#if you care enough to want to correct your behavior

[whumpfish]

The true psychotic experience is loads of people liking your posts about your experience with psychosis but never reblogging them

[kiwriteswords]

Hello could I please request a fic where maybe the team doesnt like reader at first?

Winning Over the Kids [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 4.5k|| AN: Thank you for the request; I love seeing all of them come in <3 Feedback is also always welcomed! xx

Tags/Warnings: implied age-gap, reader is a forensic psychologist, no use of y/n, secret relationship, team dislikes reader at first, protective Hotch, no mention of Jack--so up to you if he exists or not lol, mirroring the Lo-Fi vibes with Kate Joyner/Hotch/Team, canon-typical themes, some fluff, team dynamics, established relationship

Sypnosis: When Erin Strauss contracts a forensic psychologist to work with the BAU Team, Aaron Hotchner isn't sure if he is more frustrated with the fact that they dislike you as their newest team member or as his secret girlfriend.

Aaron Hotchner had spent years mastering the art of control. His team relied on him to remain composed under pressure, a steady anchor in chaos. But when Erin Strauss informed him that she was contracting a forensic psychologist to assist the BAU, he felt his resolve stretch thin. Not because he doubted the decision—he knew you were exceptional—but because the team didn’t know the full story.

You were brilliant, sharp, and confident. You had risen through the ranks faster than most, your reputation built on precision and expertise. Yet, whispers of you being a “workaholic” and “cutthroat” followed you, a product of stereotypes surrounding young, successful women in high-stakes fields. Aaron had seen it before, but it infuriated him nonetheless, especially now that you were his… well, not officially, but close enough to feel the sting of those judgments on your behalf.

At the morning briefing, he broke the news. “The Bureau has decided to bring in a forensic psychologist to collaborate with us on our cases. She’ll be joining us starting tomorrow.”

Predictably, the room bristled.

“A shrink? Really?” Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “No offense, Hotch, but we kind of know how to read people.”

Emily Prentiss folded her arms. “Isn’t that the point of profiling? What does Strauss think we’ve been doing all this time?”

JJ added carefully, “Is this about our mental health? Are we supposed to… talk to her?”

Spencer Reid, ever the analyst, frowned. “I’ve read that forensic psychologists in consulting roles often critique operational dynamics. Could this be Strauss trying to monitor us?”

Aaron kept his face neutral, though he wanted to correct them all. You were nothing like what they imagined. “This isn’t about our capabilities. The psychologist has specific expertise in complex cases involving psychological manipulation. Her role is to supplement our efforts, not replace them.”

“Yeah, until she starts picking apart everything we do,” Derek muttered.

Aaron resisted the urge to snap. They didn’t know you yet. They didn’t see the meticulous care you put into every decision, or the softer moments when you let your guard down with him.

The next day, you arrived at Quantico with a polished confidence that turned heads. Ready to take on the next case, which was local to the BAU. 

You greeted the team with a professional demeanor, offering a firm handshake and an easy smile. But the tension was palpable. The team’s skepticism hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Aaron felt his jaw tighten as he observed their guarded reactions.

Derek kept his distance, observing you with a critical eye. Emily was polite but cool, and even JJ seemed uncertain about how to approach you. Spencer avoided eye contact altogether. Rossi…well, Rossi seemed to sit back and take it all in. 

“Let’s get to work,” Aaron said, more curtly than he intended, leading the group into the roundtable room.

You took a seat beside him, your notebook open and pen poised. “I’ve reviewed the case files,” you began, your voice steady and self-assured. “The unsub’s behavior suggests a deep-seated fear of abandonment, likely rooted in childhood trauma. But the escalation pattern indicates recent stressors. Have you explored potential triggers within the last six months?”

Reid blinked, clearly taken aback. “We—uh, we considered family dynamics, but we didn’t narrow the timeline that specifically.”

Your sharp gaze turned to him, not unkindly. “It’s worth revisiting. The timeline could give us a better idea of who influenced him most recently.”

Aaron noticed the way Reid shifted uncomfortably, and it grated on him. You were offering valuable insights, yet the team’s resistance was evident.

After the briefing, Derek muttered to Emily, loud enough for Aaron to hear, “Well, she doesn’t waste time, does she?”

