#i need him to be a disgusting little incel boy

[yoinkschief]

Not gonna finish this any time soon,,, but I thought I'd share it for giggles and shits

[corollaservant]

Night in the Net // Shigaraki x f! reader (18+)

Synopsis: You find yourself stranded in one hell of a sexist environment: the small town's internet café. Shigaraki's on the night shift. (3.6k)

Warnings: sex with Shiggy basically, mild degradation and misogyny from our fav incel, dom!Shiggy with a twist (no quirk obviously), use of “dollface” (i like it)

A/N: No dark themes here, peace n luv. Also.. yeah he is always linked to some gaming/electronic business ik!! but I like the trope/hc/almost canon.

You'd never imagine this was how your night would end.

Why are you there again? Right, your friends wanted to go to that after party, as if the club wasn't enough. What was supposed to be a night out ended up with you in the local internet café (the only after hours spot) while your friends decided to go to a house party with loud techno music, which definitely wasn’t your vibe. You and your friends lived close and would often call a taxi on your way home, money wasn’t enough for you to ride solo today though—you prayed in times like these that you at least had a job; you wouldn’t have to rely on anyone then. 

You knew pretty much everyone there, it’s not like the town had more than ten thousand residents and considering the age group and schools you’d all gone to, the internet café only had a few unknown members. On today’s shift was none other than Tomura of course, that guy was taking up as many shifts as his body would allow him to, apparently there was this rumor a family member was in crucial condition and they were in need. Tomura Shigaraki was one of these people you had branded as incel. Though hardworking (he kept a house of his own, cleaning and doing all chores by himself while providing for whomever he had), you still considered the guy as one. Now—you know the term is heavy, matter of fact, quite offending and serious as an allegation but it’s not like there weren’t rumors. Rumors he’d bash women and call them prostitutes, try to sleep with girls and trash them to his friends a day later, hating them for anything they did and claiming true love didn’t exist nowadays because “all women are sluts, who need money and validation.” Plus, he worked at the local internet café (should be enough reason), engaging in heated conversations with his friends and fellow streamers. God, one look in their chats and you'd get as violent as possible— (not much, you'd discovered it the hard way). Thus, it was no surprise that when you enter the place, you hear whispers and scoffs.

‘’The hell are you doing here?’’ A voice was heard from within, the café had the computer screens up front, a bar and a couch with TV in the back. Tomura was occupied in the designated bar the place had (you often wondered what kind of needs these people had—all they ever consumed was energy drinks and pre-packaged meals, takeouts were for reasons of competitive market prohibited).

‘’Just dropping by for a couple of hours, will leave soon.’’ You sigh as you take a seat on the couch, not bothering to talk to anyone, it wasn’t like they cared anyway. Loud noise and laughter can be heard all around, a couple of guys swearing and some younger boys excitedly standing above their screens. The store had a 16+ policy, but of course, no one ever checked so kids could practically stare unattended. Tomura also encouraged younger boys to play, such a piece of shit, you think, getting them to learn young. 

‘’Oh my fucking God, a slut just joined!’’ You hear some guy swear, presumably because a girl joined their online server. These guys were so disgusting, you cringe, it was no wonder they were celibate without wanting it. You stand up, you need to kill some time and you're feeling bored, you think about starting a fight with Tomura, how else could you have a little bit of fun?

You weren’t ever necessarily afraid of the guy, even though you had to admit, he looked intimidating. Quite tall with a pale complexion, ashy, dull hair and scars across his face; no one actually knew much about him and whether he was troubled, it’s not like he ever showed to work beaten up or high and usually kept a low profile. The only frightening thing this man had was his smile, it terrified you sometimes as it looked downright evil. 

‘’Getting them to learn young, huh?’’ You ask him, he’s washing up some cups from the previous round of gross gaming guys, who have now left.

‘’What?’’ He responds, not bothering to look up. 

‘’How to not get women, I mean.’’ You sigh as he huffs in annoyance.

‘’You should be grateful I let a female in my store in the first place.’’ He retorts, but doesn’t seem very angry, just ironic. Usual.

My store (you decide to skip over 'female') sounds funny but you choose not to comment on it. 

‘’So how long until you guys close?’’ You don't bother with the vocabulary—it’s routine at this point. It also never ends well and you had a great night so far, why ruin it now?

‘’Two hours.’’ 

‘’Mind if I sit on the couch? I’ll be quiet I promise’’ You ask—technically beg, as you see no other options.

‘’Ugh.. yeah I mind. There’s some guys wanting to use it, I have a group for GTA on the PS5.’’

‘’Seriously? People still play that?’’ You whine but force yourself to continue.

 ‘’Can I sit with you then?’’ It takes strength—but you say it regardless. You came to terms with the fact he was your last resort minutes ago.

‘’Sure. But you need to make yourself useful. Here, take this.’’ He hands you a wet sponge, ‘’Wash these up... carefully, while I go clean the floors.’’ He orders, as if you’re part of the staff (and new on the job apparently.)

‘’Do you actually want me to wash freaking dishes? I just came here to chill, I don’t even bother anyone!’’ You start feeling annoyed with the chores, you aren’t 16 and he isn’t your mom.

‘’You can always leave.’’ The running tap stops and he turns to you, practically shoving the wet gloves on your chest. 

‘’Or...you can stop being a brat and be of use during your stay, I have two hours left.’’ He smiles, that same smile that makes your skin crawl and blood boil as he moves away.

‘’Fuck! My dress, you asshole!’’ A wet patch now covers the too short dress as you glance at the time on your phone. 

Two hours. Two hours until your friends leave and he closes up anyway.

-

Tomura was at least true to his words. Within two insufferable hours of having to listen to appalling conversations between men (hardly to be considered as such), plate washing and the toilet being constantly occupied, the last customers get up to leave. 

You dry your hands and plop down the couch exhausted.

‘’Finally.’’ You exhale checking your phone, your friends hadn’t given you any life signs in the meantime, so you decide to patiently wait, they’d message eventually. Tomura is done sweeping the nasty floors from crumbs and dried Monster remnants, which he still has to mop (for the fourth time, you note and you've only been there some hours). You notice how restless he seems—the guy has been running the whole night after ignorant customers, who had not once shown basic respect for the order of the place yet never complained. Truly a shame he has such a misogynistic mindset, you think. He could get women, if he wanted to. 

It’s around 6:30 AM, when he presses a button to close the store's roll-up shutters halfway. Small light outside makes its way in but the place is still relatively dark, as he places the mop near the wall and takes a seat next to you.

‘’Fuuck, I’m so tired.’’ He sighs, making sure to spread his legs on the couch as much as he can, not caring (of course) about you also sitting on it. 

You always branded Tomura as an incel, that you knew about. But despite that, you now can’t help but feel for him, not knowing much about him at the same time. Sure, he technically isn’t the nicest guy but a look around would show you that he tries enough for a job kicking his ass. You find yourself sympathizing with a man, whose ideals you hate and try to brush these thoughts off.

‘’And why the fuck am I an incel anyway?’’ He asks, his head rests on the couch and his eyes are closed, he is scrunching severely—almost threatening to fall down. And he manspreads. A lot.

‘’W-well– I..’’ You never thought he’d caught on to that, stammering to stand your ground as you continue. ‘’Well, there have been rumors about you.’’ You say, but it doesn’t come off as confident as you’d hoped for. You also realize, it sounds kind of stupid.

‘’Reaaally? And you made sure to believe them, right?’’ His tone’s laced with irony but the way he talks like he whispers in a raspy voice doesn't annoy you anymore. It makes you more... uncomfortable? On the edge? Excited?...what?

‘’It’s not like you don’t claim it yourself.’’ You retort, finally finding some courage. You notice him looking at you as you awkwardly shuffle in your seat.

‘’All I’ve ever said was that I think women are good for nothing. And I still believe that, but I wouldn’t waste more of my time on that.’’ The statement makes you roll your eyes.

‘’How can you generalize a whole group of people, who are literally in no way inferior to you, you can’t tell me you’ve tried—’’ 

‘’Listen dollface, unless you want to change my mind there’s no reason to fuss that much, my opinion won’t change.’’

Unless you want to change my mind?

‘’I-I don’t.’’ You stammer, because the answer and pet name (dollface??) takes you by surprise and he laughs.

‘’Relax, you branded me an incel.’’ He jokes, ‘’don’t want the rape allegations on me too.’’ 

The more he talks, the more your mind races and you curse yourself. He seems..funny? He has a mole under his lips—fuck, it looks cute...He also looks good so (stupid as it is, yes!) you silently want his attention. Why can’t he just look you in the eyes more?

This is so wrong. He must've noticed your lost gaze as he speaks up.

‘’Wanna watch a movie?’’ He proposes and you nod, anything is better than the silence hanging in the air. Silence you caused. For thinking... things about him. 

Of course Tomura ends up choosing the most depressing film anyone can possibly watch in an internet café at 6 AM, Fallen Angels, and the dramatic cuts make it hard for you to concentrate. He at a certain point leans closer to you but you justify it, how else would he be able to see?

During this one scene, the woman pleasured herself with her legs closed, rubbing together and that’s when you feel a soft hand touch on your thigh. The dress you wore rode up, because your legs rested on the table ahead so it gave him the space he needed. The movement made you tingle and your core involuntarily contracted. The smooth fingers teasingly trailed up and down your leg, from your knees to your inner thighs. You didn’t want to look at him—he was too close and the scene seemed endless. But…he went on about it as if nothing was happening. 

Without saying a word, he carried on. A pad of his finger tip dangerously close to your now heated entrance, the images flashing before your eyes lewd, his hand tempting and threatening to reach your already soaked cunt—all this while the two of you hadn’t even shared a kiss. But he doesn't stop, looking ahead and acting like everything’s fine, until he touches your lower lips and you hiss, his finger traces the wet spot over your underwear while you try to move and speak up. 

‘’W–what are y—’’

‘’Shh..’’ is all he says. 

You want to tell him no. But no to what? You like the feeling of his two fingers against your folds. His palm moves your panties to the side and he stuffs them inside—they dampen from the fluids. How is he that quick? You can’t form a response but you’re about to ask him why—

‘’All that and I haven’t even kissed you.’’ He murmurs, gaze still fixated on the television ahead as you moan, when he slowly pumps them within your walls. Fuck, are you turned on by this?

‘’P-please..’’ You whisper, turning to look at him and for the first time, his eyes are removed from the stupid TV, a sly smile on his features as he tears away his hand.

‘’What is it? Want the incel to kiss you? Maybe even fuck you to prove a point?’’ He says and you frown.

‘’I—no, I have to go.’’ You get up, fixing (lowering) your dress—you have nowhere to go but you’ll figure it out eventually. You think staying longer only plays into his cruel intentions and whilst you can’t deny the pleasure he could give you, your pride’s in the way.

‘’You’re not going anywhere.’’ A wet hand clasps around your wrist and brings you on his lap, as he grins; you seem confused at the sensation. You are hiding the TV screen but he couldn't care less, he never paid attention to the movie.

‘’Feel the stain you left, too?’’ He says as he brings your face closer with the sticky palm grabbing you by the hair. You softly moan, noticing the small mole up close and feeling a bulge poke where your bodies meet. You sway your hips in a silent effort to have him initiate a kiss, you feel desperate and curse yourself again internally. He can only smile.

(You were so clueless, walking around in that slutty dress earlier—making him hard like that, did you even know it?)

He’s quick to kiss you, eager for more already, as mouths clash, teeth collide, the need you both have exceeds proper manners. You sloppily grind against him, the friction from a long outline beneath you makes it hard to think.

‘’I’m guessing, you’re really fucking the incel then.’’ He half smirks as he grabs you and repositions you to sit on his now fully hard cock that throbs in his pants; he lifts your dress above your ass and guides your hips sluggishly back and forth—he’s tormenting you and he enjoys it to the fullest.

‘’T-tomura..p-please.’’ You whine, the urge to have him inside you makes you blabber.

‘’Please what?’’ He slides a hand behind your waist, lowering it to find your slit from behind, his fingers pet your cunt and you moan. Loudly. He is tugging at your panties, the fabric annoys him and he wants full access and the words. The words to prove his point.

‘’P–please...fuck me already!’’ You breathe out and he groans to the sound of your voice. 

