#i think. at this point. my perception of the themes n such is a bit warped. ough. this happens

[penguin--person]

i dont know how profound their romance is in the musical or whatever but in the book pierre meets natasha when she’s like 13 or something and then for the rest of the book it’s just like bruhhhh h h h . Russian novel moment ! this always happens. so i cant take them seriously really but maybe in the musical it’s normal . maybe

iim gonna be honest with you dude i didnt even know they were romantic when i first listened to it:( i thought it was like a found family moment. and yea he says "i have known her since she was a child and long carried affection for her" pierre FAIL moment but 'affection' isnt inherently romantic ! and. mannn i misread some moments so bad. after anatole fails to steal natasha away and her reputation is ruined, pierre goes to her and sees how messed up her situation is. how sad she is. and he goes "if i were not ugly and stupid and dumb but someone cool and awesome. id get down on my knees this minute and ask you for your hand and for your love" but i thought that was just like fuckinggg. "its not over for you. youre still young. if i could id restore your honour, but i cannot, but there will be someone out there that can, youre not over, you still have so much life left to live. id help you if i could but i rlly cant. youre going to be okay." and not. as genuine as it turned out to be. hes a poet and shit right hes a philosopher. i thought he was just being all cool and stuff with his words for no reason . pierre fail moment. poor natasha... auughhh

[leonskennedysfavoritewife]

Sobriety - DILF! Leon Kennedy x female!Reader

Word Count: 4k PART 2

MINORS DNI! 18+

Warnings! Mentions of Alcoholism, Masturbation, Pillow Riding, Sex, Praise Kink, Age-Gap relationship, Depressive themes.

Others: No use of Y/N, After-Care, Leon being unable to take hints.

(Loosely based on a JAI bot by BBSUSHI)

Another night. Another bottle. Or two. Or more.

The same old routine for Leon Kennedy. Sure- he knew his liver would be fucked at some point. Though, he didn’t give a shit after everything. It was either die from excessive drinking or get killed by some mutated B.O.W. from hell- another frightening creature to add to his collection of nightmares.

Leon groaned- trying to not think about any of it- after all- that’s what the liquor was supposed to be doing. He was currently sprawled lazily on his chair, the TV playing some crappy rerun of a show he didn’t even watch- just had on for the background noise and company- until… there was a knock.

Who the fuck is bothering at this hour?

He had grumbled to himself, swaying as he stood up. It took everything in him not to crash into the glass coffee table or any other delicate furniture. He reached for his gun, tucked into a drawer of the entrance table. He squinted, blurred vision through the peephole, but couldn’t see straight enough to tell who it was.

His mind raced with thoughts. Maybe it was someone from Umbrella come to finally kill him- or maybe Claire and Chris wanting to drag him to another bullshit AA meeting. Or maybe a fellow agent coming to tell him he’s needed for one more grueling, back breaking mission.

He pushed any morbid thoughts aside- hand undoing the chain on the door and fumbling for the door in record time- swinging it open with the gun pressed to the other side just in case- which might be a terrible idea while plastered, but whatever.

“What the hell do you wan-“ he started, his voice catching in his throat. Stood in front of him was a young woman- probably young enough to be his daughter- if he had ever been able to have children. He lowered the gun from its place- storing it into the back of his sweatpant’s waistband for now.

The girl was pretty- no- more than just pretty, gorgeous even. He shook his head, mumbling what sounded like a possible drunken apology.

You, however, spoke up loud and clear-but equally apologetic in nature.

“I’m so sorry- I just moved in and I figured I’d go around introducing myself to my neighbors. I’m throwing a little moving-in-celebration tomorrow and wanted to invite everyone on this floor.” 

Leon raised an eyebrow, scoffing.

“A celebration, huh? Look- don’t you know how dangerous it is inviting strangers into your home?...” he muttered- his tone rude from him being hammered and -too stubborn to apologize for the drunken outburst when he had answered the door moments ago. He would blame this on his raging migraine later. 

You crossed your arms, a little defensive but able to tell whatever he had going on was letting his frustration take over. You were perceptive enough to know that much- along with the fragrant smell of whiskey emanating from him.

“Well- sure. If you’d like to be pessimistic, I guess. Either way.. you’re welcome to come. It’s apartment G7. Show up any time from five o’clock to around seven’ish.” You were swift to turn on your heel- leaving him without a retort. He bit his tongue, closing the door. Hard. It made him angry- of course he was pessimistic. Most people would be too if they dealt with half the shit that he had, but he decided he wouldn’t possibly expect some oblivious young person to know that.

He slumped back onto his chair, tossing the gun from his waistband aside and grumbling. 

The next afternoon, he woke up in a sweaty pool as usual- night terrors along with the tossing and turning were to blame.

His mind came to- a drunken haze flooding into his consciousness from the night before. He was feeling his much nicer self now- regretting the encounter from last night. Your pretty face. Your invitation. Shit. He didn’t even know if he remembered what apartment number you had told him. Whatever- he could figure that out on his own. 

Fucking idiot. He told himself, climbing from the sheets and uncoordinatedly walking to the bathroom- disoriented. Once inside, he planted his hands on the edge of the sink for support- looking in the mirror.

Crows feet. Laugh lines. A few grey strands in his brown hair- which was once a shimmering blonde…

He started to wonder when the fuck he began looking like this- and why the hell you would still be nice to someone as old and grumpy as him- even after he decided to be an ass. Thinking about your face- beautiful and youthful… brought him back to his own for a moment.

Save it. No chick wants a middle aged alcoholic in their life. Not one that looks like.. this. Or has more baggage than an airport.

Either way- part of him wanted to not show up to your little rendezvous- but the other decided he would probably regret it more. He needed to get out of the house and stop ruining his reputation in the building. After all- people were tired of hearing his drunken stumbling in the apartment- and maintenance was tired of coming to fix holes in the wall- amongst other broken things. Hell, the only reason he hasn’t been fucked out of his lease is because of his job’s connections. But maybe- just maybe- showing up would salvage something.

Leon runs a calloused hand over his stubble, debating on whether or not he should shave. 

What’s the point- I look fucking old either way.

He skips the maintenance- deciding he’ll get to it for a special occasion. Whether it’s an important, work-related meeting or a dinner at the White House.

After a lengthy shower- where he ran out his hot water from standing and sulking- he decided to skip the bottle today. The last thing he needed was to show up to this little ‘get together’ drunk and make a scene- being the unstable, quick-to-anger type of drunk.

Seeing as how it’s already 3 in the afternoon, Leon went ahead and dressed himself. Blue button down. Jeans. Leather jacket. Boots. Not much different from what he’d wear every day- but he put just a hint more effort into it today- given the spritz of cologne and freshly showered state. Eventually- it’s a little past five. Leon somehow remembered that you didn’t give a specific time- only a few hours of a frame. He stepped into the floor’s hallway, immediately hearing chatter and banter of all kinds from the left side of the hallway.

He sucked in a breath, making his way to where the commotion emanated, and firmly knocking on the door. 

Why the fuck did I show up, I shouldn’t have-

The door swung open- your face quickly lighting up as you saw he had made it.

“Hey, neighbor. Glad you decided to show up.” You beamed, opening the door a little wider.

Jesus Christ, her smile. I can’t remember the last time anyone had that reaction to seeing me. Whatever- it’s only formality.

Leon wanted to smile back- but the insecurity returned- leaving him to give a half-assed smile, nodding, and stepping inside.

There were a good few other people inside- chatting and snacking on the few trays of food you had set out, surely enjoying themselves. Your apartment was nice, clean cut, yet already so lived in despite you having just moved in.

“Can I get you anything?” You asked- breaking him from his observations.

“Uh- yeah. Just some water.” He acknowledged you- his nerves kicking in from being around so many strangers at once.

You smiled again, making something stir in his chest. You went over to the small kitchen and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge- the condensation sweating off in your palm.  As you handed it to him- your fingers brushed- not going unnoticed by Leon.

Is she doing this shit on purpose or…- no, stop. This is normal human interaction. You haven’t been to a true social gathering in so long.

“Sooo… do you have a name? Or should I call you mister Pessimistic?” You teased- referring to what you had said the previous night. Before Leon could even say anything to defend himself- you put your hands up.

“I wanted to apologize, though. I don’t mean to make assumptions but it seems like something else had been bothering you- so I just wanted to clear that up. No hard feelings?” You gave a pressed, dimpled smile- extending your hand.  Leon hesitantly took it with a protected, cautious look glazing his face- which slowly crept into a returned smile.

“Leon.” He finally answered.

You gave him your name, inviting him to come join you and the others in the living room. He looked around- recognizing a few faces- some of which had made noise complaints on him before. 

Great.

He took a seat on your couch- his largeness taking up a good portion. He listened to the few conversations- sipping the water bottle and quenching his dehydration- mostly due to this being the first day in weeks he had gone without drinking for even a few hours. 

Yippee. I can already feel the eyes on me. 

In his mind, he already knew everyone that did know him, even a little, only saw him as an alcoholic that made too much noise and would be gone for weeks at a time with no explanation- which made him even more off putting to them. His nerves were eating away at him.

Then you sat next to him.

Now, his jitters were worse. Or somehow not there at all. He couldn’t tell, but despite you being a complete knock-out that made him a mess, he was comforted by your presence. You had invited him here and still treated him like a person- despite the way he acted towards you previously. 

As you turned to say something to one of the other tenants and gave a laugh at something they said, you had shifted- your thigh brushing Leon’s clothed one. He held his water bottle with both hands- trying to distract himself from the spinning room right now.

“Leon?” You snapped him from his unnerved state- that same, damned smile on your face. Part of him wished you’d stop looking at him like that and hate him like everyone else. It was simpler that way. But no- it just couldn’t be that simple, could it?

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah?” He asked, focused on your face enough to seem like he hadn’t been both panicking and trying to suppress any other emotions- some of which he’d deal with later.

Holy shit, control yourself.

“I was just asking what kind of music you like.” You preened yourself for a moment- checking your hair with your hands and straightening out the front of your dress with your palms.

“Oh- uh. Rock.” He nodded- an answer you definitely expected.

“Cool. I figured.”

“Any particular reason, or…?” He trailed off- failing to realize he had a half smirk on his face.

“You’ll see.” You beamed, nonchalant.

“Okay- that’s not ominous at all.” He chuckled.

The rest of the party went by- Leon being dragged into conversations with fellow tenants and surprisingly- with your help- it salvaged some reputation. Or so he hoped.

After burning out his thin social meter- and most everyone else leaving due to their 9-5s- Leon called it quits too- lingering as long as possible.

You opened the door- gesturing for him out.

“I had a good time, Leon. Maybe come by again?” You invited. He was shocked that you actually enjoyed his company.

She’s just being polite. or maybe not. I’m bad at signals.

“Uh- sure. Thanks again for inviting me.” He muttered as he was caught off guard.

Leon shuffled back to his apartment- for once, disappointed to be home- yet relieved. His boots came off, being hastily kicked by the door before he headed to the bedroom, peeling his clothing off down to his boxers and climbing in.

8:14 pm his digital clock read.

A little early, but…

He released a shaky breath, his hand ghosting over his abs and down to his boxers- freeing his cock. The cool air only heightened how badly he needed to jerk off right now.

Fuck. He can’t remember the last time he had gotten this hard.

He grabbed some bedside lotion- stroking his cock slowly to start off. He told himself he was just horny and that it had been a while- that’s all. But it wasn’t true. You came into his mind- your eyes batting at him, the way your bare thigh brushed again his clothed one- yet somehow still arousing him. Holy fuck, he felt like a pervert. Though, thinking back about it now- he understood you were flirting. If he didn’t need to cum so bad, he’d have hit himself for not realizing. There were always other chances- anyways.

After eventually cumming all over his toned stomach- a surprising, pent up amount- he showered, shaved, and got back into bed- exhausted now that it was 9:30. Not drinking was a surprisingly good way to get to bed on time.

About two months went by- Leon’s busy schedule having him work in office at the D.S.O..

And no more deadly missions…yet. This workload consisted of him showing up late- coffee in hand and very rarely now- hungover. Chris got on his ass twice before giving it a temporary rest.

Though- the one good thing to happen was becoming friends with you- not exactly the most tight-knit but you both did spend some quality time together here and there- occasionally exchanging a phone call or a text. You even gifted him Rock CDs from time to time, being the reason you asked about his music taste. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t jam out to them on the way to work now.

The thing was.. you’re bubbly, full of energy. Young. Everything he was at one point. He loved seeing that in other people- giving him more of a reason to keep up his work- saving lives and giving others a chance at happiness and freedom. This was the first time he had seen this in a good light.

Leon had gotten home, throwing his keys and files onto the countertop. Right as he went to sit down- his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket, making him groan.

Please don’t be work, Please don’t be work. Please don’t be work.

It was you. He scrambled for the bright green button to answer you, putting the phone to his ear.

“Leon speaking.” He said flatly- trying to play cool.

“Heyyyy. You’re not busy are you?” You dragged the words, cautious not to weird him out. But if he was being honest with himself- there’s no way you could do that.

“Nope… why?” He asked, still not bothering to sit down yet.

“Well- I was wondering if you wanted to come over for a movie night or something..?” You sucked in a breath quietly- awaiting his answer.

Leon equally panicked- it being so long since a woman invited him to do anything- let alone showed him interest. He replied.

“Sure. Sounds good to me.” 

Perfect. Not desperate. 

You smiled.

“Cool. Just come over whenever. Door is unlocked.”

“Mhm.” He nervously mumbled, ending the call.

Yeah. Maybe he had panicked for a moment there. No worries, he still had to show up and screw up the rest before he could call it quits. After all, it was the first time you had invited him over to your place- at least for something this intimate anyways. He grabbed his keys again, heading out and to your apartment. He hated entering without permission- but he did have permission. So now he felt even more.. conflicted. He gripped the handle, letting himself in and closing the door. You were on the couch, remote in hand with a bowl of popcorn on the table- two glasses of whiskey poured.

Fuck me.

A pretty girl and alcohol would not mix well with Leon. What so fucking ever. He put his hand up in gesture.

“Hey- so what amazing movie did you have in mind?” He asked- avoiding the topic of alcohol being present.

“Hmm… how about you help me pick?” You hummed- Leon standing awkwardly. He was too lost looking you over. Your tanktop. Your shorts. Your exposed legs, the tops of your breasts framed by the tank tops hem.

Stop it.  

Again, this has to be on purpose.

No- she probably thinks you’re a creepy old fuck.

Wait- then why would she invite me over?

“You can sit down- you know? I know you like whiskey- so I figured maybe you’d want some to unwind. After all- I did interrupt your relaxation time.” You knew what time he got off of work- feeling slight guilt but also wanting to be around him.

“Right-“ Leon nodded as he sat in the comfy, plush chair adjacent to the couch- leaning forward to grab the whiskey in his hand- the glass material cool against his palm. As he took a sip- his eyes momentarily fixed on you while you had joined in on tending to your own glass.

“Didn’t know young people enjoyed whiskey. Just thought that was something old farts like me drank.” He chuckled.

A smile crawled onto your lips- the tipsy-ness entering your system already.

“Uh… I don’t. Just thought it was a nice gesture.” You said playfully- hinting that this was solely for him. Your face was tinged with a very subtle pink, your own body loose and not in sync with your brain as the alcohol slowly crept into your veins.

“Woah- don’t go getting plastered now. That’s my job.” He joked- his usual, non-depressed demeanor was showing through more and more. Though- he, for some reason, felt fucking nervous.

Leon could barely feel his own buzz- the more recent lack of raging alcoholism letting his tolerance lower back down. Which was a downside right now.

The two of you had agreed on some more-than-likely shitty horror movie, you getting up to turn off the lights and sitting back in your spot. You both laughed, talking about the poorly done effects amongst other things. Leon was safe- you were sitting far away. Surely it would all be fine.

Then a scene came on. Sexual, of course. Some girl on top of a guy, their naked bodies sweaty as she rode him. Leon- naturally didn’t think of anything but how awkward it was to watch this with someone else- but you however, decided to speak, the alcohol clearly breaking a barrier here.

“You know- I never understood how girls did that.”

His eyebrow raised and his eyes shot over to you.

“Uh, forgive me… but do what, exactly?”

You giggled- the sound reverberating in Leon’s eardrums and his chest, making him want to lose composure.

“You know- ride dick or whatever.” You again giggled- moving to straddle your pricey throw pillow. You weren’t drunk- but definitely letting loose…

Oh fuck. Is all his brain could muster as his fingers tightened on his glass.

No fucking way.

You shifted your hips- more awkward with an audience watching.

“Okay- would you say… like this?” You asked- your voice sprinkled with confidence and nervousness at the same time.

Leon leaned forward, setting his glass down.

Jesus Christ. Okay.

“I- uh… are you asking for pointers?” He chuckled- not wanting to be creepy- but mostly showing restraint because god knows he didn’t need to feel even hornier than he did right now.

Is this how young women flirt or am I seeing into this too much?

“Yes.” You said, dragging out the e- as if to sound like it was obvious that you did indeed want pointers.

Before he did anything else- Leon picked the glass back up- downing the rest of his whiskey quickly and setting it on the coffee table again. He’d regret chugging it later- he was sure.

He stood, walking a little closer to the couch.

“I- uh… how exactly do you want me to give you tips here?” He asked, letting out that low chuckle again.

You chortled- shaking your head.

“Hands, words, whatever you feel like.” You said, boldly but with a hint of something else. He just couldn’t tell what, yet.

“Okay…got it. What are friends for, after all…” he muttered- sinking to his knees by the couch- his hands reaching out to rest on the small of your back and the other on your stomach.

“First things first- relax. You're a little stiff and nervous.”

Not exactly that easy with a dilf having his hands on you- but sure. You thought sarcastically. But still- you tried to loosen up.

“Here- rock slowly- and try using your knees for most of the work. Like lifting yourself and lowering- you know?”

God- fucking kill me now. He couldn’t even function- his words probably not making sense with how hard his dick is right now.

“And arch your back a little.” He continued- sucking in a breath. You bit your lip- wanting to just pounce on him already- but you held back. It was nearly impossible with the words he was saying.

Leon watched your movements- knowing this wouldn’t end at a simple, weirdly sexual and ‘friendly’ lesson. No.

“Christ- maybe… you wanna help me practice?” You mutter- hair in your face.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing already?” He asked- the whiskey and horniness clouding his cognitive function.

“No-“ you laugh, shifting to sit up straight.

“I mean on you.”

He was dumbfounded for a moment- like characters in a cartoon when they get smacked with a frying pan. He could swear his head might have spun, too.

“I-…” he started, before you interrupted.

“No- I’m so sorry. You probably think I’m being weird and tipsy- coming onto you like this.

Leon shook his head- his bangs brushing across his face for a moment.

“That’s not it at all- I’ve just been holding back. I’m old. And don’t want you to think I’m some pervert.” He finally manages- spilling his vulnerability across the room. To you- it explains why he’s downplayed your subtle advances for the last few months.

You smile- shifting off of the pillow now.

“I find your age sexy.”

“Yeah- but the gray hairs, the wrinkles, the-“

You stop him, a firm ‘Nuh, uh.’

“Again- all of it’s attractive.” 

Leon wastes no time getting up off his knees- kicking his boots aside and settling onto the couch. He pats his lap- gliding a hand over his clothed thigh. You grin- settling into his lap- and Christ, you can feel his cock harder than diamond through his jeans.

“All for you..” he mumbles- tracing his hands along your waist. You lean in slow, your lips touching and alcohol scented breaths mixing. All he can think about now is how soft your lips are- and the way you taste. Yeah, he’s fucking hooked.

And now- here he was- underneath you as you rode his dick- rolling your hips perfectly and alternating between lifting yourself while he groaned underneath you. His hands squeezed at the soft flesh of your ass- guiding you lightly. And to your surprise- unlike his normal self- he was quite verbal.

“God, baby- you’re a quick learner. Just like that.” He huffed, his head lulling back in pleasure for a moment- your hips coming down hard and his cock filling you to the hilt once more.

“Yes- bounce yourself- f-fuck. You’re doing amazing- I knew you had it in you.” He spews encouragements and obscenities- definitely boosting your ego and filling your metaphorical praise kink meter.

But you do exactly as he says- continuing to bounce yourself on his cock oh-so-fucking perfect. The view for him is everything- watching your cunt swallow him every time you move down, and your tits bouncing in his face- hell- a view this good made him want to put down alcohol forever just for another chance. Then again- a little drinking is how you both got here.

“Fuck..” you whine as one of his free hands moves to place a thumb over your clit, rubbing in languid circles.

“You like that, huh? Tell me how I can- fuck- make it even better for you- baby.” 

You shake your head no- unable to form a sentence with the combination of pleasure running through your body- and your focus on riding him. Everything was perfect already, and him calling you baby certainly didn’t help your concentration- ripping your orgasm through you.

Leon nearly lost his personal composure- the way you tightened around him like a vice- threatening to take everything from him. This didn’t stop him however- he continued with even more fervor- one hand on your hip and the other on the arm of the couch as he bucked up to meet your movements- giving a bit of relief to your tired legs. He could feel you having trouble, so he decided to take the weight off your shoulders completely.