Aaron’s patience wore thin. “Morgan, a word,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

In his office, Aaron shut the door and faced Derek. “What’s your problem with her?”

Derek raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t say anything she didn’t earn. She walks in here acting like she knows everything. What do you expect us to do—roll out the red carpet?”

“I expect you to treat her with the same respect you’d give any other professional,” Aaron snapped. “She’s here because she’s the best at what she does, and we need her expertise. Whatever preconceived notions you have, leave them at the door.”

Derek frowned but nodded. “Got it, Hotch.”

Aaron exhaled slowly after Derek left. He knew he couldn’t shield you completely, but it infuriated him that he had to watch you navigate the team’s cold reception.

That evening, after everyone had gone home, you found Aaron in his office. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, crossing your arms. “So, how bad was it?”

He looked up from his desk, his expression softening. “They’ll come around.”

You smirked, though your eyes held a flicker of vulnerability. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Aaron stood and walked over to you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to prove yourself to them. I know who you are, and eventually, they will too.”

You tilted your head, a teasing smile breaking through. “Is that your way of saying you’re proud of me, Agent Hotchner?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the day lifted. Here, behind closed doors, you didn’t have to be the prodigy or the psychologist with a reputation. You were just you, and Aaron was fiercely determined to make sure the team saw that too—someday.

The next morning, as Aaron walked into Quantico, he noticed a huddle forming near Penelope’s desk. Derek, Emily, Spencer, JJ, and Penelope stood together, their voices low but animated. He had planned to keep walking, but a snippet of their conversation caught his attention.

“I’m telling you, I heard she’s impossible to work with,” Penelope whispered, her usual warmth absent.

“Yeah, and she’s already showing it,” Derek added. “Control issues, first day on the job.”

“So far, It’s just one case,” Emily said, though her tone was skeptical. “But she’s definitely… intense.”

“We don’t need someone analyzing us while we’re trying to profile an unsub,” JJ muttered.

“I don’t think she’s here for that,” Reid said hesitantly. “But… yeah, I’ve heard the whispers too.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened as he listened. He wanted to intervene, to defend you, but he bit his tongue. This wasn’t the time. Instead, he walked away, the sting of their words lingering. He felt almost betrayed. His team was usually better than this. They prided themselves on fairness, on seeing beyond the surface. But in this case, they were clinging to gossip and prejudice, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

When you arrived, you carried yourself with the same poise and determination Aaron admired. You greeted the team briefly, your no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place. “Let’s get to work,” you said, spreading the case files across the conference table.

Your approach was methodical and efficient, and though Aaron knew it was how you operated, he could see how it rubbed the team the wrong way. They weren’t used to outsiders, especially not ones who came in with your level of authority and expertise. But they were professionals, and they pushed their reservations aside as the case progressed.

Aaron watched you closely throughout the day. You were unflinching in your analysis, your insights sharp and accurate. When you spoke, your voice carried confidence, but he could sense the subtle edge in your tone—a shield you had learned to wield over years of proving yourself.

After the case briefing wrapped up, Aaron found you in one of the quieter corners of the office. You were reviewing your notes, your expression focused but unreadable.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice low.

You glanced up, a small smile playing at your lips. “I’m fine, Aaron. It’s not my first rodeo.”

He stepped closer, his brows furrowing. “I’ve heard some of the things they’ve said,” he admitted. “They don’t know you, and they’re wrong. I’m sorry for how unwelcoming they’ve been.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You don’t have to apologize for them. I get it. They’re protective of their team, and I’m an outsider. It’ll take time.”

“It shouldn’t have to,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He softened, adding, “You shouldn’t have to prove yourself to them.”

Your smile widened, though there was a flicker of something softer in your eyes. “I’ve been proving myself my whole life, Aaron. This is nothing new. Besides, I’ve got you in my corner, right?”

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

For a moment, the weight of the day lifted, and he allowed himself to take comfort in your resilience. But as he returned to the team, he resolved to address their behavior. They needed to see you for who you truly were—and he wouldn’t rest until they did.

During the next case you assisted on, the tension had been simmering all day, and Aaron could feel it building like a storm. You had just delivered a sharp, insightful breakdown of the unsub’s likely behavior patterns, pointing out inconsistencies in the case file that had gone unnoticed. It was the kind of analysis that would have earned respect from anyone else, but not today. Not from this team, not yet.