The ironic remark he prepared evaporates as he quickly pushes you back, just enough to not fall off his lap and quickly unzips his pants, thanking god for not wearing a belt. 

His pants and underwear are sloppily moved down his knees, as his cock jumps with a pop on his lower abdomen, stiff with a weeping tip. Pretty veins throb around it as your eyes widen.

Shit, he’s big, can you take him?

‘’I’d ask for a nice blowjob, dollface, but wouldn’t want the feminists after me.’’ He says as he brings you close, kissing you yet again, a string of spit runs down your jaw, as your hands roam his tangled, uncombed hair. 

He positions you on his cock, one hand snakes around your waist while the other one clings to the back of your scalp and you’re swiftly lifted by the head and pushed down on him, as you let out a scream.

‘’Shut the fuck up.’’ He hisses, quickly looking around, the sensation from almost his whole length makes you tremble, he feels too full, too painful...too good.

‘’Shit, c’mon now you got this.’’ He encourages as you hesitantly move up and down his cock, gripping his shoulders and looking at him; he seems more concentrated on the sensation than your body, staring at you while you wrap around his length.

‘’Fuck...dollface, this too much for ya?’’ He tries not to grunt and you give your best not to cry, each moment that goes by turning the initial pain to pleasure—your cunt adjusts slowly and bit by bit to his girth. 

‘’T-tomura... y-yes..it’s too much!’’ You whine, sweat forms in your forehead as his hand finds your swollen clit and circles it while your nails dig deeper in his shirt.

‘’You can take it.’’ He says, he feels you squeezing him in, you bounce with dedication on his legs, making the couch squeak as if on some sex tape—you want to bring yourself even closer. So nasty, aren't you? Acting righteous, only to fuck yourself on his cock like a desperate whore.

‘’I-ugh-p-please..’’ You try to speak but he secures his hand around your torso and sinks (lower than before) down the couch. Two strong hands force you to stay still in the air while he drills himself into you at a steady pace, kind of sloppily too. Both of you moan, the position gives equal pleasure, your clit bumps on his groin and his cock reaches your g-spot with ease.

‘’S–Shit, you’re squeezing way too much, haven’t you been fucked like this before?’’ He sounds annoyed but the stammer in his voice betrays him.

Not like this, you want to say but can’t really speak the words. Your weight falls entirely on him, he doesn’t mind one bit—he loves it actually, this skin on skin contact as he guides you on his cock, it feels surreal. He hits soft and spongy spots inside while you slowly fall apart. 

‘’T-Tomura right there..I ugh—I'm close!’’ The sensation overwhelms you, his eyes are still fixated on your face, yeah I can tell, he thinks. He gets off on your desperation, mouth parted all for him? Your eyes threaten to spill by the way he tears apart your cunt and morals bit by bit.. it’s–

‘’Tomura, aren't you closing yet?’’ Someone asks from outside, interrupting the moment. The shutters only reveal a pair of shoes. 

‘’Yeah, I’m on it.’’ Shigaraki stops composed, cockwarming you in a funny way, while a hand, his hand covers your mouth. Your eyes widen as slick trickles down his thighs in silence.

‘’Alright, see you then.’’ The man leaves and he cusses him out. (''Cunt.'')

‘’We’re not done.’’ He turns his attention back to you and seizes your face, bringing your mouth closer.

‘’Open up.’’ He orders and you do, clenching around him in anticipation.

He spits in it and closes the gap with his index finger. 

‘’Swallow or I won’t continue.’’ You quickly gulp down.

‘’So obedient all of a sudden, aren't you?’’ Sarcasm evident as he gives your ass a solid hit, before starting to get back on his pace, only more rough this time, he longs for your release on him. You’re moving up and down his length, trying to grab anything accessible really, his hair, the back of the couch, under his shirt and you feel your orgasm resurface stronger; the delay highlighted all of your senses.

‘’T-Tomura—’’ You shudder, as his cock hits your g-spot expertly–fuck, this guy wasn't some incel–and your swollen clit has to brush one last time past his groin before you feel an overwhelming orgasm take over. You clamp down his length and moan embarrassingly (Fuck Tomura! I–I'm...too good!) This time he lets you, he needs to hear this.

‘’Fuuck—agh, look at you dollface.’’ He hums, a feminist creaming herself on my cock, he wants to add but it’s too many words and you just came so he wastes no time. He brings your neck close to his mouth and bites on it, teeth sink into your flesh and hands force you all the way down. His cum spills inside and he groans, trying to stifle his moans by biting down the sensitive skin even harder. 

And fuck if that isn’t hot.

He keeps you on him, arms fasten around your waist with cum dripping onto his lowered pants but neither of you bother to care; ragged breaths and the sounds of the film still playing are audible as more light enters through the rolled shutters.

God must’ve been on your side that day because a message appears on your screen moments after you both wordlessly got up and cleaned yourselves in the bathroom. Tomura would have to clean again, you think, as the message on your phone signals your time to leave.

You turn to look at him, he has removed his shirt and small nail scratches decorate his pale back and you..smile. What the hell? Was this..? Oh no—You try to find an appropriate goodbye.

See you soon? Thanks for the mind blowing dick? You aren’t the incel I thought you were? Everything seems embarrassing at present time. 

‘’I-I’ll be seeing you soon.’’ You opt for that, stupid as it is, you still look at him in anticipation. He turns to you, hands on the mop cleaning near the couch and nods. 

Great, you think, that was a disaster. You defeatedly walk (actually stoop to get past the almost closed door) feeling like a hooker after a client, miserable and kind of used. This is always the worst part. 

You feel an arm touch your shoulder, you’ve only taken a few steps in the daylight.

‘’Take this in case you revoke your incel statement.’’

Tomura hands you a piece of paper and quickly disappears behind the store’s shadows.

[sanemisstalker]

N/SFW. Minors DNI

CW: GN reader / Men's Mental Health IG ???

KNY characters that I think are more prone to cumming in their pants / NSFW

Giyu

-He's inexperienced.

-I admire the almost fandom consensus of him being either resident, sexy, black haired, quiet anime boy, and/or 'nobody likes this friendless loser, he definitely has a tumblr'

-Any attention, platonic or not, from someone he's attracted to is enough to make Giyu get an apparent boner. He's prone to them when the people he admires say genuinely nice things to him.

-He doesn't get to hear nice things a lot, nor does he take compliments easily, so when he believes them, his body can't help but believe them too.

-He'd rather it not be that way, but due to his floundering mental health, and general isolation, Giyu isn't jerking off very often, nor is he able to get it up when he wants to, so he just goes... months without thinking about it sometimes.

-Could definitely cum from kissing too hard. Not just kissing, but particularly the rough treatment.

-Giyu must be incredibly touch starved, I imagine. I can't fiction the last time he's hugged someone. That scene where he's holding Shinobu, perhaps?

-So when he's getting so much attention, especially so much positive, romantic attention, even if it's a little rough, I'm sure his dick would be at full mast.

-he doesn't think he's predisposed to masochism or anything. He'd hope he wasn't, but it feels better when he's kissing, and maybe his hair is being pulled on, just a little.

-he'd be very embarassed. He wouldn't cry or anything, but I think he'd get up and leave the room. He knows you knew what happened, he didn't moan, but he flinched because the build up was so immediate, and he just couldn't stop.

-How pathetic. He can't show his face infront of you ever again. All he does is ruin good things. You're definitely disgusted by him.

-Even if he didn't realize how pretty his face looked during his orgasm.

Gyutaro

-Everyday I fight the gyutaro incel allegations, and everyday I fail.

-Gyutaro is socially inept, to put it blatantly. He spends an incredible amount of time locked away in his sister, and rarely chooses to come out unless eating for the two, or-

-if he needs to jerk off. A rarity, nowadays. Looking the way he looks can do a real number on one's ability to self-pleasure. He also isn't able to seek out assistance from any brothels- He still looks the way he looks. He's no Muzan- blessed with the ability to change his appearance at will.

-So when you're on top of Gyutaro, and he feels the curve of your ass in his palm, and your sex is positioned right on top of his, just barely grazing his clothed cock, as you try and teach him how to kiss (he's doing his best, but he knows he's not good-)

-He cums, and he cums hard. He grips down on your hips, and goes wide eyed, unable to stop the moan that rips its way from his throat... and then quickly moves you off of him.

-He isn't even finished when he moves you, he's shakey armed, and he nearly drops you.

-he's mortified. After all this time, he finally gets someone willing to touch him, and he blows it. He's borderline inconsolable- switching between begging you not to look at him and begging you not to hate him-

-but the noise he made was just so... pathetic.

Haganezuka

-Men dedicated to their craft don't have time to cum? Silly of you to assume he's ever even seen another person naked. That would imply he looked away from a sword for long enough to register it.

-On a completely serious note (as serious as I can be writing this), It'd be quite awkward interacting with Haganezuka sexually. His mind has been so consumed by perfection that, even if he wasn't dedicated to the blade, he's almost prevented himself from ever being able to cum in a social setting.

-He's developed a phobia of new situations he can't control. Especially sexual ones. Swords are easy and gratifying. Why would he ever need to cum when he can just make a sword and have it be respected and revered. Wouldn't that be nice-

-So when you started rubbing him over his pants, he was, admittedly, panicking. It's not like he went nearly 4 decades without using his dick... He'd just... gone 2 and a half decades without using his dick. Nowhere near the same.

-You'd barely even touched it, barely even pressed your lips to his neck, and Haganezuka was panting.

-The fear coursing through his veins, and the attention his forgotten cock was receiving- He grew more unsightly by the second...

-and then you pressed a particularly soft kiss to the corner of his lips and he was done for. That was his first kiss-

-Though shocked, you'd pump Haganezuka through his orgasm. It'd be enough to go through his pants, and spill over your hand.

-He'd grip your robes, and will you closer to him. His heels would slam into the floorboard, and he'd try to bury his face in your neck, attempting to muffle the groan he'd loose, only to fail tremendously.

-He'd be huffy after. Mad at himself and disguising it as being mad at you.

-'Well, maybe you shouldn't touch me anymore, if you found it so gross! Did you consider that? Just not touching me- ever?'

-but you saw how sad he looked when you said you'd do whatever he wanted. What a simple man.

[lysil7777]

TW: DRUGGUNG, KIDNAPPING, ABUSE, MISOGYNY, MIND BREAK, MISANDRY, FANTASY BETWEEN CONSENTING ADULTS

Misogynistic writing is so fucking funny, they always use "men are naturally stronger than women" to try and gain dominance. Always talking about breaking feminists. Well I want to break a misogynistic bitch boy. Not an incel who never leaves his room, just someone who you think is your regular Joe type of guy....until he opens his mouth. To act submissive is easy in whatever setting we're in until he approaches me. Allowing him to pick me up, dressing to what he'd deem "lady-like", and going back to my place for some coffee after dinner. As he sits back he'll notice how dizzy the room is getting, how limp his limbs are, after hours of answering stupid questions like "what's your body count" I'll finally be able to teach this whore his place. Laughing at his expression when I tell him what a stupid little boy he is for following a stranger into her home like a stray puppy. Stupid bitch boy. Deagging him down the ateps of my basement and stripping him of all clothing, replacing it only with chains around his arms, legs and neck, forcing jim to stay on all fours and a tail plug forced mercilessly into his virgin ass.

If you're so much better than women, then why have you been locked in my basement for the last 2 months completely naked? Why is a woman shoving random objects in your holes? Why has a woman trained you to always need something in that practically useless mouth of yours? Look at you, I won't let you eat me out for a day, and you're sucking on your whole fist. Maybe I should get you a gag or pacifier of some type, hmm? Dick long forgotten, caged up since the night I lured you in. No trace of anger or disgust on your bruised face when I hit you. Only moans of pleasure and shrieks of fear. Aren't you so happy Master has shown you your true purpose? Maybe in another month or two, I'll introduce you to the rest of the sluts <3

This makes you so so so happy you start to cry, you don't know why you're crying, you just can't help it. Maybe because you know you have use now. Maybe because you don't have to try and be something you're not. Or maybe it's because you're so fucking horny from not cumming you would cum if I gave you another beating for my own pleasure. Whatever it is you don't care, you're just happy to be taken care of where you belong <3 Sounds nice doesn't it whore?