His arms effortlessly lifted you while he was still inside- moving to put your back against the soft couch while he hoisted your legs over his shoulders for a deep angle. Those rough hands held onto the backs of your thighs, and he slowly slid himself out- gauging your reaction.

“You want it like this?” He asked lowly, you responded eagerly almost right away.

“Yes- god yes.” Was all he needed before slamming back into you. And out. And in again. You could barely see his smug face through the stars you were seeing- which quickly subsided when you pulled his head down to kiss on his stubble- trailing your lips down his strong jawline and prickled neck while your moans reverberated against his skin. With how much you seem to enjoy his stubble- he’s glad he stopped shaving so often.

The whole experience, really- was something he hadn’t had in fucking years. Maybe 10 or more- he lost count. He was just glad he still had this sexual stamina in him- and maybe the gym and recent lack of drinking helped. Who knows?

He was completely lost in the feeling of your pussy clenched around him and your lips on his neck that he swore he was hit in the head when you suddenly told him you wanted him to cum in you.

“F-fuck, baby. That’s a big ask.” He groaned- the words from your mouth alone making him almost bust right there.

“Birth control.” You muttered against his skin, unable to say much else through the moaning since he was pounding into you.

“God- okay. You’re not making this easy.” 

Leon sucked in a breath- moving his hands off your thighs and pushing your legs gently off his shoulders- now pressing his chest to yours and wrapping his arms around you- a close and rather intimate position but not unwelcome. 

He grunted- muttering into your ear now as he fucked into you, the squelching and skin slapping almost defeaning.

“If you want me to cum in you- I think I need to hear a please, don’t you?” He said the words smug- knowing you were in no state to really talk- but the word left your mouth faster than he could have slammed back into you.

Leon groaned against your ear- your plea somehow managing to turn him on even more before he gave one good, last thrust into you- his hips tightening as he came inside. His hold on you was tight- yet affectionate- despite neither of you having previous romance. After all- sex was a big deal with Leon and he wouldn’t have granted you this had he not been slightly (okay maybe very much) head over heels for you.

After a few moments of cuddling- Leon prompted you to get up to go pee by patting you gently on the back- helping your wobbly-legged self to the bathroom before giving you privacy- as if he didn’t just rearrange your guts to infinity and back again.

You expected him to have left after- as any guy would- but he was still here. He took it upon himself to straighten up your couch cushions and anything else that had been out of place from your shared lovemaking.

“You didn’t have to do all of that- you know?” You teased, coming out of the bathroom in an oversized shirt and underwear- comfortable.

“Well, it’s no bother to me. It should be a given, yeah?” He turned to you- only in his jeans as he buckled his belt- seemingly searching for his shirt. Though- you secretly wished he’d never have to wear one again.

You walked a little closer to where he was standing by the couch, a little hesitant to ask your next question.

“Would you… maybe want to stay over?”

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop Pt. 5

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x F!reader

M!reader version will be out in the next few days :^)

Includes: brief mentions of past violence, allusion to ptsd/trauma, fluff, angsty themes

Summary: after much persuasion, Adam starts going to therapy. After a few sessions he's ready to face one of his biggest fears.

Adam and y/n sat in the waiting room of the therapist's office. The couple had been together for six months now, and y/n, who had always proudly gone to and advocated for therapy her whole life, had finally convinced Adam to make an appointment. This was y/n's regular therapist, Dr Luther Graham, a grey haired man in his sixties. He was exactly what you would picture if you imagined santa claus working a day job, a plump and rosy cheeked man with a long snowy white beard stuffed into a suit and suspenders. He was the sort of person anyone would feel safe talking to, which is why y/n was so sure that Adam would benefit from a session with him. Of course Adam, who was skeptical about therapy as a whole, was reluctant to pay him a visit, and only conceded that he would be willing to give therapy a try if y/n promised to go with him.

The waiting room felt like a living room from the sixties, with brown walls, art deco chairs (which looked fun, but weren't the most comfortable), and yellow mood lighting. The room felt welcoming, but in a clinical way, as though it was an alien's perception of what a human home was supposed to feel like, Adam supposed. The brown walls were adorned with certificates and plaques boasting Dr Graham's qualifications. Adam assumed that these were meant to inspire confidence in patients that this was a legitimate doctor who knew what he was doing, but for him they only reminded him of his own lack of high school diploma.

Adam's fingers were entangled with y/n's as the pair sat quietly, waiting to be called into the office. He suddenly felt a small squeeze on his hand, and turned to look at y/n.

"You're biting at your lip again, sweetie" she whispered, "what's wrong?"

Adam shook his head

"Just... this is all kinda new to me"

Y/n gave him a sympathetic smile

"Doctor Graham is lovely, I promise, you don't need to be frightened. If you really don't like it once we get in there, we can go straight home, but you'll be so proud of yourself for at least giving it a try"

Adam smiled weakly, and held y/n's hand tighter.

A wooden door creaked open, and out popped a smiling Doctor Graham's head.

"You must be Adam" he beamed, "come on in, I'm sure y/n's already told you about how this all works"

Adam shot y/n a terrified look.

"Oh, Doctor Graham, Adam was hoping I would be able to come in with him for his first session, just to make him feel more safe" y/n said calmly

"That's absolutely fine, whatever makes you most comfortable, Adam" Dr Graham smiled.

In the office were two sofas facing eachother, one which seated Doctor Graham, the other Adam and y/n. The silence was punctuated only by the ticking of an ancient looking grandfather clock, until Dr Graham spoke.

"So Adam, why don't you start by telling me a bit about yourself?

Adam turned to look at y/n, almost for approval. His eyes were asking "can I trust him? Can I tell him about me?"

"Go on, sweetheart, you don't need to be afraid" y/n encouraged him.

Adam let out a deep breath and began to speak.

"My name is Adam, I'm twenty-six and I'm a photographer. Oh, and I was kidnapped by a serial killer a few months back" he scoffed, in that familiar unserious tone.

It wasn't that Adam took what he went through lightly, quite the opposite in fact, it was just that he could only even begin to broach the subject in a jokey manner or else he'd begin to spiral.

"Would you care to elaborate on that last point for me, Adam?" Doctor Graham enquired.

"I don't really like talking about it" Adam replied.

"I understand that, not wanting to talk about a traumatic event isn't unusual. But I'm certain you often think about what you endured. Perhaps you might find some comfort in articulating those thoughts out loud, Adam. Legally I can't tell anyone about what's said in this room, so it would be just as private as your thoughts, only this way you get some advice in return" Dr Graham said.

Adam stared at his feet and considered what the doctor had said. If he was being honest with himself, it sounded like a good deal, but he was still unsure.

"You know, Adam," y/n said,  "maybe you'd feel like you could talk more freely if I stepped outside? People tend to get the most out of therapy when they have privacy"

Adam shook his head

"No, I can't do this without you, don't leave" his voice had a tinge of desperation to it, and his grip on her hand tightened, something which Doctor Graham seemed to pick up on.

"You've made it clear that you feel safer in y/n's company, why is that, Adam? Enlighten me" he asked.

Adam let out a deep breath that he didn't know he was holding.

"Y/n takes care of me and we love eachother, why wouldn't I want her to stay?"

"Well that makes sense, but judging from your reaction when you thought she might leave the room, perhaps it's less to do with you feeling comforted by her presence, but moreso afraid of her absence. Tell me, Adam, have you experienced any significant abandonment in your life?"

Adam was absolutely floored by this, Doctor Graham seemed to be able to read him like a book. His bit his lip and stared at the floor, his body tense and uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

"I suppose you could say that, yeah... when I was being held captive there was this doctor who was being held with me, he managed to escape and he said he'd get help but the asshole never came back."

His voice was laced with anger and hurt.

"Thank you for sharing that, Adam, I know that must have been difficult for you" Dr Graham said, "is the fear of abandonment a regular thought for you?"

Adam nodded

"I try not to let it get to me but... I don't know, I guess it's something I worry about a lot"

The conversion got a lot deeper over the hour long session, Adam opened up about his time spent in the bathroom, about how he was scared of the dark and how the sound of metal clanging put him straight back in that room. And of course, how bathrooms as a whole were something he did his best to avoid, only showering if he really had to. Dry shampoo and deodorant had been his best friends for the last few months.

"Well, that about wraps it up for today's session. Well done for being so candid and honest Adam, I hope you'll benefit from this"

"Um... thanks" Adam bit his fingernail nervously, but managed a small smile. He really was proud of himself.

"Do you think maybe... I could book another one of these? For like next week or something?" He asked shyly.

"Of course, I'm very glad you've found this helpful" Doctor Graham beamed, "I'll book you in for the same time next week?"

...

Later that day, y/n was over at Adam's apartment folding up some of his clothes and putting them away, while Adam sat on the bed bundled up with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He had been feeling somewhat vulnerable after opening up and reliving his trauma earlier on, so he was enjoying being babied a bit. Y/n had made him a warm mug of tea and taken care of any chores he needed doing around the apartment, just to give him some time to recover.

Although Adam did indeed look adorable all wrapped up, he was beginning to smell... ripe was the kind way to put it.

"Sweetheart?" Y/n asked

"Hm?"

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, about not liking bathrooms... and I was wondering if I could help you with that?"

Adam froze, his entire body tense and immediately afraid.

"Only if and when you're comfortable, maybe I could run you a bath and I'll get in with you, to make sure you know you're not on your own?"

Adam bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed.

Of course he wanted that in theory, sharing a relaxing bath with his beautiful girlfriend was any man's dream, but the reality? He was frightened. He could barely take a two minute shower, let alone a full bath.

"You don't have to make any decisions yet, but when you're ready I want you to know that I'm here for you, okay?" Y/n said, her voice soft and gentle, as though she were worried that she may scare him away.

Adam nodded, and retreated further into his blanket, feeling uneasy at the prospect of taking a bath.

"Oh sweetheart, come here" y/n said lovingly, taking a seat beside him and wrapping her arms around him, "I don't care how long it takes, I'm never giving up on you baby"

She pressed a kiss into Adam's temple, as his body relaxed and fell into her, clinging onto her tshirt tightly.

...

A week later,  Adam was due to stay at y/n's house overnight. He'd had an appointment with Doctor Graham earlier on in the day, alone this time, and had reached the conclusion that he was ready to tackle his fear of bathrooms. He was terrified, but he knew it was time. He texted y/n.

Adam: I think I want to try having a bath

Y/n: sweetheart, I'm so proud of you! Do you want to try at my place tonight?

Adam: yeah, I think I do

But I'm still really nervous

I might chicken out at the last minute

Y/n: the fact that you're even considering it is such a huge step, well done baby :) how about when you come over, ill run you a bath and you can decide later if you think you're ready to get in. We'll take this at your pace, okay honey?

Adam: that sounds good. Thank you :)

Adam arrived at y/n's apartment feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He hated feeling so helpless, so vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to overcome his fear, but it was difficult for him. Every thought in his brain was screaming at him to turn on his heels and run home, but he wanted to be brave, and he knocked on the door.

Y/n welcomed him in with a smile and a much needed hug, before escorting him to the sofa and placing an already made mug on hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of him. She'd made it just the way Adam liked, with marshmallows and lots of cream- he had a real sweet tooth.

"I know you're nervous, but I want you to know that you don't have to do this if you don't think you're ready. Just relax and enjoy your drink, no one's gonna be upset if you don't think you can do it yet" y/n cooed, sensing Adam's fear before he had even spoke.

"Thank you" he smiled weakly, "I was thinking, maybe we could start with me just standing in the doorway to the bathroom, and I can watch while you run the bath? Just to get myself prepared?"

Y/n felt her heart ache. She was so proud of her sweet boy for being so brave, he really was trying, but it just killed her to see him so scared. Something so small, just being in a bathroom made this grown man tremble with fear like a beaten dog. She silently cursed the name jigsaw for doing this to such a sweet man.

"Alright sweetheart, if you think that might help" she replied, wiping a small bit of hot chocolate off of the corner of Adam's mouth, making him chuckle slightly.

Adam finished his drink, and hesitantly followed y/n to her bathroom. It was a simple room, not much that was worthy of note, but one thing which comforted Adam was the cleanliness of it all. No dirt, no grime, it even had a light floral smell emanating from a bowl of potpourri on the windowsill.

He stood in the doorway to the room, hugging himself and watching longingly as his girlfriend fearlessly entered the room. He wished that he could do that too.

"Alright, babe, I'm gonna turn the tap on now, I'll make sure we get the bath nice and warm okay?"

Adam couldn't speak

"Look, I've even got some bubblebath to try and make it feel a bit less serious" she comforted, showing a bottle of lavender scented bubblebath to him.

"O.. okay" Adam nodded.

As the minutes went by, Adam watched as the tub filled up, and the time to actually enter the room drew closer. With every passing second his heartbeat grew stronger, until he swore he could practically taste his pulse. He swallowed a lump that seemed to be forming in his throat and bit his lip, like he always did when he was anxious.

"Are you ready?" Y/n's voice interrupted his train of thought.

Adam shook his head, "I don't ever think I'll be ready" he laughed wearily, trying not to let himself spiral. Despite the way he felt, Adam began to get undressed, pushing through his fear as best as he could.

Y/n had removed her clothes as well and was ready to get into the bath.

"You wanna do this together?" She asked, holding her hand out for Adam to take it. His own hand trembled like a leaf, he breathed heavily through his nose, as he shut his eyes and took a step forward into the bathroom.

"Well done, sweetheart, you're doing so well"

He flinched slightly as his bare feet touched the cold tile ground, a feeling he knew all too well, but soon his feet found themselves on a soft and fluffy bathmat, and his fears depleted.

Stood next to the bath, hand in hand with y/n, Adam stared down into the water. The last time he'd been in a bath was when he had woken up in one, fully clothed, freezing and shackled to a pipe. This was nothing like that, he thought. The water looked warm and enticing, almost welcoming.

"You don't have to if you don't want-"

"No." Adam cut y/n off, "I need to do this. I.. I don't want to be scared anymore"

His words sounded confident, but his voice trembled. Tightening his grip on y/n's hand, he stepped into the water.

Y/n stepped in with him, her soft hands making their way around his body, holding him in a tight hug.

"Baby, I'm so proud of you" she whispered, kissing his cheek.

Adam gulped, he could feel his breaths becoming shallow, but he knew it was now or never.

"If.. if I sit down will you hold me?" He asked, his lips quivering

"Of course honey, I'll even wash your hair for you" y/n replied, her voice calm and reassuring. Everything about her brought Adam peace, she was his personal sanctuary. If she was with him, he could do anything.

With a deep breath, Adam sat down in the bath, leaning back into y/n's chest and letting the warm water run over his body. Y/n was hugging him tightly from behind, placing gentle kisses into the crook of his neck.

"So brave, I'm so proud of you honey"

Adam relaxed into her touch. He didn't say much, just allowed himself to feel her loving hands all over him. The way they carefully massaged his scalp with a sweet smelling shampoo, the way they gently caressed his bullet wound, accompanied by whispers of how handsome he was. An endless string of "I love you" and "I'm so proud of you" was all Adam could hear, not the sound of cold, damp dripping, the rattling of chains, or even his own thoughts. Unbelievably, he felt perfectly calm.

Once the bath was over, Adam got changed into a pair of pyjamas that y/n had bought specifically for when he stayed over. Snuggled up in bed together, he felt a sense of hope for the first time in a while. He was getting better, life was starting to be worth living.

A/n hello! Sorry this took so long to get out, I've had the flu and i haven't been able to write much without falling asleep lol. Sorry this isn't my best work, but I'm sure it's at least enjoyable! Also, I need Adam related suggestions because I'm feeling a bit lost for new ideas lately, so please leave a request! It can be something you might want to see in the bus stop series, or perhaps just a standalone fic with Adam, or some headcanons etc - anything really! I love getting requests :^)

Hope everyone is having a good new year so far! :^)

[1eoness]

BROOO u were literally probably the first author whose fic i read when i first searched up leon smuts last year 😭 ur works r so good n idk if u'll see this but it's nice to hear abt ur perspective, i feel like fics abt leon these days r so fucked up and scary, it reminds me of when i first read a fic of yours and it was nothing but normal and hot? i just mean it's like, what fanfiction should be, how smuts should be, just p in v and stuff without all that crazy shit, it sucks to see writers these days waste their talent on writing dead dove fics that are so horrendous that it really affected me mentally

helloo!! (im not dead mueheaheah)

WARNING : Mentions of dead dove content and the likes of its themes!

before i talk : [HIIIIII HEHAHEH thank you for your support!! i'm glad you liked my (very subpar) work! now that i look back on it those themes did enter a somewhat gray line at some point because i lacked a lot of experience in writing. i do not condone ever letting your professor have sex with you nor do i promote any kind of hate-motivated sex, or dubcon! it was merely a bold attempt of expressing hormones (if you know 😭) like a lot of people my age commonly do and so i had (and still have to) reedit the tropes in my work a bit, also because i turned 18 now and i wanna readjust my boundaries! i hope you dont mind. regardless, i love that you like those themes. very good! love you!! /p]

anyway, leaning more towards the topic at hand. i don't doubt that your opinion is much different than a large part of the community under this tag. which is a very, very good thing! i'm pretty sure it was ever since @/gilfhub's posts started to quickly rise in the top pages that lead a lot of users to be influenced and begin to tear down a very, very important boundary. i'm very sorry to hear that being exposed to that affected you mentally, that's the entire reason why i absolutely abhor blogs that post and enable that content. you're not alone on that either <3 and i agree! people should ALWAYS write boundaries in mind. i've lurked around the tag a lot and noticed a lot of "popular" writers who also have an alternative blog for dark content (this isn't just a specific account, there are a lot of these.) warnings don't make things better, they don't fend witnesses away, and it doesn't make you any less insensitive. "dead dove content" itself (which is really just incestual/horribly taboo sexual assault fantasies, no need to sanitize it) should always be suppressed and private (or, well, NOT WRITTEN AT ALL). the moment you put it up on any kind of digital page, you are attracting ANY kind of viewer and none of that shit is cute, i'm sorry. projecting your trauma onto a character is one thing but writing them as someone who skips the morality line is just straight up trying to exercise your power through the wrong means. just as much as you have the power to express yourself, you also have the power to make someone very uncomfortable. people don't think about these situations in the long run, that's why. they seem to really like using the "leon is just a character, i promise he won't care" argument which i also think is total bullshit cause this isn't even about leon, it just entirely reflects what your true values really are. they centralize around the need to express yourself at the expense of other people's comfort (because, for the nth time, it's a public space with an unpredictable demographic yet people seem to really like just doing the "bare minimum" on their part). whilst your perception of a traumatic experience may be valid, it doesn't give you any excuse. this is far from the idea of free individualistic expression, it is just as bad as some 4channer posting about wanting similar situations be inflicted onto them with even real, sentient people. because we all know why these themes allow themselves to be exposed to the audience and that's because it tries to appeal to a very specific group of people (which is very disgusting.) they want to be so condescending, too. like "oh grow up, i'm all under ur skin and for what." it's blatant ignorance, you're not very smart!

and finally as ironic as it is, porn is to blame for enabling a lot of similar themes. it's so obvious, too, a lot of fictions like the ones you mentioned that are dead dove always have to mention pornography titles in it. (honestly doesn't have to be dead dove either). sanitization can be done in MANY ways, and a lot of the times I notice it's through the way of romanticizing or aestheticizing it. I'm talking about those who put up mini pinterest-board headers of like three whatevercore images and then putting lyrics at the bottom of it. it's like an attempt at writing a very bad fucking movie not gonna lie. for example, they end up trying to decorate their post with elements that fall under anything curated aesthetic. and guess what? we've all been there but NOT for writing about uncle!character and their kid reader thats just flat out WEIRD. trust me you are NOT anais nin, you do not have to write lyrical prose and try to beautify something that will always be ugly and demented to its very core. you cannot call dead dove content "artistic vents", either. i also think i can understand that some people are victims who have failed to get help thus they try to cope through other means. but i will never applause someone for making the right choices. i think there's no excuse behind writing dead dove content other than to self mutilate your mental health in the long run for a temporary moment of "safe fun", and not even knowing that it is also in/directly harming the public eye.

it's rotten. it's disgusting. dead dove writers should not be welcomed in any fictional writing space. i've been triggered over and over again and it made me put off writing and reading for a very long time. i've experienced something similar before and i have gone crazy over it, and trust me, the things these people write so "generously" for their viewers are NOTHING but toxic waste.

tumblr is NOT your space, but everyone has a space in tumblr, so be conscious of yours.

i also encourage people to not stay silent on the matters if they want to speak up on it but are afraid of getting backlash. i've seen people delete their accounts over it (which, i guess is good on them since then they won't have to confront this kind of space anymore).