The briefing room was quiet for a moment after you finished speaking. Emily exchanged a glance with Derek, and JJ tapped her pen against the table, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating.

“That’s… an interesting perspective,” Derek said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was polite, but Aaron caught the subtle edge, the unspoken doubt.

You didn’t falter. “It’s not just a perspective,” you replied, your voice calm and measured. “The data supports it. If you cross-reference the victimology with the geographic profile—”

“We get it,” Emily interrupted, her tone sharper than usual. “But we’ve been doing this a long time. We know how to read behavior.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. He glanced at you, but your expression remained composed, even as he could see the faint tension in your posture. You nodded slightly, as if conceding the point, and continued reviewing the case files without another word.

The meeting wrapped soon after, but Aaron lingered behind, pretending to organize his notes. That’s when he heard it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can deal with her,” Emily muttered as the others gathered near the coffee station. “She’s so… clinical. It’s like she doesn’t even care about the victims, just the data.”

“She’s got control issues, for sure,” Derek added. “Like she’s got something to prove.”

JJ sighed. “Maybe Strauss sent her to micromanage us. I mean, why else would she be here? We’re already the best at what we do.”

Aaron slammed his folder shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. The team froze, turning to see him standing there, his expression dark and unreadable.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low but laced with unmistakable anger. He stepped toward them, his gaze sweeping over each of them. “I don’t know what’s more disappointing--your lack of professionalism or your willingness to tear someone down based on assumptions and gossip.”

The team exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke.

“You think she’s here to micromanage you? She’s here to help. And the fact that you can’t see the value in her insights says more about your egos than it does about her methods.”

“Hotch, we didn’t mean—” JJ started, but he cut her off.

“No,” he said firmly. “You did mean it. And if you spent half as much energy working with her as you do undermining her, we’d be a hell of a lot closer to catching this unsub.”

The room fell silent. Aaron rarely raised his voice, and when he did, it carried the weight of finality. He let the silence hang for a moment before he continued.

“She’s not here to prove herself to you. She’s already proven herself, time and time again. It’s time for you to rise to her level, not drag her down to yours.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he’d have to address this further later, but for now, he needed to find you. He wanted to make sure you were okay to remind you, in whatever small way he could, that he was still in your corner. Always.

Aaron Hotchner found you where he expected to: in one of the unused offices, deep in thought over the case files. You were perched on the edge of the desk, flipping through pages with a sharp focus that never failed to impress him. The tension he’d carried since leaving the briefing room eased slightly when he saw how calm you were.

You didn’t even look up when he stepped inside. “Didn’t expect you to find me so quickly,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Aaron leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I needed to check in. The team…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “They were out of line.”

That made you pause. You glanced up at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Aaron, it’s fine,” you said, setting the file down. “I’ve been in this position before. People don’t like change, and they don’t like outsiders. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” he replied, his voice firmer than he intended. “It’s not fair, and it’s not professional.”

You tilted your head, studying him in that way you always did when you were about to cut through the noise. “They don’t know, Aaron. About us.” Your tone was even, but there was a hint of something deeper there--not accusation, just acknowledgment.

He stiffened slightly, but nodded. “They don’t. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. For now.”

You let out a quiet hum, leaning back on your hands. “For now, sure. But you should think about it. They’re already questioning why you’re defending me. If they find out later that it’s because we’re involved, it won’t sit well with them. They’ll feel like you’ve been hiding something important.”

“They’ll feel betrayed,” Aaron said, the weight of the truth settling over him.

You nodded, a small, knowing smile on your face. “Exactly. Look, I can handle their doubts, their gossip, whatever they want to throw at me. But you need to decide how long you want to keep this a secret. They’re your team. They’re loyal to you. But they also need to trust you.”

Aaron stepped further into the room, his expression softening as he regarded you. “You don’t care what they think of you, do you?”

“Not even a little,” you said with a shrug, your confidence steady. “I’ve spent years dealing with this kind of thing. It’s not new, and it doesn’t bother me. What does bother me,” you added, meeting his eyes, “is the idea of this coming out later and making things harder for you. Or for us.”