[cinnamonest]

Head empty no thoughts just daydreaming about incel scara with groupmate/project member!reader

Imagine them sitting together in a library. They need to be close to share one screen and go over everything while one or the other does some explaining. And scara is just DISGUSTED by her very clearly, very obviously whorish behavior aka her casually jutting her chest, pouting/biting her lips, getting close to him when she needs to lean, when she bends over away from or next to him, he can see her cleavage if he tries hard enough, or see her skirt ride or her lower back getting exposed and if he moves juuuuust a bit closer he can touch her boobs-

Just outright disgraceful and shameless behavior typical of the female 😤 and no, that's not his boner wdym. And reader is just earnestly trying to understand what he's trying to say because he seems so indifferent and almost looks as if dislikes her.

Ahhh it must be because he's annoyed, this isn't her subject after all. In which case, ALTERNATIVELY- consider CS major scara with darling in some non-STEM field passively calling her dumb and insulting her intelligence whenever they come to "study" because: what? She doesn't know how to install Windows? Ha

Only reason she has a decent gpa is because you don't actually need brains or talent for those art "subjects" and they are more suited to females anyway because it's not like they contribute much to society or are very intelligent, unlike him-

I remember my university had these little rooms in their library that were basically tiny study rooms with a couch and chairs, but like no windows, and were advertised as two-way soundproof to help you study and let me tell you. Y’all. People had sex in those. A lot. It happened a lot.

But the thing is they had no tables with desk-type chairs, only like coffee tables and lounge chairs, so if you wanted to work with someone else on something you kinda had to use the sofa which could be very awkward. Anyway

Oh he's absolutely a STEM snob that looks down on humanities majors. They’re for people with no real skills, who lack the ability to do more important stuff… or God forbid, you're a fine arts major of some kind. Very typical girl stuff, they waste money on useless degrees because they insist on having equally useless jobs. You’re probably going to be a future HR person, getting random guys fired for harmless comments and such.

So he always talks to you in such a condescending way, as if the things he’s explaining are so very obvious or simple that it’s a chore to explain it to you. You need to be aware of how intellectually inferior you are.

Also he’s one of those boys for whom “disgusted” is really just turned on, he lacks the ability to distinguish it — like it’s arousing, but it’s irritating that it’s arousing because he can’t do anything about it, so he identifies that feeling as disgust when it’s really just unbearable levels of sexual frustration compounded with bitterness. Ugh.

And as for you, it has to be intentional. You know what you're doing. It's on purpose. You just think it's funny or amusing to torment someone who can't do anything about it. In a fair world, you'd pay for your actions somehow.

And maybe you're even getting good grades in exchange for "favors." That makes sense, it's the only way that explains how you remain enrolled really. Maybe you'll eventually do the same for him, try to get him to do work for you in exchange for something. Not that that would work, he would never ever enable you like that, and definitely has the self-control necessary to reject you.

There’s something so wrong with how things are, that this situation can even arise, that you’re allowed to waste so much money and time on your dumb degree when you have better uses. He’ll probably go home and make some long vent post to some niche corner of the internet about the woes of having to tolerate this situation. Tragic.

[heli0s-writes]

You’re Toxic, I’m Slipping Under

Summary: He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it. “See you next week,” he hums.

A/n: To celebrate Glass Onion coming out, here’s ol’ boy Ransom because I hate him so much :) 4.1k words. Warnings: Smut; mild degradation, spitting, daddy kink; classism; Mind Games with Ransom Hour etc. etc. Please stop reading if you’re not 18+

Your whole apartment building seems to rattle when he arrives thirty minutes late. Like raucous fanfare to announce his appearance, the door slams shut, the latch clicks loudly, and then you hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.

His shoes are still on—of course they are—stomping your floorboards and dragging in dirt. You can practically see them, the usual suede loafers switched out for leather boots with the late fall chill, and probably mud-caked because he’s thankless like that.

With your attention still on your laptop, already irritated because you’ve been attempting a paper that’s only chased its tail for the last three hours, you ask, “Did you misplace your watch, Ransom?”

Turning, you show him you’re the screen reading 8:32 and blink pointedly, “Is that a yes?”

“Don’t be smart,” he snaps back. “You know I don’t like that.”

Your head’s been a mess of fog, body tense and frustrated for days, and although you’ve always prided yourself on tact and grace—patient like a saint—Ransom manages to bring out the worst. You hiss, “Take your damn shoes off, you know I don’t like that.”

You watch mutely as he does so, not without a sneer here, a shitty comment there. He takes three long steps and plops himself on your bed, hands curling into the quilt, thumbs brushing over the patchwork fabric disparagingly. He pinches a loose thread and begins to pull, tugging slowly at first, and then finding joy in unraveling a line of stitching until nearly three inches rip apart.

“I always thought you needed to replace this thing.” He twirls the string disdainfully, “It’s ugly as sin.”

He pretends he doesn’t know how you obviously love this quilt—handstitched and affectionately made, your damn initials are embroidered into the corner, after all. He’s made a game of testing your patience, gleefully punching at every button as he tries to get you to snap.

Ransom Drysdale Thrombey. You’d met him at one of the Thrombey’s family… functions. Dysfunction, you’d muttered under your breath when Walt beat his cane against the floor in a drunken tirade and Meg ran out back to wolf down a pot cookie that she was supposed to be saving for later.

She was on the cusp of a panic attack, words tumbling out like a car crash, her hand in her beret, then hair, then trembling over her maroon-painted lips.

“God, I’m so sorry— I thought we could just make a pit stop before heading out. The food’s always catered and really good— god… it’s a fucking mess.”

You waved her off because it’s not like you haven’t witnessed at least one aunt having a meltdown during holiday dinner before— family’s just like that—and tried to placate her with, “Can’t be worse than the cousin who asked if we’d be scissoring later.”

Meg’s face twisted in disgust. “Ugh, ew! Fucking Jacob! He’s a skeezy little incel— I swear he’s a moderator on one of those internet forums where they post revenge porn and upskirt vids— honestly, he was adorable two years ago. Then I guess he went through puberty and got radicalized on Youtube.”

You paused as she lit a cigarette and inhaled furiously before realizing that the two of you were thinking of two entirely different cousins.

“I meant the big one, Meg. This one went through puberty twenty years ago.”

“Ew, Ransom,” Meg frowned, “That’s even worse.”

“Ransom? What is he, a Disney villain?”

Leaves crunched behind your back and Meg looked up from flicking ash into the yard toward the sound.

“Let’s be honest, I’ve got the face of a leading man.”

Meg blew smoke at him, as if the fumes were enough to threaten his sensibilities. You figured not, he looked like a cigar smoker anyway—one of those guys who’d dedicate a whole room in their house with the humidity just right to keep them fresh. Rich people shit.

“Go away, Ransom,” she said, to clarify.

“I don’t recall addressing you, Megan.” He took a drawn-out look, lips pursing in scrutiny before lifting a brow, making a real goddamn show about it. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. 400 on the dresser for an hour; you can get yourself something nice.”

You’re still not sure what it was about either your attire or attitude that allowed him to conjure up such an offer.

Maybe it was your shitty jeans and your sweater from freshman year orientation. Maybe you looked like an easy mark to tear down.

His audacity shocked out a laugh from you—a loud, abrupt guffaw that eased Meg enough for her to dip back inside to grab more from her stash. And when she was out of sight, focused on rummaging in the old clock, you responded, “Yeah, okay. I’ll bite back.”

Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your background in contrast to all this excess. The bitter aftertaste of eating bottom shelf food out of necessity for weeks at a time—those awful chicken bouillon packets and dried blocks of instant noodles your first year of college. No one paid for your schooling or housing so learning to balance an over-abundance of classes and a job because you needed to graduate early, needed to spend less money on tuition, meant that you were working yourself to death.

If Youtube radicalized Jacob, then habitually sleeping three hours a night in the campus library and skipping meals to afford textbooks while men like Ransom crashed Maserati’s for fun radicalized you.

So, sure. Game on.

He picked you up the following weekend without anyone knowing and took you somewhere expensive. It was a whirlwind of exorbitant dinners and being quietly sneered at down the straight line of his tall nose bridge. The front door to his bachelor pad shutting but not bothered with locking. Falling into the thousand-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets naked, the skylight’s beam spilling like gold-flecked champagne.

You promised yourself it meant nothing. Just an experiment of unbridled spite. If he wanted to throw money at you, hell, that’s his problem. If he wanted to fuck you, well, you’d give him the best fuck of his life— let him see that despite wealth, at the end of the day, he was flesh and blood trembling for the right stroke.

And sure, he trembled, but it was your mistake to pare it down so simply.

Ransom juggled fuck buddies much longer than you’d been fucking at all. He knew it was best with the right amount of emotion involved. Just enough to yearn. If he laid roses at your feet, kissed your knees featherlight and worked his way up to your jaw, cradled the back of your head, nosed the pulse of your wrist, your collarbones, asked for your eyes on him, and panted the lightest breath of your name at the edge of it all—now who’s fucking who over, sweetheart?

You were out of your depth. He was powerful, older, and more experienced. He touched you in ways that emulated affection—that brought fire and danger. His hands were large and callused at the juncture of his fingers. His pretty mouth was pink, wet, kissed greedy. His sharp eyes took everything in.

But, as you predicted, his moods soon volleyed in every direction as consequence of never being told no, and once the novelty of crazy hot—often angry—sex grew stale, you crashed back down to earth burned out. You ghosted.

“You’re, what…” he called through the door the week after you texted that it was both too much and not enough to carry on with, “breaking up with me? Seriously. This is a fucking joke.”

And you could have practically seen it—how his bottom lip would jut out as his incisors crossed, how his brows would sink when he got angry. He was never belligerent, only calculating.

You told him to leave, and he did, after a single loud kick to the frame, because he’s never begged for anything, and he wasn’t going to start.

The guilt came afterwards, with the bouquet of roses on the doormat, petals scattered around because he’d slammed them down after being ignored again and again, and you swept them inside to throw into a vase next to the three other vases with flowers in various degrees of wilted.

“Breaking up” prickled complicatedly in the middle of your chest, because despite the many shows of affection, you knew you weren’t exactly breaking up. You had never really been with him anyway. People aren’t… with Ransom. They’re towed along by Ransom, dragged by their hair by Ransom. Played with by Ransom until he inevitably gets bored.

It devolved into needless melodrama. Weekly episodes of a teen show with grandiose gestures of toxic relationships perceived as romance. Ransom’s habit of whisking you away, fucking you senseless, turning around to fight with you about any-goddamn-thing he pleased. Dropping off flowers and champagne. Restarting the whole process.

It wasn’t healthy—isn’t healthy, probably, according to most therapists—since he’s here, present-day, in your room, beginning to undress.

You fiddle with the sleeves at your elbows, thumbing cool satin before advancing, arms subconsciously crossed.

He’s only in his underwear now. A pair of nondescript gray boxer briefs fitted on his muscular thighs, taut as he leans back on his palms. He slowly spreads his legs, inviting you between them. His lips purse when you stand passively, knee brushing his bulge, hands resting over his shoulders. He’s warm.

One palm caresses your lower back and the other on himself, gliding up and down. His lids are half open, voice low, “You miss this?”

“No,” which is a lie. You missed it when evenings were boring, half-heartedly nodding to some boy’s drivel about campus life, mind wandering to someone who didn’t look freshly 21, didn’t date like it. Didn’t talk themselves up just to get you into bed.

At least Ransom was honest; he always said exactly what he thought, told you exactly when you were pissing him off, how he was going to teach you a lesson—where he wanted you, how he wanted you, and— a chill races up your arms.

He’s downright smug when he notices.

“No? You prefer sloppy frat boys pawing at you like virgins over me? Every time, you think they might fuck right but, well, you’re always disappointed.” He reaches beneath the short hem of the robe, splays his hand out over your thigh and very slowly feels his way up.

Your eyes shutter as he pulls you forward, gripping tightly and massaging up toward your ass. The pit of your belly is tightening, the rest trying to push down being too eager for him all over you, his broad shoulders, his strong hands, how he bends his grasp on your shoulder, fixes you in a perfect curved arch just the way he likes.

