretty but those eyes still look like they want me dead. Close them.”

He wanted you to close your eyes? To go back to seeing the world in black? Fucking asshole had no idea the depth he was torturing you with such a simple command, but if you resisted he would know. So you closed your eyes and felt his hand wrap around your throat and pull you up towards him, “You are mine, brat. I own you and you will obey me one way or another. Do you understand, pet?” He brushed the hair around your face as he waited for your response.

“Yes, King Sukuna,” you managed to get out in a choked gurgle. He is right. If he could see your eyes right now, it would all be murderous intent.

He licked along your jaw to your ear before pricking it and licking up the blood that pooled, “Good girl”.

The King had left shortly after that and to your surprise allowed your gifts to be brought in. You wasted no time downing a few shots before looking at the hand he had mangled earlier. It had healed before he had even let you go, but you were still pissed. Talk about no sense of humor. You make a few jokes and he shreds your fucking hand and treats you like an object. You punched the air a few times as your frustration built. You needed some sort of release. Sex, yes. Sex would be a great release. Someone to burn off some of your energy so you could calm the fuck down. But there was no one to do it with. Ughhhh you hated it here and it had only been one day. You sighed as you stared down your empty glass. Kento would know how to calm you down. He would have you seeing stars and forgetting all your troubles within minutes.

You decided to cut your losses on sex and go for a walk instead. You hadn’t been given a curfew, so you had your servants take you down to where the river hugged the border of the shrine. You drank straight from the bottle as you sat with your knees up to your chest and looked into the water. It felt so calm, so free, so peaceful. You think that if you were to die you would want to drown and allow your body to float to the bottom and never be found. You could deteriorate into the water until you were one.

“Rough day”, Geto asked as he walked up to where you were sitting.

You were sure he already knew the answer so you just scoffed.

He sighed at your response or lack thereof. “Hey, hey, HEEEEY—.”

“WHAT”, you shouted before giggling at his use of your own antics.

He gave you a smile before coming to sit beside you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay we don—.”

“Just what is his problem? All I did was joke with him and he tore apart my fucking hand? I would just not speak to him and avoid crossing paths, but he came into my room. How the hell can I avoid him if he comes to me? I am obviously going to say something stupid, because that’s apparently just a me thing, so why make situations that don’t need to happen? He is just insufferable”, you interrupted. You were so frustrated with your situation, but saying it out loud also made it sound childish. You were just as much to blame for this mess. You should know to just speak to him as little as possible and play along with his delusion to make your life easier. It felt simple enough until he actually spoke. Everything he did got under your skin, you hated everything about him.

“Are you done?”

“Oh fuck you too”, you said while taking another drink. “I know I should just keep my mouth shut and that I am part of the problem. I have just never had to answer to anyone like I do him. I am strong enough to not have to bow my head, yet here I am, constantly forced to look at the floor.”

“You two are so alike”, he said quietly, “you’re both so strong that your first thought is to deal with things through violence. It is like two opposing magnets trying to make a connection, you just constantly fight for dominance.”

He wasn’t wrong. You hated that you had to be the one to analyze your behavior and not him but maybe that would be easier. Without really thinking you laid your head on his shoulder, “Thank you for talking with me even though you don’t really like me.”

He looked down at where your head lay before looking out at the water with you, “I know I am such a saint helping the perpetually needy”, he said while smiling which earned him a light punch in the side. “You’re not all bad. If anything, this is the most exciting things have been here since the war.”

“I know, right? I’m funny and exciting, dammit. Finally, someone here sees it”, you say with a drunken hum at the end. This, right here, was nice. It felt like being home. You smiled and gave another hum before sitting up. “I should probably go back to my quarters, thank you again for talking with me.”

“And here I thought you were going to burden me with carrying you back to your room after drooling all over my shoulder”, he said while also getting up and brushing himself off.

“I had considered it, but I figured I had burdened you enough for a day. Check back in tomorrow, yeah”, you say with a smile while waving your hand carrying the empty bottle of tequila and heading back to your room. Your servants followed you close behind, making sure you didn’t trip over any of the steps on the way.

You woke early the next morning and had your servants take you to the training area. You started with a good amount of stretches as you tried to calm your mind. Currently, your goal was to play along with Lord Spooky, so you could minimize your interactions with him. Life here was probably going to be lonely, but you were supposed to start actually training as one of Sukuna’s guards in a few days. You honestly didn’t know what all that entailed. He already ruled most of the land and didn’t have any immediate enemies, so what was your purpose? Uraume was basically his personal secretary and Geto traveled to deal with diplomatic issues.

You moved your body into a handstand as you continued to ponder. Would you continue your job as an assassin and kill those who defied him? That was the only real guess you had, because why else would he need you? He didn’t know about your blood when he first met you, so you doubted you were called to be a refillable potion for him. Did he know about your ability to enter people’s minds? Were you here to get inside people’s heads and find out just how loyal they were? To weed out potential traders before they even have a chance to act? You had absolutely no idea and this train of thought had obviously derailed from the calming track on the spiraling one.

You took in a deep breath as you continued to hold yourself upside down. You thought about your time with the Mother. She was way more cruel than he was, but she had a right to be cocky. She could wipe anyone off the face of the earth with just a thought. She is as old as time and could outsmart any creature. So why you? This wasn’t the first time you had asked yourself this question. You had no idea why she spared you and you don’t think she really did either. She would always just say curiosity and leave it at that. You wondered if you were making her proud with this decision. You knew that curses had been on the rise ever since you started working and that the ones you created were vastly different than hers or the ones organically created, but it didn’t feel like enough. Maybe that’s why you chose to serve Sukuna. He had obviously been gifted when it came to cursed energy and was cruel like Mother, like you too in a lot of ways. Deep down you are hoping he will show you the path to making Mother proud, but maybe it is just a lie you’re chasing down a rabbit hole.

You let out a sigh as you stood up from your position, shaking out your wrists and rolling your neck. You hated how lost you felt in your own thoughts, so you decided to stop thinking all together as you tapped into your energy. You could feel it expand around you as your senses changed. You could feel the energy of everything around you in greater detail than before. You could see the faint life forces of the bugs around you, feel the energy of the wind that surged into your being, see all of the servants working on the shrine and the fear that possessed them to scrub until their hands cracked. An all too familiar presence crept closer to where you were. You knew they had been walking this way for quite some time, but also knew they had already sensed you, so running was obsolete. You stood at the edge of the training grounds barefoot. To most onlookers, it looked like all you were doing was standing there. But those who could see cursed energy, could see it very faintly drapsed across the area like a spider web made of mist. Letting you know everything going on down to the smallest detail. If you wanted you could enter someone’s mind or simply listen in on conversations happening behind closed doors. You could even pool your energy into an area and create a curse if you so felt the need.

Sukuna cleared his throat as he drew closer onto the field. “Good morning King Sukuna, my apologies. I didn’t realize you used the training grounds in the morning. I will leave you to it”, you said while bowing and turning to take your leave.

“I didn’t say you could leave, pet. Continue your training, it was in your stipulations after all”, he said while walking towards the center of the training ground.

You really didn’t want to stay, but you had no choice, so you decided to continue to work on your body control. You went from a push up, into a handstand, into a one handed handstand pushup, and then back down to repeat. The Mother had taught you that one of the most effective ways to truly control your cursed energy was by learning how to control your body. You worked in slow controlled movement, allowing your energy to run along your muscles like water.

Sweat began to form on your body and visibly swam down your muscles since the top you decided to work out in was the equivalent of a modest sports bra. It wrapped around your neck, curved down from there to over your boobs, before connecting with itself in the back. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now that Sukuna was here, you felt a little exposed. It’s not that you were shy about your body, but you could feel his gaze wondering over to you. His type probably has smooth skin free of scarring and devoid of muscle like a doll. Not that his type mattered to you. Because it didn’t.

“What exactly are you training by doing that”, he probed from above you.

“A key to expanding your understanding and control over your cursed energy, is to feel the general energy within you body and how it flows. Understanding how it flows and being able to feel it at any given time allows you to guide it. Which allows you to enhance certain parts of your body at a second’s notice. If you add cursed energy to the regular energy, then the effectiveness multiplies, King Sukuna,” you said through steadier breaths than he expected. To him, the concentration looked like strain, like you were having a hard time when it actually sounded like you were doing nothing when you talked.

He got down beside you and started copying what you were doing, but let out a frustrated groan,”I don’t feel anything. It isn’t working.” You weren’t looking at him but he could see your lips twitch into a smile. Brat.

You stopped your cycle and knelt beside him, “I can show you how to do it, but it would require me to touch and look at you, King Sukuna”.

“Wow are you asking me permission to touch and look at me? I never thought I’d see the day,” and he wasn’t lying. Part of him loved you asking him permission, but the other missed your rudeness. He didn’t regret punishing you yesterday, but now he was worried you might start treating him like everyone else did.

“Yes, King Sukuna. I figured it would be in my best interest to start following more of the rules”.

You weren’t smiling at him, you weren’t trying to joke with him, you were talking to him with complete indifference. He didn’t realize you would be that upset over what happened. Your hand was obviously fine now, so why were you being so cold? “You have permission for both, but if you fail to teach me, I will punish you again.” He knew that probably wasn’t the best choice of words but it definitely sparked something within yours eyes. He watched as you bit the insides of your cheeks, obviously trying to withhold a shitty remark. He wanted to hear it, though.

You took a deep breathe and swallowed what you wanted to say, “I will do my best to please you, King Sukuna.” He even hated the way you said his name with respect. He liked the way played with the vowels before.

“First, you should take a really deep breath. Feel how it fills your lungs and provides your body with oxygen”. He watches as you take a deep breath and motion for him to do the same. With a slight eye roll over how stupid this feels, he follows suit. He can feel it enter through his nose and how the muscles in his body soak it up.

“The feeling is faint but that is how your energy feels when you focus on it. Now let’s start in a narrow pushup position”, you don’t move but motion for him to. He gets into position with all four of his arms on the ground. You tell him to slowly descend and really allow himself to feel how his muscles work. He starts going down, but doesn’t feel anything.

He groans again, “It still isn’t working. I am beginning to think you are just lying and I should shred your other hand.”

“You will not shred my fucking hand due to your lack of fucking patience to follow a simple direction. I am not lying and my teaching will work if you would just shut the hell up and listen”, you cleared your throat as you remembered you were supposed to stay composed, “King Sukuna. So please just listen and follow my instructions”.

There you were. He knew he was being annoying, but he had to find some way to get you to act like normal again. “Wow and here we were doing so good on manners”, he says while going back into position. He starts going down quicker than he was supposed to so you put your hand against his chest.

“You need to go slower than how I was. It is easier to feel the energy when your motions are so controlled it looks like you aren’t moving”, you say keeping your hands on his chest and guiding him down. He looks up at you while you do it and you know your face is a little pink. His chest is firm and warm. You wonder what it would feel like to lick and bite his muscles. His skin is softer than you would have imagined and he smells so good. He smells like jasmine and petrichor. It beckons you to pull his hair back and kiss down his neck before crawling into his grasp. You want to know what it would feel like to makeout with him while his other mouth sucks on one of your nipples. He has so many hands to make sure no part of you lacks attention. You quickly pull your thoughts out of your loins as you focus on his energy. You begin to see it flowing throughout his muscles and start tracing the patterns with your fingers.

He can feel the way your fingertips ghost over his skin as you continue to avoid eye contact with him. With how big you talk, he didn’t think you would get like this just from touching his bare chest. Not that he was really one to talk. The way you were ever so lightly touching him and staring at his body, occasionally meeting his stare, had him thinking all kinds of thoughts. He thought about how your skin tasted and felt against his tongue. He wondered about how your tongue tasted, how your cum tasted. How that snarky mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. He wanted to know if you could control your inside muscles like you’re showing him and milk him like he has never been milked. He wants to see the face you make when you cum and he wants to be the one you make it for. He wondered how it would feel to have you straddle him and lay against his chest as he stroked your hair. Stupid little thoughts really.

He was so caught up in them he almost didn’t feel the flow of his energy under your fingertips, “I can feel it now. I can feel the energy flowing through me.”