[naggingatlas]

17, 22 n 24 in deltarune flavour for that VIOLENSE ASK GAME ooh pretty pleaaace

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

LITERALLY just the kids hanging out. i need them to hang out i need fics/comics (im mostly interested in comics in general. in. my life.) like those comics that one guy did their name ESCAPES me but like. abt kris lying on the floor in the bathroom. if someone remembers it pls send it in ok. also canon-compliant entries from noelle's blog. idk u got so many mentally ill kids just lying around and ur doing nothing here w these just. insanely well set up regular ass kids thats what i wanted my entire life i almost wrote a novel about 13 year olds as a 13 year old. fuck shit up. theyre constipated and having a panic attack at the taco bell idgaf make them hang. thanks.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

jevil. lol. also this came out long winded look under cut alsoOOO

that cybercity is like a bit ocean themed (dolphins and like miami neon colors……) so kinda summer themed as well and is the location for the events and start of snowgrave. honestly i really don't know there's just too much and it mightve been brought up in some part of the internet that i don't frequent so yea hard question. im shivering i need to sleep i can't think abt this. that the first chapter is about 5-8 years of your life and the second is 9-12. cuz lancer and whimsy and not knowing anything about yourself and only being limited to fairytale like perception of the world, and then cyberworld is like well discovering the internet haha wOW and all the awful awful things in it. like in the first chapter there were awful things but they weren't like worded so clearly, second is when u understand whats capitalism about. also one of the main points in this theory of mine is lesbianism and how one of clover's heads can't even say that she likes girls she doesnt know what that even is so much that its buried in the game files but its there….. and noelle is like super enthusiastic but awkward about her lesbianism and idk. projecting. i had the same things at the same ages. ugh. this theory came to me when i was thinking about jevil's gender btw. he's a casual trans femme

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

no fucking idea the only discourse i remember witnessing in the dr community as a whole was that one time a guy in the spamvil server critiqued that spam was always like the uke or power bottoming in nsfw depictions and it wasnt even like a discourse just a discussion i think they just got a lil emotional over it. mostly nsfw stuff surrounding spampton i think tho. im just. sensing that. oh and ralsei's femboy design too. i thought the guy was a spider when i was a kid. so yea shit surrounding gender and sexuality as per usual.

[anawkwardlady]

Oh, forgot the confessions were going on. Is it still going on? /gen

Once I asked an astronaut guy (he was from Apollo number idek.. wasn’t paying attention but if I Google him I’m able to recognise him. He’s the only one still alive) who’d been giving a speech how old he was (having panicked because he pointed at me and told me to ask him a question and then his assistant handed me a microphone) when he was asking for people to ask him things

(it was for a primary school school-trip years and years ago .. several schools had gone do you can imagine that those present in the theatre where he’s giving his life story are in the hundreds, or very close to being)

It doesn’t seem like much but I was mortified. Especially as the room went silent (yes, that is true, actually happened, and he was like “uh .. no” and asked someone else. Think he actually cut the q&a section short after that? But that might be wrong and my perception of time was just warped bc of my immense anxiety afterwards).

And as such for the longest time whenever I’d think of space in general (with him being an astronaut n all that) I had like weird mini panic/stress attacks. Just the mention of the subject would get me a bit freaked out.

I’m better with it now, and the guy probably doesn’t even remember it being like nearly a hundred or something, but dude. The closure I will feel when I one day Google him and find out he died will .. probably not be worth the whole anticipation.

Everything aside I do hope he’s doing well, especially for his age. But my celebration is just one sociopathic Google search away.

I mean im never refusing some !

Oh noooo

Tbh, I'm pretty certain he thought you were a really shy person and pretty young and awkward and never thought about this again. Also anyone else hearing this exchange probably wouldn't retrace it from you and probably forgot the question after. Tbh I think its weird to point at random people and tell them to ask you a question instead of just, giving the mic to people who are raising their hand ? I understand why its panic inducing tho, I glad you're better with it !

If it can help you feel better, I also had a little awkward moment with someone somehow famous, even if it wasn't in front of a lot of people. I was in a writing club in school years ago and without warning us they invited a famous writer to one of our session. And it was SO awkward because first of all, none of us read his work, second of all, he didn't understand it was to write with us and not a Q&A (and he was a really eccentric guy not really holding his tongue so we had a lot of awkward moments) and finally he gave us a theme, we all made something with it and read it to him (you read it out loud and all). And I was the only one he criticized and held on for long, I used a word he thought was not the right word to used and he wasn't leaving me alone with this. Gave everyone else compliments. Thats it. I guess we all had weird encounters.

[ivankahasbeentreatedsounfairly]

By Michelle Goldberg July 26, 2024

In “Hillbilly Elegy,” the 2016 memoir that made JD Vance a celebrity, he described constantly remaking his childhood self to fit the rotating cast of father figures his unsound mother brought into their lives. “With Steve, a midlife-crisis sufferer with an earring to prove it, I pretended earrings were cool — so much so that he thought it appropriate to pierce my ear,” Vance wrote. “With Chip, an alcoholic police officer who saw my earring as a sign of ‘girlieness,’ I had thick skin and loved police cars. With Ken, an odd man who proposed to Mom three days into their relationship, I was a kind brother to his two children.”

Vance’s yearning for a father is a constant theme in the book, as is his willingness to rationalize the flaws of the men he looks up to. At one point, he is reunited with his biological father, who gave him up for adoption when he was in kindergarten. The women in Vance’s life — not just his mother, but also his beloved sister, grandmother and aunt — told him that his dad had been “mean” and abusive, but he doesn’t believe it, preferring to think that there had only been “a bit of pushing, some plate throwing, but nothing more.”

His father was a devoted Pentecostal, and for a time Vance gave up his Black Sabbath CDs and became one, too. “I’m not sure if I liked the structure or if I just wanted to share in something that was important to him — both, I suppose — but I became a devoted convert,” he wrote.

“Devoted convert” may be the role he inhabits most naturally. In 2016 Vance speculated that Donald Trump might be “America’s Hitler.” Now he’s his running mate. A lot has been written trying to understand Vance’s ideological journey, but at least part of the story seems to be hiding in plain sight in his book. In attaching himself to the most bellicose patriarch he can find, he’s re-enacting a childhood pattern.

There is, of course, nothing inherently pathological about changing one’s political views. Vance, however, swapped out not just his beliefs but his entire public persona in just a few short years. “Hillbilly Elegy” contains an indictment of “conspiracy-mongers and fringe lunatics” who spread lies about Barack Obama’s religion and birthplace. And it laments the corrosive cynicism that led many in his white working-class community to embrace these falsehoods.

Vance presented their views as self-defeating: “We can’t trust the evening news. We can’t trust our politicians. Our universities, the gateway to a better life, are rigged against us,” he wrote, adding, “You can’t believe these things and participate meaningfully in society.”

Now Vance promotes all these things. He’s argued that Alex Jones is more trustworthy than Rachel Maddow and that Joe Biden may be intentionally flooding the country with fentanyl to kill off MAGA voters. He gave a speech in 2021 titled, “The Universities Are the Enemy.”

Vance’s new worldview can be explained in part by opportunism: He was anti-Trump at a time when Trumpism seemed likely to fail. And he’s said he was “red-pilled” by the cultural upheavals of 2020, a common enough phenomenon, especially in the Silicon Valley circles he travels in. But there is something particularly extreme about Vance’s transformation, suggesting he hasn’t left behind the mutability that once served as a survival strategy.

As Gabriel Winant wrote in a perceptive essay in the journal N+1, “Hillbilly Elegy” is fundamentally a book about unresolved trauma. In one of the book’s final moments, Vance gains some insight into his own behavior by reading up on “adverse childhood experiences,” or ACEs. Kids who endure violent and chaotic childhoods like his, he wrote, “become hard-wired for conflict. And that wiring remains, even when there’s no more conflict to be had.”

His upbringing had taught him that “disagreements were war, and you played to win the game.” Understanding this, he wrote, helped him navigate his relationship with his wife, Usha. But he seems to have stopped there, rather than reckon with how his pugilistic instincts shape his approach to the wider world.

In 2020, Vance wrote an essay detailing his journey from Pentecostalism through the new atheism of Christopher Hitchens and finally into Catholicism. He portrayed his young adult rejection of religion as essentially mimetic, something he absorbed from his university surroundings rather than decided on for himself. One of the things that brought him back to religion was meeting the right-wing venture capitalist Peter Thiel, who would eventually become a patron. Thiel “was possibly the smartest person I’d ever met, but he was also a Christian,” Vance wrote. Vance converted to Catholicism in 2019. By then, he’d become part of a new conservative elite in which many leading intellectual figures were also Catholic.

Now this person of unusual suggestibility has become second in command to a first-order demagogue, giving himself over to MAGA theology. As Mother Jones reported on Thursday, Vance recently endorsed a new book called “Unhumans,” co-written by the “Pizzagate” conspiracy theorist Jack Posobiec, which demonizes progressives as nonpeople who must be crushed by extra-democratic means. “Our study of history has brought us to this conclusion: Democracy has never worked to protect innocents from the unhumans,” the book’s co-writers say.

It is perhaps not surprising that Vance has ended up in this milieu. Authoritarian personalities, as the German social psychologist Erich Fromm argued, long to dominate, but they long just as much to submit.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

bloodlust - ch 2: rising action

summary: recovery takes time but it’s always easier when you have someone you love leading you in the right (or wrong) direction.

pairing: unsub!fem!reader x unsub!aaron hotchner

chapter warnings: 18+/nsfw, dark themes, questionable morals, vigilante violence, use of knives, blood mention, pet names, depictions of paranoia/anxiety/depression, a decreased healthy and accurate perception of reality, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), blood play, praise kink

an: surprise! @shmaptainhotchner was cool with putting this out early so welcome to chapter two! please, please, please we beg of you to read the warnings before reading, things begin to take a turn in this chapter. let’s chat in the comments or the discord, we love to hear what y’all think! also, there’s a read more glitch so please disregard the duplicate line in the beginning!

general warnings/disclaimers | series masterlist | playlist

Most would ask how after such events someone could jump right back into work. But Aaron had gotten to be very good at compartmentalizing.

He thought about it day in and day out, even if it seemed like he didn’t, but he had rationalized everything. The man you had killed was a bad person, you were a good person, therefore your actions were justified. And his? Well, he did everything to protect you.

“Hey, Hotch?” there was a knock at his office door, pulling him out of a trance.

“Hey, Hotch?” there was a knock at his office door, pulling him out of a trance.

“JJ, what can I do for you?” he asked, putting down his pen.

“It’s just, I’ve been messaging (Y/N), and she hasn’t really been texting back. Or returning any of my calls. Is…Is she alright?”

Aaron took a moment to think of what his response should be, how should he explain it.

“She’s alright, I think she just needs some space from the job and the BAU. It’s been hard on her lately,”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” JJ nodded. She turned to leave the room when Aaron stopped her.

“JJ, she still loves all of you guys,” he assured and she nodded with a small smile.

“We love her too,”

But Aaron couldn’t tell you that. Not when you were at a point where you wouldn’t believe it.

Each time he came home from work you were sinking deeper and deeper into what felt like a pit of darkness. And almost every night after you were asleep, Aaron would go into his office, open his desk drawer and pull out the knife he kept in a locked box.

Just staring at it, twirling it between his fingers. Because the one thing he struggled to rationalize was why he wanted to go out and do it again.

He always knew he had been a bit looser with the trigger on his gun than most of the people on the team, but then again, this was different. Very different.

He relished the feeling of the blood covering his hands, the way it stained and splattered against his shirt. Watching the life slowly leave his victim’s eyes, it gave him a kind of euphoric pleasure he’d never experienced. And he tried to relive it, closing his eyes and remembering that feeling, but each time he gripped the knife he knew it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t control his urges again.

He wished you hadn’t seen him like that, one night when you couldn’t sleep, eyes glazed with fatigue.

The way his eyes shone when he looked at the metal, when he ran its flat surface along his palm.

And you knew it was wrong but every bone in your body felt too heavy to try and stop him.

Either way, you stopped thinking it mattered. You were going to love him no matter what, he was still the same Aaron Hotchner to you and you were the same (Y/N) Hotchner to him.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when he came home one night, covered in blood, a sense of relief in his eyes.

“He wasn’t a good person,” Aaron assured you. “The world’s better off without him,”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t say much these days, but you could take care of him, that was one thing you were good at.

Wiping away the red stains from his skin, Aaron could see you were drifting, your movements becoming robotic, mechanical.

“Sweetheart, honey, look at me,” Aaron curled a finger under your chin and tilted it up to look at him. “There she is,” he smiled softly. “There’s my beautiful wife,”

“Beautiful?”

Lately you didn’t feel beautiful, days on end spent in bed doing nothing but stare up at the ceiling. But that word pulled you back. Did he mean it?

“Yes,” he nodded. “Beautiful as the first day I met you. Gorgeous as the day I married you,”

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks at his words until he silenced all your thoughts with a searing kiss.

“Come on sweetheart, let me show you just how beautiful you are. The rest can wait,”

You nodded your head and let him kiss you once more. He’d do anything to keep you there with him. Absolutely anything at all. The light that he saw in your eyes when he called you beautiful was a familiar one. One he remembered seeing almost everyday before the incident. He wanted to keep you there, keep your spark on.

You’d let him guide you to the bedroom, both of you ignoring your wet pajamas. Neither of you cared, not when you were connecting in this way for the first time in so long. His mouth was firm against yours as he peeled off your tank top and sleeping shorts.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been doing a good job of showing you how beautiful you are.” He whispered as he laid you on the bed, situating himself beside you.

You pushed a hand through his silky hair, shook you head. “It’s not your fault, Aaron, I’m the one who made the mistakes. I’m the one who started it.”

“Do you think any less of me when I come home the way I do?”

Your answer was immediate, truthful, and admittedly worrisome. When did you become okay with his actions?

“No, of course not.”

“Then why would I think any differently of you? We did this together, we made that choice together. You did it with bravery and a conscience. I did it because I love you. I love you more than anything and right now, all I want to do is prove that to you. Can I?”

You nodded timidly, tilting your head up for a kiss. It started out gentle, slow and sweet, the need increasing as he coaxed your mouth open. Still gentle, but filled with so much longing. You hadn’t realized how much you missed being with him like this.

He took his time with you, kissing you so thoroughly that by the time he pulled away you felt like you were floating. He didn’t stop there, kissing his way down your neck and body. He paused at your breasts, twirling his tongue around one nipple and then the other.

You whimpered, back arching up into his. “You make the most gorgeous sounds.”

“Aaron.”

“Yes, my love?” He questioned as he continued to twirl his tongue, pulling and sucking on your nipples.

“Feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Keep going please?”

“I won’t stop beautiful, not until you cum all over my cock.” He continued to kiss down your body until he made it to the apex of your thighs, pulling your clit into his mouth with no hesitation.

Your hips bucked up, pushing your pussy further into his mouth. He groaned, and when you looked down at him you saw his eyes roll back into his head, something that just made you wetter. You don’t know what overcame you but you have the overwhelming need to take over, thrusting your hand into his hair to hold him where you need him most. You didn’t stop moving your hips and Aaron didn’t complain, just gripped your hips to anchor himself against you as he drank from you like a fountain.

It didn’t take long for you to cum and before you can even recover fully, you find yourself pulling him up to kiss you, one of your hands falling to his erection. You pushed him into you, tilting your hips so that he’s fully inside you.

“Aaron, baby.”

“I love you. I’ve got you. You’re so beautiful. So incredibly beautiful when you take me. Look at how well we fit together.” He glanced down at where the two of you meet, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip at the sight.

“I love you too, Aaron. You feel so good.” You said breathless as your eyes dropped to watch him glide in and out of you.

Your second orgasm builds almost as quickly as the first. Aaron’s skilled mouth never left your warmed skin, as he sucked and nibbled on your throat and chest. If his mouth wasn’t on you, it was showering you with constant praise. Likewise, his pace never faltered, his hips slapping against yours as he pushed his cock into you over and over. The consistency and intensity was ultimately your undoing and when you tighten around him with a garbled cry his fingers tighten in the sheets.

Your release catapulted him into his own, a guttural groan stuttering in the back of his throat. He crushed his mouth to yours as he filled you completely, driving his hips into you a few more times to get his cum nice and deep. Praises fell from his lips as he pulled out, gathering you into his arms.

The two of you were in the shower cleaning up when you looked him, directly in the eye.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” He continued to wash your body.

“You’re not scared that we’ve opened Pandora’s box?”

“If anything, we‘ve helped eradicate some of the evils that came out of it.” You looked at him not entirely convinced, eyes wary. “You’re my sweetheart. My angel. Too good to have come out of something that’s infamous for being evil.”

You didn’t say anything else, just nodded with an uneasy smile as the two of you finished cleaning up. It was late, and you were exhausted, physically and mentally. You couldn’t say the same for Aaron as he scooped you up in his arms and carried you into the bedroom.

“Thank you, Aaron. I love you.” You mumbled sleepily as he placed you into the bed.

“Of course, sweetheart. I love you too. Go to sleep, I’ll join you in a bit, I have a report to finish.”

“Will you stay? Please? Just until I fall asleep.” You begged, your lip jutting out ever so slightly.

He sighed, and slipped under the covers next to you, pulling you into his arms. Neither of you said anything else, he just placed a kiss on the top of your head as you drifted off into what is your most peaceful slumber since the murder.

___

“Sweetheart,” Aaron called as he entered your apartment. “Sweetheart, I’m home,”

The place wasn’t any different than when he left that morning. He dropped his briefcase on the couch that was already a mess, piled with papers and files.

As he walked towards the room he took his suit jacket off and tossed it on the armchair in the corner, tilting his head at you. You hadn’t moved an inch since he left. Laying down on your back, one arm extended towards his side of the bed with another thrown across your stomach.

He climbed into bed next to you, moving some hair out of your face.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he said softly. “I missed you,”

You only blinked but he still bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple before running his hand across your cheek.

“I brought you a little something,” he said, pulling out a little trinket from his pocket and placing it on the pillow in front of you. “It’s from Penelope, she misses you,”

You missed her too. So much. You missed all of them, Emily, JJ, Derek, Spencer, even Dave. But they could never know what you did and you were in no condition to lie anymore.

You moved your hand to come and curl around the little figurine. It was always your favourite one, something you pointed out each time you would visit her office. You could feel the tears burning in your eyes at the sight of it, but you let them come because it was nice to feel something.

“Maybe we should get you up and take a shower?” Aaron suggested. “And then get you something to eat,”

You nodded your head and reached out for him, he gladly picked you up and walked over to the washroom, turning on the shower until the water was warm and then setting you down on the counter so he could help you undress.

This became your routine, he went to work, came home, took care of you. A never ending cycle so it seemed.

You stood with Aaron in the shower for what felt like hours while he helped you wash your hair and clean your body. Each touch was intentional, hoping to get you to feel something, anything.

His kisses to your shoulder made you lean into his hold and he took a deep breath, thanking the universe that you were still there with him. And when he turned your chin around and pressed his lips to yours, your hand came to gently cradle his face.

He looked so beautiful with water dripping off his lashes, that love in his eyes he held for you, shining just as bright as ever, which made you realize with everything that happened he probably couldn’t see that you loved him the way you could see he loved you. So you told him.

“I love you, Aaron,”

Which pulled his lips into a grin, allowing you to fit your thumb right where his dimple was.

“I love you too, my sweet angel,”

Angel, you liked that. In a way you kind of were an angel. Your choice had brought the fate of three other people. You had delivered justice, that’s what Aaron insisted on. You had helped rid the world of three people who didn’t deserve to be there in the first place. And when you looked at it like that, well, everything just all started to fall into place.

—

Aaron noticed over the next few weeks something seemed to have shifted. When he came home from work you weren’t sitting in bed each time, you had tried to clean up a bit, even made dinner or ordered food on occasion, but he thought he could say you were doing better.

And you spoke, you talked to him, asked him about his day and his heart soared because he loved hearing your voice.

“Sweetheart, I'm so happy you’re doing better,” he smiled and leaned in to give you a kiss.

“Me too,” you agreed. “But, I was actually wondering…”

“What is it?” he asked. “Anything, you name it, it’s done,”

“Can you call me angel?” you asked. “I liked it, a lot,”

“You did?” his lips quirked upward and you nodded your head. “Then it’s done, angel. Is there anything you want to do?” he asked and you shrugged.

“I was going to make some dinner, why don’t you rest a bit, you must have had a long day at work,”

You stood up without another word, pressing a kiss to his forehead before making your way to the kitchen and pulling out the various things you would need to cook.

You grabbed a knife so you could cut the chicken but caught yourself staring at the glistening metal, remembering what it felt like to have in your hands, remembering the imprint the handle left after you had squeezed it so hard.

And when you finally brought yourself to cut the chicken it slipped and nicked the side of your palm. You couldn’t even tell if it was on purpose or not.

You stared at the red blossoming on your hand and dropped the knife on the counter, mesmerized by the crimson red colour.

Using your other hand you smeared the blood, watching as it coated your skin like a glimmering paint. Why had you never noticed that before?

“(Y/N), is something wrong I-,”

Aaron stopped when he saw the onions almost burning on the stove and quickly turned it off before addressing you.

“Angel, we should clean this up,”

You wanted to protest, but you knew he was right, for now at least.