Ransom noses the robe out of his path, sinking his teeth lightly down until he scrapes a line over your breastbone, laying his face gently down like a child—like a lover.

“You know,” he begins, taunting again, “You make a… face.” He says it as he trails down beneath the swell of one breast, letting your nipple graze his cheek, before he presses a kiss to your ribcage. Hot like a brand, searing into your belly. And then he bites.

You flinch, hand going to his hair to pull him away. He throws his head back into your grasp, eyes glittering and amused. He quickly works your thighs apart, dipping two fingers between and sinking into your heat.

“There it is,” he chuckles when your eyes flutter, “Yeah... Really gets me off.”

You’re in his lap before you know it, your hold on him fallen off and now scrambling for his wide shoulders to hold yourself steady. He’s got you leaned back on his thighs, hanging off the edge of the bed and perfectly helpless, the only thing planting you even close to secure are your folded knees, your arms around his neck. He’s shushing you, one large hand on the small of your back, the other still working inside your pussy.

He says, “Calm down unless you want to fall,” but it’s goddamn hard when your heart is pounding with equal parts fear and arousal. He’s sucking on your tits, balancing you just precariously enough to thrill, fingering you all the while—like it’s nothing to him, like you’re an object he can manipulate however he pleases.

His cock is erect, flexing against the fabric over his groin, a swell of hard, aching muscle. You want to put your hand around it, feel its girth in your palm, simply hold it because you do fucking miss it. The places he can reach, the ways he spreads you, rocking in and pulling out—how he sometimes settles inside, and then does nothing but watch you squirm.

It’s undeniably gorgeous—and he is too—when you fumble it out after he lays you down and hovers over you with interest. You’re wetting your lips automatically, staring in awe at his thick shaft sprouting from soft, dark, curls, the tip of it smooth and almost purple, swollen up with blood.

“Legs up,” and the way he says it, how he just goes right out and says it, makes you groan.

Boys don’t do that. Too busy in their heads about peacocking and re-enacting the kind of porno where performers wordlessly move into new positions in sync, nothing verbal exchanged but high-pitched shrieking and nasally fuck me’s.

Ransom’s extremely verbal in bed. He easily says, “Look at me. Show me how much you want it,” and flits his eyes between your bodies.  

You do, shivering, sliding two fingers along the sides of your folds, finding yourself aroused and damp, humiliated and incredibly turned on when he grins, simply content with watching. Your thighs are squeezing reflexively, abdomen crunching up trying to keep it together.

But he’s never been patient, and quickly tells you to hold your knees, rock back, make yourself small and exposed, and then he’s delving gently into your hole— thumbs taking turns, coaxing more.

Two fingers tuck in, then another two struggle next to them, and you can’t stop yourself from gasping and crying out at how he pulls apart the walls of your cunt.

The sound of it— sloppy, squelching, a light and hollow kind of noise like a tongue flicking inside an open mouth.

“Look at this pretty pussy.” He tugs a little more, and you wriggle into it, gripping your legs tighter, pulling your knees up, shins toward your burning face to hide.

He descends on your clit, tip of his tongue licking into your stretched hole, purposefully only running against the taut skin around his fingers. “You got a talent, baby,” he murmurs, buzzing. “I could fuck you the whole day, fuck you numb… but give you about half an hour and it’s good as new, tight and perfect.”

There had been marathon rounds of bouncing in his lap between being at each other’s throats, his thighs splitting yours, hands holding you up, nibbling at your ear. Then he’d turn you around, take you to the floor until you collapsed on the bearskin rug, the sweat on your neck and chest rolling into dark furs. Railed you until you were so sensitive anything would make you come; your body unsure if it was considered your own anymore.

Fuck, fight, rinse, and repeat.

“Are you—going to talk all night?” You grunt up to the ceiling, trying to steel yourself from panting or moaning and only barely making it.

“Thought you liked it when I talked.”  His dark head is still between your legs, nose pressed into your skin, licking agonizingly slow with his entire tongue. It’s so warm, and gentle, and assertive. “What, you don’t like being told how good you taste?”

He keeps licking, pushing at the back of your knees when you try to switch positions, holding you in that bent up pose. He’s suckling at your clit when his fingers find their way back inside, easily hooking in three and pumping them smoothly.

“How—” he sucks hard, the shape of his full, plush lips fitted over you making a filthy wet smack, “mmm—I love the taste of your sweet pussy?”

When you come like it’s being ripped out of you, legs shaking around his head, lines of his spit dripping down your ass and onto the sheets, he lets you go with a hard slap on your sex, and you nearly wail.

“That’s my girl,” he says. “Yeah, you missed me, huh? You missed it like this, didn’t you? Tell me.”

“Unnng …” a high whine, “Ransom.”

“I know,” he mumbles, kissing up your belly, your neck, your ear.

He moves into position, entering effortlessly after all his prep work, and the shine of your juice still on his beard is fucking unholy hot. He’s grinning and panting, eyes fluttering briefly as he slides home.

“I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, you’re gonna take it.” He’s a fraction unfocused, letting himself enjoy how you squeeze around him before he begins to punish.

Jesus, you missed this. Missed the agonizing drag of his shaft that feels like it goes on and on forever. Miss the way you get full of him, miss how it almost hurts.

His hipbones are hitting against yours, a steady fast rhythm because he’s experienced like that. Whereas some others might go faster when you’re close, Ransom stays at the pace that got you there in the first place. If anything, he pushes just a bit harder, makes you listen to the sound of his skin on yours, the choke of your breath he punches out.

You crunch yourself up smaller, toes touching the headboard now. Anything to get him further in.

“Fuck, you’re a slut,” he laughs. “Pretty little slut, god you don’t give it up like this for anyone else, do you?”

There’s not enough sense in you to argue even if you wanted to. The room is swimming, undulating, slipping further and further out of reach as the bed rocks and squeaks in protest. You’re sure you met a very handsome guy at the bar weeks ago but as soon as he started hinting that he was interested and stirred up conversation by asking your major, you left.

It just… wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same. No way in hell.

That boy wouldn’t have done this—wouldn’t be planting one foot on the bed, the other knee still down, enormous hands tight on your hips and crashing in.

You could cry, it feels so goddamn good.

Tears dribble their way out from the corner of your eyes. You turn your face enough to get a breath of fresh air, gulping it in frantically between the drive of Ransom’s cock and the half second he slides out.

You vaguely register his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, knuckles brushing upward.

“Oh,” he sighs, “pretty, pretty girl.” He slows his pace, nearly stilling. You squirm beneath him, inching away from how deep he is inside you, how intimate it feels as he kisses the hollow of your cheek and then toward your brow.

“So sweet for me,” he says, pulsing, making you whine with how he pushes against your sore walls. “Did I make a slut out of you? Huh? Make you stupid for my dick?”

“Make me come,” you say. “Make me—“

“Ask me real nice, baby. Ask daddy to make you come.”

You want to hit him. Kill him.

“No?” He whispers into the sensitive shell of your ear, “You don’t want it?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment clawing up your face, but Ransom’s hold is tighter, sharper, and he really is— so fucking right. You want it. And he’s made you a little stupid, so yeah--

“Please make me come, daddy. I wanna come.”

The Cheshire grin that unfurls on his face is more panther than cat. “You wanna come on daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes, daddy,” you admit. “I wanna so bad.”

“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re a good girl, aren’t you. You put on a little show just for me? Act like you don’t want it but soon as I get in you and you let me lay you out anywhere, make you say anything.”

You turn away but he’s got your fucking number— got you as a boneless, spineless mess beneath him as he begins to fuck you again, and harder, his calculating, beautiful, cruel face hanging above you like a fever dream.

“You gonna come? Gonna cry?”

He’s melting away, he’s everywhere, and the lights behind your eyelids are starting to glare and threaten to explode.

“Gonna come for daddy, huh. That’s it, baby. That’s my girl, let me feel your pussy— ah— there it is— you can’t help it, can you? Mmm, swallow daddy’s cock with your pussy.”

Your orgasm is a wreck of curses and teeth on Ransom’s shoulder when he drops down close enough to make contact. You shake and whimper, struggling to calm yourself through the aftershocks.

When you’re done, still floaty but more aware, the mess of your humming insides less tight around him, he pulls out and shuffles up until his swollen tip is at your chin.  

You obey wordlessly, and afterwards, when the flex of his shaft is tell-tale, and he empties into your mouth, you hold it there, show him the mess.

“Baby,” he says, slowly making his way back down, admiring the come submerging your tongue.

Ransom licks his lips, licks the inside of his cheek, and leans back over again, his eyes liquid darkness and pleased as punch. And he drops a line of spit on top, drools it down over your teeth, into your mouth, and says, “Good girl.”

-

“You need a new laptop.” He’s tugging his belt until the clasp hooks into place.

“I don’t.”

“It looks old.”

“So do you.”

He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it.

“See you next week,” he hums.

You don’t say anything in response, only listening for the same heavy footsteps slam back downstairs—perhaps a fraction lighter—and the clunk of the door swinging shut. A long breath and you stretch slowly, letting your body regain its normal shape before he bent you into a goddamn pretzel. A few minutes pass, and then a few more, and you hear the roar of his car speed out of the parking lot.

Safe now, out of his reach, you amble back up into your computer chair to face the awful white, blank document staring back like a judgmental audience. You slide in and crack your neck, feeling the throb between your thighs yield to a less uncomfortable ache.

The problem, you’ve learned after leaving Ransom’s world, was that you had been ill-equipped to play his game. His game, and by extension, Meg’s game. All the Thrombeys and Drysdales and everyone in-between.

They belonged to a class you couldn’t really understand unless you were making a fucking killing—and graduation was just around the bend, so maybe you would, one day—but you were in the red with 45 grand of student debt and staring down the barrel of a subsequent degree because it was getting hard to make it with just a single bachelor’s in anything.

There was too much to do and not enough time to be jerked around by Ransom—not nearly enough time to feel frustrated about your situation in any sense. No, scraping by taught you to survive. You couldn’t be whisked off to the Caymans for brunch, couldn’t be fucked raw in hotel infinity pools, get lost for days meandering the Pacific on luxury yachts for the fun of it.

Your world was a little more drab, a little less rose-tinted.

So it was back to normal now, back to the grind, back to not wasting any part of your week on shitty dates, shitty sex, and coming home more frustrated than you left it. Because there was Ransom, so eager to make some kind of statement about proving you wrong that he’d be the last to know when he’s being used.

And maybe 4 out of 5 therapists would say that your coping mechanism to a normal sex drive is unhealthy—mind-fucking and regular-fucking your ex/not-ex will do that—but you wouldn’t know. You can’t afford therapy just yet.

You rub your back, patting out the tightness of overworked muscles. It doesn’t feel any worse than the cramp you’d gotten after staying up three nights in a row cramming for finals.

As if your brain has reset, your fingers begin tapping on the keys, and you realize your writer’s block’s been lifted.

[bucknastysbabe]

A day in the life of ✨Ser Criston Crispin Cole✨

The bestest kingsguard to ever and he doesn’t break vows or kill innocent people but has trauma and ptsd and a big throbbing ahem

Rating: Everyone

Tags: this is silly goofy, I even made some visuals, Criston rounds up the Targtowers, I finally gave a name to Aemond’s twin, Aemond’s irrational fears, Incel Knight has Issues, Aegon being a creature per usual.

Tagging some fools: @aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen @fairysluna @arcielee @bambitas (ur man is trying)

“You what?,” he echoed to Aegon, laid out in the streets of Flea Bottom. While Aegon did appear as a piece of scud needing to be scraped off the cobblestone— Ser Criston gleamed in his armor and white cloak. White horse too. White horse armor. Totally not to overcompensate for anything like oath breaking and other heathenry.

The scud with blonde hair rasped, “I fucked an Ibbenese whore, she was a sight! You should’ve seen her hair, the bush, I needed a Dragonkeeper.” Criston held up his hand to silence the fool, growing disgusted. The prince laughed before vomiting right on the kingshorse’ lacquered hooves.

Ser Cole stared blankly, dreaming of nasty, awful things. That may include something along the lines of murder. Again. He didn’t mean to, okay? Criston got off the equine and kicked Aegon once for good measure. The idiot squawked, “Ow, fuck, I just emptied my guts! Hold on!”