Aaron let out a slow breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. You were right, of course. You always were. He couldn’t keep this from his team forever, and things with you had grown too serious for him to pretend otherwise. He had never been one to let his personal life interfere with his work, but this was different. You were different.

“This is serious,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You arched a brow, a teasing smile breaking through. “Wow, Aaron. Way to make a girl feel special.”

He stepped closer, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “You know what I mean. Things are serious between us. You’re not going anywhere, and neither is the team. I need to find a way to make this work.”

You softened, your hand brushing against his as he stood next to you. “You will. They’ll come around, Aaron. And if they don’t, well…” You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting in a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

Aaron felt a warmth spread through him, a rare sense of peace in the midst of the chaos. You were right, as always. He would figure it out--not just because he had to, but because you were worth it.

And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that it would all work out.

Aaron Hotchner had always believed in leading by example. Transparency, fairness, and honesty were core tenets of how he ran his team, and they had rewarded him with loyalty and mutual respect. But as he stood in the conference room, waiting for his team to gather for an unscheduled meeting, he knew he had failed to uphold one of those principles.

The team filtered in, curiosity and unease written across their faces. JJ and Emily exchanged glances, Reid clutched his ever-present notebook, and Derek leaned against the edge of the table with his arms crossed. Penelope, usually lighthearted, looked slightly nervous. Rossi lingered at the back, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought.

When the door closed, Aaron cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “I asked you all here because there’s something I need to address—something I should have told you from the beginning.”

The team straightened, their collective focus sharpening. Aaron had their attention.

“You’ve all expressed concerns about having a forensic psychologist embedded in the team,” he began, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve questioned her presence, her methods, and, frankly, her character. Some of those comments have been professional disagreements, but others have crossed the line. I’ve let it continue longer than I should have, and for that, I take responsibility.”

Emily shifted uncomfortably while Morgan frowned. Reid’s brow furrowed in confusion, his pen tapping lightly against his notebook. Rossi, though silent, tilted his head slightly, a knowing look flickering across his face.

Aaron met each of their gazes in turn, his tone unwavering. “The reason I know she’s good at her job—why I trust her, and why I know she’s not here to spy on us or undermine our work—is because I’ve been seeing her outside of work. For a while now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Reid blinked rapidly, his pen freezing mid-air. JJ’s mouth opened slightly as if to speak, and Penelope let out a small, involuntary gasp. Derek sat up straighter, his brows furrowed in disbelief. Emily’s eyes widened, but she quickly masked her surprise. Rossi, however, didn’t look shocked at all. Instead, his lips quirked into the faintest of smirks, as though confirming a suspicion.

“I had no say in her placement on this team,” Aaron continued, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Strauss made the decision, and she made it clear that the reason is simple: she’s the best. You’ve seen it for yourselves, even if you haven’t wanted to admit it. Her insights have already helped move this case forward. She is not your enemy, nor is she here to judge you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “I didn’t disclose our relationship because I wanted to keep our personal lives separate from our professional ones. But as your Unit Chief and as her partner, I will not tolerate disrespect toward her—whether it’s behind her back or to her face.”

Reid, finally finding his voice, asked hesitantly, “Does she…know about us? I mean, our dynamics, our methods? Or does she see us as part of the problem?”

Aaron’s expression softened slightly as he addressed the question. “She knows exactly who you are and how good you are at what you do. She’s here to help you do your jobs better, not to interfere. But she also deserves the same respect you’d give any other member of this team.”

Rossi finally spoke, his tone measured. “And you think telling us this now is going to smooth things over?” His words weren’t accusatory, but they carried weight.

“I think,” Aaron replied, meeting Rossi’s gaze, “that you deserved to know the truth. And I think it’s time we focus on the job at hand rather than creating divisions that don’t need to exist.”

The silence lingered until Derek broke it. “Hotch, we didn’t mean to—”

Aaron held up a hand. “I know you didn’t mean harm, but intentions don’t erase the impact. This team works because we trust each other. That trust goes both ways. If there’s something you need to say, say it to me or to her directly. Gossip and disrespect have no place here.”

JJ nodded, her expression softening. “You’re right. We were out of line. I think…I think we just felt blindsided.”