You clear your throat and remove your hands from him, “That’s good. Once you are confident you have pinpointed it, start moving at the speed I was through the motions”, you say while scooting away a bit to give him room.

He continues through the motions until he has it down. He does it for a few minutes before asking how to imbue it with cursed energy.

You tell him to stop and sit up. You bring yourself closer until your knees are touching and grab two of his hands, putting them in between your own. “I am going to put my cursed energy into the energy in your hands. I won’t let it travel any further from these two and you will be able to feel it. I just need to show you how it feels, because it isn’t a process I can explain since everyone’s energy is a little different. But once you feel mine moving with your natural energy, your body should be able to figure out how to do it.”

“An inch past my hands and my other two will snap your neck, okay?”

You can’t help but smile and roll your eyes a little, “that is fair.”

You hold his hands and close your eyes as you focus on releasing a sliver of your energy into his fingers and through his palms. He watches you closely, the way your eyes flutter under your lids as you concentrate, the way your lips and chest move in sync with your breathing. He doesn’t know what he is feeling or why, but it isn’t not nice. He almost never wants this moment to end, but then he feels it. He has added cursed energy to his body before but it has never felt so connected. It is like he can feel every fiber of his being, control every atom. His own cursed energy wraps around yours, making you shiver slightly, before letting go of his hands. Your energy leaves with you and his continues to race from his hands throughout his whole body.

“This…this is incredible. I feel like I am actually alive for the first time”, he says in a quiet tone for only you two to hear.

“I am glad I could help, King Sukuna.” You get up and dust yourself off. “I think it is about time for me to wash this sweat off, though,” you say as you begin walking towards your quarters.

“Will you train in the morning again tomorrow,” he asks to what seems to be to both of your shocks. He didn’t even realize the words were coming out until they were spoken. What were you doing to him? Earlier, he wanted to tear you limb from limb, and now he wanted to never stop being touched like how you just did.

“Do you want me to?”

“What you do matters little to me”, he says in a very disinterested tone as he gets up and tries to regain his composure.

“I will be.”

“I said it didn’t matter. Now stop looking at me and speaking so casually, brat”, he retorts as he starts doing the training he originally came to do.

“Yes, King Sukuna”, you say with a small grin as you bow before leaving the training grounds.

Crazy. You were going to drive each other absolutely crazy one way or another.

Notes: this one is a bit shorter than the last but the next one will probably be quite long and will most definitely have them fucking. I hope you all enjoyed it ;) some more notes about this chapter

- Geto didn’t like the reader previously because he didn’t believe in the rumor he had heard like the King. He believed they were just an alcoholic with a knack for spreading lies. This is why he had so much hate for them in the beginning. He opens up to the idea of liking them when they practically managed to kick his head off without him even being able to react. This also makes it easier to laugh at their shitty jokes since he isn’t in such a mood over being near them anymore. When they come out in the garb he prefers to see women in he is shook. He knew that they had attractive features but he didn’t think they were his kind of attractive. The he watched them mouth off to Sukuna (something he has always wanted to do) and live?? And keep up with his attacks and literally stun all three of them?? Yea, he was kinda like damn I didn’t know you got down like that. He is by no means in love with them but he wouldn’t be against a good fuck. He is okay with being friends though as they keep things interesting.

- Sukuna fucking hates the reader and wants to annihilate them. But also hold them against his chest and brush their hair. He wants to show them levels of pain they didn’t know possible. But also wants to be the one to comfort them and make them feel better. He doesn’t love the reader, but also wants to be around them for more than just sex or power. He doesn’t understand why he is drawn to them and doesn’t want to kill them, but it has been happening since before they arrived. Mans had someone stalking them for quite some time. He hates how they mouth off and disrespect him, but also hates when they don’t. He will hurt them for not being able to keep up with his ever changing whims and then comfort them while telling them to be better from no on. Is it toxic? Duh, it’s Sukuna babes. He is not a soft or even reasonable lover… yet anyway. Who knows where they’ll end up.

- The reader was aware of someone stalking her but anytime they noticed them, their energy immediately disappeared. They have had many people watch them and plan to attack them in the past and they slaughtered all so they didn’t think too much about it. She has the same emotional conflict as Sukuna. There is obvious sexual attraction, but also he is a complete asshole, but so sweet sometimes. She is no saint, nor is she fragile, so maybe she deserves that kind of love. She can always dish it back out if she chose. Sukuna would secretly love it because no one has ever been able to truly hurt him. But realistically they are two kids that were dropped on their heads into cursed energy apparently. Born to be monsters, but who knows if that will be all their legacies leave.

Taglist: @missroro

[five-and-dimes]

And When You Asked For Light/I Set Myself On Fire

It is Dream’s function, his duty, his purpose, to fulfill dreams on the rare occasion he is called to them. Therefore, he has no right to say no to Hob Gadling in his dreams no matter how he himself feels. Hob disagrees.

Read on AO3

Dream does not often visit Hob’s dreams. Or at least, he hasn’t before. It’s strange to him, to wander the subconscious of his beloved, despite having recently been given explicit permission.

“I did not know.”

“How could you not know?” Hob asked, sincere confusion on his face. Hob had been so earnestly shocked when Dream had returned his sudden kiss and stumbled confession of love. Apparently, he had assumed his feelings were unrequited, because he thought Dream had known of his feelings this whole time and simply ignored them.

“I dream about you all the time,” he explained, “How on earth could you not know I love you?”

The words still send a pleasant shiver down Dream’s spine. Love. Love. Love.

“It would be a gross invasion of privacy,” Dream stated, “I only enter humanity’s dreams if I sense there is a problem needing to be dealt with, or if one of my subjects has cause for concern. Otherwise, your dreams are your own.”

He did not say that he had always feared what he might look like in Hob’s dreams. A monster, perhaps. Nothing at all, perhaps. He feared Hob’s mind would cast him in a role he was not ready to play.

Hob’s face softened, and he chuckled, “Well, consider this a blanket invitation,” he leaned forward, more confidence than he had had the first time, “You’re always welcome in my dreams. They’re mostly about you anyway,” he said teasingly, “Hope that doesn’t offend you.”

“It does not.” Hob laughed at his response, and then they are kissing again and again and again.

He is still hesitant to disrupt the dreams of his lover too frequently, but he has begun to visit him once or twice a week, on top of seeing him in the Waking. It feels greedy, after so long seeing each other only once a century, and he is certain Hob will soon grow tired of him. But for now, Hob still welcomes him warmly, and so Dream will indulge for as long as he is allowed.

On this night, when he steps into Hob’s dream he cannot help but smile as he sees himself surrounded by Hob’s memory of the White Horse. As with most dreams that build their foundation off of memories, it is not a fully accurate replica. It is a composite of the tavern through all the years Hob has been within its walls, a tapestry of how the tavern has changed over the centuries. But as he approaches the center of the dream- as he approaches Hob- the tavern becomes more clearly the version it was in 1398.

Nodding respectfully, he dismisses the dream who had been watching over Hob, taking their place in holding the structure of the dream. His own figure becomes draped in the garb he had worn on that fateful day so long ago, and he smiles as he comes to stand before his lover.

“Did I hear you say you have no intention of dying?”

Hob looks up, eyes glittering and full of mirth, just as they had been in the Waking on that day. When their eyes meet, he can see the moment Hob becomes aware. His head whips around, taking in the dreamspace consciously, and then he laughs.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” He grins, and then he stands and kisses Dream without hesitation.

Dream huffs a laugh against his mouth, “Were you feeling nostalgic this evening, my beloved?”

“You know, I’m not usually one for nostalgia. But I do think about this day all the time” Hob says, grinning slyly.

“Oh?” Dream also thinks of this day often, but in a… distant way. His memories are like stained glass- he must step back to see the whole picture, otherwise he becomes lost in the individual shards. The way the Waking had felt so harsh and suffocating, the way his sister pushed him towards humanity despite all the times she’s told him that he cares too much, the way he had heard a mortal declaring he would not die and thought to himself ‘would that I could take your place’. These fragments are sharp and cutting if he looks too close, but from afar, he is able to see the shape of the day he met Hob Gadling. And that is too pretty a picture to discard.

Hob hums, tugging Dream closer, kissing the hinge of his jaw as he whispers in his ear, “Oh yes. Even before I knew what you were, I took one look at you and wanted you,” Dream can feel him grin against his skin, “I imagined how it might feel to dirty up such a lovely lord. Wanted to take you right here in front of everyone.”

The reality of the situation hits Dream like a wave of ice water. He had been so distracted by seeing his lover in his realm, seeing him wrapped in the comfort of the Dreaming, that he hadn’t recognized the specifics of their surroundings. Not the White Horse, no, deeper than that. The specific flavor of this particular dream that, now that he was paying attention, coated Dream’s tongue and throat like tar.

This is a sex dream.

It’s silly- ridiculous, unreasonable, unfair- for him to want to pull away like he does. He forces his body still under Hob’s hands. Still, but pliable. He doesn’t freeze. He allows himself to be backed up against the table and laid out across it, allows his head to tilt for Hob to kiss along his neck. All around them the shadows of Hob’s memory stare at them, figures of his old friends sitting in their seats around the table where Hob has placed Dream, watching Hob put his hands under Dream’s clothes and Dream inexplicably wants to cry. It is a dream, it is him, it is just him and Hob and the scaffolding of a memory made from Dream’s own being. It shouldn’t matter that at the moment that scaffolding looks like eyes on them.

But it does. Dream can feel the weight of the White Horse patrons’ eyes on them as Hob runs his hands up Dream’s thighs because that is what this dream is supposed to feel like. It is a manifestation of a fantasy that Hob has that could not necessarily be indulged in in the Waking world. That is the purpose of this dream.

So Dream has no right to object to it.

He has said that Hob’s dreams are his own. It would not be right for Dream to put a stop to this one just because it reminds him of 100 years of being stared at while naked and vulnerable. A part of him recognizes the lust and attraction seeped through the dream, drawn to Hob like a gravitational pull, but all Dream can feel is the frozen terror of a prey animal- like the nightmares he has made for deer and hare, glowing eyes in the darkness waiting to strike.

It’s not until Hob starts to pull away that Dream realizes that he is bleeding those feelings into the dream. Like blood staining a carpet and disrupting the pattern.

“Dream?” Hob’s brow is furrowed, eyes wide and concerned as he feels Dream’s fear slip across his hands, feels the way the audience around them slowly shifts from lustful and appreciative to hungry.

How disgraceful, Dream thinks. How shameful, reprehensible, vile.

“I apologize,” he raises a shaking hand to grip his own throat, putting pressure on a metaphorical wound as he reels himself in. The dream rights itself around them, the patrons around them who were tensed to strike settling back in their seats, their gazes softening into lust once more. Exhaling slowly, Dream lets his hand fall from his neck, relaxing his posture and arching against the table to press his hips against Hob’s.

“I apologize,” he repeats, softer, “shall we continue?”

Hob’s hands land on his hips, but do not pull him closer. He does not grind against him or slip his fingers beneath his clothes. No. Hob pushes him away.

“Dream,” he sounds upset, confused, Dream’s failure must be worse than he thought, “What happened just now? I felt… It felt almost like I was in the beginning of a nightmare? Or, or something like that?”

“I apologize,” Maybe if he says it enough, Hob will forgive him, “that was my doing. Unintentionally,” he adds quickly, unsure if admitting the lack of control will make it better or worse, “I did not mean to affect the structure of this dream. It will not happen again, I assure you.”

There is a stretch of silence as Hob tries to piece together the things Dream isn’t saying. “Love…” Hob is breathless, eyes widening with horror, and he desperately hopes he is wrong, “Was that… how you’re feeling right now?”

“It does not matter. This is not my dream, Hob Gadling.” Dream won't meet his eyes, his body stiff and tense even as he runs his hands down Hob's chest in a way that is clearly trying to be alluring, “It is yours. And it is yours to do with as you wish."

Hob feels ice in his veins. Because his instincts tell him that the 'it' Dream is referring to is himself. An ownership that Hob doesn't want. He finds himself jerking away from Dream's hands, stumbling back to put as much space between them as he can. He's spent 600 years wanting to touch his stranger. But not like this.