The Dornishman ignored his prince’s whining and slung the wannabe jester up onto the hind of the horse. He sighed in annoyance, climbing back upon the destrier and riding back towards the keep. Aegon started up with a hoarse laugh. He rasped, “Y’know a little hair doesn’t hurt anyone Cole, I know you prefer yours on the Valyrian- CRISTONNNN!”

Criston smirked a bit having reached back and backhanding the Prince. Lovely Alicent granted him ‘any means possible’. Which mean he got to slap around Aegon for fun. It was quite a stress-reliever, truly. The eldest prince continued, “I’m still the prince you can’t just,” then again he was smacked in quick succession, “FUCKING QUIIIITTTT!!”

Ser Cole held back a chuckle at Aegon’s sniveling. They reached the keep now, Criston hauling the heir inside. Aegon whined, “Jus’ take me to my room you beast!” The brunette sighed, “No can do, you smell like the inside of a whaling barge. Since you enjoy fucking Ibbenese.”

“Don’t knock it til’ you try it,” the prince grumbled.

He was swiftly deposited into the baths. Criston felt he need to change his clothing now, the filth of Aegon smeared all over his clothes, horse, and soul. Yuck. He could die, honestly. Really wanted to awhile back but Alicent took pity and so forth.

The man ran a hand through his hair. He needed to go to the rookery now. Criston maintained a long-standing chat with the youngest prince, Daeron. The boy seemed to be relatively ‘normal’ compared to the rest of the Hightower Dragon breed. Smart, valiant, knowledgeable, lacking that murderous instinct and eternal burning fire of hatred that Criston and Aemond shared. The kid was off to a good start already.

Criston looked through the plethora of ravens once he arrived, shoving off the Maester trying to help. He knew their raven— it had a strange white feather on the left wing. He smiled when he spotted the feather in question, cheering, “Aha, told you.” The Maester grumbled under his breath. Criston ignored it.

But the Maester did say in case the reader was curious: “Oathbreaking dornish viper curly haired pretty face bitch monger of marcher spawn.”

Meanwhile the Kingsguard unrolled the little letter and read with a soft curl of his lips.

“Dear Ser Criston,

I hope to be able to see you at the next tourney, I heard about you rendering Breakbones to Brokenbones! How amazing your skills are. I hope to be as good as a jouster and knight as you one day….blah blah blah

I hate to ask this but the question has been at my mind. Mother may have got very intoxicated her on her visit with Gwayne and I a fortnight ago now? She may have slipped in a rant of anger? Not at you though. But I must inquire, family to family, I consider you Ser as family. Even if we have never met!

Did you actually bed Rh—nyr-?

No need to answer if I have offended, have a splendid day good Ser! xoxo Prince Daeron Targaryen.”

Criston’s smile slipped into a frown. He gazed blankly into the mid-distance. Then stepped towards the nearest opening.

He stepped back and sighed. That felt better. He turned to the Maester scattered on the floor, apologizing. Criston tried to hold a hand out for help but the little man hissed, “You have problems Ser! I do not need those demons that haunt you!”

Well. The prick wasn’t wrong. Criston had other things to tend to. He probably should go see Helaena and the children now. The white knight was a busy sort and not even Lord Commander! He could draw pride from that, standing a little taller after the blow in the letter.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played on the floor with a handmaiden. Criston took a moment to pause. Aegon must’ve named the children. Why didn’t he get somewhat creative? He paused again. Helaena would’ve likely named the twins Spider and Spiderette so he’d just move on now, yep, nothing new with the Hightower Targaryens.

He looked at the handmaiden and inquired, “Where is the princess?”

She pointed to the opened door to the balcony. Criston sighed and walked out there to see her leaning precariously over the sides. His eyes widened and he ran over to yank her back. Helaena shrieked and yelped, “Do not move your feet! Don’t!” She still was in his arms, legs jerked up as she frantically looked around.

Criston stayed still, out of fear of whatever bug or creature’s life. If he were to accidentally squish it— oh gods the girl would be bedridden for a week. Helaena whispered, “You messed me up! I almost had her!” The knight replied drily, “Had who, my princess?” The princess went on to ramble about some sort of Summer Isles beetle.

Criston just stood like an idiot until there was a creeping on his neck. He hissed urgently, “I believe you should check my nape for your creature!”

Wide eyes stared. “Your what?”

“The fucking beetle is crawling on me! I do not wish to die a violent death princess!”

“Oh!”

The legs on his neck were removed and Helaena cradled a fierce looking orange beetle. Criston lowered her gently down, backing away. She chirped, “That would’ve hurt worse than three arrows sticking out of your head.” Criston shivered as blank eyes flicked up at him before back down to her pet. Now he was fit to ruin his breeches. Helaena sometimes scared him witless.

“Thanks Ser Cole, you did end up helping. The children are alright if that’s what you inquire,” she murmured while walking inside, him following her indoors. Criston nodded, still feeling strange. The princess smiled, “I need to return this beauty to her enclosure, thank you!”

He might have walked a little faster than what was reasonable out there. The arrows comment worried him more than the time she told Criston he should beware a ball of Butchers. He had no clue what the hell she meant but whatever! The dornishman would like to die without arrows or anything like a ball of butchers but that was up to the gods.

He sighed and decided to head to his quarters to rest a moment— he rarely received any these days. Criston wearily plodded to his cot and flopped down, just closing his eyes a bit.

SER CRISTON WAKE THE HELLS UP!

Criston sat upright, swinging at whatever was yelling at him, eloquently replying, “Baahmnnfhgh!” He stopped swinging when Aemond’s twin Valaerys cursed, “I’m not the damn villian, come with me!” She held out a gloved hand and he let the younger princess lead him out of the White Sword tower at a breakneck pace.

“Val, what is exactly the matter here, why are we running!”

She hollered over her shoulder, “Aemond is about to take off on his beast because he got a letter!”

“A letter? That’s silly!”

They took the hidden stairs down to the beaches. Val, Criston’s reluctant favorite, elaborated, “A letter from the bastards, asking about his fear of birds, and they may have put a dead bird in a package? I don’t know he was yelling and squawking all over the place!”

The knight exhaled sharply. He gets good sleep for once and it’s expended on the second son getting his feelings hurt. Well. Cole did kill a man for reminding him of his own hurt feelings. But that’s beside the point, he was sad okay? He felt like a dirty whore that night. No one needs to be the dirty whore!

“Okay, so Aemond’s supersized ego has been punctured because the bastards are aware of his fear of birds? Are you being serious Val?”

She stopped him dead in his tracks and hissed, “When am I not serious Cole? Really? Come on.”

Criston tried to hold back an erection. She was a force when angry. Alas, Valaerys was too young, too outside of his OATH, too hot in a pair of leather leggings- oh Godsdammit. He blinked the thoughts away and followed her to the beach head.

They stopped in their tracks to watch the second son holler at the sea, long blonde hair flipping to and fro. Criston and Val shared a look, watching the scene unfold of Aemond practically hopping in anger, hands fisted.

Criston recognized too much of himself in the angry lad. He hollered, “Quit yelling and come over here!” Aemond stopped throwing his fists and turned sharply. He hissed, “This has nothing to do with you two!”

Criston crossed his arms and replied, “Yes it does, your angry actions could affect the King’s health. I am the Kingsguard and therefore need you to come over here.” Val added on, “And you look like a crazed lunatic yelling at the ocean. Reminds me of the time Uncle Daemon got banished. Again. Rolling in the ocean weeping and such.” Criston grimaced at the thought of the melodramatic Prince, perverted freak.

Okay maybe he was one too but he slipped up once! Stop judging him!

Aemond huffed and stomped over, thin lips turned down as he glared. His lanky arms were firmly crossed over his chest. The prince managed, “I’m not afraid of birds. They’re fucking with me. I need to shame them and their puny dragons.”

Criston clasped a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, sighing, “You are afraid of birds, it’s alright son. But don’t go on the beast to burn Dragonstone, you’d be a bit outnumbered. Besides you’re much better a sword fighter and leader than those mongrels.” Valaerys nodded in agreement, braids bouncing.

Aemond took a look at the ocean and back to Criston, scoffing, “You’re right, I shouldn’t lower myself to childish antics. Oh and Cole, don’t move please. I think she smelt Dornish.”

Criston stiffened up suddenly. When did he not notice the looming figure and hot breath flapping his hair and cloak around. Val stifled a giggle, merlot eyes flashing. Vhagar’s big old ass was right behind him, ready for some scorched dornishman. Criston whispered angrily, “Get your damn dragon Aemond! That thing still thinks we’re in a war and you’re Visenya minus an eye!”

Aemond scoffed indignantly, “Vhagar is much smarter than that! She chose me!,” the blonde grumbled, “She does probably smell Dornish. Apologies Cole.”

Val snickered again before jolting upright when Vhagar made a particularly hungry noise. Aemond hollered at the thing in High Valyrian, waving his arms and pointing back to her spot carved on the beach. Criston shivered, eyes darting to the dragon and back to the princess.

The dragon snarled and huffed, Criston wincing before he heard heavy footfalls and the dragging of her tail. Vhagar was leaving the trio alone. The white knight swore on the Seven he would NEVER be that close to that BEAST ever AGAIN.

Aemond smiled, “There we are, didn’t need the help but here we are. Good night Ser Criston, night my sweet hell bitch sister.” Val rolled her eyes and made a bird noise, flapping her arms at the man. Aemond sniffed and hustled away, a certain stiffness to his posture. He’d go do…whatever Aemond did in his spare time.

Criston let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sagged. He looked at Val’s amused expression and mumbled, “You got any problems?” She procured a wine-skin from under her dark cloak and hummed, “Some wine that needs to be emptied. Let’s get out of here before Vhagar decides to have a Dornish snack. I don’t think I have the skill to play Rhaenys.”

He shot back as they entered to tunnels, “You’re much too mean to play her. Anyways what’s the vintage?”

“Dornish Sangria, what else would you think,” she said, raising a sharp brow. Criston eyed Valaerys and praised the princess, “See, this is why you’re my favorite. Don’t have to deal with nonsense. I almost threw up on Aegon. Horrid.”

“Do tell me all about your wonderful day, probably more interesting than mine good Ser.”

They sat on a ledge, far away from Vhagar, and shared the wineskin. Criston felt okay with his day, nothing much but honest work. Somewhat. One can never be fully honest in the Red Keep. He took a sip and the corners of his lips turned up.

[insupportofhatedanimecharacters]

A defense of good boy Misha (the one from Honkai Star Rail)

Why am I defending him after coming out of nowhere? Because I love this sweet boy and I am gonna have to let go of him eventually! And I will never get the waifu only incels who hate male child characters for being "annoying". Most of you acted like him at his age.

He's ugly and unattractive

No, he isn't! He is a very cute and handsome baby boy! I would say he is no different from a puppy if you put him next to a picture of one! I would also gladly say he is the cutest/ prettiest of the boys for sure! Also, referring to him as someone who needs to be attractive is kinda creepy. He's a minor ya know. One around 10-13 as well.

He's so annoying, whiny, and pathetic because he talks too much and is a crybaby

All because what? Like I said before, Misha is literally a 10-13 year old boy. He is just acting his age TBH. He is just acting his age and having fun. Also, he doesn't talk too much because not enough people can see or notice him. Also, I don't remember him being much of a crybaby canon wise. There are times the little bellboy himself knows how to be polite and mature. For instance, how he acted in an interview with Owlbert. He treated him so politely and was very respectful, unlike a certain pink haired IPC bitch who ruined his legacy. If you're referring to him crying in fan art because he can't go on trailblazing adventures or because he is trying his best at his job but people aren't noticing him, that would be okay reasons to cry. Nobody deserves to have their dreams crushed like that. Much less a child. It's very heartbreaking.

He's not a hot anime waifu

And? Does every character need to be a waifu to be good? My answer is no. Yes, there are multiple characters in this game who are waifus and also good characters. But the male characters are also great whether they are husbando (18+ characters please) or son material (any character under 18)!

I didn't get (insert character here) and it's his fault

No, it's not his fault. You just had bad luck. You can get them next time.