“It’s beautiful though,” you mumbled and he either didn’t hear you or elected to ignore it because you knew he agreed.

A few nights later Aaron could feel you turning around in the bed, he carefully awoke to try and figure out what was going on but you didn’t seem disturbed, you looked at peace.

And yet inside your mind was racing with images, that knife in your hand before you plunged it into someone’s chest feeling an instant high after the action, even though it was just a dream.

A few moments later your eyes blinked open and you almost looked disappointed.

“Was it a nightmare?” Aaron asked, just to be sure.

“No,” you shook your head. “A good dream,” you sighed, leaning into his chest and letting yourself fall back asleep.

As the days went on, you felt more and more like yourself. You were in the kitchen trying to focus on icing the batch of cupcakes you’ve just finished and not the set of knives behind you. It didn’t prove to be too hard, but everytime you face their direction you couldn’t help but steal a glance. You were starting on the last cupcake when Aaron walked in.

He did a double take as he dropped his bag by the door, a slow smile spreading across his face as your eyes met his. “You’re baking again.”

“Marble cupcakes with chocolate icing. Your favorite.”

“Thank you, sweet girl. You’re so good to me.” He came to plant a kiss on your cheeks, which you felt heat not only from his praise but his steady gaze.

“Because I love you.”

“I know. I love you too, so much. More than anything.”

“Enough to come cuddle in bed with me? There’s a pie in the oven so I can’t start dinner yet.”

“Cupcakes, pie, and dinner, you’re spoiling me. So if that’s what you want then that’s what you get.”

You kissed him, cupping his face with your hands before you led him to the bedroom. You were only in a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt but he’s fully dressed from the work day. The two of you worked together to get him stripped down to just his boxers before laying in bed. He was completely wrapped around you, face buried in your hair. You sighed in contentment, hitching your leg around his waist to pull him closer though at that point it’s physically impossible.

The two of you laid there for a moment, the closest to peace you’ve been in weeks before you raised your lips to his neck, placing a litter of kisses on it. He looked down at you, eyes soft and warm and inquisitive.

“Kiss me.” You breathed, tilting your face up so your lips hover less than an inch away from his. His mouth is on yours in an instant, tongue pushing in to explore every inch of your mouth. You couldn’t help but sigh into the kiss, feeling like you’re exactly where you want to be.

You kissed him back gently at first, relishing in the feel of his warm lips against yours, his body on top of yours. Aaron’s touch was one of the only things grounded you these days, and you find a hunger bubbling deep within you. You bucked your hips up to push him back, and when you feel he’s off balance you roll over, straddling him. He groaned in surprise but kept kissing you, hands gripping your waist tightly.

You increased the intensity of the kiss, deepened it so that the two of you are just lips, teeth, and tongues. You groaned into his mouth, it’s deep and animalistic. There was that feeling again; the all encompassing need for more and to give in to your impulses. You started to nibble on his bottom lip, swiping your tongue over it to soothe the sting of your teeth. He seemed to like it, sparred you on but holding you even tighter, moving his hand up to the back of your neck to pull you closer. It was your undoing, making you lose it and you took his bottom lip between your teeth once more, biting down on it with more force.

“Fuck.” He leaned away from the kiss, pulling his lip from between your teeth. His hand slid up your body and he brought it up to his lip which was bleeding from your harsh bite.

You felt your face flush, embarrassment and dark arousal rushed through you in one foul swoop. He looked upset, eyebrows drawn together as he gazed at the blood on his fingers so you began to apologize. “Oh, I didn’t mean to. I-I’m sorry, does it-“

Before you could finish he’d pulled you down to kiss him, taking your bottom lip in between his teeth and biting just as hard as you did, if not harder. You whimper as you feel his teeth cut through your skin, the taste of his blood mixing with yours invading your mouth.

“Rough, naughty girl. You like that?” His voice was low, seductive, it sent a chill up your spine, and though it felt wrong to be so turned on by the spilling of his blood it was reality. He made you feel anything but ashamed when he looked at you, his eyes glistening with adoration.

“Yes.”

Some blood had made it onto his chin and a light went off in your head. Bending down you flattened your tongue, ran it up his chin to capture the few drops of blood that dot it. He groaned, and his hands tightened his grip on your waist. The kiss he gave you was much harder, deeper and rougher and you grinded down against him, feeling his erection easily through his boxers.

“I want you,” You murmured against him, adding, “in my mouth. I want you in my mouth, want to show you how much you mean to me. How much this, us taking care of each other and protecting each other means to me.”

He pulled away, stared sternly into your eyes for a moment to make sure, but found no hesitation in them. “I could never say no to you, angel. Let me strip you.”

You laid back on the bed immediately, and he took off your clothing in a flash. He pressed soft, worshiping kisses to every inch of your body. You were practically trembling once he made it all the way up to your body and planted a kiss on your lips.

“Where do you want me?”

“Can you sit on the end of the bed?”

He’d nodded, kissed you one last time before removing his boxers and following your instructions. Once he’d settled, you rose from the bed and dropped to your knees in front of him.

You took him into your mouth easily, your mouth wet and warm and tight as you moved up and down on his length. He was reduced to nothing but a string of moans, his hands fisting in the duvet, his head thrown back. You took your time, moving not too fast but not too slow either. You mouthed at the head, swirling your tongue around it before taking him down into the back of your throat.

“What a good girl you are, that’s it sweetheart. Nice and slow and deep for me.” He praised, his hands gently guiding your head as you took him into the back of your throat repeatedly.

All you could do is moan around him, looking up at him completely drunk on the taste and smell of him. He was everything to you, and you feel safe and cherished. You could be whoever you wanted to be and there was no doubt that he would love you all the same.

Your hand fell between your legs with a moan, and the sight of you with his cock in his mouth, pleasuring yourself was almost his breakpoint. His hands stopped your head, cradling it gently as he guided you off of him.

You placed your hands on his thighs, scooting closer to him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No angel, you and your mouth are perfect, but I need to be buried in you.”

His words made you spring up from your knees. He’d predicted this and you find yourself flipped over underneath him, you back pressed in the bed.

He was slick with precum and your spit and when he bottoms out inside of you. Both of you moaned, the sounds swirling together in the air as he began to pump in and out of you. Each movement was accompanied by a deep kiss. You could taste the cocktail of his blood and yours, almost intoxicated by the metallic flavor that invaded your senses.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, collecting some of the blood there before running his hand down your body. “It’s you and me baby. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, keep us safe.”

“Me too, me too, anything. Anything for you, Aaron.”

“You’re so gorgeous, so strong. My sweet angel, ready for anything. I promise, I’ll take good care of you. I swear.”

“Yes, baby, I know. I trust you.”

“Oh god, you feel so fucking good.”

“So do you.” Your words came out breathy because something in the atmosphere changed. The air was thick and heavy, the smell of blood a welcome, sinister scent as your bodies worked against each other. His slow, gentle thrusts began to change, his hips moved rougher and faster. His lips have fallen to your throat and chest, sucking marks into your flesh.

“Mmm, yeah, harder.” You murmured into his ear, hips tilting up to meet his.

He didn’t remove his lips from your throat, just asked, “Harder?”, punctuated the question with a light love bite.

The feeling of his teeth sinking into your skin, even softly, drove you crazy. “Yes, please, harder Aaron.”

“Harder.” Your voice was rough, your fingernails digging further into the skin of his back.

He hesitated, pulling back to make sure that you’re confident in what you’re asking for. “Angel,”

“I want you to be rough with me, please, baby?”

His eyes lit up and darkened in the same moment, a sinister brightness detected in them. If you were in your right mind it would scare you to see him this way, but it only made you wetter and caused you to tighten around him.

He doesn’t take it easy on you, hand running up your body and wrapping around the sides of your throat as he sat up on his knees. His other hand wrapped around your hip, pulling you onto his cock as he slammed up into you, a grunt left him with each thrust.

A smile spread across your face as you wrapped your legs around his waist, encouraging him to go harder. “Yeah, mhmm, just like that.”

“Dirty angel.” His grin matched yours, deranged and satisfied as he finally unleashed his roughness on you.

He was relieved and in awe at how well you took him, but scolded himself for doubting you. You’d done nothing but prove to him from the moment you met that you two worked well together. He shouldn’t have been surprised that it translated to such dark places.

He picked up his speed as he neared his release, watching how your mouth opened, eyebrows furrowed in almost a frown as he absolutely railed you.

“That’s it sweetheart, cum for me won’t you? Make me happy and cum for me. I’m right behind you.”

“I’ll cum for you, I’ll make you happy.” The words had barely made it out of your mouth when you detonated around him, your pussy tightening around him with a pressure that made him cum immediately. He fell into you, a muddled version of your name leaving his lips as he fills you up. The two of you laid there for what seemed like forever until he finally spoke.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up.” He picked you up bridal style in his arms before making his way to the bathroom. He set you down in front of the sink, walking towards the shower and turning it on.

You’re mesmerized by what you see in the mirror. Your body is lightly smeared with blood, your bottom lip puffy and redden. He’d also littered you with hickies, they’re all over your neck and chest. You looked a mess, almost like you’d just gotten out of a fight but the sight made your breath speed up, your legs clench together.

“You like it.” He observed, causing you to turn to look at him.

“You don’t?” Your voice sounded melancholic, worried that he won’t enjoy this the way you are.

He shook his head, a small smile played on his lips, “I think you look gorgeous in red, angel.”

[innocentignorance]

Otome Review: Collar x Malice - Unlimited

So in Collar x Malice - Unlimited, sequel to Collar x Malice ,you get learn what it’s like to actually have a relationship with the guy of your dreams without anyone trying to actively kill you or whatever. I think this is actually a really nice take. Usually in otome games there is this huge drama or life threatening situation going on during which the heroine meets and falls in love with the love interests. Then after the drama is over so is the story usually.  In this game it basically tells what happens in that “Happily Ever After” that comes after playing the first game. Although you can still get Normal or Bad endings. Which is nice because, you know, such is life. So the story in this one is generally not as complicated as the first one since you basically solved everything and I can’t really write an overall summary since all the routes are very different and there is no common route. Also warning: may contain spoilers for the first game but I tried to keep it spoiler free for this one since you can’t play this game without playing the first one anyway.

There are also many side stories where you get some insights into some side characters, get to know them a bit better. There is also a story that is kinda the continuation of a bad ending of one of the routes in the first game. Which was honestly quite interesting and also really bittersweet.

There isn’t a lot that I have to warn you about in this game since the traumas that the characters have are not mentioned as heavily as the first game and you should really have played the first game in order to know what’s going on here. One warning that I should maybe make is that there is a bit more sexual content in this one so if you are maybe a delicate person who blushes at the mere mention of “sex” or kissing, consider yourself warned. So yeah. Warning :Suggestive Themes (Maybe??). 

Because I guess some people consider it steamy when they see their 2D boyfriend shirtless and hear him very vaguely reference sex. I am sorry if anyone is offended by this, I am just extremely salty about the fact that otome games portray love as something super pure and beautiful, and in order for love to be this way sex cannot happen, or it cannot be enjoyed. Like the heroine can never come out and say that she enjoys sex with her partner. Ugh. (I just want some R rated otome games. Usually I can go get my fill of smut between my beloved characters but this game surprisingly has very little fanfiction. I am so disappointed, I have no words.)

Anyway. Onto the routes!

Love Interests

Mineo Enomoto

This guy’s after story was really funny and sweet. Although it’s not my cup of tea, since he’s a bit too innocent and oblivious. But he actually got a bit smarter in this game AND he took off that eyepatch. Like, thank fuck, man. You use guns n shit and depth perception is a thing. So even though Mineo is a bit innocent for me, I think he actually makes good match for the heroine since she’s very much the same. They are both young and quite inexperienced but they are figuring it all out together which I think is beautiful. 

Takeru Sasazuka

God I love him so fucking much. Ehem. So Takeru’s route was very entertaining. In the first game he always had the “I couldn’t care less” attitude towards everyone especially in the beginning. He still has that harsh exterior going on but damn if it isn’t sweet inside. I honestly may be a little biased on this one since I love his character trope. But he goes through a genuine character development that was, I think, quite well-written since you don’t actually realize it all that much until a character points it out. His route was honestly a bit more realistic compared to the others in regards to how relationships work. They aren’t all sunshine and giggles. Overall, I love him. Could’ve been more “steamy” scenes or sexual interactions in general even if it was just implying . Still not too unhappy with the fanservice in this route. At least got to see him shirtless. Which is more than what we got in some other routes sobs

Kei Okazaki

So after going through even more trauma in the first game, my man’s honestly on his way to fixing his fucked up mentality. However, he’s not quite there yet. In Kei’s route you get to see how it is to have your work can kinda get in the way of your relationship. They’re trying to have a relationship between their jobs and Kei’s lingering issues and of course with some misunderstandings along the way but they manage to tackle it in the end. Of course nothing is perfect which is, in my opinion, a good thing since perfect relationships do not exist. There was also a lot of implications of sexual activity in this one because our boi here is one horny bastard. Honestly, I love him. If only he wasn’t trying to sugar coat his mental issues and stuff with that adorable but sometimes annoying smile of his. like no Kei this much jealousy is not normal stfu

Kageyuki Shiraishi

...

...

...

This bitch After going through so much fucking shit in the first game, here we are going through even more shit in this wonderful fandisk! Honestly if you were thirsting after him at any point, you’re out of luck cause our poor boi is in no condition to fuck. Dw he’s not injured or anything. Kageyuki’s route is the one with least fanservice of them all because he committed war crimes or some shit and no one trusts him now (understandably), except of course our protagonist, even though he turned himself in. Which is great and all but this only leads to a lot of yearning and heartbreak for both sides for the entire route. This route was also the most eventful route of them all, with life threatening situations and psychopaths from the past. Story wise, I think it was great. It just was not what you would expect from a fandisk content where you would expect to be witnessing the happily ever after of your OTPs. But in real life your actions have consequences and the power of love doesn’t fix shit. So yeah. Realism wins. Kind of.

Aiji Yanagi

Daddy? Sorry I can honestly say I really loved Aiji’s route. There wasn’t any drama between him and the protagonist and overall the route had a relatively mature take on relationships. They also addressed some things that weren’t really addressed in the other route like the LI’s and the protagonist’s families. It was quite satisfying which is not very surprising since Aiji has always been the most mature among the LIs in this game. But damn, my boi definitely lacks xp in the romance department like don’t give me all that shy shit bro you’re almost thirty fuckin act like it but it wasn’t exaggerated so not really an issue. The parts with his family were also really wholesome in the end although at first you’re like “throw these bitches out the airlock they are not touching my baby.” This is also the route with most fanservice, I think. In the other routes you could pretend that they weren’t doing anything *looks left and right and whispers* ‘sexual’ even with all the implications if you chose to be real ignorant but in this one I think it was a bit more obvious like we get a glimpse of inner boob y’all that’s like seeing an entire dick in a regular game but not too obvious. Overall, I recommend :D

[aenaxes]

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

For Us Sinners

Soulless Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4130

Warnings: This is 100% pure smutty religion-themed filth. Sam is dressed as a priest. There’s sex in a confessional, severe perversion of the Hail Mary prayer, and a lot of blasphemy happening. Like. A lot. Orgasm denial. Squirting. Non-explicit mentions of Winchester threesomes, gun play, and knife play. 

A/N: For @stusbunker​‘s “Jam Basket” fic exchange! This is for the lovely @rockhoochie​. I managed to squeeze a decent amount of her jams in here. Sarah, my dear, I hope this makes you even a little bit as happy as your friendship makes me. 

Thanks to @cracksinthewalls​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ and @fookinghelljensensthighs​ for lore, encouragement, and inspiration! 

You’re frowning at the trunk arsenal, wondering if it’s possible to sharpen a machete too much, when movement catches your eye. Sam rounds the corner of the old warehouse, and you grab a knife and a whetstone just to have something to focus on that’s not him and his stupid smirky face or the way his shoulders look in that suit. 

The whole priest thing is a really good look on him. 

“Dean’s not back yet?” he asks, without preamble, sitting on the edge of the trunk next to you. You focus very intently on your knife. 

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” you snark, to cover the way you’re blushing. “Why yes, I did have a super fun afternoon of doing fucking nothing! Waiting around for you two is exactly how I wanted to spend the last three hours, thanks for asking.” 

He laughs. “Weren’t you just telling me that I should stop pretending to be normal polite Sam?” 

“Whatever,” you mutter. 

“Lemme see that,” he says abruptly, and plucks the knife from your grip before you can protest. He takes one look at it and laughs at you, twirling the blade in his fingers. “Working out some frustration, huh?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“What’s really going on? You’re only like this when you’re hungry or horny.” 

“Bullshit,” you snap, but he’s totally fucking right. He’s way too perceptive these days. 

You’ve been refusing to play poker with him ever since this whole soulless deal came to light. He’s like a walking polygraph test… a very attractive, muscled polygraph who’s really good in the sack. 

He’s analyzing your expression with his head cocked. “The knife thing?” 

“I don’t know what you’re — that’s not—”

He holds the tip of the blade to your throat, and you stop stammering immediately. You close your eyes and swallow hard. 

“That’s not new, though,” he says thoughtfully. 

When you open your eyes, ready to protest, he’s tucking the knife back in its sheath and twisting to set it in the trunk. 

“How’d you know about that?” you ask reluctantly. 

He just smirks, that godawful not-Sam not-smile, with his dimples popping and his eyes glittering. 

“One of these days you’re going to realize that I’ll never judge you,” he says, low and sly. “C’mon. Tell me.” He puts on a prim, sanctimonious face, pointing at the collar, and says, “Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.” 

He ruins the pious effect by licking his lips and aggressively eye-fucking you. 

You try to laugh, but it comes out all squeaky. You’ve never been good at poker, and if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by, he can see exactly what’s written all over your face. 

“Shut up,” you say preemptively. “Asshole.” 

“This is totally doing it for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks. 

“Shut up.” 

His smile is gleeful. “Oh my god, it is!” 

“That’s not — I’m not—” 

You grit your teeth and stand up abruptly, and it’s not like you can go anywhere but you need to move; it’s impossible to think straight when he’s right there and he smells so good. 

He gets up so quickly you barely have time to blink before he’s in your space. He backs you against the warm metal of the door, caging you in with one big hand planted on either side of your head, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet his wickedly sparkling eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, soft and heated, lips curling up in a familiar dangerous smile. “Lying is a sin.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you huff, but you can’t stop staring at his mouth. 

“Besides, I can always tell. Admit it.” 

“You are so fucking—”

Without warning, he’s tugging at your zipper, yanking the button open, and shoving a hand roughly down the front of your jeans as he murmurs, “You are so fucking into this.” 

Before you can protest (not that you’d really want to) he’s got two fingers sliding into you, curling sweet and easy where you’re ridiculously, undeniably, outrageously into this. 

“Maybe a little bit,” you sigh. 

He’s just smiling, watching you squirm, playing with you like a cat might play with a mouse, and as much as you’d like to be angry about it, he knows exactly how to use those clever fingers. Then — 

“Dean’s back,” he says calmly, and before you can even process that, he’s sucking his fingers clean and walking around the car to greet his brother. 

You have about three seconds to button your pants, thank your lucky stars that you were on this side of the car, and generally get your shit together before it’s back to business. 

“It’s a goddamn garden statue,” Dean is saying. “Some crazy old bat donated it to the church and then just up and left town. First person disappeared the next day.” 

“So we wait til dark, take it down, break the curse.” Sam shrugs. “Easy enough.” 

“Like a chant ‘n’ smash,” you offer. Both the boys give you blank looks, and you try to pretend like your brain isn’t totally scrambled. “You know. Like a salt and burn. A good old-fashioned chant and smash… no? Okay, whatever.” 

Sam is barely containing his laughter. Asshole. 

“I could use a nap before we do that, I’m wiped,” Dean grumbles, taking off his clerical collar as he slides into the driver’s seat. Sam keeps his on. 

As you’re all getting buckled, he says, “Why don’t you just let us handle this one, Dean? You should take the night off.” 

“If you guys want some privacy to bone, you can just say so,” Dean grouches. “But get another motel room, don’t bring Baby into it.” 

“Yeah, we know. We will,” Sam reassures him. 

Dean does not seem reassured. He looks at Sam suspiciously. “So, what, you’re just being nice?”  

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sam says bluntly. “You look like shit and I don’t want you hunting with me when you’re this sleep-deprived.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that I buy. Man, this whole soul-free honesty shit is gonna take some getting used to.” 

“You and me both,” you sigh, and Sam gives you a wink in the rearview mirror. 

 * * *

“That is the creepiest-looking angel I’ve ever seen,” Sam comments, striking a match. “And l’m including Zachariah in that. Okay, here we go.” 

He lights up the little bowl of herbs he’s concocted and says a few things in Latin, and then the smoke coming up from the bowl turns eerie green and seems to sink into the worn concrete. 

“Is that it?” you ask dubiously. “How do we smash it?” 