His voice is soft and shaky when he speaks.

“This dream is over.”

Dream flinches back as if he'd been slapped, sitting up hesitantly, his voice a mix of confusion and offense.

“Excuse me-?”

Hob screeches back, “This dream is over!”

And with a sharp gasp, he finds himself snapping awake in his bed.

When he sits up, he finds Dream standing at the foot of his bed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why did you wake yourself? If something was not to your satisfaction I would have-”

“Stop,” Hob interrupts harshly, heart pounding in his chest. Dream’s teeth click shut, looking on the edge of frustration, but remaining silent as Hob gathers himself. Running a hand through his hair, Hob takes in the rigidness in his lover’s body, like he is bracing for something. His expression softens, and he pats the spot on the mattress next to him in invitation.

There is a moment of hesitation, but then Dream is taking careful, measured steps towards Hob. He moves like a stray cat approaching a strange hand, cautious and curious and ready to bite or claw or flee at the slightest wrong move. Hob stays still, and eventually, Dream lowers himself slowly to sit beside him, eying Hob out of the corner of his eye.

“Dream,” he is careful to keep his voice gentle and soft, “you know… you can always tell me if you don’t want to do something.”

Turning to face Hob fully, Dream blinks in confusion, “But… we were in the Dreaming?”

“So?”

“So I must…” he exhales sharply in frustration, like Hob is being deliberately obtuse, “You were dreaming. Therefore I must… It would not be right for me to…”

Hob frowned, “You ‘must’? But I mean, you changed the dream a little bit-”

“I told you, that was unintentional-”

“But you still did, so obviously you can. I thought you were like, all powerful in the Dreaming, I mean, it’s your realm!”

“And it’s for you,” Dream answers sharply, “It is your dream. My purpose is to provide for dreamers. It is my job, my duty. There is no excuse for… for denying you. If you call for me I will gladly be a vessel for your fantasies.”

“Not gladly,” Hob corrects, “You were scared, I could feel it.”

“It does not matter-”

“Yes, it does,” Hob snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration, “Dream I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want, not ever. You’re allowed to say no!”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but by the end he is shouting, Dream still and silent beside him, jaw clenched and hands curled into tight fists. Sighing, Hob feels himself deflate. He’s not angry, not really. He’s scared. He is holding something fragile in his hands and he is so very scared of breaking it.

“You’re allowed to say no,” He repeats, softer this time.

There is a long pause, Dream’s eyes searching his face before finally looking down at his lap, “Here, maybe.” And he sounds so uncertain, his voice almost a question, Am I? Am I allowed to be safe here, at least? “But not in the Dreaming.” He says it so definitively that Hob feels his heart shatter, “I serve humanity. I serve you. It would be a grave injustice to take away your dream.”

Hob doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how to ask if this is the first time Dream has gone along with something he didn’t want or if it’s just the first time he couldn’t hide it. He doesn’t know how to explain to a concept, someone so far above Hob, that he is allowed autonomy.

Reaching out, he covers Dream’s trembling fist with his hand. “You’re my dream,” he whispers, “Just you. You happy, you safe, you loved.” He dips his head, trying to catch Dream’s eyes, “I don’t dream of hurting you.”

He’s barely finished speaking when Dream rips his hand away, slipping off the bed and onto his feet quick and graceful, shoulders hunched up like a cat backed in a corner.

“You cannot hurt me, Hob Gadling,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Do you think me so weak as to be unable to endure a bit of pain for the sake of my duty-”

“Which is it,” Hob interrupts sharply, “Can you not be hurt, or can you endure the hurt?”

Dream’s body stiffens even more, and Hob thinks if he were not an otherworldly being he might have cracked a tooth from how hard his jaw was clenched. His hands shake at his sides, and his eyes are narrowed and glassy, caught in a trap of his own making.

Softening, Hob rises to stand in front of him, though he does not reach for him just yet, “Dream. I don’t think you’re weak. I don’t think less of you for having boundaries, or being hurt. And you were hurt,” he continues before Dream can argue again, “Don’t insult us both by pretending otherwise.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream’s eyes drop to the ground, not quite quick enough to hide the gleam of tears though. When he doesn’t respond, Hob can’t help but sigh heavily. Sad, and frustrated, and overwhelmed.

“I don’t think you should visit my dreams for a bit.” Dream snaps his head up, and he looks so utterly heartbroken that Hob’s words rush out of him, “I’m not breaking up with you,” he insists, “I still want to see you as much as possible here in the Waking. Or, I don’t know, if there’s other parts of the Dreaming we could go where you don’t… don’t feel obligated. But I don’t want to put you in a position where you think you can’t be honest with me. I don’t want to risk not noticing when something goes wrong.”

He thinks his words maybe help a little. Dream looks less like Hob has ripped his heart out with a blunt instrument, but he still looks… defeated. The tension has bled from him, leaving him slumped like a wilted flower. Hob risks reaching out, bringing a hand to cup Dream’s face, and sighs in relief when Dream allows himself to lean into the touch.

“I am sorry.”

Hob pulls him closer, until he can draw Dream into his arms and tuck his face against his shoulder, “It’s alright,” he whispers, “I promise it’s alright. I’m not getting off the ride just ‘cause of a bump in the road.”

Dream lets out a small huff of laughter against his neck, and Hob smiles. It’s late, and he’s tired, and there is still a deep concern for everything he has learned about his lover tonight.

But Dream is still here, safe in his arms, and that’s enough for now.

[waywardcrow]

Koala hugs.

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Librarian!Reader.

Part of the Sweeter than fiction series.

(This is the first post about it so don’t think you miss something, I got inspiration and here we are)

Summary: After a long day, the only thing she needed is to be in the arms of Bucky.

TW: Stress and a little bit of anger but nothing too explicit, an homophobic asshole (just mentioned), books being mistreated (idk, it gave me anxiety), fluff, Bucky as a human pillow, mention of past insecurities, a petty girl, established relationship, as always: English is not my first language so please let me know if I make a mistake.

Picture from pinterest and graphic by the amazing @ firefly-graphics so all credits to the creators.

The bag hit the floor as soon as she walked in her house, too tired to cared about it this time or about the shoes she left in the middle of the hall the girl made her way to her destiny.

She had one goal in mind, there was one thing that helped her to don’t yell at the little shits who decided to throw books for fun at the back of the library, the thing that made her don’t smack the Karen who went to her desk to complain about the queer books they had in the shelves, the librarian’s head ached from faking a smile while telling that asshole she could file a complain in the city hall if she wanted to. That was her job, not to start a fight before the fairytales reading she had scheduled for that afternoon could begin.

And to make her day more shitty, she found Dolores in the store before going home, the redhead didn’t miss the chance to try to make her react remembering out loud her “time” with Bucky in the cashier’s line before Bobby told her to behave or his wife will kick her out of their business. Dolores will had haunt her forever with her past with Bucky but that was before, Bucky and her didn’t went through hell fighting their ghosts to let that bitch win.

That knowledge didn’t cured her bad mood, her remedy was sleeping in the couch hugging one of her pillows agains his muscular chest. Bucky wasn’t one to take naps in the late afternoon but the last days babysitting Sam and Rose’s kid left him exhausted.

Peach smiled at the sight of him, it was impossible not to, a 6’4 tattooed biker beefy Bucky Barnes cuddling a pink puffy pillow with such a peaceful expression in his handsome face was just so beautiful.

The girl took out her coat and left her in the floor with the grocery bag, not caring about anything else but her boyfriend, Peach pulled Bucky’s pillow from his arms to leave them ready for her.

The once calm expression on her boyfriend changed to a sleepy and cute one when he saw her.

“Hey Peach” his voice raspy and deeper than usual made her pout “what’s the matter?” Bucky started to get up but with one hand she stopped him.

“I want koala hugs”

His eyebrows relaxed before taking her by the hand and pulling her against him, barely awake but loving how far his girlfriend came through, she was still doubtful sometimes but it was getting easier for her to voice her needs.

“Love you so much sweets” he whispered in her skin when she wrapped her thighs around his waist and her arms found their way around his neck, that was their favorite place.

“Love you too Bucky” she sighed, feeling all her stress melt away in his scent, breathing him in as she closed her eyes, letting sleep take them both away.

[yurozo]

hang & bleed (req)

╔══《⚜》══╗ restaurant au!wesker x gn!reader summary: in the closed ecosystem of a restaurant, wesker is a god and you are nothing more than a humble servant. (1.5k words) tags: blood, religious imagery, no use of y/n, swearing, wesker's a little bit of an asshole, mentions of explicit content. a/n: for the anon who requested this, this honestly just kind of slipped through my hands. the tone is very different from the rest of the writing for the restaurant au, but i wanted to stay true to wesker's characterization. i hope you like it anyways!! see more of the restaurant au!! | 1 | 2 | ╚══《⚜》══╝

Sometimes, you think Wesker is God.

Over eons of evolution, humans perfected the ability of pattern recognition. The brain is wired to organize and explain sense information, extracting formulas for complex ideas to sort them into neat little boxes. Which mushrooms you can eat and which ones will have you foaming at the mouth, coughing out your innards until your corpse is cold on the floor.

When you picture a chair, there’s a certain image that will manifest itself. A flat surface, four legs, a curved back. Wrapped in red velvet, maybe, depending on how you feel that day. People learn through these patterns— you have seen a chair before, you know the attributes of a chair, and you know how a chair works. The more chairs you see in your life, the easier it is for those helpful little synapses to fire those images in quicker intervals.

You know a chair is a chair because you have tested the validity of that claim several times over. Even if it’s a different chair, maybe mahogany wood this time, it’s all conceptually the same thing. 

Sometimes, a chair is a chair, a mushroom is a death sentence, and a God is a man. 

Time to test a theory. 

Wesker appears, no, materializes behind you the second blood pools on your finger. A soft click of his tongue against his teeth is what makes you finally drop the broken shard of glass you hastily tried to pick up off the floor, and now the tile is splattered with red. 

“You’re making a mess,” he’s scolding you, pulling you up by the collar of your now-damaged work shirt. Crimson against grey and plasma against silk. Wesker’s glaring at you through his glasses, like some sad cat he found drenched in the rain. Pitiful and ever-so-eager to please. 

“Sorry,” is all you can mutter, stumbling forward on your feet. The defense is followed by a meager attempt to minimize the damage, shoving the side of your finger to your mouth to lick at the blood. 

He says nothing to your half-hearted apology, turning to rip the first-aid kit off the nearby wall and tearing it open. Ada’s watching too, eyes carefully watching your every movement as her knife flies across the cutting board. Her movements are always fluid and precise, a loud repetitive clacking of the blade cutting through the air as another vegetable meets its inevitable fate. The stems are sorted into neat piles and thrown in the trash, and the heads are quartered to be tossed into a pan. 

Something about her always unnerved you. Ada never disappoints Wesker, not like you. 

Another click of metal hitting wood as your hand is wrenched from your mouth and the alcohol wipe comes swinging down on your cut like a guillotine. The kitchen suddenly feels all too quiet, too separated from the chaos of the front, and even the line cooks fall silent out of respect. Disappointing the boss and making stupid mistakes on the job is a crime punishable by death. 

God is an executioner, a judge, and a manager at the town’s shittiest restaurant. 

“For someone as capable as you are, you would think to know better than pick up glass with bare hands.” 

He’s scolding you again as the bloodied wipe is unceremoniously thrown into the trash. You should feel ashamed, should feel repentant, but you hear the word capable and the soft hum of approval hums through your chest. 

“Didn’t want someone to slip,” you mumble,“I thought it would be fine.”

“It is decidedly not fine.” His voice is stern, but his hands are gentle. A bandaid is pressed onto your finger before you can protest, you’re more than capable of doing it yourself, but Wesker is not a man that can handle refusal. 

“I can see that.” There’s no polite way to tell God no. 

Ada scoffs as he’s dragging you off to the execution room, a small bunker of an office so meticulously organized that it feels like an entirely separate realm from the usual chaos of the restaurant. Folders and well-loved cookbooks litter every shelf, tabbed and colour-coded, and Wesker is still saying nothing as he sits you down in the chair and ceremoniously filters through a pile of paper. Red velvet, like you imagined. 