I wanna beat the shit outta him like I do with Yanqing

Honestly, Yanqing didn't deserve that and Misha doesn't either. Both of them are good boys who don't deserve the hate by pathetic incels.

He and/or Gallagher deserved to die and you're delusional for wanting either of them back

Honestly, no. Neither of them deserved to die. At least they got peaceful deaths unlike Tingyun! Speaking of which, Tingyun is supposed to be coming back later this year as she should! Can it please give us Misha + Gallagher fans hope?

He is just generic femboy bait/an NPC; you only like him because he's "cute"

Please stop calling underage male characters that. It's disgusting

You didn't read the story did you? He is literally the watchmaker's memory zone meme.

There is nothing wrong with liking cute characters! They're just so huggable, cuddly, and kissable!

He's not meta/ his gameplay is really bad

And does everyone have to use meta characters? Also, he is not bad. You just don't know how to build him and you should try at least building him. The 4 stars in this game are already under loved and deserve more love! Misha is a great example of this! Give the boy more love please!

Anyway, that's my defense of my precious little son! Please give him all the love he deserves if you get him or already have him! And please cherish his texts while you still can and talk to him while he is still on the train because you will miss him when he's gone! I'm sure a good chunk of you already have let him go and miss him dearly! He is/was the sweetest boy in Penacony and he deserves so much better!

[filthypen]

Sonia is pretty and proper out in the open and shows her disdain to Kazuichi on the outside. But are we sure he isn't fucking her brains out behind closed doors

In the outside, she wears her casual, royal clothes, acts like a good proper girl and loves chatting, but she thinks so low of the shark-teethed boy, calling him a ''disgusting incel simp'' and ignoring him while saying she needs and deserves a proper, well-meaning gentleman

This changes every night, when Kaz sneaks out in her room (that she leaves the door open), pulls out his FAT 10FT LONG CAWK and starts jacking off, whic makes his musk enter inside of her and turn her into an STUPID LITTLE WHORE FOR HIM~

''S-SOUDA-CHAN (She has no idea what that means)! PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR MY INDECENT BEHAVIOUR! I REALLY LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCHYYYY!~'' Sonia says on repeat as she twerks for hours, while Kaz just unload load after LOAD of cum on her GIGANTIC ASS~

How has no one realised this happen EVERY single night? Easy, after Kaz leaves (to keep gooining on his house), Sonia makes sure that there isn't a single drop left of cum. How? Well… she has a big mouth and tongue~~

[rasin-c00ldude]

hey guys i REALLY need 2 rant about a certian person and some certian ships that really rub me the wrong way and i need 2 argue them.

ok ik i literly just made like 2 post but i had the joan x topher shipper blocked bc seeing them exsist made me have a srs mental breakdown and i get unbleavibly upset seeing them and when i unblock them 2 see what their up 2 i see ivan x lizze and topher x frida..... did they watch the show like do we know the same ivan???

"Ivan the Terrible is a disgusting, hateful, misogynistic incel, who despises all women for refusing to have sex with him." "He is a misogynistic incel, who hates women because he can't get laid." "I hate all women. I hate them because I want to have sex with them but they won't have sex with me because I hate them." "Ivan stated that he agrees with Abe's disdain toward Joan and added that he hates women for not wanting to have sex with him."

it literly states this so many times on the wiki and he even says it himself like he quite literly gets no bitches. just because lizzie is also outcasted 2 join the bleacher creaychues doesnt mean ivans probaly gona treat her any difren, still a woman. also like, maybe hcs speaking but lizze gives off like sweet but fucking insane lesbian who hates boys in a girlboss way (plz like understand what im talking about) and ivans just a shithead who thinks hes cooler than he actaully is and hates everyone, just doesnt work out in my head i dunno.

about topher x frida..

tophers is ashamed of his haritage and so tries his absolute best 2 be the most sportive nice guy he can and distance himself from his clone father, he literly CHANGED HIS NAME. BUT THE JOKE IS HE ISNT. HES A HORRIBLE STINKY INCEL TROLL WHO HATES EVERYONE. HE LITERLY SAYS IN THE SEASON 2 FINALLY BE4 HES ABOUT 2 GET BRAINWASHED THAT "HE THINKS WOMAN SHOULDNT WEAR "BE4 GETTING CUT OFF, SO HES LITERLY AN MISOGYNIST HE LITERLY BASICLY SAYS IT. also frida is literly a badass who would not put up with tophers incel bullshit like im 99 precent sure they dont have 1 positive interaction if they do id be happy 2 see it tho. the poster art doesnt count hes literly just laying next 2 her they arnt even looking st eachother,, FRIDAS ALSO A LESBIAN????????? SHE LIKES GIRLS!!!!!!!!!

i can quite literly argue about how topher is gay and has a crush on abe for DAYS IM SO FUCKING FOR REAL RIGHT NOW I MEAN IT. im not discriminating against ships but like i am. idk if this is the fagot hardcore ivan x vlad in me talking but going out of ur way 2 be hetro in a CLONE HIGH COMUNITY (like u know what show ur talkimg about??) makes me more than a little mad so i just needed 2 like talk about it (also if any1 wants my evidence on how topher is gay 4 abe in2 a little esay id be soo happy 2 share cough cough)

[super-hero-confessions]

The Marvels was good, it does not deserve to flop. However Marvel brought this situation upon themselves by pushing politics too hard–I'm not talking about this movie specifically, I'm referring to other movies where they would virtue signal a lot with social causes, social justice, human rights, and then never deliver in the actual movie, pitting fans against each other. Like the whole "Valkyrie will find her Queen in Love and Thunder" *insert the "so that was a fucking lie" meme*. Sure there was a hint of ValCarol here in The Marvels but for me that was too little too late. I am within the LGBT community and it's gross that they're using my fucking rights to promote a movie.

Superhero movies should be apolitical. With this I'm not saying they can't make a villain be fascist, of course they can, and they should. I'm talking about the message superhero movies have been pushing without actually pushing it. Virtue signaling with zero substance. We're going backwards. Take a look at the real world–why do you think pathetic fucks like Andrew Tate had such a big audience of little kids and teenage guys? Because the loudest feminists started claiming that "men bad" and while an adult man should know that this does not mean "all men", a boy or teenage guy does not know this, they take it at face value. Then they cling to sick fucks like him because they're the only ones telling young boys that they aren't terrible. I'm not defending him, personally I hope Tate bites it because he's gross, I'm saying he takes advantage of how unwelcome the far left makes them feel just for being AMAB. "Well it sounds like some people are just tired of being told how shitty they are". Yup, you figured it out. People are tired of being told how shitty they are, constantly, all the time, for everything they do, and I don't mean taking away human rights I mean going to KFC and have vegans go on about why you are the worst. You are the ones doing this. You are the ones making people feel like they're never enough. You are the ones pushing people away from the political left and they turn to the right, where they are welcomed with open arms. And I fucking despise the right. They want to take rights away and they are disgusting for that. That's why the left needs to fucking stop giving them wings by pushing people in their direction, by constantly playing the victim and telling people, including minorities, how to think.

Now a fun, entertaining movie starring three women is flopping and while far right incels aren't blameless, neither are you.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Tw, Parental abuse, threats of murder, threatened violence against women, sexism, A boy being told to toughen up deal, being called names

Looking for support and validation (💛📼 sorry for the emojis i want to be able to find this post once it gets answered, don't know if this counts as symbols and is against the rules, im so sorry)

My dad (45) talks about how to could kill me at any moment anytime i (15M) am annoying to him. He's been doing it since i was a child, getting in my face and screaming about how he would brutally kill me if he could. Now that i'm a little older i try to make jokes like "you wouldn't i'm just so cool and awesome, i can't be killed" but he goes on about how "i could. i could. i can. i will kill you."

I feel like this is pennies compared to other people and their parents but i can't take it anymore. I'm tired of threats and hands on me and him getting in my face and the yelling and blowing up over little things like my nails or clothes or whatever. There's a stigma for boys and abuse, and it feels really isolating... I've heard all the "toughen up" and "man up" and "be stronger" and "you're being weak" and i'm really lonely

I know so many more women are victimized and oppressed and scrutinized and abused and hurt than men and i really don't want to take away from that, but i don't know what to do. I'm so tired and stressed and scared and lonely. Like i'm the only boy out here who is being yelled at and crying about it, i can't help but feel like im being weak for crying. He keeps talking about how men are so much better than women and can take them down and hurt them and i hate it.

he wont let me have a heater in my room, winter is coming soon and my room has shitty ventilation and insulation because i'm above the garage. He said no to the heater because my room is messy (bits of laundry and wrappers here and there, i think it's pretty clean and stuff) and therefore i'm a disgusting pig and going to burn the house down and should have thought about that before i asked. I'm so cold, my body is freezing, i can feel the coldness of my hands as i type this. Every winter is colder and colder these days. I'm thinking if buying a heater secretly tho! maybe i'll feel a little less sad if i can sleep warm and cozy...

thanks for reading, sorry this went into a tangent, i tried to tw everything at the top but i don't know if i did it all right, i'm sorry. Thank you again, thank you so much. I feel a little better now that i typed all this out. I should go to bed now, nightnight, have a good day, thank you.

Hi anon,

It sounds like you've experienced these threats so many times that you've become desensitized to them and have normalized them to the extent that you feel this experience is equivalent to "pennies" compared to others. But threats on your life should be taken seriously, regardless of who says it, how many times it's been said, or even your gender identity. You're right that the culture around boys and men is to be "tough" but that shouldn't mean tolerating abuse. You're not decentering misogynistic abuse by highlighting toxic masculinity. Your dad sounds like an incel.

Hearing about the heater situation is even more concerning because it's starting to sound like neglect as well as child endangerment. I recommend that you reach out to a crisis resource such as 741741 or 988. You can also take a look at this spreadsheet with other crisis resources, as some of those include crisis resources specifically for men or minors. If anyone has any additional suggestions or comments, please feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[mild-lunacy]

I always thought of myself as someone who's a big fan of 'unlikeable' or difficult characters in fiction, from the most psychologically complex to your basic 'bad boy' types (if written well enough). So it's difficult for me to reconcile this with the fact that I gave up on Mira Honfleur's Blade and Rose series at least partly because of the 'bad boy' problem. It seems I make an exception for... entitled internet asshole types, I guess?

If you've read the book(s) more than a quarter of the way, feel free to enlighten me or let me know it improves. At this point, it seems like my issue is that a) there's a love triangle (which I default to hating in any romance where it's a source of drama) and b) the 'bad boy' is just really entitled and... weak because he's insecure, I guess? Like the sort of guy that blames the woman for his own insecurity, while being responsible for meeting his needs and solving his issues.

I mean, insecurity can be sympathetic, but when a person blames someone else for not solving their problems.... You can argue it's realistic, but I think it's *too* realistic. Or rather, it's so frustrating and annoying that it starts to make me annoyed not at the guy, but at the supposedly 'strong' female character who would tolerate this bullshit, even if it's in the past by the time the couple's temporary reconciliation eventually occurs (according to spoilers).

I think I'm used to 'bad boys' just being extra ruthless, possibly violent, empathically challenged, overly ambitious but not... personally odious, I guess? Like in a gross way. Like... a loser way. Not being a sad loser is kind of a prerequisite to being a 'bad boy' love interest and not... a YA villain, basically.

I find myself making comparisons to incels and like, Tate fanboys, though this is just vibes mainly. Basically, this guy wants the main character to shut up and marry him because he needs his curse lifted ASAP, and it's inconvenient and embarrassing for him to have to wait while she gets the magical education she needs to be safe. Therefore he's going to seduce and scheme, and if that fails, try to ruin her life. That's not really the sort of thing I can find cute or forgivable on any level. Perhaps that's unsurprising after all.

Anyway, this is why I never truly liked Snape in HP . Not really. I mean, I loved Draco and he was bitter and envious and insecure... so why was that attractive, then? Well, it's because there was a power imbalance in Harry's favor between them. Unlike Snape, who abused his power over Harry, Draco just kinda... tried and failed a lot. His insecurities and immaturity were also more justifiable in my mind 'cause he's a kid and then a young teen, who was scheming against a favored school peer, even if Harry's an orphan and Draco had higher social status. By contrast, this 'bad boy' currently has higher social status than the main character that he schemes against (who's also an orphan), and he's in his mid-twenties. Definitely time to know better.