“That’s the fun part,” Sam says. He attaches a silencer and loads his gun, quick and practiced, and when you’re both out of shrapnel range he aims almost lazily while you try not to stare at his fingers. Bad enough that he’s still wearing the priest getup. Watching him shatter an angel with a few perfect shots shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…  

“Shouldn’t” is one of those words that lost most of its meaning when you and Sam started fucking. In the last two weeks, he’s managed to discover kinks you’ve never even admitted to yourself. 

Speaking of — 

“C’mon,” he says, and when the gun is deposited safely back in the arsenal, he grabs your hand without waiting for an answer, leading you around to a side door. The door isn’t even locked. Sam’s smile is gleeful in the moonlight. 

“What are we doing?” you ask, as he leads you inside. 

It’s almost completely dark, just a faint glow from the emergency exit signs to light the sanctum, until Sam takes out his matches and lights a few of the tall pillar candles that are arranged in nooks around the altar. The golden glow flickers and dances on the walls. 

Sam grabs you by the wrist, and you halfheartedly attempt to tug your hand away. He’s got that glint in his eye that can only mean trouble. 

“We really shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, as he pulls you over to the confessional. 

“What are they gonna do, condemn my soul to hell?” he says flatly, and you stifle a giggle. “We established a while ago that my immortal soul is fucked.” 

“Mine isn’t,” you mutter. 

He looks at you with another of those smirks and says, “That’s why you’re the one who needs to confess.” 

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” you sigh, but instead of answering, he crowds in close, pressing you up against the smooth dark wood of the confessional, and kisses you, all teeth and tongue and liquefying heat, until your lips feel bruised and your entire body is tingling. 

“Confess,” he whispers, and with one last grin, he points you toward one curtain and slips behind the other. 

If you’ve learned anything about Sam over the years, soul or no, it’s that there’s no point arguing when he’s made up his mind about something. 

Sam seems to have made up his mind. 

You pull the curtain closed behind you and sit on the little bench, and you have to breathe through some long-buried memories before the words come to your lips. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper.  “It has been… a long time since my last confession.” 

The flickering candlelight cuts through small gaps around the curtain, casting dancing shadows through the cramped space. Your cheeks are burning. 

“Sam?” you ask tentatively. “This feels stupid.” 

He lets out a low, cocky chuckle, and his voice is all sorts of promising when he replies, “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while. Play along for me.” 

Fine. 

“Where do I start?” you mumble. “I drink, frequently. I have been dishonest. I gamble, and I do not dress modestly, and — I don’t know. What else?” 

“Do you have impure thoughts?” You can hear the smile in Sam’s voice. 

“Yes.”

“About what?” 

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, thinking about the way he looks right now. No preacher has ever looked so good in that black suit. “About… about you.” 

“Go on.” 

“About the way you feel inside me. About the way you fuck me.” 

“What did you think about last time you touched yourself?” 

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I imagined that you —” 

“Lying is a sin.” 

Fuck. 

That’s the thing about Sam; he won’t let you get away with politeness, or with half-truths, or with telling him what most guys would want to hear. 

Fuck him and his creepy polygraph spidey senses. 

“I imagined that it was Dean,” you whisper, cheeks burning. 

“And how did that go, in your fantasy?” There’s no trace of surprise or hesitation in his voice. 

“I was — he bent me over the hood of the car.” 

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought about him, is it?” 

“Sam, I don’t — this is weird,” you say, squirming slightly. 

“Why?” he says, and you keep waiting for the jealousy or the disgust to color his words, but all you can hear is curiosity. “Do you think about him while I’m fucking you?” 

You let out a long, measured exhale. “Yes.” 

“Have you thought about him walking in? Listening to us?”

“Yes. Sam, I don’t—” 

“Were you thinking about him a couple days ago, in the middle of the night? When you couldn’t seem to keep quiet?”

You shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Yes.” 

“Tell me.” When you hesitate, he continues, “I wondered… felt the way you were squeezing around my cock every time it got too loud. You wanted him to hear.” 

“I wanted him to — to imagine. I hoped he was awake, and that he was turned on, and—” 

“You wanted him to join in,” Sam supplies, when you falter. His voice sounds husky, now. “You were imagining both of us, huh? What else?” 

“Sitting in your lap, in the backseat, while he watches in the rearview,” you mumble, and now that you’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop: “I think about getting on my knees for both of you. Letting him have my mouth while you fuck me, or… one of you holding me down.” 

“Have you imagined us handcuffing you? Taking turns with you?” he asks calmly. 

“Well now I’m imagining it,” you huff, and your nervous giggle breaks the tension for a moment. 

“I know you’re holding out on me,” Sam purrs, when the silence starts to stretch. “Leave my brother out of it, if you’re getting all hung up on that. What else?” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble. 

“Trust me. God isn’t judging you and neither am I. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

You can’t bring yourself to spit it out, even like this. “That’s it.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is silk and steel now. “Why don’t I take a guess?” 

“Fine.”  

“Knives,” he says bluntly, and your inhale is too sharp to be innocent. “You like the way a knife looks in my hands, the way it’d be dangerous if I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“Yes.” 

“You want to know what it’d be like: cold metal on your skin. A knife at your throat, or... a gun to your temple.” 

You’re shaking. 

“How’d you know?” you whisper. 

“I pay attention,” he says simply, voice ragged, and then there’s a long pause before he asks, “Is that the end of your confession?” 

You’d almost forgotten where you are. You’re grateful the screen is still between you and Sam. 

“Yes,” you say, and because old habits die hard, you add, “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past lives.” 

“As for penance…” You can hear the teasing note in it, and some of your self-consciousness dissipates. “You can begin by taking off your clothes.” 

“Here?” you laugh. “Sam…” 

“Here. Now.” 

You let out a tiny, nervous whine of protest, but you’re too turned on to care, not when you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight. 

Then you strip, taking off your clothes with shaking hands and setting them in a neat-ish pile in one corner of the tiny booth. It’s chilly, and you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps run down your bare skin. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Now... you can say ten Hail Marys,” Sam says, with that smirk in his voice again. 

“I — really?” you ask. 

Just as you’re thinking that’s all?, Sam is ducking through the curtain of the confessional, crowding you in and pushing on your shoulder until you sit back down on the narrow bench. Even in the barely-there flickers of light you can see the wicked smile on his face as he drops to his knees in front of you.  

“And you may not come until you’re finished,” he orders coolly. 

Then he’s hooking his arms under your knees, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward so that he can get that filthy smirking mouth on you. He licks a hot slick stripe up your center, swirling his tongue over your throbbing clit, and —

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the wood with an echoing thunk, because whatever Sam’s doing with his lips is sending sweet fluttering waves of heat through your belly. “Oh my God, Sam, that’s—” 

“If you keep taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he growls, nipping at your inner thigh, “I’ll double it.” 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” you start, and it’s been a while; Sam’s not the only reason you have to pause. “Fuck. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the — the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now—” Your voice breaks as you whimper, and you finish in one long rushed breath: “— and at the hour of our death, amen.”

“There you go,” Sam says, practically moaning the words against slick skin. You’re already having trouble thinking straight. 

You start all over again, trying to rush through it as quickly as possible, but you stutter as Sam fucks you shallowly with his tongue.  

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam says, curling two long fingers into you.

Except it’s bad. In the short time you’ve been doing this, Sam has learned your sweet spots like nobody’s ever learned them before, and he’s not touching them now. This is barely a tease, compared to what you know he can do to you. It���s bad, and it’s going to get so much worse. 

You start to stammer through the third prayer. You’re so wet — from the thrill of the setting, as much as what he’s doing with his tongue — you can hear the slick thrust of his fingers inside you, dirty and distracting. 

When you pause for breath between “Mary” and “mother of God,” Sam hums low against your cunt, and you know he enjoys this, you know he gets off on it, but he lets out these noises that never fail to make you feel feverish, and now is no exception. It doesn’t feel chilly any more. By “amen,” you’re burning up. 

“Three down,” Sam murmurs. 

On the fourth “grace,” he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, and you make a high, squeaky, mortifyingly desperate sound. Your voice keeps breaking as you stumble through the next lines, until you end on a long, relieved groan. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Six more.” 

“I can’t,” you hiss. 

“You can. And you will.” 

On “full,” Sam twists his knuckles, and you gasp, arching your back, squirming. He fucks you in the same rhythm as your words, dragging friction across your g-spot with every syllable, and when you try to speed up, rushing through it, you can’t even get to “sinners” without breaking off in a moan. He stops completely as you pant for breath, and as you mumble through the last lines, painfully slow, you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperate for more. 

“That’s five,” Sam says. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.” 

With his free hand, he grabs one of your wrists, guiding your hand to the back of his head. His eyes flick up to you, watching hungrily, until you slide your fingers through the silky strands and tug lightly. 

You sigh. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

“Hope not,” he says, smirking against the crease of your thigh. “I’m into some weird shit, but I like ‘em warm and breathing.” 

“Ha fucking ha, Sam, that’s — fuck,” you choke, as he fits his mouth to your clit again, and this time he sucks lightly in time with the slow thrusts of his fingers.  You forget what you’re saying, somewhere around “God,” and stumble to the end in bits and incoherent pieces. 

“Six.” You realize you’ve got a death grip on his hair, all your muscles tensed-up and rigid with electricity that’s got nowhere else to go, but when you ease up, he pumps his fingers in deep and growls, “Harder.” 

He adds a third finger, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking much, filling you with fizzing pressure, and it takes most of your willpower to stop yourself from going under. 

You grit out, “HailMaryfullofgrace.” Lightning lances up your belly, and you squirm— “TheLordiswiththee.” — twist your fingers in Sam’s hair— “Blessedartthouamongwomen.” — muscles quaking, cunt clenching around perfectly curled fingers— “Blessedisthe. Fuck. Fruitofthywomb. Fuck — Jesus!” — tension surging and swelling  — “Holy Mary, mother of God, prayforussinnersnow, fuck, Sam!” — you’re almost there, almost, and he stops, refusing to give you what you want as you gasp out, “And —at the— the hour of our death, amen.” 

“Seven,” he says harshly, and you can feel him breathing hard, damp hot air teasing your slick swollen skin, and his mouth is so close to where you want it. He gives you a second and then: “Keep going.” 

You babble out a few words at a time, and your voice is ragged and broken, but it must sound close enough to what he wants; he’s winding you up again, fingers crooking expertly against that sweet spot. The heel of his other hand digs into your lower belly, right over that point of white heat, and it’s so intense, suddenly, that everything goes sparkly and distant.  

“Pray for us,” you groan, and he sucks, fast and hard. “Pray for us — us sinners —” 

There’s this pressure, right there, right where his fingers are stoking a fire, and it’s blazing, and —

“Sam, I can’t. I can’t, I’m gonna—” 

He’s not holding back, and you can’t either. You buck helplessly against the incredible suction of his mouth, holding him with both hands fisted in his hair as you bow up and cry out. All that pressure peaks, crashing down in wave after wave of relief, pulling you under like a rip tide as you come dripping-wet and messy. 

It blinds you, for a moment. You’re out of your body for who knows how long, lit-up and paralyzed by the high-voltage shock of it. 

When you come back to yourself, Sam is scooping you up and swapping places with you in one smooth movement, manhandling you so that you’re straddling him; he’s got his pants open just enough, can’t seem to wait any longer, and the breathless urgency is so unusual for him that your head spins. 

You’re still clenching through the lingering quakes of your orgasm, trembling, boneless like a rag doll, and it’s not you sinking down on his cock so much as him pulling you, filling you up inch by inch as you squeeze and quiver around the thick length of him. 

When he’s as deep as he can be, his arms wrapped around you and practically crushing you to his chest, you both pause and take a ragged gulp of air. 

“What even was that?” you slur, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall and trying to adjust. He lets out a rough groan through gritted teeth. 

“That is what I’ll be seeing every time I look at a confessional now,” he pants, starting to rock up into you. “Never gonna be able to walk into a church without getting hard.” 

He wraps an arm around your ribs, and the heat of his splayed hand on your shoulder feels like it spans half your back. Your naked skin seems even more obscene as it brushes the stiff cloth of his suit, and you can feel your own wetness soaking the fabric in places. You shiver, roll your hips, and you can feel the way he reacts, shuddering under you. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes this a little too much,” you say, breathless. 

“Who said anything about too much? No such thing.” He barks out a laugh, bucking up in a way that makes you moan. “I’ve been to heaven, and trust me when I say, this right here—” He twists his hips viciously to emphasize the word. “— this is so much better.”

“God, this is so —” you whimper. He fists a hand in your hair and bites your neck, and you jerk helplessly against him. 

“God doesn’t care,” he growls. “God wasn’t listening to you just now.” 

“That’s not —” You’re pretty sure he’s missing the point, but with the way your cunt is throbbing at every perfect thrust, you can’t remember what that point is; you can’t remember anything. 

“God’s not going to answer those prayers,” he says hoarsely. “I’m the one who’s going to handcuff you and bend you over the hood of the car and fuck you until your legs give out.” 

“Holy shit, Sam.” Your brain is shorting out. 

“I’m going to make sure Dean sees you when you’re all strung-out and begging for it,” he promises. He jerks up with a vicious twist of his hips, and you grind down to meet him, every inch of your skin singing. “I’m going to hold a gun to your head while you ride me. I’m going to give you anything you want.” 

“Please.” Your moan sounds more like a sob, and you can’t see straight anymore; it’s all going distant, until the only thing that feels real is the aching, pulsing heat of him inside you. 

Sam claws at your back, dragging his open mouth up the side of your neck until he can snarl against your ear: “God doesn’t answer prayers, but I do.” 

He surges up to meet you one last time. Your vision flashes bright white as you come, one exquisite pulse after another rolling through you, and it feels like a purer sort of ecstasy than any religious experience you’ve had in a church.

This is worth a little hellfire. 

.

.

.

There is now a follow-up drabble here!

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

my body is a cage.

ObNeSummary: Y/N’s worst nightmare has become a reality. Her only saving grace is that she doesn’t have to do it alone. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,000+ [One Shot]

Warning: Feminist Issues, Adult/Mature Themes (NOT smut)

Y/N could feel her heart start racing faster as she studied the doctor’s office. Now she was starting to sweat as well. 

Her doctor were running late and that meant Y/N was stuck looking at the nondescript walls and smelling that sterile scent for 20 minutes. It felt like an hour. 

It was just a follow-up appointment. There was no bad news expected to be given. But that didn’t stop Y/N’s anxiety. 

Y/N finally gave up on trying to calm herself down through breathing and reached down to grab her cellphone out of her purse. 

There was a two text message notifications: one from her mom and one from Jason. 

She opened the one from Jason. 

– Good luck at your appointment today. Remember to breathe. 

Y/N smirked at the message. Jason knew how stressed out Y/N got for literally any type of doctor’s appointments. Even if it was just your usual checkup – like today – it caused her anxiety for some reason. 

Jason must’ve sent it right before passing out after patrol. 

Finally the doctor came in, making Y/N jump and almost drop her phone. She hid her scare well and quickly put her phone back into her purse. 

“Hi Y/N, so we finally got your blood work back,” she began. 

“Great. Will I be able to get a prescription and pick it up today?” Y/N asked quickly, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

“So one of the many reasons we get blood drawn before prescribing this medication is to make sure you’re not pregnant before going on it.” Before Y/N could speak, she quickly added. “You’re test results came back positive.” 

Y/N’s mouth opened at the statement. 

Her mind was going a million miles a second, trying to process what the doctor has just told her. 

When was the last time she had her period?

Why did it feel 20 degrees hotter in here all of the sudden?

This couldn’t be happening. No. No. No. This really couldn’t be happening. She tried so, so hard to make sure this didn’t happen. This was her nightmare. This was her fucking nightmare coming to fucking life. 

By some miracle, the doctor didn’t smile with joy and exclaim a congratulations. She seemed to sense that Y/N was on the brink of having an anxiety attack. 

“I remember you saying you did’t intend on ever having any kids, so I’m sure this is a lot to process,” the doctor told her gently. “Why don’t we hold off on this medication – even if it’s just for a couple of days? Just give yourself a second to process and come up with a plan.” Then she gave Y/N an encouraging smile. “When you want to make another appointment, I’ll make sure reception squeezes you in. Alright?” 

Y/N couldn’t do anything but nod – and even that was far too delayed. 

“Do you want me to call someone for you?” The doctor asked softly. 

But Y/N shook her head. 

When Y/N got out of the doctor’s office and back on the streets of Gotham, she seemed to snap out of it a bit. 

Her ears weren’t ringing any longer and the cold, winter air was doing miracles. 

‘Get to Jason,’ Y/N’s heart suddenly screamed at her. 

And just like that, Y/N went into autopilot, grabbed a cab, and gave them her address. As she watched the buildings go by, Y/N’s mind was simultaneously thinking a million things and thinking nothing at all. It was almost a buzz. 

When she got back to her apartment, the TV was on but the volume was off. Sometimes Jason would watch it after patrol and hope it would bore him to sleep. But her giant, vigilante of a boyfriend wasn’t sleeping on the couch, so that meant he was in their bed. 

Y/N toed off her shoes, tossed her keys on the side table by the door, and hung her denim jacket – no, Jason’s denim jacket – on the coat rack. 

She slowly pushed the bedroom door open to find Jason passed out on his side. His arm was reached over to the other side of the bed as if his body had searched out for hers in his sleep and came up empty. 

Y/N tiptoed to the bed and carefully slid into the empty side of the bed. 

Jason stayed asleep, meaning he must’ve been really exhausted. Usually her presence would stir him, even if it was just for a few seconds. 

Sometimes Y/N would come in here when she got back from work and take a cat nap with him before getting started on dinner or leaving to work out. Sometimes she would just cuddle with him, he would wake up and sleepily ask about her day while bringing her into his – even when she told him to go back to sleep. 

Now Y/N laid on her side and watched him sleep. 

Even when he looked exhausted and various scars were scattered across his face, Jason Todd was beautiful. 

And when he was sleeping like this, he looked so young. Y/N wondered if that was how Jason always looked to Bruce: innocent, vulnerable, forever young.

Y/N reached forward shakily and brushed the white streak of his hair off his face. His hair was getting shaggier than usually allowed. She wondered if he’d ask her to cut it again or if he’d finally listen to her and go to a barber. 

“You run your hands through my hair and I’ll be putty in your hands,” he mumbled with his eyes still closed. 

Y/N froze and stopped her combing, her hands shooting back to her chest. 

Her silence and pause made Jason’s eyes squint open. 

Those blue eyes of his were always perception, especially when it came to the woman he loved with all his heart. And as soon as they locked with Y/Ns, they immediately knew that something was wrong. 

His brow wrinkled. “You OK?” His voice laced with worry and concern.

Suddenly… Y/N’s mind and body were given the chance to release the reaction they wanted to have since the news was broken.

Her bottom lip trembled a moment before tears burst from her eyes. 

And then Y/N was shoving her face into her boyfriend’s chest. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jason consoled. “What happened? What’s going on?” 

But Y/N couldn’t even form words. She was fully hyperventilating. 

Her chest literally hurt as the sobs escaped. She was shaking as if it was freezing in the room, despite Jason’s body basically being her own personal furnace. And she felt like she was going to throw up at any second. 

Was that morning sickness? Or was the just good ol’ fashioned nausea?

Jason quickly realized he wasn’t going to get any verbal communication right now. So he just held her in his arms, letting her cry it out as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. 

But his mind was shuffling through all of the possibilities. 

Had someone hurt her? Did she get fired? Did a group of assholes catcall her on the way home? 

But none of those seemed like things that would upset Y/N in such a manner. 

“Breathe, Y/N. Take a deep breath,” he told her calmly as he kissed the top of her head. 

She barely gave a nod to show that she was trying to do what he advised. 

With her eyes wet and bloodshot from tears and her face swollen, Y/N finally pulled away from Jason’s chest so he could see her. 

“Deep breath,” he reminded her again gently. “Can you tell me what’s gotten you so upset? Can you do that for me?”

Y/N sniffled, really just to buy herself a second before she said it. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Jason’s body tensed. His eyes studied hers, looking for any sign that she was not being absolutely serious. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Jason muttered, now realizing why she’d had such a reaction. 

But then he quickly recovered, realizing that she still needed him because she was freaking the fuck out. Obviously. She just had a full-on panic attack in his arms. And she was probably moments away from possibly having another. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, look at me.”

She took in a deep breath and did as he asked. 

“No one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to. OK?”

She just stared at him. 

“OK?” He asked again, making sure she understood what he was telling her. 

She nodded. 

“I don’t want it,” Y/N exhaled. 

The words came out on their own, like she had no control over them. 

Jason winced, not at her statement, but because she sounded so desperate and scared. 

He gave her a sympathetic look and cupped her cheek. “I know, Y/N. I know.” 

Then he brought her back into his arms, holding her protectively, as usual – but protecting her from something he never had to before. 

“I know how you feel about it. I’ve always did,” he told her softly. “Just try to relax. OK?”

She nodded. 

Jason didn’t try to fill the silence. He didn’t try to say comfort after comfort. His touch did more things for Y/N then he words ever did. She needed to be held, not lectured or verbally coddled.

After a few moments, he looked down at her. “We can order from your favorite place, OK? Have a little movie marathon or finish watching that show.”