Sense information can often be distorted. The brain can’t catch up with what the eyes are seeing, or the nerves send the wrong messages, and the visual perception of an object appears larger than normal. When a man is coming towards you from far away, his image on your retina grows bigger and bigger until everything else feels miniscule in comparison. Shelves, desks, stupid servers who fall in love with God. 

Wesker is tripling in size, bleached blonde hair haloed by a shitty fluorescent light that should have been changed months ago, and you suddenly feel very, very small. 

“Incident report.” A paper is shoved in your face. 

You stare up at him for a moment, brow raised in curiosity. “It’s like, a one-inch cut.”

“Regulations,” is his simple answer, spoken like a commandment. “We used the first aid kit, and I don’t want your blood dirtying up my kitchen more than it already has.”

“It was barely a drop.” You know it’s a lie, and he knows it’s a lie. It was a lot more than that, and the tile can attest to it. 

He taps on the paper impatiently, and you get to writing. There’s no comfortable way to hold a pen with a bandage making it slip out of your grip with every slight amount of pressure, and you can only hope he doesn’t wince at your shoddy handwriting. 

Name, date, contact information. Nature of injury, small incision to the right hand. Cause of incident, being an idiot and believing you’re invincible. Before the incident, you accidentally dropped a glass on the ground, and after the incident, Wesker had complimented you. 

“What the hell are you grinning about?” He asks derisively, standing behind you with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You try to tamp the smile down on sheer force alone, but it’s a futile endeavour. “You think I’m capable.”

Wesker sneers. “I think you can do a lot better than this shithole.” 

“You run this shithole.” 

“I didn’t say I deserved better.” Wesker turns to pretend-sort through papers, lining up each edge until they’re perfectly aligned. He’s stalling too, the man who never seemed to fall downwards, fumbling about the small space looking for every imperfection just to avoid looking at you directly. 

Looking directly into the sun causes ultraviolet light to damage the retina, burning the exposed tissue. Factors such as depth perception and sight can be permanently altered, and you wonder if Icarus was blind when he fell from the sky. 

For a man who always seemed to be the smartest in the room, it really is a miracle he’s here, hunched over in a tiny office, wrangling a gaggle of twenty year olds into serving steaks. The more you look at him, the more he looks mortal. Too tight skin stretched over wiry muscles, dark bags pillowing under the eyes. 

You hum. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would just quit.”

The phrase gives him pause, and he finally turns back to you.  “Then quit.”

“Huh,” you say, like the thought of leaving here wouldn’t kill you. There’s an ironic sort of comfort in relying on the mayhem, managed only by the orderly system that the divine enacts. “You know, I dread the day that I wake up every morning just to take the same train line to work, talk to the same boring people, and sit in the same shitty cubicle.”

“People like us,”  he continues, crossing the chasm with all the graceful movement his long limbs will allow. He’s always been a little too thin on the bones, and all you can feel is the cadaverous feeling of his fingers as they grip your chin. “Are at least above office jobs.”

Those synapses start firing up images again, of Wesker leaning down and pressing against you, lifting you up on that perfectly organized desk and scattering those papers onto the floor. Humans developed pattern recognition for survival, and not imagining fucking your boss in his cramped office. 

Now you’re giving yourself away too, the way your eyes immediately flicker down to his mouth. It’s downturned, like it always is; reading Wesker is always about the eyes. They’re still half-hidden underneath those stupid glasses, but you can still see the way they’re watching you all the same. 

It’s an act of rebellion to kiss your boss, a death sentence like mistaking a death-cap for a puffball. You wonder if you should add this to the report, that you grabbed God by the collar and crushed him to your mouth post-incident. 

“You’re not fucking invincible,” he whispers against your lips, squeezing the fat of your cheeks between his fingers. Your lips purse at the force, and he grins at the sight. “Don’t do something stupid like that again.”

That stupid, unbidden smile rears its ugly head again. Sometimes death tastes like chapstick and not iron in your mouth. 

[manjiroscum]

SWEET PEA

Character/s: Bonten!Manjiro Sano

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, breeding, a bit of fluff, reader gets a bit insecure, hybrid au, reader is a bunny hybrid + has some bunny features, heat cycles mentioned, creampie, rough sex, and pet names used. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by bby grey @bunnyjiros 💕 thank you as always luv and i hope you like it! 🥺

Synopsis: Manjiro sometimes wishes you wouldn't shy away from expressing your desires.

WC: 1.3k

“She’s turning two this year and it won’t be long before she welcomes a new sibling.”

Beaming smiles were worn by every woman sitting around the table that morning. Brunch was decided on and frankly, you wished you didn’t eat so much. You remember every fleeting glance and inquisitive question sent each other's way. It was supposed to be a get-together with old friends from high school whom you haven’t kept in touch with since graduation due to the duties and tight schedules brought by adult life. But the second you showed up, they were not alone. Everyone gushed about their children and babies that you were sure your floppy ears hurt hearing the same thing. Unlike your fellow hybrid friends, the joys of motherhood were foreign to you. Knowing nothing about labor pains or the hardships of taking care of a newborn, you fell listen as they conversed about it. The sandwich you chewed and swallowed made your stomach hurt slightly while you sat there motionless.

Becoming a parent wasn’t a dream of yours. Heck, you only wanted to survive and graduate from university. The next step after that was to get a job and become stable. The same was true for your friends so it surprised you to see them all building a family of their own. So much can occur and change in five years that it terrifies you. However, the image of having a little one in the future slowly bloomed into your picture of perfection when Sano Manjiro entered your life. While they had their families and other mundane occurrences in their lives, you had your husband, Mikey, who was Bonten’s undefeated leader. The joy of introducing him to your friends waned with each passing moment as they spoke, afraid of their judgemental stares and possible crass comments. What was even worse…

The green-horned monster was rearing its ugly face toward them, eyeing each of their material possessions and the people they hold dear.

“Babe? You doin’ alright?”

Yet, what overpowered that unpleasant state of envy was sheer melancholy. To have and give your lover a child has been one of your plans ever since you tied the knot with Manjiro. There was this unexplained desire to see the most powerful man in Tokyo dote on a small human being and hold them in such gentle ways akin to touching a precious gem. Yet, above that desire was another one—to see your husband smile. However, what was stopping you from discontinuing your birth control and just asking Manjiro to put a baby inside you was his lack of voicing his wishes to have one. That alone was enough to have you sitting there in silence, unable to tear away your gaze from the mirror until your husband had to speak up about his concern.

“Manji, can I ask you something?”

The rest of the jewelry you put on for that gathering was all safely placed inside the velvet box that was filled with other accessories gifted by your husband standing a few feet behind you. You locked eyes with his onyx ones that were normally listless around others. His brow raised, a sign for you to shoot your question away. Clearing your throat, you braced yourself for his response while structuring the inquiry.

“Um, I’ve been thinking… Well, first off, today’s brunch was excellent and I had fun. Second, my friends were discussing things like their babies and children. They were all so cute, Manji! I couldn’t help but gush about them once I saw photos of their chubby cheeks and small hands.” You didn’t realize it, but Manjiro noticed you were now rambling. It didn’t have to take him too long to know that you were nervous, especially with how your floppy ears were stiff due to anxiety. Instead of pointing it out, he opted to let you finish and get to the point with a small curl on his lips. “Don’t you think babies are so tiny and cute? I bet my babies will be cuter than theirs though. I mean, they will be since they’re a combination of you and me. Wouldn’t you agree, Manji?”

“So, you want a baby?” Manjiro, in all his stoic glory, cracked a smile at what you were obviously hinting at from the start. He confirmed he hit the truth once you froze in your seat, eyes slightly widened. He bet that your cheeks were as hot as a summer day, hoping for them to be cooled down by his calloused fingertips. Abashedly, you nodded your head in agreement. There was no use lying to Manjiro. He always seems to have a way of finding out the truth at the end of the day. Plus, beating around the bush with this topic would not satiate your mind seeking for answers on whether he shared the same wish or not. As a response to your harmless query, your husband silently diminished the distance between you two. Your eyes followed his every move from the way his hands sought after your face to the moment he lowered his head to plant a kiss on your lips. Parting from you for a second, he whispered, “If you want it so badly, I’m more than willing to start now. We can do it every day until your heat comes to be extra sure. What do ‘ya say?”

“Well… I don’t want to do this without your consent first and asking if you want a kid—”

Manjiro acted swiftly than your doubts. He knew you like the back of his hand. If anything, he would rather keep you happy than ever witness you fighting back your emotions while staring at a blurry sky. He ignored your slightly panicked expression and kept a straight face on while lifting you from your seat.

Of course, anything you wanted shall be yours.

Your bare back hit the mattress, rubbing against the material as he ground himself against your aching core. His mouth heatedly kissed yours. His adept tongue explored and relished your taste. You were silenced by his loving onslaught of affections, mind rendered silent as you received his gentle but arousing touches. Your floppy ears twitched when he nipped your neck which was accompanied by your mewls at the ticklish yet hot sensation. Manjiro hoped to leave his mark on the supple flesh. He wasn’t going to admit it aloud right now, but when he heard you wanted a child—his child, never has he experienced such bliss that clouded his mind to the point all he could think of was your stomach round with his offspring and the thought of stuffing you full of his fertile cum.

“Baby! Ah, please. Please… Please fuck a baby in me. Wanna have your babies!”

Manjiro was out of control. He cared less and less if his hands left imprints on your hips, wrists, thighs, or any other part of your body as he thrust his cock into your sopping wet cunt. A thick white ring formed around his girthy length that, too, coated his balls that were slapping your ass each time. Even your sensitive floppy ears fell victim to his rough treatment, being held up tightly as he pounded your pussy away. You, on the other hand, screamed for more. Your husband may not be a hybrid like you, however, he was on par with a beast in its rutting season. Every thrust had you begging for more, hoping for him to fill your cunt up until his balls could no longer produce any semen. And that was exactly what you and he wanted—to go at it like animals.

To breed and be bred.

“Fuck, babe…” Manjiro grunted as he climaxed for the fourth time tonight. A hiss escaped his lips at the sight of your abused pussy creamed, dripping as you sobbed into the mattress. Your mind was long gone from its rational state, drunk off on euphoria. Fixing your hair and floppy ears, your husband leaned down to lick on your nape before biting the spot. You were too weak to do anything or even react, just laying there in all your vulnerable form. “Ready to be a mommy? You better be ready to keep this up.

[traceofexistence]

After reading your post about Faye, I almost got a sense of deja-vu because I also had a similar rant about it.

Like that woman has been publicly out for a few years, privately even more (imo it was probably an open secret before she publicity came out). And no matter how "open" Thailand is for lgbtq ppl it's always a risk to come out, especially if you are already in a public light.

It's not Faye's, Yoko's, or 9star's problem that some people got "tricked" by other gl couple, and now in their opinion everyone is being fake and just doing it for "money."  And no matter how open and transparent any of them are (9star/fayeyoko), nothing is good enough for those people. Because like I've said they have been too delusional and were fucked over by other gl couples and their companies/studios.