I'll admit though, partly it's that I'm okay with Harry and Draco 'cause a) they were both boys and b) the narrative doesn't make Draco a major character, let alone a love interest. He's a rival. Rivals in YA books get to scheme and be little jerks in pathetic, even disgusting ways. If a love interest and ongoing major POV character (even if he's not endgame) is a 'pathetic little cockroach' , you've got a problem in an adult romance storyline.

To be honest, this is why I used to almost exclusively read slash or m/m fiction. Would this whole gross dynamic be okay with me if everyone was male? Well... probably? It wouldn't be great 'cause I still hate love triangles, but there's still an irrefutable power dynamic issue when an older male character in a position of social and romantic authority tries to abuse his power at the expense of a young woman. It doesn't matter if she's strong, and doesn't buy what he's selling and is even able to defeat his earlier schemes. Any ethical retreat or future accommodation made might be considered big-hearted and generous from a male main character... but seems like validation of the male abuser when a woman is involved.

Even then, there's a special wrongness in a man who attempted to rob the main character of an education. Maybe that's just me, but I'm much more likely to get over an attempt on their life, money or liberty (those are pretty commonplace, really). People's personal issues, needs and insecurities don't really matter that much when they're used as an *excuse* for truly antisocial behavior. And even though the main character never *actually* excuses this behavior as an adult, and the text explicitly doesn't justify it in any way, just merely being a POV love interest is enough to create a dynamic where readers will be likely to hand-wave these things or become increasingly frustrated. Like, there's being empathetic and then there's being a sucker. 💁

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hii... just got dumped, can I have some Jason or Bruce or Dick or Batfam whatever, comforting you after being dumped? I would really appreciate it, I love your writing

"Ugh-" You cringe and toss your phone away from you in disgust, prompting Steph to look up from her book.

"Dick pic or-"

"He asked if I was done riding the cock carousel- what the fuck does that even mean?"

"It's a turn of phrased used in the Incel-"

"Nope. No, stop right there Timmy. I absolutely Do not want to know anymore. Jesus Christ," you whine and curl up on the sofa, "I dunno how the hell I'm supposed to get over Dean when everyone on tinder is trash-"

Jason stopped outside the door and swallowed hard. You had a Tinder? And you weren't with Dean anymore? Jason blinked, wondering what else he didn't know and took a deep breath to quell the jealousy coiling in his stomach.

True- he'd not told you he had feelings for you. And it was also true the Dean was more of a... distraction. A warm body. But the thought of you dating other people made him feel sick.

"Seriously," Steph said sympathetically, "How are you supposed to get over someone by getting under someone else if they're all too busy being gross. There's no finesse anymore."

"I don't need love letters I just need someone to not lead with asking me how big my boobs are. Fucks sake."

"Love letters are nice though," Barbara hummed, not looking up.

"Yeah. If they can spell and don't try to rhyme," you snort.

"Why can't they rhyme?" Time asked, frowning.

"Have you MET any of the boys in this dating pool Timmy? Ugh. If they're not coming at you like a shitty rapper the best they can do is rhyming love with above and mood with soon... it's tedious."

That made Jason smile a little sadly as he walked away. He'd write you sonnets. He'd write as many stupid little love notes as he could hide in your apartment- but. You didn't see him that way. You loved him, sure. But... Not like that. Even if you did share custody of his teddy bear.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

don't mind me ill just,,,,, //private bookmarks ur fic//

and yes im all for more incel childe that disgusting bastard <3

if this is the rich ass au he can just hire nannies to look after the kiddo so he can continue breeding u tbh,,, money makes the world go round after all and i can see that bastard throwing it around if he needs to just to continue his nasty breeding spree

ehehe everytime someone bookmarks, likes, comments, or expands on anything i write it makes my heart swell and pussy wet u have no idea…

PLEASE ALL OF THIS IS FEEDING ME FOR YEARS TO COME HOLY FUCK

you successfully solved my entire dilemma, congrats!!!!!! drafting a notes app timeline for this nasty boy he doesn’t deserve this much time poured into his gross habits but i wont him so bad it’s insane…… nnnngghhhhh gross childe blowing cash AND loads just to fulfill his need to breed his sweet darling every single day…

ok small drabble btc

it had been a matter of months since you dropped out and moved in with childe. give or take eight, you think? regardless, you were happier than you’d ever been before! sure, your skull was emptied and refilled with nothing but thoughts of ajaxs delicious seed and cock, how to clean, how to cook, and how to be the perfect wife (all thanks to his extensive ‘training’) but you were so so very happy! how could you not be? the sex was beyond good, he spoiled you to bits, and you’d never have to worry about anything too hard or difficult (such as math, money, or other people) ever again! it was perfect.

during these months you were taught how to perfectly deepthroat him without issue, use all your proper manners, take load after load of him without issue and more! he was a very giving husband and owner. that said, there was one small thing gnawing away at your silly little skull…

“‘jax?” you called out, voice meek, in the direction of his office. a soft hum came in response. “i know your not good with sharing,” you fiddled with the ruffly skirt he had set out for you to wear that day, “what’re we gonna do when the baby comes?” he always thought the head tilt that came with your questions was cute. spinning around in his chair he put one leg over the other.

“you’re worried about that?” his chuckle was light and his eyes soft. “sweetness, i could dump thousands into nannies and other workers to care for it. we only need each other,” he rose up to his full height to approach you, “don’t worry your pretty little head, m’kay? i’ll have it taken care of. you only need to worry about gettin’ knocked full of the next one.” if you were slightly less enamoured, you’d have noticed how he only ever referred to the baby as ‘that’ or ‘it’ but you couldn’t be bothered. nothing else mattered but ajax.

[morgana-ren]

SUBMISSION: How about a nasty sweaty incel shiggy waiting everyday for his dad to go to work so that he could have his relief with stepmom? 

Excellent submission! Love that. Love that a lot! I find it only fair to warn you, however, that I won’t be doing mommy kink for it. Mommy kink is one of my squicks, and one of the very, very few I have. I’ll do the closest thing to it though: Daddy kink. Also I find the irony of him making his little stepmom call him daddy to be absolutely hilarious.

Also this one is a great concept and I love it but it’s going to have to be a multi-parter cause it got a little bit long. Lemme know if you like the concept and I’ll continue it. Also this posted under anonymous for some reason so cheers to tumblr and its endless fucking glitches that it never fixes or seems to make any better.

Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, sexism, really gross incel behavior, nsfl things, masturbation, violent sexual fantasies, nefarious planning, horrible suggestions from even more horrible friends, absolute LOATHING of family, and entitled bastard.

There is only one thing on this planet that Tomura hates more than his father.

Only one thing can even compare to the level of abject disgust he has for his dad. Everything about the man is abhorrent and degenerate, only tolerated because Tomura is, admittedly, a NEET, and had no where else to go after graduation. But if anything- anything- could hold a candle, it would be his taste in women.

All women are trashy on some level, but his dad really manages to find ones that pretend so hard that they aren’t. Vipers behind the veneer of smiling faces clad in red lipstick and smart skirts. Always “kind”, always “thoughtful”, and always fleeting. Fickle, stupid bimbos charmed by his dads surface level charisma to quickly realize just how shallow the pool became.

Even his own mom was like that: She fucked off once she realized staying with him meant staying with his dad, and that was a sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make. So she left him to rot in this cesspit with his worthless father and no other way out.

He figures he can’t hold it against her, not as much as he’d like. A few weeks with his shriveled up paternal figure and most women quickly figure out they can do so much better. It’s in their nature to seek out the best, and that certainly isn’t Kotaro; A bumbling idiot with nothing to offer on the best of days. They don’t know any better, so they never last long after being brought home to meet his son, and those are the ones that even make it that far.

So when he starts yammering on about meeting yet another skank and how ‘in love’ he already is, Tomura’s eyes roll so far back in his head that he swears his retinas will detach. He makes a point to be around as little as possible, but somehow still manages to catch an earful about his latest fling and how excited he is for Tomura to meet her.

Great.

True to his word, Kotaro brings you home one evening, eager to impress his son with his latest catch.

His father had a lot of nerve dragging him from his room to meet you- his latest glorified slut. Adding insult to injury, you had the unmitigated gall to talk down to him like you were an adult and he wasn’t. Even though you had to crane your neck to look up and greet him, you still talked at him like he was some child. So different from you even though you were so much smaller than he was- barely even a few years older than he is, if even that. 

So polite, introducing yourself and gently shaking his reluctant hand, making a point to smile at him and telling him how happy were to finally meet him and that you’d heard so much about him. Your hands were so soft, so little in comparison to his own. He dwarfs his pathetic father, practically towers over you, yet you still talk to him like you’re the adult in the equation.

So young, so pretty, though. Far better than anything his father had a right to pull. They weren’t exactly swimming in cash, the house was nothing in particular to gloat about, and he’d done enough eavesdropping around late at night to know his father suffered a particular… ailment, so it certainly wasn’t sexual satisfaction keeping you around. What was it then? 

Probably nothing. You’d probably run off in a few weeks like they all do.

Kotaro is a worthless sack of drooping skin and aging bones; A ghost of a man not worthy of the phantoms he’s seen pass in his years. No longer the dominant male even in his own home: not with a stronger, more virile son coming into his prime under the roof as well. A beta male at best, withering away while his own son eclipses him in strength and intellect and physique. Tomura is in his mid twenties and blooming- His father… who even knows. He doesn’t care- he doesn’t bother to keep track. 

So, maybe you really are just a dumb little whore. It would make sense. Father dearest always had been a dirty old man; A raging pervert with wandering hands and lingering eyes. Always sets his predatory sights on some cute thing too good for him. 

Then again, the poisoned apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?

You’re cute enough you could have gotten some alpha at your beck and call, yet you’ve attached yourself to his worthless father who, in turn, parades you around like his most beloved trophy. Taking you to dinners he can’t afford despite your ‘insistence’ that you be allowed to pay, buying you things you claim you don’t need. Oh, how the moron dotes on his whores as if it’s enough to keep them anchored to him.

Strangely though, you don’t run off.

If anything, you sink your claws in even further, getting more and more comfortable and showing up more and more. Every time Tomura leaves his fucking room- which isn’t often- you’re there around the corner, smiling dumb and pretty and greeting him politely.

Fuck, he hates you. Hates your stupid voice, your shitty dresses, hates hearing his father happy for once.

It’s no surprise- but unwelcome no less- that he’d move you in sooner rather than later. Terrified to let you out of his sight for even a second lest you come to what little senses you have in your tiny brain and dump him. Of course, he’s quick to take on all of your burdens as his own, even if it means working overtime to support you. He’s always wanted another little housewife, and now he’s so close.

Tomura listens in on the whole conversation feeling sick to his gut.

You beg him not to- offering to pay your own way just like a good girl, but of course his dumbass dad will hear none of it. He’s more than happy to spend a couple of extra hours at work. His dad is so idiotic, so fucking blind. He’s playing right into it. He’s willing to be your workhorse if it means keeping you all to himself.

He’ll hear none of it. None of the fussing or the questions. You’re welcome in his home, he wants you there. It’s no imposition at all, he knows the house will be better with you around.

Except he forgets one crucial detail-

The son he leaves home alone with you every single day when he leaves. 

You’re nothing but a nuisance, something infringing on his private space. The time he used to get home alone to spend to his own devices is now split with you flittering around the house doing whatever it is bimbos like you do. Cleaning, cooking, pretending to read, whatever. He doesn’t have to see you if he doesn’t want, sure, but he still knows you’re there and that’s more than enough to annoy him.

It’s almost like you catch on to his animosity after a while. The way he won’t greet you back, the way he utterly ignores your existence. It bugs you, and as far as he’s concerned, good.

You try to slip him up, try to get close to him and make him like you. You always set a place for him at the table even after Kotaro repeatedly insists- truthfully- that he’ll never join for dinner. Even then, you always bring the plate to his door. He never bothers to answer- not after the first few times when he only opened it a sliver to see your stupid smiling face. After that, he didn’t bother answering. He’ll eat it of course- won’t pass up free food he doesn’t have to leave his room for- and then leave the dirty dish back outside where you left it. You brought it, after all. You can clean it up. 