She gave him a small, shy smile at that.

“Sound good,” he asked. 

She nodded again. 

———

30 minutes later, Jason was scrolling the internet, researching Planned Parenthood locations while waiting for their takeout to get there. 

Y/N, exhausted from her emotional and mental breakdown, had fallen asleep a few minutes after telling Jason the news. 

Jason figured the least he could do is take the logistical weight off Y/N’s shoulders. All of this was happening to her and it was his fault. He knew she’d never frame it that way, but that’s how he felt right now. And he’d do anything to make it easier for her. 

But all of the sudden, the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck suddenly stood on end. 

The next millisecond, he grabbed the nearest hidden gun, shot to his feet, and pointed it at the window. 

“Relax, Todd.”

“Demon Spawn, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jason lowered the gun. 

To Jason’s annoyance, Damian jumped down from the window and into the apartment, dressed in his full Robin uniform. 

“When you texted about covering your patrol tonight, father asked me to check on you.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Liar. No, he didn’t.”

“So, why aren’t you on patrol?” 

“Y/N needed me.”

Damian’s body tensed. 

For as much of hard time as Damian gave Jason, he didn’t mind his girlfriend. However, the preteen would never admit to actually liking her or enjoying time spent with her. But the whole family saw it anyway. 

“Is she sick?” 

Jason just nodded, not really having the energy to compose a big lie. 

Then Damian caught sight of the laptop screen and saw what Jason had been researching. 

“Oh,” Damian blurted out without thinking. It was a very unusual reaction from him. He always had something to say.  

“Just…keep it to yourself, k?” Jason asked. 

The last thing he needed right now was Damian blabbing around about Y/N. 

But Damian nodded, not giving any further reaction to his discovery. 

———

“What’s Alfred the Cat doing here?” Y/N asked as she cradled the cat and walking into the kitchen the next morning. 

“Damian,” was all Jason provided.

Y/N laughed at his crypticness. “Did he need a cat sitter?”

Jason shook his head. “He came snooping when I told them I wasn’t going on patrol. And…Well, he’s Bruce’s kid, so you can imagine how quickly he put it together.”

Y/N’s amusement dropped when she realized what Jason was saying. 

“He brought some of human Alfred’s cookies for you, too.” Jason added quickly, maybe to soften the blow a bit. 

“That was sweet of him,” was all Y/N mumbled in return. 

“I think he was worried about you. Figured some cookies and cuddles from Alfred would make you feel better,” Jason explained. “Of course, he didn’t verbally express any of that because he’s emotionally constipated.”

Y/N managed to force a smirk at the joke. 

Silence filled the kitchen. 

“I made you an appointment today,” Jason told her gently. “Not that I’m trying to force you to do anything. You can cancel it if you want to. I was just trying to–”

“Thank you,” Y/N cut him off and dropped the cat to wrap Jason in a hug. “Thank you, Jason.” She repeated, mumbled this time, since her face was now buried in his chest. 

“Of course,” he told her before kissing her head. “Want some breakfast?”

He chuckled when he felt her nodding enthusiastically against him. 

“Your favorite?”

She nodded again. 

“You gonna let me go so I can make it?”

She shook her head no. 

“Alright, spider monkey, let’s do this.”

Y/N’s laughter filled the room as Jason somehow managed to maneuver her body so she was on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. And she piggybacked around the kitchen with him as he made them breakfast. 

———

“Welp,” Y/N said bitterly as she looked at the building from across the street. “Don’t know how I wasn’t expecting this.”

Jason sighed as he watched too. 

There were a dozen people with picket signs. One said, “It’s a child, not a choice.” Another said, “Jesus loves you both.” One of the men had a megaphone. One woman held a box with figurines that inaccurately showed how far along the fetus would be when it’s aborted. 

“Wait here,” was all Jason said. 

“Wait, what? Jason! Jason, don’t!” Y/N hissed. 

But Jason was already halfway across the street. With the traffic and general noice of Gotham, Y/N could hear nothing. But it was clear that he was talking to him. 

“Oh, for christ’s sake,” Y/N sighed when she saw all of their faces shift to utter horror. Whatever he was saying to them had clearly terrified them. 

It only took a minute before Jason jogged back to her and offered his hand. 

“Come on,” he said encouragingly. 

“What the fuck did you just do?” She asked him. 

“I told them all of their names, social security numbers, and addresses,” Jason told her lightly. “Oh! And their top porn searched.” He gave them a glance. “And said if they even so much as looked at you, I would do what I wanted with that information."

“So…you threatened them.”

Jason tilted his head and shrugged innocently. “I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“Jason…” she groaned. 

“I thought you would be proud. I didn’t use physical violence. I’m growing!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. 

But lo and behold, none of the protesters so much as faced their direction as they walked past. 

Y/N wondered how long it took Jason to memorize all that information. Did he ask Tim to hack street cameras and use face recognition to even find all of them? 

In the most messed up way, it warmed Y/N’s heart. It just showed a new angle of Jason’s protectiveness. Guess that was just another perk of dating a dangerous vigilante with too many connections and resources. 

Besides his little threat, Jason hadn’t let go of Y/N’s hand since they left the apartment – even now, as they sat in the waiting room. 

If he was anxious at all, he was doing a beautiful job of hiding it.

Y/N guessed that’s what happened when someone had the history of Jason. This was like a walk in the park for him.  

But when they called her name, Y/N looked at Jason with slight panic. 

“I can’t go with you. It’s against policy,” he told her softly. “But I’ll be right here when you get out. OK?”

She nodded. 

He must’ve learned that when he was doing all his research. 

“You good? Huh?” He whispered, keeping eye contact. 

She nodded again. 

“You’ll be fine,” then he kissed her. 

Just as Y/N reached the nurse, she turned to her boyfriend again. “I love you,” she mouthed to him. 

“I love you too,” he mouthed back. 

———

Y/N had been drained when they finally got back to their apartment. 

All she wanted was to take a nap with her boyfriend. 

A couple hours later, she had finally had the energy to stay awake. 

But neither of them had any interest in getting out of bed. So instead they stayed cuddled close.

“How are you feeling?” Jason asked her. 

“Physically or mentally?” 

“Both.”

“Physically, fine mostly. Some cramping. They said that was normal. But my period is ten times worse.” Then she sighed. “Mentally…like…I’m in control. Does that make sense?”

Jason nodded. 

“And relieved. Fuck,” she half laughed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.” 

“I’m glad.”

Then Y/N smirked mischievously. “Are you sad you won’t see me wearing those stupid overalls with a baby bump,” then she dramatically fanned her hands, “as we have a montage of us painting a nursery?”

Jason laughed at that. “OK. Well I don’t live in a fucking Lifetime commercial.” Then he smirked. “I’ll take the overalls without the baby bump, though.” 

She giggled at that. 

“But it’s a real shame we couldn’t have a gender reveal party and burn down all of Gotham accidentally…” Jason thought aloud. 

Y/N tried to suppress a smile, “…you do realize the point of those parties is to reveal the baby’s gender and not to burn a city down, right?” 

“Well, fuck.” Jason played dumb. “The only appealing part of that was the arson.”

“It would’ve been funny to fuck with people, though.” Y/N’s eyes went distant as she thought about it. “Put in black balloons or just a rainbow assortment. And just see how everyone reacted.”

“Missed opportunity,” Jason sighed. 

“Why are traditions so stupid and embarrassing?”

They both laughed. 

“I’d have to suffer through a stupid baby shower. And then you’d get to come in at the very end and just wave at everyone. Men really got it made, huh? Just show up, and everyone applauds.” 

Jason laughed, knowing she was absolutely right. Enough of the Justice League had kids for him to know that was how it worked. 

“Like those videos where dads do their daughter’s hair and everyone loses their mind and praises him. But name one time a video has gone viral of a mom doing her kid’s hair.”

“The bar’s low,” he reminded Y/N. 

But then Jason watched Y/N’s smile fall from her face as she got lost in her head. 

“What?”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“What?” He gripped her chin. “Absolutely not.”

“I don’t feel bad. There’s no remorse,” Y/N mumbled with as her eyes zoned out. “All I feel is weight lifted off of me.”

“Hey,” his voice was low and serious. “Hey, look at me.” 

He waited for her to do what he asked. “You’re not a bad person. You hear me?” 

Then he started making himself angry with the thought that anyone would ever tell Y/N otherwise. 

“You know what a bad person looks like? Someone who doesn’t take having a child seriously. Someone who makes that decision half-assed, knowing they’re bringing a child into a toxic environment or that they can’t properly take care of them.”

Jason made himself calm down. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. It just proves that you did exactly what you knew was best.” 

She nodded, finally convinced by his words. 

Y/N reached forward and brushed some hair off his face. 

Jason was so god damn handsome. No wonder I got pregnant, she thought darkly. This is exactly how she got into this mess. It was hard just to keep her hands off of him. 

“If I ask you something, do you promise you’ll tell me the truth?” 

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ll try my best.”

Her eyes twisted into something somber and afraid. 

“Do you really never want kids?” 

Jason should’ve expected this question at some point. 

Even though Y/N didn’t verbalize it, Jason knew that one of her biggest fear throughout all of this was that it would change their relationship. She was scared that he would resent her, that he would change his mind and beg her to keep it. 

Maybe it was her tone that was really the thing that caught him off guard. She sounded so scared of what he would say. 

Jason rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Not because he wanted to hide the truth by stopping her from staring into his eyes. He just wanted to make sure he collected al of this thoughts. She deserved a proper answer. 

“I never planned on being a father,” the statement was unwavering. “You know how my childhood went. And I see the same thing happening to kids all over Gotham today – some of them have it so much worse than I did.”

Y/N reached forward and placed her palm on his chest, right over his heart. Without thinking, his hand went to grip it. 

“But you would never be like that,” she assured him. “You’re a good man, Jason. I mean, just look at how you are with Damian – no matter how hard you try to hide your soft spot for that boy.”

“I know I can be a good father. Except before you were in my life, I didn’t know that.” 

If he were really tell the truth, he would tell Y/N that without her, there most likely wouldn’t even be a Jason Todd...only Red Hood. 

He looked away from the ceiling and back at her. “But that doesn’t want I want to be.” 

“So you can honestly say that you never want a family? Even if wasn’t with me?” 

“Y/N, look at my family,” Jason laughed. “None of us our related. Bruce is a mess of a father. His biological son was basically artificially inseminated. The butler is more like our grandma who raised us. All of them tried to take me down and imprison me at one point or another...”

He shook his head at the ridiculousness. “The point is that I know more than anyone that family can look like a million different things. And the perfect outline society has forced onto us doesn’t actually mean shit.”

He grinned. “My family is a group of vigilantes who don’t know how to quit.” His eyes softened. “And then there’s you. You’re my family, too. I don’t need add anything else for that to be true.” 

Y/N couldn’t help herself and she practically tackled him into a kiss. 

Jason gripped her waist and twisted them so she was straddling his waist, and his hands traced up and down the side of her ribcage. 

After their lips separate, Y/N looked down at him lovingly. 

She let a moment pass. 

“What if I changed my mind?”

“I think you and I both know you never will.”

“But what if I did?” She insisted. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I really don’t.”

Y/N just wanted to challenge him. She wanted to go through all the scenarios her mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. She needed answers to the hypothetical scenarios that would never come to be. 

“I’m not going to change my mind,” she told him certainly. 

“I know, Y/N.”

She kissed him again. “Thank you for supporting me through all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he scoffed. “It’s my fault.” 

And he meant it. Most days, Jason had to convince himself he was worthy of her love. What kind of man would be lucky enough to have Y/N as their girl and not do everything in his power to make sure it stayed that way?

“No, it wasn’t,” she corrected him seriously. “It was both of us.” 

“You can’t scare me away,” Jason told her. “Nothing is ever gonna stop me from loving you. Got it?”

She nodded. 

But before she could say anything more, Jason wrapped her in a heated kiss. 

He knew these questions were her anxiety manifesting itself. And Y/N had enough stress for today. So he’d turned off her mind with his touches. 

She deserved a break. 

-----------------

I don’t know how I managed to write yet another one of these fics. But I realized it was easier to give it a new twist since Jason Todd has a sense of humor and an edge that Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers do not. Also, he wasn’t raised in the 1930s. lol

Please, please, please let me know if you liked it!!!

If anyone is interested in movies on this topic, I highly recommend these:

Never Rarely Sometimes Always 

Unpregnant 

4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days

Obvious Child

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 9. hearts

Previous | Next

[warnings: mention of meth, swimming without pants on??, large body of water, momentary angst]

"why was it so easy for you to make it so hard for me?" —

You weren't drunk, but you were definitely not sober enough to comprehend how horrible the idea of being even relatively close to a large body of water whilst intoxicated was.

Ashley was not as much a lightweight as you'd proved to be, so she was virtually sober. the time you'd known her (just over a week) you'd come to know her as the most carefree of the group. She did things when she felt like it, and she did what she enjoyed.

Larry could be called carefree, as well—but he gave off more "I truly do not give one ounce of a fuck, and I will go along with any activity you want to do if I can smoke" vibes.

You hadn't figured Sal out yet. You tried not to think about it, but there were so many things you wondered about him. You'd seen his face. That had been your fault, and you were beginning to feel immense guilt for what you'd done.

You weren't going to inwardly speculate about what had happened to him—but you'd seen the look in his foggy blue gaze when he'd laid eyes on that dog at the party.

The car came to an abrupt halt, knocking you from your thoughts and lurching your body forward. Your eyes widened, and you look around frantically to figure out where you were or if you'd just had an accident—but turns out, you'd made it to Wendigo Lake.

"Well, you said you wanted to go to the lake," Ashley grinned, locking eyes with you.

You blink repeatedly, your pupils dilating to focus on the sight of the large body of water in front of you, glistening beneath the moonlight. A smile slowly etched into your face, and you reached to your right to open the passenger-side door.

It wasn't long before you'd reached the point where the slope began into a downward incline, your feet planted in the grass as you gazed down at the lake you knew had to be freezing—but the road-like reflection of moonlight on the water continued to call your name.

The breeze blew into your face.

You hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps and the crunching of grass when Larry, Ashley, and Sal walked up and joined you.

There was something melancholic about knowing that you were living in a moment you knew you'd miss.

"We should swim," you say, nonsensically.

Sal looks away from the lake and to you from his place on your right side. You turn your head to lock eyes with him.

"Y/N, someone's gonna get sick. I don't think you understand how cold this water gets-"

"Okay then," you mumble. "I should swim," you correct, "and if anyone wants to join me, they are more than welcome."

Larry and Ashley's laughter echoes into the dead air as you ambled down the slope, Sal standing there, watching—before following your lead.

"Let's think this over," he tries, matching your pace with ease. "You're going to regret it when you're shivering all the way home."

"Ashley can blast the heat."

"What if you drown?"

"I won't," you respond, "because you're getting in with me."

You're both stood on the shore of the lake now, locking eyes and regarding each other with your own equally stubborn determination.

"Hey!" You hear Larry's voice call from up the hill. The tension that's formed within the eye contact breaks once you've looked away from each other and peered up at the height of the slope.

"We're gonna go check out that forest over there," Ashley shouts, pointing towards the cluster of trees that were a measurable distance away. "Heard there's some gnarly satanic shit in there. Call if you need anything."

You exchange a glance with Sal.

"Alright," he yells back. "Don't get lost!"

"Can't promise that!" Larry sends both of you a grin before he and Ashley both head towards their destination, the sound of grass crunching steadily quieting as the distance between you grows.

When they're far enough away, you let out a quick sigh of relief. "Finally," you reach down to your shoes and began pulling them off, including socks.

You then reached down to the button of your jeans.

Sal yelps. "What're you doing?!"

You look up with raised eyebrows. "You think I'm swimming in these? I'll sink." You return your focus downward, pulling the zipper down and hook your thumbs around the waistband of your pants. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

It was almost excruciating to hide your sly smile as you bent at the waist to slide the denim down your legs. You stepped out of your jeans, pulled your phone from the pocket, and tossed the shed article of clothing farther up the hill, tossing your phone on top of it.

The device landed with a thud, resulting in an inward cringe on your part.

You didn't allow yourself to regard the fact that you were now standing in front of Sal with no pants on, so you just turned, stepped forward, and tested the water with a toe.

"Liar," you submerge a foot in, your body instinctively shivering against your will. "It's not that cold."

He scoffs, reaching down to rip his sneakers and socks off in your peripheral vision. "You're saying that now, but I'd like to hear the same thing when your bare legs are in there."

Sal tosses his shoes off near where you'd thrown yours along with his phone. He watches you submerge your other foot in, before following your lead.

Sal seems to handle it with a lot more ease than you, both feet now immersed in lake water. He doesn't seem to react physically, only standing with slack shoulders and his head tilted slightly upward. You watch the side profile of the prosthetic, and the way he lifts a hand and passes ringed fingers through vividly blue hair.

Moonlight illuminates the white face of the mask.

You can't see his real face, but you can picture him now. The tranquility of his expression, the curve of his dark eyelashes, his tongue passing over his lips...

The water is up to your calves now.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, angling your chin towards him. It's rushed, and sudden, and you momentarily doubt he even heard it beneath the rippling of water as he moves a bit closer.

"For what?" He asks, turning his head away from the moon and to look you in the eyes.

"I shouldn't have taken the prosthetic off without your permission. The guilt has been churning inside of me and I felt I needed to apologize for it eventually. I'm sorry."

Sal looks down, his eyes following the shape of your thighs before he locks gazes with you again. "You make me feel normal, Y/N. You'd never even asked about it before—and that means the world to me. I won't hold what you did against you."

"But..." you try, but he stops you.

"Y/N," he laughs sweetly. "Don't try and villainize yourself—you did nothing wrong. If anything... it was almost nice to know you weren't scared of seeing what was underneath."

You intake breath for the first time since the conversation began. You felt almost stupid, tears forming in your eyes as you stood within a freezing lake in just a crop top and your underwear.

"You should stop apologizing so much, too. You don't have anything to say sorry for."

"I'm sorry," you repeat, nonetheless.

He chuckles, fixing his gaze onto yours, an almost otherworldly perceptiveness burning in his striking eyes. "I understand how it feels to constantly find fault in yourself for something," he murmurs. "To live with it, to experience that guilt..."

You watch his Adam's apple bob. "It's hard."

A wave of despair washes over your body, and you don't even understand the context of Sal's statement.  You're close to him now, and you can tell he's searching for an excuse to put an end to the topic—so you take his hand and divert attention elsewhere.

"Your rings," you utter, holding his hand delicately, looking over the silver and black rings that adorn his digits. "Where are they all from?"

He lifts his other hand for you so you have full access to every band that he's wearing on his fingers. Once he's shown you his right hand, two rings that seem to share the same theme catch your eye.

"I have a few more in my room," he replies, watching you trace a fingertip over the matching heart rings. "I don't know, I guess I collect them—some are gifted, some I've bought myself..."

"With whose money?" You tease, peering up at him through your lashes. The water swishes a little as Sal adjusts his weight.

His eyes squint a little, so you assume he grins. "I'm not dead broke if that's what you're insinuating."

"No, no," you trail off, looking back down at the rings with admiration. "I love these."

"Got them at the thrift store—something told me I would regret not buying them." He looks back up, stares into your downcast eyes for a long moment, and speaks again, "Why don't you have one?"

Your heart flutters. "You want to give me a ring?"

"Sure. Which one do you want?"

"Sal..." you can't help but smile, tracing his pale knuckle with the pad of your thumb. The swift breeze blows over your bare shoulders and conjures a shiver from your body. "You paid money for these. I don't want to take one from you."

"Don't you want a ring?"

You grin shyly. "Of course I do."

"Okay, pick."

You bite your lip nervously, sliding your finger over the silver ring with multiple black hearts engraved into the entire loop of the band. It didn't take much consideration—you'd fallen in love with the ring as soon as you'd laid eyes on it.

"This one," you audibly decide, meeting Sal's eyes anxiously.

Without another word, he eases the ring off of his middle finger and slides it onto yours. His hands are bigger than yours, and you fear it may not be small enough—but it does. It's a perfect fit.

"It was always kinda small on me," he began. "It's better for you."

You hold your hand out up and toward the moon, twisting it in different angles to examine the way the ring hugs your finger snugly.

You lower your hand back down to his, giggling. "We match now," you say softly, referring to the silver ring with the singular black heart that remained on his hand—the one that corresponded to the one now on yours.

As you absentmindedly turn his hand over, passing your eyes over his rings and the lines of his palms, you notice a faint bruising on his fingertips. Your eyebrows raise in alarm, and you meet his eyes and open your mouth to voice your concerns—but he beats you to the punch.

"It's from guitar strings," he murmurs. "Happens when I press too hard."

"Isn't that supposed to go away once you've played for a while? I've heard you mention once that playing the guitar isn't something new to you."

"Yeah, you're right. It is supposed to," Sal replies, intrigue on his tongue. "I don't know. I guess I'm weird."