So now that you have a openly out woman who is with a company that actually treats her and Yoko like human beings and doesn't rely on some stupid tricks so that they earn more money some people don't know how to behave. And in some instances are jealous because why couldn't my faves have company be like that. But that's just my opinion.

this

and because I'm weird like that I dont block the trolls I try to study their behaviour (knowing your enemies type of tactic on my party)

one particular on twitter was yapping about how Faye is in secret relationship with her salon partner (the way these assholes bullied that poor woman🤬) and she's cheating on her with yoko and yada yada yada, and how they are an excellent investigator. and their whole proof was couple of photos she had with Faye doing literally nothing LOL

so I looked at their older tweets, and boom they were a fan of another GL couple, and then they saw one of those actresses in pictures with a guy (again nothing explicit) and they started going off about how they were lied on, but to my understanding that other loveteam were like "we are single, we are phi-nong" the same way fayeyoko say (and I personally believe them because I simply dont ship)

so whether these people had "their dreams crushed" or they built a whole ass delusion to be mad about when it didn't come true is unclear to me.

and all the trolls I have seen look like they are disappointed from other GLs and apply the same bs on our girls

to conclude, I really do thing FayeYoko are nothing currently beyond phi-nong as they say

Faye has been saying she's single for years, that falling in love is hard for her, and be with people because she works too much, so I believe that

and Yoko doesn't care enough to lie about her status and she's been saying shes single since day one, and funnily enough the same trolls got mad that she said so again recently and called her names etc.

last but not least according to thai people, only very recently Thailand became somewhat open about LGBTQ. and still old people are conservative. coming out is coming out.

as for Faye, her family knew she was dating a girl early on. she said she didn't have to tell her mom, because her sister who (was very little at the time, asked her mom, and mom said "Faye is old enough now and she knows what she's doing" something along those lines and her baby sister told Faye back LOL so the cat was out of the bag soon, and her GF at the time was close to Faye's mom and sisters. her coming out to the public was around 2021~22 and after she got permission by the MGT boss, not to mention that with her coming out she paved the way for other MGT girls to be open up as well (two of her friends Lux, and Engfa for example)

[rbvcdeluxe]

Use this as an excuse to dump a bunch of Hatchetfield headcanons, go nuts dude

YEAAAA

(I want to say that Melissa is mentioned in this. Jus in case someone is uncomfortable with Hey Melissa references)

The nerds have a groupchat. Grace sends "Jesus loves you!" gifs every morning, and also a bunch of praying emojis constantly.

This one is just silly and nothing serious, but sometimes the Lords in Black when they are in human-like forms they like to play pretend and mock humans. They usually act as if they were siblings to make fun of that.

Ruth Fleming is a Tim Minchin and Bo Burnham fan. Her favorite songs are definitely Confessions, High School Party and Nerds (Studio)

Ted Spankoffski is ALSO a Tim Minchin fan. This one is unexplainable honestly, my brain just told me this hc and I went with it, but look, it makes sense to me. His favorite song is Beauty.

Shopper #4 has committed multiple crimes. Mainly tax fraud. I have no reasons for this one, I just know it.

People from Clivesdale know what Hatchetfield says about them, but they think it's in a fun way. They think that Hatchetfield residents pretend to hate them for the funsies and Clivesdale does it back in a playful manner, but they don't know that Hatchetfield, does in fact, HATE THEM and it is not a joke for them. Fuck Clivesdale.

Grace is always carrying a little teeny bible in her backpack, it is so damn small.

Frank Pricely is TRANS. this hc started as a joke but I started to take it seriously at some point. It's just the idea of it that is so funny. Frank basically came out with a friend of his by saying "Can I be frank with you?” and like, he told his friend that he was trans BUT he didn't know with what name to go by and asked him to help him chose a name, his friend thought about it and since he said 'frank' because he said the ‘can I be frank with you’ thingy and Pricely actually liked the name and then LATER ON his friend realized how fucking funny his name was considering that Frank is the capitalist ever and his last name is Pricely.

Ruth forced Grace to watch Jesus Christ Superstar.

Charlotte and Sam don't have any wedding pictures, so they don't have any visual memories of that day.

Char and Sam were high school sweethearts.

Ruth, Richie and Pete like to make gift exchanges every christmas and they get the stupidest shit ever for each other. And for some reason Ted also participates sometimes.

Mr. Davidson sometimes likes to write poems for Carol. I have no reason for this headcanon, I just think it's cute.

Melissa has watched The Human Centipede and it's her favorite movie even if she won't say it. She may say that she has watched it but isn't explicit about liking it.

Deb owns at least over 6 different pairs of boots.

When Blinky and Pokey are in a human-like forms, Pokey sometimes plays fullass one-man-shows for Blinky for the funsies.

Richie loves energy drinks.

Oddly specific (hyperspecific) headcanon that I came up with as a joke but now I think it's way too funny to let it go: Sam has a Samsung phone ONLY in the TGWDLM timeline. In any other timeline he has a different one, but in The Guy he has a Samsung. I won't even explain why I think it's too obvious and it would ruin the joke if I do explain.

The nameless background characters that Lauren and Jeff are playing in La Dee Dah Dah Day are both non binary and are also dating. Idk, I don't have explanation for this one, I just went with the vibes.

Melissa has a fullass document dedicated to cat pictures.

In CCRP they sometimes play board games, Mr. Davidson is usually the one who chooses the game.

I can't think of more right now so YES I WILL REBLOG TO ADD MORE LATER!!

[fushiglow]

Hello glow!!! Thank you for another lovely satosugu work! :)

I absolutely love how real and tangible your writing is - seeing them start with different states of being turned on and building together really paints such a lovely picture of what intimacy is without the expectation of a perfect start-stop :) 3 cheers to realistic sexual dynamics!

Also, I think that your link at the end of your post goes to Violent Delights instead - but maybe that's just an issue on my end!

Thank you so much for this lovely feedback (and the heads up about the link), I can't tell you how much your words cheered me on Friday! They came at a time I really needed to hear them so, if you don't mind, I'm going to use this ask as an opportunity to say a few things about my writing and why I do what I do — no obligation to respond!

Quite honestly, I have been feeling a little anxious about how I'm perceived as a writer recently. When Over the Threshold started gathering some steam in January, I only had five published works on AO3 posted over the course of six months. By the end of August, I'll have 18 published works for Jujutsu Kaisen, 16 of which will be complete. I have never been this productive in a fandom before!

A lot of the reason for that is because I'm finally learning how to work with my AuDHD brain. I love writing, I really do, and I'm constantly excited by the possibilities that reside within my brain. I have more ideas than I have time or hands to write them, but I want to explore as many of those ideas as possible. In the past, I would have forced myself to stick to the thing that I was "supposed" to write, rather than following the burst of inspiration and writing the thing that I "wanted" to write. To no one's surprise, that usually meant I ended up writing nothing at all.

I'm someone who seeks out challenges, and all the fics I've published in 2024 have been experimental in some way. Come Get Your Honey was a challenge in extended metaphor. Balance was a challenge in seamlessly blending two very different universes. Mailman AU was a challenge in format. Violent Delights was a challenge in pushing myself to new and uncomfortable places. Thunder was a challenge in encapsulating an entire world and history within a single motif without ever actually seeing that world and history.

I'm really proud of every single one of those works, as well as the speed I've written them at. I've published 92k words on AO3 already this year and written far more, so I feel like I can no longer justifiably call myself a slow writer. However, all the works mentioned above have artistic merit in the more traditional sense — i.e. they're not smut.

At the time of writing this, three of my five most recent works contain sexual content with varying degrees of explicitness, and it's hard to escape that pervasive (and flawed) idea that smut is "less serious" as a form of writing. Even writing smut in the first place has been a slow process of overcoming some of my own biases. However, sex is part of the spectrum of human experiences, and it's also deeply political. Whenever I explore it in my writing, you can be sure that I always have that at the forefront of my mind. That's why these works, too, have represented something new and challenging and exciting for me.

Discreet Delivery was the first piece containing explicit sexual content that I ever shared publicly and, with how rife top/bottom discourse is in this fandom (most of which is based on heteronormative ideals that I vehemently disagree with), I really wanted to make a statement straight out of the gate. I'm very proud of how I managed to weave a switch/vers narrative into a oneshot, and the feedback on it was wonderful.

Headroom, however, presented a very different kind of challenge. It was extremely difficult to write, because it doesn't follow the beats of a traditional sex scene. There's no satisfaction for Satoru nor for the readers, and that made it tricky to keep it engaging. I was also very nervous about showing a different side of these beloved AU characters and establishing a new dynamic between them while incorporating some of the broader themes from Over the Threshold.

Finally, Tell Me I'm Pretty was pure subversion, writing Suguru in particular in a way I've never seen before to challenge expectations about "roles" in sex. It meant I had no blueprint to work from, but I'm not interested in reproducing the same dynamics I've read a thousand times. However, that also means that I felt very anxious about how people would receive this fic — especially on GeGo Day.

The truth is, everything I write I write for myself first and foremost, but it's hard to keep sight of that when you're blessed with an engaged audience. This is a huge reason why updates to Over the Threshold take time. This fic is deeply important and deeply personal to me, but its growing popularity adds a pressure that I don't want to influence my writing. I feel a constant underlying need to outdo myself with every new fic and chapter I post, but that's unrealistic and unachievable.

Obviously, I want readers to enjoy what I write, but I know the moment I start writing for other people is the moment my writing suffers. That's the main reason why I'm reluctant to put anything behind a paywall, even if I feel frustrated with the way fanfics are casually consumed on the internet. Readers occasionally make demands of me without any respect for my time and effort and creative vision, and sometimes I look at what I've written and think, "Am I really going to give that away for free?". However, asking for anything beyond tips would change the game for me. Enjoying my writing is far more valuable to me, at least at this point in time.

All of this is to say: I really loved writing Tell Me I'm Pretty. I had a blast with it — until it came time to post, at which point I suddenly felt full of self-doubt. For you to appear in my inbox and tell me that you appreciated the realism of the intimacy in this fic? I couldn't have asked for anything more, thank you so much ♥️

TL;DR, I write for myself, but god, it's the best feeling in the world when readers resonate with my writing. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to let me know. I love you all to the moon and back!

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 4

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.9K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @codeinebelle @bontensbabygirl

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The doctors were able to do all the checks that they needed to do once Yoongi shifted. His fluffy, soft ears and curled-up tail kept twitching as he slept. You sighed, looking down at the stack of reports on your lap. The doctors have given you the whole stack, saying that you should spend some time reading them through and deciding the next course of action - for both you and Yoongi. Lunch break is only an hour and you for sure knew that there was no way possible to be able to finish this whole thing - you lifted the edge of a piece of paper - in that time frame. 

You rubbed your temples. Why did you have to bring it along with you to work? 

You unlocked your phone to see a picture that you took when everything was still hidden. “Hello, hello!” A hand shot into your view, waving to catch your attention. 

“Hi, Lils.” You offered her the best smile you could. 

“Damn, you look down indeed.” She paused. “What happened?”

Lillianne - or Lils, for short - has been working here for almost as long as you have. The both of you didn’t always work every shift together, but you sure knew that a Thursday shift was one that the both of you would work. The both of you were part-time workers, juggling a few jobs at the same time. Lillianne was a year older than you were, but she preferred to study and travel, claiming that she would rather see the world first before settling down for a full-time job. 

Sometimes, you were envious of her. The world was vast and broad but you needed the money, so you had to compromise. The dreams were placed aside in an old box, save for when you wanted some sort of motivation to keep life going. 

You hummed. “Nothing much, I guess. Just some hospitalisation documents.”

“Shit - what happened?”

You sighed. “Ever had a hybrid before?”

Lils’ family was well-off, not rich-rich, but very much capable of spending a ton, saving a ton, and then having some more to add in. 

Lils shook her head. “I mean, my family thought of it. My brother always wanted one but I felt that it was cruel. It’s like keeping a human being like a pet.” She scrunched her nose. “Like slaves.” 

You nodded. 

“You got one now?”

You shrugged. “‘Sorta. I never knew that he was a hybrid.” Lils stayed quiet, waiting allowing you to speak at your own pace. “I found him when he was a cat and then he stayed as a cat. I mean - at the same time, it never ever crossed my mind that he is a hybrid. I somehow just never thought of it.” 

Lils bobbed her head. “I get where you’re coming from.” She stood up straighter at the counter. “Some hybrids at the shelter refuse to shift, instinctively protecting themselves from their past trauma. It’s going to take a while for that guy to open up and trust you. Only then might, I say might - shift.”

“That’s the thing, Lils. He has already shifted and now he’s staying at the hospital.” You waved the stack of papers in front of your friend. “This is his. And I have dug a hole deeper than I can get out of.”

Lils’ eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“This guy - Yoongi, Min Yoongi - is an underground illegally bred hybrid.” She shot up, eyes wide. “That’s not all. It seems that he is all over the wants of the black market. You know like how people want their pets back and they are willing to give a reward? Yeah, the same thing.”

The silence in the shop was pregnant. “Shit.”

The both of you looked at each other. “So what are you going to do?”

You shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I know that I don’t have the money and time to take care of myself, or worse yet another human being. The cats downstairs the blocks don’t count.” You sighed. “But at the same time, I don’t want to leave him. He has already been through so much and the doctors feel that it will be good for him to stay with me, seeing that the connection is already pretty deep.”