Aaron’s tone eased, though it remained firm. “I understand. Change isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. You’ll see soon enough why she’s here. Until then, I need your cooperation.”

Emily exchanged a glance with Morgan, then nodded. “We’ll work on it. I promise.”

Rossi gave a small nod of approval, his smirk gone but his understanding clear. “She’s good, Aaron. I’ve seen it. Let’s make sure the rest of the team sees it too.”

Reid looked thoughtful, his pen tapping rhythmically again. “I think we can…adjust. If she’s here to make us better, that’s not a bad thing.”

Aaron gave a single nod, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Good. That’s all I wanted to say. Dismissed.”

As the team filed out, murmuring quietly among themselves, Rossi lingered behind. “You know,” he said, crossing his arms, “you could’ve just told me this a week ago.”

Aaron allowed himself the faintest smile. “Would it have made a difference?”

“Probably not,” Rossi said with a shrug, “but it would’ve saved you the speech.” With that, he left, leaving Aaron alone to gather his thoughts.

For now, he had taken the first step. And he could only hope it was enough.

Over the next few days, Aaron began to notice subtle shifts in his team’s behavior toward you. It wasn’t immediate, nor was it dramatic, but the signs were there. During case briefings, they no longer exchanged skeptical glances when you spoke. Instead, they began nodding along or even asking follow-up questions. Derek, who had been one of the most vocal skeptics, offered a rare compliment about your interrogation technique after a successful suspect interview.

“She’s got a way of getting under people’s skin,” Morgan admitted to Rossi when he thought Aaron wasn’t listening. “In a good way, I guess.”

Aaron didn’t respond, but he tucked the comment away, feeling an unspoken sense of satisfaction.

Even Reid, who had initially kept his distance, began peppering you with questions about your graduate work. You seemed to enjoy indulging him, discussing obscure psychological theories with the same enthusiasm he brought to the conversation. JJ and Emily followed suit, no longer as guarded, and Penelope—while still wary—had gone out of her way to show you how to use the BAU’s internal systems.

Aaron observed it all with quiet pride. His team was warming up to you, just as he had hoped, and it wasn’t because he’d told them to—it was because of you. Your intelligence, your confidence, and your ability to adapt were slowly breaking down the barriers they’d put up.

That evening, as the two of you wrapped up some paperwork in his office, you leaned back in your chair and smirked at him. “You know,” you said, your voice light with amusement, “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Aaron looked up from his file, one brow raised. “Enjoying what?”

“You’re like the team dad,” you teased, crossing your arms. “All broody and protective, wanting the stepmom to be liked by the kids.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, low and rich. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” you shot back, grinning. “Because I think you’ve been paying more attention to their approval ratings for me than I have.”

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head but still smiling. “Maybe. But only because I know how much they mean to you—and how much you mean to me. I want this to work.”

Your expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing dropped. “It already is, Aaron. You don’t have to worry.”

His smile lingered as he looked at you, the tension that had been weighing on him for weeks finally starting to lift.

The real sign of progress came at the end of the week. The team had just wrapped up a grueling case, and as everyone packed up their things, Derek clapped his hands together.

“Alright, we’re going out. Drinks, food, and maybe a little dancing. Who’s in?”

JJ and Emily immediately agreed, and Reid nodded hesitantly, though he muttered something about “just one drink.” Rossi chuckled but offered a quick “Count me in.” Penelope looked around, her bright demeanor back in full force. “Where are we going? And more importantly, is there karaoke?”

Derek laughed. “No promises, Garcia.”

Then, almost casually, JJ turned to you. “You should come,” she said, her tone friendly and genuine. “You’ve had a long week too. You deserve to relax a little.”

Aaron didn’t miss the slight hesitation in your posture before you smiled. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” JJ said, already texting someone. “It’ll be fun.”

Aaron stayed silent, watching the moment unfold. The invitation wasn’t forced or reluctant—it was sincere. It was an olive branch, extended without fanfare, and he could tell by the look on your face that you recognized it for what it was.

As the team began filing out, chatting about where to go, you lingered by his desk. “That was unexpected,” you said quietly, glancing at him with a small smile.

“They’re coming around,” Aaron replied, his voice equally soft. “I told you they would.”