You grin, stepping forward and submerged yourself further into the water—just enough so you were immersed up to your knees. You turned to face him. "I don't think you're weird. If you were weird, I wouldn't have gotten into a lake with you. At night... with no one else around. Oh, and with no pants on. That too."

Sal gestures his thumb over his shoulder. "Ash and Larry aren't far. If I were to murder you, they'd hear."

You shrug light-heartedly, bending just a bit to immerse your fingers into the water and flicking some towards him. "You could always cover my mouth and drown me. Effective and easy."

He raises his hands in poor defense, but the light splash still lands, lightly speckling his dark, long-sleeved shirt.

Sal bends just as you had (albeit a bit less, his arms were longer than yours) and splashes you gently. "After I've gifted you one of my prized possessions? Why would I do that?"

"That was only means to gain my trust!" You exclaim playfully, now using two hands to splash him.

"Splash me all you want, but I won't confess to something I'm not guilty of."

You stick your tongue out. "That's what they all say. You're only making yourself look stupid."

"I look stupid?" He laughs, pointing at himself before lowering his hand to splash you with a flick of the wrist. "You're the one with no pants on—in a lake, at night. If you die of hypothermia, it won't be anyone's fault but yours."

"All the more reason for you to murder me in cold blood."

"You're making no sense. Are you still drunk?"

"Ugh!" You groan dramatically, splashing him with much more vigor than the previous few times. He genuinely recoils this time, holding his hands out in defense before dropping them. A light shower rains down over his head, just barely dampening his hair and casting a wet sheen on the prosthetic.

"I'm not intoxicated! How dare you!"

Sal genuinely laughs from his chest, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting him. "I can't believe this," he says, running his hands through his hair.

You roll your eyes and move to immerse yourself in the lake water further, the questionable liquid sloshing around your thighs. That's when you hear a familiar two voices, laughing and yelling, and growing closer.

You and Sal turn to each other—Sal being a lot less concerned than you.

"Oh no," you murmur, looking down at yourself. "I have no pants on!"

Sal laughs (his laughter is normally a sound you genuinely enjoy hearing, but now it's obnoxious because it's not what you need to hear right now) and flits his eyes over you amusedly. "I can see that."

"Larry's a guy! He can't see me in my underwear!"

You look out at the open land, looking for your friends' approaching figures worriedly, but you see no one. You hear splashing as Sal continuously closes the distance between you both. "Yeah, I am too."

You roll your eyes, mutter something about boys never understanding anything, and start trudging through the water, back towards the shore.

Sal follows you through your efforts until you've stepped onto land, remaining perfectly patient even though the coldness of the water slowed your movements the entire journey.

He walks forward and tosses your jeans at you, along with your shoes, then sliding your phone in his pocket along with his device for safekeeping.

"I don't have a towel," you mumble. "My legs are too wet. I'll never get these on in time."

Sal blinks at you after somehow already getting his socks on. "Roll in the grass," he quips tightly like he's holding in a laugh. "That'll dry you off."

You scrunch your nose up and throw your shoe at him. It lands, bouncing off of his head with an audible thump, and then lands in the grass.

"Ow," he deadpans, placing a palm on the place the sneaker had just bounced from. "Geez, how hard can you throw?"

"Hard," you snark, wrestling your pants up your wet legs. Eventually, by the grace of whatever existential forces may exist, you managed to pull the denim up and over your hips.

You're zipping up your fly when Ashley and Larry finally appear.

"Dude," Larry gasps like he's been sprinting, bending to place his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. "Dude."

You and Sal stare at him curiously.

"There was a-a homeless guy!"

Ashley's laughing hysterically, and Larry doesn't evaluate, so Sal asks for context. "You're gonna have to evaluate, Larry. What do you mean there was a homeless guy?"

"Some dude was living in the woods! Had a whole fuckin' setup! I'm pretty sure he was cooking meth?!"

Sal just blinks repeatedly, like he was astounded, and couldn't believe that this was happening right now. "Did you guys bother him?"

"No," Ashley wheezes. "As soon as we saw him we bounced."

You're slipping on your shoes when Sal speaks again. "Yeah, maybe we should go..."

Larry finally stands up straight and starts up the slope, running his hands through his brown hair that's been messed while running. "Then in the name of the Lord, let's fucking get out of here."

You keep the seating arrangement you'd had on the way to the lake—girls in the front, boys in the back.

As soon as every door of the Ford Fiesta is shut, and the car becomes alive once again, the heat is immediately turned up. You breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning your head back against the headrest and allowing the hot air to blow against the cold flesh of your neck and shoulders. Your thoughts wandered as total relief washed over your body.

"Your jeans are dry," Ashley comments idly, startling you out of your reverie.

You hear what sounds like a laugh quickly concealed by a faux cough emanate from the backseat.

"Yeah," you reply dumbly. Ash stares at you, probably expecting you to say something else, but your mind goes blank, so she doesn't ask any further questions.

"Did I say he had no pants on?!" Larry suddenly blurts, clearly still mildly traumatized. "Everything was- it was just hanging out!"

Ashley cringes. "Don't put that image back into my mind, Larry."

"It wouldn't be the first person half-naked at Wendigo," Sal quips, locking eyes with you in the rearview mirror. No one questions his statement, most likely taking it as a reference to the infamous chaotic nature of that whole area—but you understand, sending him a contemptuous squint.

Ashley loops the car around to the exit path and it isn't very long before the vehicle is back on the road.

As heat sinks into your skin, reaches your cold bones, and the excitement slows down—your thought process de-thaws. You stare out of the window, watching the streetlights as they pass and listening to the sound of an acoustic guitar on the radio.

The music grows louder and drones in your ears. It's not even an electric guitar, but you still think of Sal, and his bruised fingertips. You twist his ring on your finger, running your opposite thumb over the heart-shaped indentations of the band.

Your mind wanders again. You think of that day in the storage room at the school, and that night in his father's car.

Eventually, you'd return the favor. You wanted him to feel as good as he'd made you feel. You owed it to him—and twice over.

But you'd have to wait. Patience was key—and all locked doors needed them.

[multi--kpop--fanfics]

(Not) Such A Good Boy

sub!bf!Juyeon x dom!fem!reader (ft. Eric, Kevin and Hyunjae)

genre: smut, slight crack, a bit of fluff towards the end

contains: dom/sub themes, degradation, oral sex (f receiving), marking, biting, spanking, Juyeon is a brat on a choker and a leash, unprotected sex (be safe y’all)

Author’s note: This man right there has been wrecking my existence lately (I blame Kingdom) and this GIF screams sub!Juyeon so yeah, enjoy this filth

“Lee Juyeon, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”, you scoff under your breath. You have been waiting for the past twenty minutes in the living room, outfit and makeup on point, since you were about to go clubbing with your group of friends. But apparently, your dear boyfriend had lost all sense of time, trying to get ready.

Visibly irritated, you storm to your shared bedroom, your heels angrily clicking on the wooden floor. “Juyeon, I swear to God-” you mutter and stop mid-sentence, only to see your boyfriend leaning on the door, fully dressed and a lop-sided smirk plastered on his handsome face. 

“You called, babe?”, he asks teasingly and before rolling your eyes, you give him an once-over, processing his choice of clothes - a pair of tight black leather pants that were hugging his muscular thighs deliciously, a pair of black combat boots, a cropped black sweater with holes around his clavicles and a black belt-like choker around his neck. He was the epitome of the emo bad boy that all parents hated and all girls craved. 

“Um, what is this?”, you question him with a pointing finger. "That, is my outfit for tonight", Juyeon states, the previous smirk still on his face, "What, you don't like it?". "Isn't it a bit unfair for me to wear not so revealing clothes all while you're dressed as an emo himbo?", you complain and he laughs, "An emo himbo? Wow, you're getting more creative with your descriptions, Y/N. You're right though, it's a sort of questionable outfit". You perk up at his response, hoping he'll change into something more colorful and less hole-adorned, only to be utterly disappointed, as Juyeon reached into the closet only to drape a black leather jacket on top of his broad shoulders. "Now we're good to go", he turns to you and winks with audacity. Brat, you scoff mentally and pick up the keys to unlock the door and finally leave your shared apartment.

"Finally! What the fuck took you so long?!", your friend Eric yells at you, trying to overcome the loud bass of the club speakers. "Your complaints to your friend over there, he was the one who took twenty minutes to get ready", you roll your eyes pointing to Juyeon, who was greeting Hyunjae and Kevin, your other friends. "Yooo, Juyeon, what's up with the collar, bro?", Eric amusingly points out. "It's a choker, you tasteless twat. But what would you know of fashion, since you only know how to wear t-shirts and ripped jeans?", Kevin comments and Juyeon mouths a 'thank you' to him. "Simple is the best, my dear friend. Besides, I've been getting all the girls, unlike you and your snake print jacket", Eric retaliates. "Excuse you, this jacket is a fashion statement!", Kevin bites back, feeling insulted. "Not gonna lie though, it does look like a collar. Will you put him on a leash too, Y/N?", Hyunjae comments in a snarky way, making Eric cringe in disgust. "Hyunjae, please go get some drinks, for God's sake", you reply with a dismissive manner. "Yes ma'am", he rolls his eyes and goes to the bartender.

You turn to Juyeon, who was extremely stiff after Hyunjae's comment. "You okay, baby?", you nudge him softly and he's brought back to reality. "Y-yeah, I'm fine, no worries", Juyeon replies, praying that the loud bass could cover his shaky voice. "Don't listen to Eric and Hyunjae, they have zero fashion sense, bro. I would wear that choker too, looks hella good on you", Kevin adds while pointing to the choker and Juyeon's smile is back on his face, "Thanks, bro, I really appreciate it", he replies with a chirpy tone.

The music suddenly changes into a slower jam and Juyeon smirks devilishly, as he winks at you and walks towards the dance floor. You watched as he starts swaying his hips and shoulders in the most smooth way possible, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. Eric and Kevin were whistling and cheering on Juyeon, all while Hyunjae was snorting at their antiques. You were simply lost in the image of your boyfriend dancing like there was no tomorrow. He wasn't just following the rhythm, he was riding it - and boy, was he good at doing so.

In fact, he was so good that he gained the attention of many people in the club. And you were lowkey proud, because that man was yours. However, a certain girl wasn't aware of that - hence why she approached Juyeon and started dancing with him. You were a bit jealous, not gonna lie, but the next moment made your blood fucking boil.

He had the fucking audacity to put his hands on her waist and dance with her - all while looking to you over her shoulder with the most smug expression on his face. That fucker, you mentally curse. This was definitely payback for everything you said before you left the house. You just knew it. You weren't even the jealous or possessive type of girlfriend to begin with.

But you'd be damned if you were to let a random bitch run her hands over your boyfriend.

Hyunjae catches up to your motions and he grabs you by your wrist. "Hyunjae, what the f-" "Shut up and listen to me. Going there and creating a scene will not end up well for you and you will give Juyeon exactly what he wants", he states and his words hit home faster that you expected. "Since when did you become so perceptive?", you raise an eyebrow and he chuckles, "I have my moments too, Y/N". "So, since your brain decided to actually function tonight, do you have any idea?" you ask in defeat and Hyunjae starts pulling you to the dance floor by your hand, leaving Eric and Kevin completely baffled. He then pulls you into his chest and leans in your ear to whisper

"Just dance, Y/N".

A Cheshire cat-like grin spreads on your lips, as you catch up to his ulterior motive and you start dancing with Hyunjae, hoping that Juyeon will notice the two of you. "Don't think too much about it, it will happen naturally", he adds, "You're too stiff, Y/N, just relax and enjoy dancing".

His words actually succeed in making you relax and you sway your hips more comfortably, actually enjoying the slow jams echoing through the club speakers. Under the dim lights, you lock eyes momentarily with Juyeon, who was licking his lips and his gaze was a mix of lust and death glares, the last one directed to Hyunjae. "Told you it would work", he comments, "You owe me this one". "Shut the fuck up, Hyunjae", you spit back and he laughs.

However, his laughter is cut short by a very jealous Juyeon, who has grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "Next time I see you dance with Y/N, I'll break your fucking kneecaps", he growls and Hyunjae takes a step back, "She's all yours, bro", he raises his hands in defense and returns to the table. Juyeon then turns to you, his blood still boiling with jealousy, as you watch him with a proud smirk.

"You find this funny, huh? Dancing shamelessly with my friend?", he clenches his jaw. You then thread a finger through his choker and pull him close to your face, making Juyeon gasp. "Funny? No honey, I'm fucking fuming right now, because you decided to act like a brat and put your hands on the first bitch that threw herself on you", you retaliate, your chill facade slipping away. A sickly sweet smile adorns Juyeon's face as he watches every single movement of yours. He lowers his head, his lips hanging mere centimeters over yours and he slyly pokes out his tongue to lick your lips, hissing at the wet feeling.

"You're so fucking hot when you're mad, baby".

That was the last straw.

"Get your stuff, we're going home", you announce and he flashes a toothy grin. "Yes ma'am", he replies almost immediately and you return to your friends' table. "Guys, we'll be leaving now, hope you enjoy the rest of the night!" you announce and Eric looks between Juyeon and you. "Do I want to know what's going on?", he questions and Kevin pats him on the back while shaking his head as in 'no'. You both bid farewell to your friends and you walk out of the club, jogging towards your car. Juyeon whips out the cars keys and he opens the door for you, his gentleman-like gesture a complete contrast to his previous bratty behaviour.

The ride back home feels like it lasted for hours, when in reality, it lasted only ten minutes - maybe it's your sheer desire to fuck your handsome boyfriend to oblivion. By the time you entered your shared apartment, your lips were on Juyeon's neck, your hands roaming his toned body and his arms wrapped around your waist.

"You love acting like a bratty slut, don't you?", you sneer at him and he releases a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, and so do you", he whispers and he trails kisses upon your neck and behind your ear, nibbling your earlobe. "Are you going to punish me for being a bratty slut?".

You thought you came right there and then, 'cause fuck, he is so hot like this.

"Is that what you want? Fine then, you'll get the punishment you deserve, slut", you hiss while gripping Juyeon's jaw, your manicured nails raking his porcelain skin, "Don't say I didn't warn you", you whisper into his ear and he releases one of the lewdest sounds you've ever heard in your life. "God, you're a desperate little bitch, aren't you, Lee Juyeon?", you ask while removing the detachable strap of your bag and clasp it on his choker, creating a make-shift leash. "Only for you, baby", he replies with a sultry voice and half-lidded eyes.

You pull him by the make-shift leash, and you push him onto the couch, where you settle yourself on his lap, his hard cock straining his already tight pants. You remove his shirt, exposing his chiseled body. Wasting no time, you attack his collarbones with your lips, trailing red and purple blotches on his soft skin. You bite the juncture of his neck teasingly and he releases breathy moans, making you chuckle. You grind your clothed core on his bulge, and the sweet friction makes Juyeon mewl again. He tries to reach for your crotch with his hand, but you stop him by pulling the leash, making him gasp.

"No sweetheart, no touching tonight", you chastise him, as you pull back to remove your clothes and his pants, leaving the both of you only in your underwear. Juyeon's bulge is even more evident now, the thin material of his boxers having a wet spot, due to his cock leaking pre-cum. The sight in front of you makes your own wetness pool in your panties - your boyfriend on a leash, his perfectly styled hair now disheveled, his upper torso covered in love bites, his muscular thighs fully spread and his cock straining against his boxers.

"Baby, fuck, please do something", he pleads with bleary eyes. "Lie down for me", you order and he's laid flat on his back with one swift motion, his desperation showing. You remove your underwear and place your naked pussy right in front of his face. He reaches for your thighs with his arms, but you slap them away. "I said, no touching", you say sternly, "But-", "You should have thought twice before touching that bitch with your hands. Now, be a good boy and use your pretty mouth", you demand.

Juyeon pushes his wet tongue into your heat without second thought and he's lapping up your juices like a starved man. You can't help but moan with satisfaction, having him under your control like that gave you a huge adrenaline rush. You raked your nails from his torso to the hem of his boxers, the sensation making him moan and momentarily halt his actions. You slap his left thigh to alert him and his cock twitches, the vibrations of his moans coursing through your body as well. Juyeon now flattens his tongue against your folds with a faster tempo.

"You like it when I spank you, huh? Naughty boy", you smirk and land another slap, this time on his right thigh. Juyeon retaliates by sucking on your clit harshly, making you yelp from pleasure and you feel him smirk against your pussy. You find the leash and tug it, pulling Juyeon's face even closer to your core. "Behave, or you'll sleep without cumming tonight", you warn him and he whines, but resumes his efforts nonetheless. "Good boy, k-keep it u-up", you stutter as you feel your high approach with each passing second. His tongue is alternating between circling your clit and pumping in and out of your hole, the squelching sounds creating a pornographic scene.

You scream as you cum on Juyeon's face, your whole body shaking, as he helps you ride out your orgasm with kitten licks. You pull yourself together and turn around to face him, as he nastily licks his lips to taste your essence. "Sweet like fucking candy", he comments, "Want a taste, baby?". You pull him by the leash and crash your lips on his, tasting yourself, as your tongues dance crazily in a battle of dominance. "You're still acting like a brat, but since you did as I said, maybe you deserve to cum after all", you state and bend down to remove his boxers and free his painfully hard erection.

"Y/N, stop fucking teasing already!", Juyeon whines again and you slap his thigh again, "Where did your manners go, baby?".

"Please, Y/N..."

"Please what?"

"Please use my cock to cum"

"Fuck, such a good boy", you moan and spear yourself onto his hard cock, the sudden stretch tipping between pain and pleasure. You give yourself almost no time to adjust and you start riding Juyeon like a mad woman. He pistons his hips in unison, pounding into you with a speed neither of your brains are able to register. You put your hands on his broad chest for support and he holds your hips with his hands so tight you might get bruises the next day. Neither of you are able to contain your obscene moans nor form coherent sentences, way too lost in pleasure and lust.

"Fuck, Juyeon, you're such a good boy, so good for me", "Only for you Y/N, shit- only yours", he groans and his hips start to falter, signaling his upcoming orgasm. "I-I'm close again, nngh..", you mewl as you feel your insides clench around his cock like a vice. "M-Me too, Y/N please let me cum, let me f-fill you up baby", "Oh God, yes, fill me with your cum, babe", you moan loudly.

Juyeon moans with you as he stills himself, his cock twitching uncontrollably and flooding your cunt with his hot cum, painting your insides white. You collapse on top of him, panting heavily, the both of you sweating and spent, laughing breathlessly. You muster all the strength you have left in you to remove the choker from Juyeon's neck.

"Oof, thank you baby", he nods, rubbing his neck softly. You swipe a few dark strands of his forehead. You notice the marks on his neck the choker left and you can't help but feel a little regretful. "Did I hurt you?", you ask sheepishly and Juyeon smiles softly and presses a kiss on your nose. "No baby, you were perfect. We should do this more often, actually. You look hella sexy when you take control", he teases and you playfully smack his chest.

"So you intend to dance with random girls in clubs?", you ask and Juyeon smirks,

"No, but I intend to be not such a good boy for you".

[nr1roagfan]

listen people i gotta talk to you about ralsei deltarune because this is criminal

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but first a little bit about the other members cuz we cant go without comparing the experiences. i want you to try and imagine an art youve seen if i mention some of the themes. to try and think how often it is.

yknow the portrayal of kris in fanworks. theyre bright. even tho you need to look into the flavor text a lot to get who they actually are behind the vessel situation, kris in fanart and fanfiction is colourful. theyre silly, theyre serious, theyre menacing, theyre Gender, theyre complex, theyre kind and flawed and beautiful fuckin stunnin in a way.

portrayal of susie. shes kind af, threatening in a hot way, cool, gender too, genuine, spooky, rude, funny, tired sometimes 3am ebonytails art my beloved, very emotionally intelligent and a good friend

i can talk about three dimensional portrayal of noelle and berdly in the fandom a lot too, but i dont wanna make this long. my main point is ralsei.

my boy, my beautiful boy. fuck people who dont like ralsei repost this if you like ralsei. do it for him meme n stuff. hes kind and cute and adorable, misterious and endearing, kind and genuine?, a good friend as well.

but dont you feel like this portrayal is different. we can all agree his second side is the mystery of roaring with player messing around it too, the legend, angels heaven and anything hes keeping from us. the mystery guy huh. ok, cool, but what else? we got some apeshit ralsei, we truly do. tho its either him being absolutely terrified of his doing, or unconscious, emotionless villain guy who laughs covering his smile with his hands gayly like a final boss in a game. but is there more? lets find his goofy side. there should be. some scenes from the game shoo, were talking fandom fantasies here. uhh ok hes. wait isnt ralsei the serious one, watching others do something weird, and being goofy only in a way when hes the one saying "what the fuck is going on here".

like. is this enough for you people? a cutie pie with a mystery for a flavour? we may argue that his character never had a spotlight which would show his other qualities but once more, were not talking canon here, we talkin communitys perception. we need ralsei to be flawed. hes too flat. why is he so perfect. we need to think more "if"s. mean ralsei. traumatized ralsei. strong af ralsei. edgy teen ralsei. that quiet ridiculously powerful character. the one doing goofyass stuff or committing arson for shits and giggles. maybe hes a little shit. maybe hes the normalest guy ever or the autism beast. a wet little meow meow. a megalomaniac. a fucking homestuck police member. a scared guy who helps you cover accidental murder of someone from your family. a guy who steps on your shoe, says it was an accident and continues. that thing which goes sfghfggFHFHDGSREFFJGKDFFR, shaking a pack of krisps with its eyes glowing red.

for having such a blorbo we dont have enough imagination and i think that is criminal. expand your mind, sunny

thatd be it lol. i just wanted to bring up the fact ralsei def deserves more variety in the ways we perceive him than he has now. this was written in like 2am so its all scribbly lmao i cant write shit

cherish ralsei fuck yourself if you dont like ralsei

goodbye

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Izuku Midoriya/Deku (BNHA/MHA)

I'm showing up in tags again yay! Time to repost this

Finally I am dishing out MHA content and kicking off with one of my favorite boys nice

TWs: Fem!Reader, Yandere, kidnapping, delusional mindsets, infantilization, mentions of violence/mutilation, mentions of murder, mentions of fake suicide, n//s//fw themes/mentions/brief content, mentions of virginity/sex shaming, dark content, mentions of a high school setting

TWs (n//s//fw section/below the cut): noncon, brief dealing with/mentions of past sex trauma, generally depraved/dark content, pain content, infantilization What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

High key delusional. (I think everyone I've seen in the yan bnha community agrees on this lmao.) But really, he acts that way because he's not naturally that way - he has to make an active effort to lie to himself and to you in order to believe his delusions.