“Wait - hang on. Pretty deep?”

“The doctors are assuming that I managed to make him shift.”

“And did you?”

“I guess so? He was fighting it but I tried to persuade him and he… Did it?”

Lils had her hand over her mouth. “Damn. I think he trusts you.” She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, yes. He either likes you or trusts you. Both take trust anyway. Good idea from the doctors. It is important for hybrids to be around who they trust in order to recover faster.”

You rubbed your face and sighed for the umpteenth time today. “I should ask our dearest boss for leave.”

“He’ll definitely let you go on a break but definitely won’t let you leave the company.” Lils laughed and you rolled your eyes, digging into your cold lunch. “You’re far too valuable.”

And who was your boss? 

Kim Seok-Jin. 

Of course, he would let you on a break.

Yoongi woke up to the constant beeping of machines and the airconditioner blasting full force at his face - in an empty room. That was the saddening part. He had hoped that you would stay after you managed to coax him to shift. But of course, he understood why you wouldn’t want to stay either. I mean, look at him. Covered in scars and bites, scrawny and sad - a monster, he sees himself in the mirror. 

He sighed, willing the tears to go away. He didn’t know why this felt like losing you and it hurt him to the extent that he has yet to comprehend the feeling - didn’t know if he should dissect it in the first place. 

His head shot up at the sound of curtains being drawn. “Oh! You’re finally awake.” A nurse wearing purple scrubs walked into the room and his instincts woke up. Yoongi hissed and attempted to jump out of bed when he realised that - he was cuffed, again. 

The nurse shot him a sympathetic look. “The doctors thought that it would be best so that you don’t injure yourself and others.” She moved around, checking rectangular boxes and liquids around him. “I’m Ling Hui and I’m the substitute nurse for Pong-Ran right now. She’ll be back soon.” The nurse stood up. “I’ll page Dr. Park to check on you.”

That light-smelling nurse left and the room felt even more empty than it was before. 

Yoongi sighed. He missed you. And he cursed himself for acting up. Only if his body didn’t instinctively act up from being stuck in that form for a long time, he wouldn’t have lost you. Tears welled up in his eyes again as he furiously rubbed them away. 

No, no. He wouldn’t cry right now. 

Yoongi’s head stayed down this time when he heard the sound of curtains drawing. 

“Hello! It’s good to see that you’re awake. I’m Dr. Park and I’ll just briefly go through what your body is going through now.”

Yoongi peeked up to see the doctor shuffling through his papers with a light smile on his lips. He has this angelic look that makes Yoongi rethink whether or not he has actually died and gone up and that he was currently looking at one of God’s angels - or something. 

“Hehe, why hello there. Finally, looking up?” Yoongi’s eyes snapped to the doctor’s. “Yeah, my wife does tell me that I have a too-pretty face. Always saying that I should just be a model and come earn more money for the household.” The doctor rolled his eyes playfully, a smile broadening at the mention of his wife. He seems to really love her. 

“Anyway, your owner, Miss Y/N, has already chosen the following procedures and medication for you. So we will move on with it.” Yoongi tensed up. “Oh, oh, it’s nothing invasive, I promise. She just wants to make you thoroughly checked and for you to have the appropriate diet plan and medication for when we send you back.”

Yoongi has no idea what is happening and what is going to happen. So he kept quiet and let the doctor do the explanations of what test was going to be done, how it was going to be done, and approximately how long it might take. 

Then, Yoongi got wheeled around to do the respective tests, cooperating with the doctors and nurses. He tries his best to talk about what he eats - his likes and dislikes - and where his body feels uncomfortable but finds it hard to express himself. 

It was only after everything was completed, dinner was eaten, and they left him to rest that Yoongi allowed his tears to fall, staining the pillow below him wet as he muffled his cries. 

You trudged home after your shift, legs almost giving up as you climbed into the shower room. You had taken up a call from the hospital in the middle of your shift, heart pounding, worried that Yoongi didn’t want to do the examinations or that something was wrong with him - 

“He is all good.” Your axis stopped. “With a proper dieting plan and a bit of medication for the time being, he should be up and going by the third month or so.”

Dr Park had been so kind as to also email you the test results so that you are kept up-to-date and he patiently answered all your questions - even the ones you felt were stupid. 

“No problem, Miss Y/N. It’s common to feel stressed and unknowing of what to do. That’s why we are here to make this adapting process easier. If there are any questions, feel free to just shoot me a text.”

The call had ended at that. 

And for the rest of the night, you had a stupid smile on your face, knowing that your kitty was alright and that it wouldn’t be long before he made it home. 

“Well, that also means that you will need to get new beds, make the guest room presentable and buy things too.”

Your shoulders had dropped at that fact. Well, your wallet was definitely going to feel infinitely lighter. You groaned. “Ugh, let me bask in the fact that he is fine first. Money is another problem for another day.”

Lils snorted. “Totally,” She flagged down her bus. “Text me when you get home and when you decide to go shopping.”

You sighed and slumped against the wall of the shower room. 

You really needed to get the guest room organised. Well, not that it isn’t already neat, just that it isn’t presentable. Like, you stuffed some clothes in the closet, the sheets have not been changed, the floors were cleaned every month, you know the drill. You stood up, washing the rest of the suds of your body and headed out of the shower room. 

Money and organisation will be left for another day- probably tomorrow, probably a day before he comes back - you don’t care. Right now, you really don’t care. Sleep is all you need. 

Of course, your alarm doesn’t not ring at 8.30 am. You turned it off with a flick of your finger and went back to sleep - if it was not for the shrill ring that echoed through your house. You attempted to ignore it at first, but the thoughts got the best of you. 

What if it’s your parents? What if it’s Lils? Wait, it doesn’t matter if it’s Lils. She just wants to shop. What if it’s the doctor - 

You shot out of bed. Shit, if it is Dr Park - 

You flipped your phone over to read the caller ID.

Bear🧸.

Well, fine. You swiped the answer button and placed the phone on your lap. 

“YO! GET OUT OF BED! WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG TO ANSWER?”

You knew it. She’d be screaming. 

“I just got up, bitch. Stop yelling. It’s 9 in the morning. Too early for you.” You grumbled, hands coming up to scrub the sleepiness off your face. It seems like that night shift yesterday took a bit more out of you than you thought. 

“Come on. I’m driving and we’re going shopping. We got to get your kitty’s stuff.”

You yawned. “Where are you then?”

“Fifteen minutes to your house.” 

You shot out of bed. “What -”

“Don’t come blaming me! I tried to call you three times. Three times on full ring! It’s your fault!”

“You could’ve left the house only when I answered!”

“Then you wouldn’t have gone!”

“Hey, now that’s not completely true -”

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“On what?”

“Books. But technically I’m already out so it’s kinda useless.”

“You chickening.” You stated and heard a gasp from the other end of the line. 

“Am not.”

You rolled your eyes. “Bye, I’m going to get ready. Let yourself in when you reach. See ya.”

You hung up, tossing your phone onto the bed and headed to the washroom. Following your routine, you managed to put on some decent clothes just as you heard keys jingling from the living room. 

Your bedroom door opened and you heard a “Hiyah, bought you coffee on the way.” Before it closed shut again. 

You stepped out of the wardrobe and cleaned the countertop of your washroom, set your bed and fluffed your pillows, before turning off the air conditioner and walking to the guest bedroom where you knew your dearest friend would be waiting. 

“It’s really bare.”

“Where’s the coffee?”

“In the car.”

Lils surveyed the room. “It’ll do well with a fresh coat of paint. Maybe a contrasting colour. White and grey and then black photo frames. The shelves and drawers are already white, you can add in a tint of gold paint on the handles.” She nodded, proud of herself. “Guess the bedding can add a bit of green to make the colours pop.”

You had trouble catching up. “Grey for what? Which pane of the wall?”

“The wardrobe and the photo frame wall. The toilet can be green and gold.”

“Gold?!”

“Paint.” She clarified. “Gold paint.”

Oh, you knew that - 

“Okay,” Lils suddenly clapped her hands. “Let’s go! Buy everything then set the dates for the respective delivery. Oh yes, we need to change that -” She pointed to the old bedside table. “For something else.”

You were pretty sure it had dead lizards or something in there. You didn’t want to dissect it. 

The both of you left with ideas buzzing in your brains. 

The paint store was obviously the first, followed by the furniture store, the household store, and groceries - cause’ why not? - and then lastly, back to the coffee. 

Heading home, Lils informed you that she has already told her parents that she’ll be sleeping over at your house for the next few days, to help with the ‘reconstruction of the bedroom’. 

Her words. 

The removal of everything in that room was first. Including the bed frame, the bed, and now very narrow halfway thanks to the shelves being placed there. 

The painting job took a total of sixteen hours to complete painting everything and another good one and a half days for the paint to cure. Then came the cleaning of the room. That itself took a good half of the day. 

You thought that was all? To take a break? Oh no. 

The deliverables came. The both of you were on a labour streak. From building to shifting and arranging the pieces of furniture. Gods, by the time everything was done, you had your house to clean. And once that was done too, it took a total of one week. 

“The smell hasn’t left yet.” You said as you placed the last of the decorations in the room. “I’m afraid that his nose will be sensitive to it.”

You sat beside the cat plushie that you couldn’t resist buying.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. It will leave in the next few days anyways.” 

The both of you looked around the room to finally take in the view of your handiworks. Things changed a bit as the both of you progressed. The colour scheme remains the same but you’ve decided to paint the wardrobe black instead, the washroom green and white instead, and the fluffy rugs on the floors were a last-minute addition. The throw was an impulse buy but so was the cat plush. Not that you regretted it. 

“Ugh, I can’t believe we painted the whole place. You barely come into the room your walls were turning yellow from the damn musk!”

You laughed sheepishly. 

“Alright.” Lils got up. “They’ll be coming in a while. I’m gonna go home and take a damn good sleep while you have fun.”

You nodded. “Sure. Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem. Just hit me up anytime you go shopping again. Hopefully not for a whole makeover next time.”

The both of you laughed as you walked her to her car. “Alright, I’ll see you at work then.”

You waved as she drove away just as you saw the police car pulling up. 

Well, call for better timing.

[bucknastysbabe]

Heaven or Las Vegas

Aegon II x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW// Alcohol and drug abuse, verbal abuse, shit head Aegon, manipulation, actually you know what the whole thing is fucked up, non-descript smut, Aegon’s self hatred and learned helplessness

A/N: Yeah so it’s soothing to write about active addiction when I’m feeling crazy so I remember how awful it was. Addiction will hold you and loved ones HOSTAGE. If this struck a chord w anyone my dm’s are open me is sober around 18 months. Anyways love The Weeknd and the trilogy fuckboi era

I'm paying for all my father's sins

Aegon could blame his consistent need to fill the void in his chest on his father. That rotting, dead, vapid old man. The closest thing he had to a dad was the family bodyguard and Aegon never quite lived up to the standard.

Maybe he was just cursed to chew the world up and ruin them before spitting them out. Just like Viserys, clapping and smiling while letting his family fall to pieces and hatred. Never gave a fuck about anyone but his eldest, maybe Aegon’s uncle. His dead wife that Aegon’s mother couldn’t replace.

Vicious cycles.

So I'ma thank him for you, I'ma thank him for you

Like his father, Aegon could thank the wretch for being consistently blessed with good women. Women who took on too much in exchange for very little. Exactly the same as her. That perfect angel who he corrupted and left a goddamn mess. He loved the woman. She shouldn’t love him. Black hole of a human he was.

My serotonin's gone a while ago

She made him laugh and filled that empty hole for a second. When Aegon wasn’t snorting, popping, and drinking up everything. But he was always doing that. The fallen angel found a habit in those pills from him.

But nothing could recapture those moments late late at night, between her thighs. City lights casting her teary face into a gorgeous glow. “Only you, only you, i love you,” he’d lie. She’d cry and tighten around his cock, knowing it was a lie. Gripping manicured nails so hard into Aegon’s shoulders just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

Girl it’s been gone cause of you, it’s been gone cause of you.