You smirked. “Well, Dad, looks like the kids like the stepmom after all.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “Let’s just hope I can keep them from embarrassing us tonight.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” you teased, grabbing your bag. “Now, come on. You’ve got to show me if Unit Chief Hotchner can actually let loose.”

As you both headed out to join the others, Aaron felt a rare lightness in his chest. Things were falling into place—his team, you, everything. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to enjoy it. 

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

[yandere-writer-momo]

I know I promised Jervis, but Ed Nygma enraptured me. God I love that weird man. It’s short and sweet (to my standards).

Yandere DC Shorts: The Missing Piece

Yandere Riddler x Nurse Fem Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship dynamic, stalking, obsession, DELUSIONAL man, exploring Ed’s OCD a bit, and Edward Nygma is obsessive

Edward Nygma knew he was the smartest man in the world. He’s proven it countless times with his elaborate attacks on Gotham city.

He was simply kind enough to leave clues because he enjoyed the game he played with Batman! The attention thrilled him for years… at least until he got a taste of genuine affection from the new nurse in Arkham.

Never had Edward felt his heart flutter and his stomach twist when (your full name), his sweet nurse in Arkham, gently disinfected the wounds on his pale skin that were inflicted by guards. Never had has his breath shuttered when she’d ask in her soft, velvety voice if he was okay… never had he experienced someone show care for him.

By the heavens it was simply addictive. The chemicals that released in his brain when he saw (your name)’s sweet, smiling face were better than any drug known to man. Edward never wanted anyone more in his life.

Look at him, (your name)! Love him! Let him worship you as you equally worship him! Praise him! Be his! His! His! His!

If only the poor, little nurse realized just how detrimental of a decision she had made just by the simple act of kindness… maybe then, it would have saved her from the obsession of a lonely madman.

.

.

.

“I never noticed your eyes were such pretty shade of green, Ed.” (Your name) smiled warmly at her patient whose ears turned pink. “They remind me of sea glass.”

Edward held his hands that began to sweat profusely in nervousness. She thought his eyes were pretty? He found every inch of (your name) pretty! From the tips of her toes to the strand of each hair on the top of her head. How could someone be so perfect?

“T-thank you.” Edward felt so nervous… he wasn’t used to someone’s utmost attention. To compliments and praise he had always desired since he was young. He was thrilled to finally be perceived.

“I’m glad you’re healing up nicely.” (Your name) smiled at him as his green eyes studied her expectantly like a lovesick puppy. “I’ve been so worried about you. I’m sorry the guards are so nasty to you.”

She had no idea he purposely riled those British guards up just to be able to be here with her. That he needed his fix.

“I have a riddle for you…” Edward gave (your name) a sickly sweet smile as his heart fluttered and the blood rushed to his cheeks. Would she be able to solve it? He hoped so! He would try to make it easy so she could figure it out…

“A riddle? For me?” (Your name) smiled at him. “I’d love to hear one.”

Here it goes… Edward mentally told himself before the usual cocky persona he presented to the world came back to the forefront.

"What grows stronger the more you share it, and makes your heart beat faster when you're near someone special?"

(Your name) thought for a moment before she smiled. “Is it feelings for someone?”

“Correct.” Edward smiled as he took her hands in his. “Do you… have feelings for anyone?”

“Not currently.” She told Ed as his grip tightened on her hands. His breath shaky and his eyes glazed over.

Was he not on her radar? Did she… not see him as a man? Was he not handsome enough? Did he not have enough brawn?

“Ed? Are you alright-“ Ed suddenly pulled her close with a strength she didn’t know he possessed. His body trembled as all of his frustrated emotions bubbled to the surface.

“Look at me.” He said firmly. “Am I… not attractive?”

(Your name blinked. Once. Then twice. Her brows scrunched together in confusion.

“What do you mean, Ed?” She softly asked.

Ed scoffed and looked away. Why had he shown such vulnerability to her? (Your name) should feel blessed to be in his general vicinity! She was ungrateful to have the attention of the ingenious Riddler! She should be the one who begged for his attention, not the other way around-

(Your name) gently placed a palm on his forehead. “You’re hot to the touch, Ed… why didn’t you tell me you had a fever?”