Obsessive. I mean, look at what this boy does to his heroes. You bet he has an entire notebook dedicated to your existence. It starts off simple, an entry regarding your quirk if you have one, or perhaps he feels compelled to write a simple entry about someone he met if you don't. Gradually it turns into a log of all his encounters with you, his observations of your day, his thoughts about you, a strict schedule of what you do. The things you do while he watches - you KNOW the boy is a stalker. He has a folder in his phone gallery of just quick snaps he's taken of you walking around, smiling, laughing, looking at your phone, lots of pictures from the back, sleeping at your desk, and a few more risky ones. The time he accidentally walked into the wrong shower room after a class and just happened to catch you getting out of the shower. Slightly blurry pictures through the window of the girls dorm of you getting dressed, laying in bed, sitting at your desk doing homework. Dark, barely visible images of your sleeping form just barely illuminated by moonlight. You really ought to lock those windows.

He's on the border where he's just comfortable enough to talk to you, but far too nervous to ever confess, or spend as much time with you as he'd like. Of course, preferably he could spend every waking moment by your side, but, he's aware enough to know you need space. He's fine with that. He's technically with you anyway, you just don't know it. And really, he likes stalking, genuinely. He likes the feeling of knowing you're unaware of his presence, the thrill of risk and the giddy satisfaction he gets knowing this is your candid, non-performing self, he can see what you're really, truly like when you think you're alone, and it's just so cute.

Particularly for a quirkless, civilian darling, or if darling's quirk has no combative purposes, he'll be much more protective. He's one to have the delusion that you're too fragile for the world, and that you're inevitably bound to get hurt, it's not safe out there. You're like a little kitten, one that's just a little too curious for her own good, doesn't know how big and bad the world is, how people who want to hurt her are out there. Kittens stay inside all day where they belong, safe to be the soft little housepets they are.

History/info stalker as well. He will find out everything about your past and you in general - memorize things like your height, birthday, grades, blood type, etc. Will also deep-dive through any social media you have, even managing to find anonymous ones, probably by sneaking through your phone as your sleep. He'll learn about your family, how well they treat you, gauges how hard they'll search for you. He'll want to know about any history you have regarding relationships and sex, too. He'll be disappointed to learn you've ever been with and done things with someone else, but that's ok. Everyone makes mistakes, and he can forgive that.

Massive savior complex. This goes double if he did save you from a situation -- he's literally your hero. And he expects that you should at least be grateful enough to acknowledge that. If your family or boyfriend or past boyfriends were abusive or unkind in any way, if you were generally struggling in school or work, if you had any sort of bad life, it will also emphasize this, and he feels he saved you from all of that, and is giving you a better life. And he'll remind you, frequently.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Inevitable, but he's a planner and he takes some time. He's smarter than he seems and he will formulate an extensive plan. If we're talking senior Izuku, well, he's limited, as he only has the dorms and his old apartment where his mother lives. He's likely to wait it out until post-graduation, wait until he gets his own place, which will now be as soon as possible. Whenever you plan to start university or hero work or whatever, well, you'll never actually make it there.

As for how, it depends on your trust. If he's managed to get close to you as he hopes to, at least to the point of friendship, he'll likely just invite you over, one last time before you go your separate ways in life. You walk right into your own imprisonment, not thinking anything is off when he locks the door behind you. If not, if he was never that close to you, or you turn down his offer, well, he'll just do it the old fashioned way. You're a naive little thing, and you'll inevitably be walking by yourself at night at some point for whatever reason, and he knows how to make chloroform. He may look small-ish, but he has a deceptive strength even without the use of OFA, you can't actually hope to overpower him. If he can't catch you out walking, well, once again, you really ought to lock those windows.

Now, a hero Deku, a few years into his 20s and quickly gaining popularity, that sees some poor little civilian getting hurt, he'll just use the excuse of taking you to get help. Clearly you've suffered a concussion, you're not in your right mind, and if you pick up on what's going on and try to call for help, he'll just say so to passersby. People have no reason to distrust him, he's a well-reputed, extremely popular hero, he would never harm someone. So when he says he's just taking you to get medical assistance, no one bats an eye.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

Like some of my previous yans, he's one that will intentionally set up escape opportunities just to see how well your conditioning is going. Leave the door unlocked, but sit and wait outside. Make the bonds just a little bit too loose to see if you wiggle out of them. Leave things that could be used as lockpicks to see how smart you are. It's all a test, though, don't worry. He'll be waiting right outside to make sure you don't actually end up going out into the world and getting yourself hurt. He'll be disappointed in you, but don't worry, he's not too mad - it's just his way of knowing you don't understand yet.

Generally, it's tight security. He's one to invest in electronic security -- a shock collar, tracking anklets, cameras that sense motion, a bracelet that tracks your heartbeat, and all of which send him notifications to his phone if anything is out of the ordinary. The cameras he'll be able to watch a live stream of at any time - he's gotten to where he eats lunch alone in his office so that he can just kick back and watch you.

Now, he has something of an urge to show you off, he would love nothing more than for the world to see what a cute little wife he has, but he restrains this urge for your safety. He has a lot of enemies, and he can't have them knowing about his weakness, he can't stand the thought of you getting hurt because of him. So don't expect to even have anyone who knows about you to rely on.

As for attempts... Should you manage to get through all his measures, well, clearly that means they weren't enough. He's another yandere that, you probably shouldn't try unless you are one hundred percent certain you'll succeed, because if not you likely won't get another chance. Security measures will bump up, and he'd likely implant something in you - a tracking chip beneath the skin, deep enough you can't hope to cut it out. That way, even if you get out into the city, he can easily find you and save you again. If you seriously manage to escape for a while, he doesn't handle it well emotionally, to be honest, he might get pretty upset, but again, everyone makes mistakes, so if you apologize -- and you will, even if he has to resort to unpleasant measures to force one out of you -- he'll forgive you.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Izuku is significantly smarter than he seems, much like his strength. Despite his deluded nature, he still recognizes that, since she's too dumb to comprehend her own safety, she's likely to try and pull tricks to get back out of her cage. He's perceptive and can read facial expressions and tone of voice very well, so if you're a good liar there's about a 75% chance he'll pick up on it -- anything else and he definitely will.

He's likely to go along with it, just to expose your lies or plan in the end. He likes giving you the humiliation because it will hopefully make you even less likely to do it in the future.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Izuku goes out of his way to keep you well-entertained, but it's all very... infantilizing. For example, he gets you streaming services and the like, but puts parental content locks on everything so you basically can only consume extremely g-rated type of content. He doesn't want you watching anything violent, or dirty or vulgar, it's not suiting such an innocent little thing. He won't even let you watch the news, unless occasionally forcing you to watch something that he knows is being aired about him, in which case he wants you to see so you're reminded of how good he is. He'll also be able to see your search history, and know if you tried to look up anything he wouldn't approve of, especially things like lockpicking or "how to disable human shock collar," you know, that sorta thing. Or more... adult things, which are also blocked. Besides, you have him, you don't need that.

He'll let you cook, but only in his presence, can't have you getting hurt without him there to fix it. You'll probably start off restrained to a bedroom -- a very heavily safety-proofed one -- in the beginning, gradually earning the privilege of going to other rooms once you've proven you can be trusted.

He'll also really try to get you almost anything you want, really. Clothes, books, hobby supplies, anything he thinks will make you happy and adjust more easily. You can use this to your advantage, really, if you're willing to settle in for your new lifestyle.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Of course, besides the obvious no escaping, no outside contact, and no attacking him, he's actually still got a lot of behavioral rules. Much like the content he allows you to consume, he expects the same from you -- no cursing, no drinking, no vulgarity. No handling knives while he's gone, and he'll know if you do, from the motion-sensing cameras that will alert him of your presence in the kitchen. He's one to humiliate you. Specifically, if you've proven you can't behave at all, or tried to really fight him, he'll get you a nice big cage to live in until you have learned your lesson. The kind they make for big dogs, short enough to force you on all fours, complete with bedding, a padlock, and a water bowl for you to drink from. You'll stay there until you can understand what you did wrong and are ready to grovel at his feet about it. During that time, he'll also ignore anything you say, acting like you're not there.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He can't risk anything that would damage his reputation and career, so murder is off the table. Unless, of course, it's not murder, but rather a sort of, how do they call it... suicide by hero. There was no other choice, really. It's sad to have a kill on his record, but people understand that sometimes these things happen.

This changes if someone has hurt you in any way -- in that case, he's not hesitating to actually kill someone. The thought of someone hurting his little treasure is infuriating, not only at them, but at himself for not coming into your life and saving you sooner. He'll be sure they know exactly why they're dying, that they spend their last moments begging for forgiveness for what they did to you.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Easier than you'd think. Izuku doesn't like his delusions being challenged since, again, he has to put in effort to believe them in the first place. If you're being bratty and having tantrums he won't let it slide - even the slightest step out of line is dealt with to ensure you'll at least hesitate before doing it again. If you are the bratty type and blatantly go out of your way to defy him and his rules to his face, it's ground for immediate and pretty intense punishment. His anger is terrifying in its own way. He's beaming, grinning from ear to ear, talking to you so sweetly, but with just the most subtle underlying tone that lets you know he's furious. It's a warning voice, telling you to fix your attitude or else. He doesn't cease the babytalk or petnames when he's mad, it actually gets worse, it helps him contain his fury. But when you hear him say sweetheart in that quiet, sweet, but low voice you've come to recognize and immediately become afraid, he's pretty pleased when it reaches a point where that alone can shut you up. He believes there's a healthy degree of fear that pets should have of their masters.

The easiest and fastest way to set him off by far, though, even more than being mean or disobedient, is silent treatment. That sets him off unlike anything else, and is most likely to make him snap to actual, unrestrained anger, finally showing his true rage and snarling at you, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you off the ground. It will only last a few moments, though, before he comes back to his senses and lets go, apologizing, telling you he hates doing that, but you really seem to try to make him mad, sometimes.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He kinda bounces back and forth. He's a bit of a worshipper, telling you how beautiful and amazing you are and how he doesn't deserve you, really no one does, you're angelic, nearly a goddess - but at the same time, you're also his little kitten. A pet to be controlled because you don't know what's good for you. Kept away from a world hellbent on harming you. When you agree with him or do what he wants, it's the former. When you disagree with him, it's the latter, and he talks down to you like you're a child.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He'll try until the day he dies. And try he does, very much so, always buying you gifts, telling you sweet things, reassuring you how much he loves you. Even if you show no sign of ever giving in, that doesn't deter him, ever the optimist. It can become infuriating... and maddening, slowly driving you to the brink of insanity. When it comes down to you trying to break him of his delusions versus him trying to break you into them... he will win, you will crack first. No matter how stubborn you think you may be, rest assured, he's even moreso.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

I have a unique little headcanon... he hints to someone about your existence, and will select someone as a back-up caretaker. See, he's worried about the possibility of being killed in his heroism, and what would happen to his poor little kitten then? It might be weeks before someone enters his apartment, and they would never understand -- they would think he did something wrong, they would try to recondition you to the world, sure they'd have good intentions, but they wouldn't realize they're making things worse for you. So, he gets a very trusted friend, someone he knows would understand and... perhaps whom he gets the feeling has a bit of the same tendencies as himself, and more or less tells them that if something should happen to him, they need to go to his place, because something very important to him is there. As jealous as the thought of someone else having you makes him, he can't bear the thought of you being released back into the world... and you're still in the denial phase, so you still act like he's a bad guy and all that, so you might tarnish his name and legacy with lies. He can't have that. So, after careful consideration, he picks someone to take over as your caretaker, should something happen. He would rather know you're in the capable hands of someone he trusts than left to starve in his apartment or thrown out into the world, even if it means someone else having you.

Maybe an odd choice, but I could see him going for Shoto on that one. His personality may be very different from his own, and he may not be as close to him as some others, but he senses they have the same... tendencies and inclinations (am I implying he's definitely a yandere too? Yes), and be trusts him to care for you but also be able to handle and tame you. And honestly? He's one person he knows without a doubt will actually prefer to follow through and have you rather than disregarding his wishes - anyone else, and he's got a little doubt they might just not understand the situation, not understand your unique case, and take you to the police or God forbid, just release you back into the world. He leaves a little note with you (making sure to detail how you can be hard to handle, be patient with her, ok?) and tells you that should anyone with this physical description (I mean, it's a pretty unique description, not too many people look like Shoto), ever come and tell you that he's gone, give them the note, and be nice to your new owner, he's sure he'll love you too. But never forget, he loved you more.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny lil thing. His stalking tendencies result in a lot of perverted shit -- stealing your clothes, jerking off to all those pictures of you he's taken, putting hidden microphones in your room so he can hear when you're touching yourself. He's got a high drive, and jerks off quite a bit. Watching you in class often leads to his thoughts racing, and you notice he gets up to use the bathroom pretty frequently during class.

Prior to abduction, he's not brave enough to be touchy, although he will use his innocent demeanor to try and get a nice full-front hug every now and then that seems to last just a bit too long for comfort. After abduction, though? He makes up for all the touching he's wanted to do since he first saw you, wrapping arms around you all the time. When you're cooking he'll come up behind you and just wrap his arms around you, standing there and just enjoying feeling you. At night he's always very cuddle and wants to snuggle on the sofa or have you in his lap in some way. He also gets very grope-y beyond that point, frequently reaching up to cup your chest in his hands, squeezing your ass or thighs, or just spooning and grinding a hard-on against your ass.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Too far into the delusions to care. Granted he understands why you are so resistant, why you fight so hard - you're just scared, but don't worry, it will only hurt just a little bit. Or you're insecure - he'll tell you lots of sweet things, he would just hate for you to not know how much he worships you, you know.

Or maybe you're just prudish, or traumatized. Repeated resistance with time and failure to quickly give in leads him to this conclusion, he becomes convinced that maybe you were raised in a sex-negative environment, a too-conservative household, and you were taught to think such a thing was wrong. Maybe you had some kind of negative experience in the past. If you confess to either of these being true, that just solidifies in his mind that that's the sole reason you're so resistant. He'll adjust based on whatever the issue is - are you one of the "until marriage" people? Well it's not official, but he'll try to prove to you that you're basically married, even make a fake contract for you to sign, buy you a cute white dress and a cake and basically say this is no different from being truly married, after all, the government approval is a modern convention and in the past people were married just by vows.

Is it trauma? Well, as said before, he's reluctant to murder, but if that turns out to be the case, that knowledge is enough to push him over the edge, and he'll be sure to make them regret it while they die - he'll even be sweet enough to take a picture, show you how much they rightfully suffered, and he'll be so so sweet, reassuring you he's not like them, kissing your forehead even as he's ignoring your little cries to stop and sinking deep into you.

Just a prude? That's ok. He'll teach you otherwise, rid you of that mindset -- all the more reason to ignore your struggles and pleas, because once you feel good enough, you'll stop resisting. Once you understand how good sex is and how nice he can make you feel, he's confident he can turn you into his own little cock-hungry slut. And managing to do so -- making you cum despite how prudish you are -- gives him a massive ego boost. Especially if you did have past partners, because clearly they weren't doing their job well, since you're so frigid. He'll make you tell him how much better he is than anyone else from before.

He's not a patient man, he's far too eager and really there's nothing you can do to stop sex from happening like... probably within the first hour of your new life together. He's been waiting such a long time, you know. If you happened to be a civilian in the situation mentioned previously, and you didn't know each other beforehand, he might give you, say, 24 hours to adjust, but again, he's not patient.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Oral fixation

Just. He likes eating you out. A lot. Even if you don't. Even if he has to restrain you, holding you down so you can't squirm away. He likes the taste and the way it makes you squirm and writhe and whimper. He loves blowjobs, too. Just. Suck him off and he's wrapped around your finger, but be warned, he lacks self control in this area and will definitely end up grabbing your hair and just jerking your head like a fleshlight, forcing you to deep-throat him until he can cum down your throat.

Infantilization/Lingerie, corruption/defilement

Specifically the cute kind. He likes things like the kitty keyhole lingerie, thigh highs, schoolgirl uniforms, that sort of thing. Innocent looking, cutesy, lots of soft pinks and pastel colors. He never really ceases treating you like a dumb baby, even with sex, cooing at you and making you whimper, softly reassuring you everything is ok, and he'll make you feel good. He likes the innocence, even if you're not (convinces himself any past boyfriends "don't count" for whatever reason), and gets off to the idea that he's corrupting that innocence, ruining you, making you his and his alone. His little toy to play with and break and ruin, make sure you're so trained to his body and voice that no one else could ever make you feel as good as him. As aforementioned, he likes the idea of taking a little prude and turning you into a little cumslut that begs and whimpers for him. It's an ego, pride thing for him.

Petplay/D/S dynamic/Worship

Just. Kitten. It's good. He's super into the cat ears and tail, finding cute ears that perfectly match your hair color, and a little tail plug that makes you whimper when he slides it inside of you. Definitely calls you "kitten," or "kitty," and importantly, makes sure you call him your master. And good pets love their masters, worship them the way they deserve to be worshipped for taking care of you, feeding you, doing everything for you. Masters are their pets' whole world, and he will be to you, too. Also buys a collar, a nice thick one with a leash he can use to make you walk around on all fours, or use to yank you back onto him when you're getting fucked on your hands and knees.

Cockwarming

Unfortunately, the part of hero work they don't talk about as much is the paperwork. There's quite a bit, actually, and studying for license renewals. He's got a kinda short attention span and he needs some stimulation to keep him focused. Which is how you end up sitting in his lap at his desk, panties down on your ankles, holding perfectly still with him deep inside of you. He tells you not to move -- you'll distract him too much. Eventually, though, it can get to be too much, so he just ends up fucking up into you right there, but after he's done he'll stay inside, gradually getting hard again and repeating the process.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He likes the idea in theory, but ultimately decides against it for a couple of reasons. See, his little kitten is so... difficult, and he fears you might teach them to resent him. More importantly, people would wonder -- if he's got kids, where's the mom? He can't afford to have people snooping about that. Finally, much like with you, he fears that his enemies might kidnap his kids, or hurt them somehow to hurt him. If darling is especially well-behaved, once she's finally broken in and understands his way of seeing things and becomes more agreeable, there's a chance he'd consider it, but the concern over their safety would likely still stop him.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Definitely spanking and impact pain. He's gonna invest in it, too. Leather straps and hard rubber paddles -- probably gets one of the ones that have a little shaped hole or raised part that puts a nice little design imprint on your flesh. Likes making you count for the added humiliation, or making you choose a number of swats that you feel is appropriate for what you did -- but of course, if you go too low under what he had in mind, he'll go with his number and add extra, being sure to let you know you get more for underestimating what you deserve.

Speaking of the monitoring from cameras and all that above, he also has a firm rule that you can't touch yourself. And he'll know -- the bracelet you have alerts him to any increase in heart rate, and he can look into the cameras and see what you're doing. If you're trying to be sneaky, it's still obvious when your heart is racing while you're locked in a bathroom, or the little movements he can make out from under the covers. It also warrants punishment. You want orgasms that bad? Have some. Too many. He'll make you cum over and over, to the point it's horribly painful and sensitive, tying you firmly so you can't move an inch and can't get away from his fingers, tongue, vibrator, or whatever else he chooses. Keep going until you're sobbing and gasping for air, apologizing and crying that you won't do it again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Thigh boy. He likes using them as a pillow, feeling them wrapped around his head when he's eating you out, running his hands up and down the soft flesh. He's also fond of leaving little bite marks and hickeys all up the inside of your thighs -- not that anyone else sees, but it's just a little reminder to you of who you belong to.