Aegon knew any sort of happiness he’d feel came from warped, perverted things. Orgies, drugs, girls and girls and fucking girls. Spending money he had no clue what do with. It made him fill that void for some minutes. He feared it was going to open up and swallow him whole soon.

The prince wanted her back. So goddamn bad. She didn’t fit in the picture. Got clean, ignored his calls, moved on. Fallen angel no more. Not his baby to mould and blacken to his liking. She thought there was something good in him. Nothing like the rotation of women on his cock now, a fifth of vodka shaking in his hand, tears threatening to roll. They didn’t give a fuck, just like everyone else. But they did what he wanted.

They say they want Heaven, they say they want God.

Towards the end she’d cry and clutch a rosary, praying to god. Aegon would get pissed. He’d demand what the fuck she was on about, get in her face. Those doe eyes bleary and red, flinching in fear.

“I don’t want to live like this. It’s eating me alive Aegon. This,” his baby had sobbed, “Is vile. I’ll never make it heaven. What would God think?”

I say, I got Heaven. I say I am God.

Aegon laughed in her tear streaked face. He gestured to the penthouse around them, booze and drugs scattered around, a wad of cash on the table next to the unlimited card used for cutting coke half the time. His not-so-fallen wept openly when he giggled maniacally, “This is heaven! I am God! You can have everything you want and more, hah, what the fuck’s not clicking here? You want to go back to the poor house?”

I never prayed a moment in my life

He did get down on his knees when his only love left him. Went to detox, didn’t leave a number or address. Aegon shook with anger, self-hatred, mind boggling sadness. He howled to the roof, “Fuck you!” When he was properly fucked up later, lips around his half-flagging cock, the blonde dimly wondered if her prayers had been answered by getting away from him.

Girl, I'm rewarded with you. I've been rewarded with you.

His love came by months later. Aegon put on an act, not a very good one when all he wanted to do was cry and be held once more. She looked good. Healthy. No permanent shakes or dark bags under the eyes. No wonder, she escaped an incubus.

“I love you. You need help.”

How could he receive help? It’s too late for a fuck-up like him. Blackened to the core. Defiled beyond measure.

So, baby, let me kiss your inner thigh. Let me kiss it for you. I can kiss it for you.

Aegon did get down to his knees when the void in his chest ached too much. He stared up at her with that look, the one that made the beauty swoon. He grabbed her soft thighs, begging and begging, “Baby- baby- please, lemme make you feel good. Like old times?” It was the only thing he knew besides drugs. She caressed his cheek and sighed, tears in her eyes, “You’d make me feel good if you loved yourself Aegon. Call me when you do that, yeah?”

Well, they say they want Heaven, they say they want God.

There’s no hope. He’d just have to make do. Even the bleakest of places looked like Heaven when you’re on enough K to kill someone. Aegon leaned over the balcony that night, staring off into the city, the dark streets below. He was in Heaven. Up above the regular doings of people. Svelte hands locked around his waist, Aegon smiled.

I say, I have Heaven. I say, I am God.

He plowed that girl on the balcony, wind whipping his pale hair. Hips snapping into a nameless wet cunt he shouted, “I am God! Fuck!” She squealed and twisted like she enjoyed his insane ramblings. Aegon finished on her ass and stumbled to his unmade bed, dizzy as the party raged on. He’d make his own destiny. With the void, always there, always hungry.

[zeroducks-2]

tell us about the nasty Slade man from TT03

since you guys (and @exhausted-pigeon) asked, here's me talking about iconic Teen Titans 2003 Slade :D

Disclaimer right here. Unlike a lot of fortunate folks, I did not have Teen Titans available to watch back then (I really missed out, especially cause I was in my pre-teen years and that would have been The Perfect Show for me at that point). This means that I only got to watch tt03 recently, therefore these thoughts don't come from someone who holds the show dear as a childhood memory, and who fell in love with it a long time ago, who had their christening to DC stuff through that and yada yada.

I'll therefore discuss tt03 Slade without personal/emotional involvement, and keeping in mind that tt03 is indeed a show intended for a young audience. I'll be adding screenshots for poignancy, so it's going to be a pretty long post :)

End of disclaimer, now onto the good shit.

So, what to say about Slade. Fans have been calling him downright devious, the Teenagers Tormentor, A True Menace To Society, a master manipulator, and a child predator even if there's nothing *too* explicit being that this is a show for kids.

(not that kids being the target audience stopped them showing Slade sleeping with Tara in NTT back in the '80s, but that's a conversation for another time)

Do I think that any of this is true? The answer is essentially yes, I agree with all of the above.

Slade is a very fun character, and his presence dominates the scene every time he's on screen. He's a solid villain, one that feels truly threatening for the protagonists (and not like a forgettable bad guy who can be overpowered with The Power Of Friendship™), and he fits perfectly with the dynamic of the show. He will do the most ridiculous corny things, like materializing at random in a corner of a panoramic wheel cart, while the wheel is in motion, right when Terra and Beast Boy are about to kiss (just to ruin their night basically).

I tried to find a gif cause this scene is too funny but sadly I didn't manage.

But he will also (and mostly) do fucked up shit which people nowadays argue as not belonging in a kid show, like grooming teenagers and/or forcing them to work for him.

His design is also easily iconic, and he's huge in bulk compared to the tiny, slender kid protagonists, adding to the threatening vibe.

I mean look at that Raven's a mushroom compared to him

But he's not a monster - you know he's a human being while you're watching the show, whether you imagine an eyepatch and silver hair like comicbooks!Slade or you picture a completely different kind of face on him, you still know he's just a man... or is he.

The show subtly toys with the idea that Slade might not be human after all. His face is never shown - every single time one of the characters manages to overpower him and unmask him, they find out that they've been fighting against a robot.

This happens after a fight so violent Robin almost dies by falling off a building, and SLADE HIMSELF saves him - reason being more or less "I'm not done kicking your ass". Eventually Robin manages to overpower him, takes off his mask, and lo and behold:

Slade wasn't even there the whole time.

Also, he seems to live in some sort of lab filled with complicated tech and huge gears that spin into nothing. Does this man even need to sleep, eat or drink?

What is this place and how high is the rent

I love what he did with the huge gears it's so ambient

All of this contributes to the threatening, mysterious aura surrounding the character. Which at times can turn into outright terrifying despite the show being relatively lighthearted. Pretty soon the narrative manages to establish the fact that Slade is nearly impossible to beat, that he will do anything to bring down the protagonists (or bring them under his control), and that you can always expect the worst from him.

But the most interesting aspect to discuss is for most people the child predator vibes this character has from his first appearance throughout the entirety of the show. And to whoever says "you can't tell me that they didn't do this intentionally", well, consider two things

1 - Slade in the comicbooks did sleep with a 15yo, in order to use her to bring down the Titans. So like, the fact that he *might* sleep with kids isn't much of a far-fetched hypothesis and 2 - The way he acts goes beyond the average "well this is a kids show of course the villain will act in weird ways towards kids".

Let me expand a little on this second point. When the protagonist of a story is a kid, the villain that will try to hurt/kill them is not automatically a child predator or a child abuser, only because he hurts a kid. In the context of that story it makes sense that the villain will act as if the protag was an adult - the story was created with a young audience in mind, and if other characters treated the protag like a child it would break their immersion.

So is this the case with Slade? Well yes, but actually no. There obviously is a case of "he treats the characters like adults cause it's a kids show" but does he, really? Slade works with the fact that the characters are kids, therefore inexperienced and easy to manipulate. He also wants an apprentice, which necessarily has to be young. In Terra's case, he plays on her insecurities and her need for someone to teach her and guide her. And then there's the way the scenes are directed and the creepiness factor of just how this man interacts with these kids that rightfully puts him in the creep zone, regardless of what exactly the story will show in terms of explicit details.

For this to make more sense I need to make examples, so let's dive in a little deeper starting with Fans Favorite's ... *drumroll* ...

The Apprentice Arc

It starts out with Slade contacting the Titans to tell them that he planted a bomb in the city. Robin, who's already obsessing at the point of waking up drenched in sweat after nightmares where he and Slade beat the shit out of each other, snaps into action to retrieve the trigger of the bomb.

Tis Robin waking up in his "Pepe Silvia" room dedicated to Slade after a nightmare, for your viewing pleasure.

So off the kids go, and while Robin chases Slade, the rest of the team goes try and dismantle the bomb. Slade tosses Robin around for a while, and when Robin manages to grab the remote control, Slade reveals that this is not a remote control because there is no bomb at all - rather, the rest of the Titans have just gotten hit with a laser beam that infected them with nanomachines. Now Robin has to do Slade's bidding and become his apprentice; if he refuses, or disobeys, Slade will use a button to inflict pain and potentially kill the other Titans, thanks to those nanomachines.

These are said nanomachines attached to the Titans' blood cells, conveniently displayed in huge ass screens. I love this scene so much it's so SERIOUS and SO CORNY at the same time lmao.

What ensues is Robin being forced to become Slade's apprentice, dressed in a cute replica of Slade's own suit,

And meanwhile Slade tosses him around either for the funsies or because Robin dares do something he doesn't like. Explicitly saying that he wants Robin to call him "Master". Please go watch the scene, it's 7 seconds long but it conveys EVERYTHING. This mf calls Robin "good boy" in the most condescending way you can ever imagine. Here, click this, I promise you won't be disappointed.

Here's Slade beating up a child for your viewing pleasure.

So at some point Robin is ordered to infiltrate Wayne Enterprise. The Titans try to stop him, Slade pushes for him to fight them, but baby doesn't want to especially when Starfire refuses to engage him. Slade not only starts to torture them with the nanomachines, forcing Robin to shoot them, but when kiddo gets back to him he receives the ass-whooping of his life, followed by this scene:

Here Slade is basically saying "I'm going to put you in your place in a way that will stick", but the scene is conveniently cut by the arrival of the rest of the Titans.

Robin has the idea of infecting himself with the nanomachines, so now if Slade wants to kill them, he has to kill him too. And Slade... tosses away the button, discarding the nanomachines plan on the spot, because the point REALLY was having Robin as an apprentice. If he can't have him, then there's no point.

Then there's Terra's Arc in Season 2, which goes more or less like this:

The Titans meet Terra, a kid their age who's very strong (she can manipulate the earth) but can't perfectly control her own powers. She's very self-conscious about this and when Beast Boy finds out, she begs him not to tell anyone, which he promises.

Soon after she gets singled out by Slade, who corners her and starts poking and prodding about how weak she is, unable to control her powers, and how her "new friends" will soon find out and once they do, they will discard her.

Honestly the fact that he's so big and Terra's itty bitty teeny tiny really adds to the overall creepiness of this scene. They're blocked in a cave underground btw, and to hammer the point home Slade starts tossing her around until she completely freaks out and almost buries herself under the rubble.

Soon after that, Robin deduces by himself that Terra isn't in complete control of her powers, but Terra thinks that Beast Boy snitched on her after promising he wouldn't say anything. Hurt and betrayed she runs away, and guess who she runs to?

As far as I remember, the amount of time Terra spends with Slade is nondescript. But what she says is that he trained her, taught her to not be afraid of her own powers (which is true, she can control her powers now), and gave her a purpose and direction. She comes back and infiltrates the Titans, now being a well groomed little spy, but despite her efforts Slade keeps being abusive and beats the living hell out of her when she comes back to him after a failed mission. He can puppeteer her through the suit she's wearing, but at some point she manages to break free of his control and the arc ends tragically with Terra killing Slade, and herself.

Is this the end of it then? Nuh-huh. Here comes the

Whatever the fuck is happening to Robin Arc

So Slade is dead. But at some point during a fight, Robin starts seeing him and chasing him, getting a mild ass-whoop like he normally would. His teammates are obviously confused but they comply when Robin tells them to go defuse these bombs that Slade planted - only there are no bombs. And it looks like Robin is the only one who can even see Slade.

The situation escalates at the point of Robin having to be strapped to a bed because he was literally killing himself while "fighting Slade", despite being the only one who could see him. Slade himself is the one that frees him from the restraints, and keeps beating him within an inch of his life, at the point that Robin starts begging.