All your efforts only get you mocked, and boy do you try so hard to get his affection. He even overhears you whining to his dad once or twice, not understanding why he doesn’t like you.

It makes him smile.

His friends- online of course, but still friends or comrades or kindred spirits or whatever- have more opportunistic ideas about it. His first post to the forum complaining about the new living situation was met with envy and awe- not necessarily the response he was expecting, though looking back on it, he supposes they were right. 

lmpwrst: Why u bitchin’? Ur living with a girl ur not related to and that’s closer than any of us have gotten u ungrateful ass

KingKockRool: Go jerk off on her pillow.

Stacystabber91: take a video hold her down and fuck her then idiot

KingKockRool: No wait till she’s sleeping and jerk it on her face

st8lker: Bet she’s ugly tho if she’s dating your dad lol

Oddly enough, he doesn’t agree. That’s one thing he understands about you, loathe as he is to admit it. His new ‘stepmom’, for all her annoyances, is pretty easy on the eyes. The kinda girl that would have caught his eye in an unrelated situation and earned a permanent spot in his spank bank. Thinking about it, the whole ‘dating his dad’ situation maybe threw off his judgement more than he realized.

He’ll let the jury decide: He finds a photo on your social media, crops everyone else out of it, and hits enter. Easy peasy. He saves it to his hard drive for later too. Might as well.

‘Here, you decide then.’

Thus the shitstorm begins. 

st8lker: Oh fuckkk fuck me mommy lmao

lmpwrst: Opportunity is wasted on u

Stacystabber91: you pussy punk bitch, i stand by what I said earlier. dont be a bitch and fuck the little cunt already

VolceliSwear: Whos the bitch

lmpwrst: Scratchy’s new stepmommy lol 

VolceliSwear: Nice. Hit it yet?

Stacystabber91: he hasn’t cause he’s a gigantic fuckin pussy like i told you all

VolceliSwear: Come on dude you actually have that gash sleeping in your house and you haven’t made a move? 

Stacystabber91: it’s not like she could say no cause you’re a big lanky bastard aren’t you? that’s one thing we got over the shortcels and you’re bigger and stronger than her so take what’s yours idiot or I will 

lmpwrst: I agree with SS lol U complain all the time about not having a hole to fuck and now u do

VolceliSwear: ^^ Isn’t your dad a limp-dicked prick who can’t get it up? Someone’s gotta do it so it might as well be you. Hit the bitch so hard and fast she doesn’t know what way is up

Stacystabber91: and send pics moron I want to see tits or I’m coming over there to do it myself

It’s an… intriguing thought. To be honest, he’s never actually considered fucking you before. Had the passive thought like he does with most girls he sees, but never stopped to think on actually doing it. For some reason, there was a mental wall between him and his father’s girlfriends. But why should there be?

Depraved little bastard that he is, he’s not above cornering a girl and forcing himself on her but he’s not keen on going to jail, so he’s never escalated past creepy photos and following the occasional broad a little too closely. Maybe a couple gropes in passing… okay, maybe a lot. But he’s never gotten caught- maybe the girls don’t report it or just couldn’t find him afterward. Either way, it’s all worked out so far because he doesn’t cross certain boundaries.

Most girls are repulsed by him and his repugnant behavior, so they stay far, far away. It’s like he’s a giant blaring warning sign that they tend to heed instinctively.

But you don’t. 

This is different. You live here, so close to him, so within reach. Just how close you are. How easy it would be for him to force you down and make you take it. Just how much time alone he really has with you since his father leaves and returns like clockwork. He’s got the entire day once his father leaves for work. And all night once he takes his sleeping medication. An easy, pretty little catch already wiggling in his web.

 ‘Maybe I will.’ 

That’s how it starts. 

Snowball into snowstorm.

With an idea and a lot of goading from his online buddies, a monster is born and weaned on his own depravity and escalates into something very real, and very dangerous.

Tomura is achingly familiar with the scene- he’s seen enough porn to give him ample ideas. But he’s got all the time in the world. It’s hard not to rush things considering how eager he is, but it’s safer to test the waters first. Get you nice and scared so you’ll keep your pretty mouth shut unless he tells you to open it for him. See how far he can get, how much he can toy with you before you finally catch on.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll fuck him willingly. You are a stupid little slut, after all. Most of you females are deep down beneath that holier-than-thou, stuck up bitchiness you hide behind.

So he starts with a time honored tradition. He steals your panties. 

The bathroom is cluttered with your shit. Your fruity shampoos and conditioners, your makeup, your perfumes. Tomura has a toothbrush and a comb he doesn’t use, a bottle of 3-1 for when he forces himself into a shower, and a singular gray towel, but the rest is between you and his father. Your body washes, your scrubs, your clothes in the hamper. 

It’s easy enough to fish out a fresh pair- only a couple of hours old. Some lacy contraption you must’ve been wearing beneath your clothes and carelessly left in the bin when you showered. It’s easy to pocket them before you hear him rummaging around, and maybe you’ll miss them, but that’s not his problem. Washer eats things all the time, doesn’t it?

He’s hidden back in his room, safely dodging you before he allows himself to indulge- Bringing them to his nose and inhaling the doubled fabric of the crotch so hard that it catches on the edge of his nostrils. 

Fuck, your cunt smell good- tangy and sweet but the tiniest hint of bitter. A couple of whiffs is enough to get his cock twitching, inflating into a painful hardness as he hears you walking around outside in the hallway. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ airheaded, walking around so oblivious as he tongues at the cloth that was nestled right up against your pussy until a few hours ago. He can taste you, sucking your left over essence through his teeth and he swears he’s going to cream all over the inside of his jeans if he doesn’t jerk off right now. 

He’s quick to drop his sweats and sprawl on his bed, thumbing the tip of his prick and licking gratuitous stripes up the slim of your discarded panties with his tongue. You’d look so good sucking his cock; On your bruised knees, face a slathered mess of cum and saliva and running makeup. Bulge in your throat from taking him so deep and trying so hard to please him like you always do- or maybe avoid a painful punishment because he isn’t above using his hands on you and you learned that the hard way.

The thought of your ruddy, soppy face makes him throb- fucking your wet little throat until you’re suffocating, pulling out to let you breathe only to cum on your face. Yanking you up to bend you over the stove and force you to make his worthless father’s dinner with his spend tacking across your face and his cock lodged deep in your cunt. Worthless fucking sack of shit that his father is, he’d spit in it too and make you serve it to him with a smile while your actual daddy watches you do it and rewards you later with his dick fucking you between your tits.

Fuck yes, that’s what he’ll make you do. He’ll make you call him daddy when he creampies you- the opportunity is too perfect to pass. He’ll fuck his father’s pretty whore as she screams and moans for daddy’s cock while his father is away at work to pay all her frivolous bills like the beta-cuck he is. None of the work and all of the reward- as it should be.

It’s not like Kotaro can fuck you, and his friends are right. Someone should. So why not him? Why not spread your legs for your boyfriend’s younger, more powerful son? Oh, sorry, did he give you the illusion that you had a choice? He’ll take what is rightfully his and there’s not a fucking thing you or his pathetic fucking father can ever do about it.

He plucks your panties from his face, moving them instead to work over his cock. It would feel so much better if you were wearing them- grinding your sweet little cunt against his dick, begging him not to fuck you but getting so wet all the same. The silky fabric feels so good against his hypersensitive skin, coupled with the clenched pumping of his fist as he daydreams about railing you into his filthy mattress until you’re too weak to even move on your own, his cum dripping from every one of your used holes. Limp, useless little whore too fucked out to even fight him as he fucks her in the ass again-

Fantasies swirl in his head, flashes of scenarios that tease him and work him into a frenzy. He’s going to cum hard to the thought filling you, your agonized face as the tip of him knocks against the opening of your womb, buried so deep in your cute pussy that he can feel the wall that keeps him firmly locked out of your guts. So close, so tight, so warm. He’s going to pump you full to the brim like the skank you are, fill you nice and thick full of his seed and then use you again and again and again-

He feels it in his spine, waves of pleasure furling at the base and congealing together impossibly tight, so ready to burst. His thighs flex, muscles in his stomach tightening and breath staggering. Searing white behind dry, clenched eyes and his cock twitches in his palm, knot bursting deep between his legs as his hand stills momentarily. His hands twitch, cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum spill over the slats of his fingers, splattering his stomach and the waist of his sweatpants and all over your adorable little panties. 

“Shit-” 

Shallow, shaky breaths, still seeing stars popping behind his eyelids. Fuck, he hasn’t cum that hard in- well, a very long time. Is it the thought of having something tangible soon? His very own cunt to abuse? Grinning, he looks down at the absolutely drenched pair in his hand, sticky with fresh seed.

He thinks so.

Instinctively, he wipes the excess off his fingers and onto his dirty, rumpled black sheets, swiping across his shirt and his skin. Just another ‘mystery spot’ among the rest, soon to become a crusty, flaked white stain on the fabric among all the preexisting ones.

With some effort on his part, he sits up, still trying to catch his breath. He thought post orgasm clarity might deter him from this path, but if anything, he’s even more determined now. Why should he sit and touch himself in a dark room when there’s a perfectly good set of holes to fuck wandering around freely outside?

Oh yeah, this should work out just fine.

There’s a knock on the door while he’s still wading through his gross thoughts, softly at first but then slightly more insistent. It jolts him alert, irritating him that he’s being bothered when he’s scheming. He’s already finished the dirty dead, all ready to put himself away for now but it’s still jarring none the less when someone comes around so closely to him wanking. A quick dash at the clock tells him it’s not dinner time yet, so what gives? Why are you bothering him now? Nothing is ready yet.

He tucks himself away and quickly buries your soiled underwear in the pocket of his sweats. Quickly wiping any remnants on the knees of his pants before swinging his door open, agitation palpable as he greets your stupid, sunny face.

Speak of the she-devil.

“Hi, Tomura! Just wondering if you have any laundry or anything you want me to take!” “N-”  He’s about to slam the door. About to. But you know what? You want his laundry? Sure. He’s got some for you.  “Yeah- yeah, sure.” 

He steps back from behind the door, letting it creak open a little as he rips off his freshly re-soiled sheets.

“Oh, good! Yeah, I’m throwing in my own so I’ll take your load too-“

Yeah you will.

Balling it up, he chucks it at you as you curiously peek your head in. You’ve never seen the inside of his room, but soon you’ll see plenty. He doesn’t know if you can feel the fresh cum on the sheets, but he’s willing to bet you can probably smell it. To your credit, you barely falter, even with the sheet cradled in your bare arms.

You’re probably having a moment of “understanding.” ‘He’s a young man with no girlfriend and no other outlet. Of course he’s going to wack off’ and all that. It’s cute, the way you pretend not to notice. That’s okay, he’ll give you something you can’t ignore.

He steps up to the door again, yanking his black shirt over his head and dropping it in your arms with a shit eating grin.

“Oh- okay, yeah-“

Your sentence halts completely as he starts to strip off his pants and you’re left staring in slight horror as your stepson strips down to his boxers in front of you before placing his sweats on the top of the pile you’re carrying- right by your face.

“I’ve got some more dirty boxers if you think you can handle anymore.” He’s grinning like a fiend, reveling in your poorly concealed discomfort as he leans against the doorframe, swinging out towards you. You’re backing away from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes up and away from his very exposed body, and especially the half hard cock tenting the front of his boxers. Your face is turning a viciously dark shade, stifling your breathing because he just knows what you’re refusing to see, you can almost certainly smell.

“Um- nope! This should be a full one! I’ll get them back to you soon!”

“Oh, take your time. No rush.” 

You scurry off down the hall much quicker than your usual casual walk, probably to scrub your arms clean with iron wool. Poor little thing, just trying to be nice and this is what it gets you.

He cackles something fierce as he shuts his door again, going to look for your ruined panties to post a pic but remembering they’re still in the pocket of his sweatpants, covered in his cum and saliva. A fun little surprise for you to find when you go through pockets to ensure nothing gets stuck in the washer.

And he notices, in the coming days, you stop leaving your clothes in the hamper- or even being able to meet his eyes.

Oh, this should be fun.