And here we have what's probably the most memorable line of the whole show: "I am the thing that keeps you up at night. I am the evil that haunts every dark corner of your mind. I will never rest and neither will you."

What is happening here in theory is that Robin got dosed with toxic dust coming from Slade's mask, therefore he's seeing things and his brain is in so much stress that he might die from strain (he ends up saving himself by turning on the light). But taking into consideration what happened during the Apprentice arc, it's easy to see parallels with PTSD.

There is actually more. There's Slade being resurrected by Trigon and going rapey on Raven (you've seen the screenshot before) by tearing off her cape, and there's also an epic moment in which Slade goes to hell, WITH ROBIN'S HELP, to retrieve his own body and aid in the fight against Trigon. But I think my point already came across well enough:

Teen Titans 2003 Slade is a fucking creep, and compared to him, NTT Deathstroke is a sweet little lamb who wouldn't hurt a fly. Which is why it is so funny to me when people claim tt03 Slade is "better cause he never slept with a teenager" - Boy oh boy, you might have not seen it on screen but the subtext is clear as day.

This man has no moral code, no bounds (other than what the PG rating of the show will place on him) and not an ounce of humanity. I don't need to see no scene with half naked kids smoking cigarettes with only a bathrobe as clothing (like this one) to know what this man did.

[therealrattlehead]

Physical (You’re So): A Genji/Ramattra fan fiction

Summary: After a heated argument in the living room, Ramattra and Genji learn what they need to settle their differences once and for all

Rating: Explicit Content

WC: 8,000+, first 2198 words included in post, rest is available on ao3

A/N: Hello! Due to this being my first OW fic, it is a little out of character. However, I hope you still find joy in reading :]

Zenyatta’s house was nothing special to Genji. Maybe it was because he had spent the majority of his time there. The house was on a small piece of private land, not something that Zenyatta was very fond of, but was given as a sort of gift, though Zenyatta prefers not to disclose from whom. Genji’s best guest was the monastery, but he wasn’t even sure of that. The house itself was quite small, only having room for around three people, maybe four if someone was willing to share their room or sleep on the couch. The interior walls of the home were painted a golden yellow, though a few of the corners and other parts of the walls were chipped, revealing the white rock underneath them. Multiple decorations hung on almost every wall of the home: abstract paintings, maps, records, children’s drawings gifted to Zenyatta, anything that could go on the wall.

Of course, this was just the standard living area. Zenyatta’s room itself was quite barren, containing nothing more than a nice twin bed and a dresser that held nothing but bolts, screws, and anything else he’d need to tune himself up. Next to the bed sat a worn-down armchair with a blanket draped across it. The room wasn’t entirely soulless as there were a few pictures of those Zenyatta would consider his closest friends hanging above his bed and sitting on his dresser. Above the door to his room hung a picture of Mondatta in an oval frame. A necklace of large beads framed the picture.

Genji’s room had a little more character to it. Unlike the rest of the house, it was painted in soft, apple green. He had a twin bed just like his Master, which was decorated with a specialized quilt that was gifted to him from Zenyatta. He had a dresser half filled with clothes, the other half filled with tools and other repair needs. On the wall opposite his bed was a sofa, decorated in pillows once again provided by Zenyatta. Between the bed and couch was a rug. He decorated his walls with posters and prints, most of them relating to some kind of media that he enjoyed, from games to movies to TV shows. Of course, just like Zenyatta, pictures of his friends hung along the walls as well.

There was a third bedroom in the house, but it was never one that Genji had taken an interest in. The room belonged to Ramattra, Zenyatta’s long-time compatriot and someone who Genji was not fond of. Ramattra was not as sociable and open as Zenyatta, especially when it came to Genji. He was quiet, closed off, and cold. Though Zenyatta had told Ramattra that living with him meant living with Genji as well, it was almost as if Ramattra had tried to brush aside Genji’s entire existence. Hell, he could hardly stand to sit in the same room as Genji. If Zenyatta wasn’t in the room with him, Ramattra would immediately get up and move rooms as soon as Genji entered. Genji was aware that Ramattra wasn’t fond of humans, and to an extent he didn’t care, but still, a little part of him felt confused. Genji wasn’t even fully human, so what was it about him that still made Ramattra dislike him? Was it because Genji was at one point fully human, so Ramattra would always see him as such? Or was it because he took Zenyatta’s attention away from him? Whatever the matter was, Genji wanted to get to the bottom of it. Even if he didn’t care, even if it didn’t affect him all that much, there was something about Ramattra that needed to be figured out.

June 20th, 2077

Kumpur, Nepal

11:34 pm

The trio were sitting in the living room. Zenyatta was laying down on the couch, an elbow propped on the armrest and a hand holding his chin. On his other hand was a book, some human classic written many years ago. One Genji and especially Ramattra would take no interest in. Genji was sitting on the floor, the plush rug underneath him cushioning his seat. He was watching TV, catching up on a rerun of some Pachimari show, a special episode made for the start of summer. Ramattra was busy tuning up his staff, a screwdriver digging into the orb that sat in its hold. However, it was becoming obvious that his attention was switching between his staff, the show, and Genji. Genji could feel his cold, unfeeling eyes on him, even if they were covered by the snowy white faceplate he wore. Genji ignored him though. Or well, he tried to. Genji wanted to glance at him, just to see if Ramattra’s attention was truly on him, but he wasn’t wearing his visor. Even the slightest glance to the side could catch the Ravager’s attention. He knew Ramattra had already seen him as nosy, proven by the many times he’s been caught eavesdropping on Ramattra and Zenyatta’s conversations. Though Zenyatta had seen it as enduring, all Ramattra would do was let out a disgruntled groan and walk off. Genji was not in the mood to have Ramattra scoff in his face today.

So, Genji locked his eyes on the screen, letting himself get droned into the happy, go-lucky music of the show and the cute, simple animation style. He didn’t even know what the plot was, but he acted like he did. He would do anything, act like he could understand anything if it just meant that he didn’t have to look at Ramattra. Unfortunately, he couldn’t ignore Ramattra. He couldn’t act like he didn’t notice the growing stares landing on his shoulders, the shadowy claws of Ramattra’s gaze wrapping themselves around his neck, trying their best to turn Genji’s head and make him look at Ramattra. He didn’t even know if Ramattra was looking at him, for all he knows Ramattra could have left the room by now. However, that didn’t seem to stop the phantom claws of Ramattra’s hands from trying to pull Genji’s head to the side.

Genji had no choice but to look…

And Ramattra was staring right at him.

“Are you enjoying your show, Genji?” Ramattra asked, his head tilting downward as if he were trying to make eye contact with Genji. Even with such a simple question, it was obvious that the next phrase to escape Ramattra’s synth was going to be judgemental.

“Hmm? I mean, yes. Yes, I am,” Genji nodded, a somewhat stern tone in his voice as he eyed Ramattra down. He wasn’t going to let the Ravager win this.

“It’s a bit of a silly show, don’t you think?” Ramattra asked, turning his attention back to his staff, though it was obvious he wasn’t going to return to working on it anytime soon. He had Genji’s attention, and God was he gonna use it.

“Well, it was the only thing on.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I looked there was nothing else.”

“Really? Did you look?”

“WHY DO YOU CARE YOU’RE NOT EVEN WATCHING!” Genji hadn’t expected himself to shout, and it was obvious in the way that Ramattra had paused and Zenyatta silently set his book down that neither of them had expected it either.

The three stared at each other, silent yet tense.

“You dare raise your voice at me?” Ramattra asked, his voice quiet yet his tone stern and forceful. He set his staff carefully down on the ground. Zenyatta sat up but remained silent.

“I do not know what you expected me to do. You kept pressing me and I wanted you to stop,” Genji explained. He tried to remain calm, but the tremor in his voice vaguely hinted at the bubbling anger rising in his throat. His face started to feel red hot.

“So, you do that by yelling at me?” Ramattra egged on, leaning forward in his seat.

“I tried to stay calm,” Genji began to lean forward as well.

“Is that why your lip is quivering, little boy?” Ramattra teased. Genji hadn’t even noticed his lip trembling, but hearing it from Ramattra just made him pissed. He planted his hands on the carpet and sprang up. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his whole body shaking as he stared Ramattra down.

“Shut the fuck up! I know what you’re trying to do!” Genji barked, his face red and his temper beyond livid.

“And what on Earth is that?” Ramattra asked, standing up and crossing his arms. He began to walk toward Genji. Zenyatta stood up, taking a small step forward, just one more step away from being between the two.

“Ramattra…,” Zenyatta started, but Ramattra and Genji ignored him. They were too focused on each other.

“Don’t play stupid. You’re trying to make me look bad in front of Zenyatta. You wanted to make me angry, just to toy with me. If you want me out of the house just say it,” Genji snarled, taking another step closer to Ramattra.

“Tell me why the hell I’d care to do that?” Ramattra asked, his synth reaching lower, more gravelly tones. The display on his forehead flared a bright red and Genji was sure that if he was any closer, he’d be able to feel Ramattra’s cooling system pushing hot steam out of Ramattra’s body.

“I don’t know! It’s probably just because you can’t fucking deal with anyone else having his attention you big fucking Ravager baby-!” Before Genji could get any more words out of his mouth, a large, firm hand gripped the sides of Genji’s face, squeezing his mouth shut. He let out a harsh groan as he felt Ramattra’s hand squeeze his face.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, FILTHY HUMAN!”

“Experience tranquility!” Genji had never heard the monk become so panicked, even though his voice still had the same quiet, soothing tone. Before he could even blink, Zenyatta was between the two of them. Within another blink, Zenyatta had entered transcendence. The force of it shoved the two back. Ramattra stumbled back while Genji nearly fell back on the floor. Instead, he simply just hit the floor with his knees. He felt a wave of calmness wash over him, though his current hatred for Ramattra was still trying to boil through to his skin.

“Look at what you’ve brought into this house, brother! Look at the filthy and vile creature you’ve managed to drag in! I expected better from you, Zenyatta,” Ramattra growled, a large hand now pointing an accusatory finger at Genji. Zenyatta exited his transcendence. His arms extended outward, trying to create more space between the two of them.

“The only filthy fucking thing he dragged in was you,” Genji protested, pointing a finger back at Ramattra.

“Nothing I have dragged into this home is filthy. I brought the two of you here for a reason. Do not let me kick you out for a reason. Now, go to your rooms and do not speak to each other until the morning,” Zenyatta snapped. Genji had never heard the monk become so fed up, especially not when it had come to him. Zenyatta was usually calm, patient, and tranquil, seldom letting anyone or anything pound on his nerves. He knew it was the same with Ramattra, having listened in on many of their heated, late-night conversations, much to the two’s chagrin. Maybe it was just the weeks’ worth of silent conflict finally bubbling to the surface, but that didn’t stop shame from rolling over Genji. Even if it wasn’t obvious, Genji knew Ramattra felt shame as well.

Slowly, Zenyatta set down his arms, settling them to his sides, and once again the three were still and looking at each other. The moment felt like it was never going to end. The air fell stale and the room went silent. Genji just remembered the TV was playing, too drawn into the argument to even focus on it. It took what felt like another eternity for Ramattra to look at the two, scoff, and stomp to his room. The door slammed behind him.

“Are you alright?” Zenyatta held out a hand, offering to help Genji off of the ground. Genji grabbed his hand, slowly bringing himself up. Zenyatta held out another hand, helping to steady Genji as he settled himself.

“I’m fine, I just don’t understand what his problem is with me,” Genji muttered. He stood up fully, allowing Zenyatta to take his hands off him. Zenyatta reached towards the coffee table in the middle of the room, grabbed the remote off it, and shut the TV off. He then held Genji’s hands in his own hands.

“Do not focus on him, my student. He has been through a lot, he doesn’t yet understand the effect of his words. He is, as humans call it, of little empathy. Please, just go to your room and we will conclude this in the morning,” Zenyatta explained, rubbing over the smoothness of Genji’s knuckles with his thumbs. Even though his face plate was static, Genji could tell his eyes were trying to plead with him.

Genji could only nod, “Yes, sensei. Goodnight, sensei.”

“Goodnight, my Genji.”

A/N: Once again, you can find the full fic on Ao3 :]