Ed completely melted under the touch. His eyes closed and his breathing calmed. Her touch always felt so right… like his missing piece.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

howdyyy, what do u think of plat yan! dick grayson (or platonic yan father bruce wayne up to u) with a batsis who is very disinterested with him primarily bc when she was younger she idolised him a lot but now not so much. there are comics where grayson has cheated on his partners before so imagine batsis coming to realise as she aged and matured that her doting brother is a bit of a playboy…. a lot like a playboy actually—

You know, this is actually extremely realistic. There's nothing like the rose color glasses falling off and realizing just how messed up your family truly is.

I'd like to think that there was plenty of jokes and mentions about Dick being a playboy but Batsis would just be absolutely clueless. You probably just thought it was a reference to his charming appearance or the way he gets hit on at least once whenever he goes out. Not really that he was an notorious heart breaker.

Like i don't think the other batkids had serious talks about it in front of you because of your (then) age or maybe it was a request by Dick so he could keep on his perfect mask with you?

Ironically, he wouldn't want any man to treat his little sister (or any of them) the way he does to other women but he has a problem. I will say though, it makes absolute sense that Dick or even the others would have issues keeping relationships or even have sex addictions. I mean it's a real issue that many people are struggling with right now. But can you imagine your father constantly bringing home women and cheating your entire childhood? Like Bruce introduces some of these women to them, they get attached to this potential mother then it's ripped away to be discarded for the new catch. I think that definitely warped Dick's view of women and romance stems from that. *intense mommy issues* But also i mentioned before that it's hard for him to maintain relationships while taking on the fatherly role in the family. His obsession with making sure all of his siblings are cared for and protected(mixed with being nightwing), makes it all the more difficult. Maybe that leads him to just hooking up with and being sloppy in his relationships. Maybe its just a means of stress relief and that causes him to almost dehumanize/objectify the women he "romances".

I'm not saying this is justifiable, cheating is disgusting and his behaviors are something that needs to be corrected regardless of mommy issues but for headcanon sake we are entertaining the concept

I'm not sure how you'd exactly find out about it. Maybe one of the kids let it slip and didn't bother to do damage control because you're old enough now? Maybe you spoke to one of his exes that is still friendly with the batfam? Or maybe your brain started to develop and you realized he wasn't hanging out with that new super model as just friends all night...it was something more and his girlfriend definitely didn't know about it.

Regardless, I think when you finally found out about everything, your world crushed. I don't think you'd hate him but you just feel yucky about the whole thing. Now when you look at him something in your stomach just sinks. You might even wonder if you can trust him. I mean if he's got that much of a problem to be dishonest with his lovers, then why would it be so left field to suggest he lied to you too when he said he loves you or that you were his favorite? The transition from you idolizing him to being standoff-ish would be extremely noticeable to him. I mean it's hard to ignore when you were his mini me. Even as you got older you followed him around and never skipped an opportunity to be near.

He wouldn't think that it was because of the playboy thing, maybe just you needing some space as a teen. Everyone has gone through that phase before but when he notices your shift is only directed towards him, he's a little upset about it. He doesn't understand what he did wrong? One day you guys are eating ice cream together while having a sleepover in his room to you treating him like a disease.

Eventually your big brother corners you and makes you to confess whats bothering you. He apologizes if something he said rubbed you the wrong way but you couldn't keep treating him this way.

"uhm..i dunno, dick? I found out how you've been treating you partners and i think it's kinda gross. I guess i just don't really wanna be around someone who treats women like that right now..."

I think Dick's reaction would be complete shock....who tf told you?! He has no defense but he tries to muster up one before realizing this is just making him look worse when EVERYBODY knows how much of a whore he is lol. He'd back off of you and maybe even mutter an apology before walking away to go collect himself.

He's furious as well...whoever told you will be getting an earful because they just ruined something precious to him. (yeah they did. totally not his OWN actions) If it was one of his brothers, he will be throwing hands.

Dick does very much care about others perception of him, i've said this before. He knew he had a problem and his other siblings have spoken to him about it and it affected him but never enough to change. It's just a far deeper issue than wanting a quick fuck in the expense of his partners...But seeing his baby sister look at him with just so much disgust and disappointment was enough to cause him to spiral. He's not proud of his actions and knows he's hurt and discarded of many, many women for his own satisfaction. It's deplorable. I can imagine him taking maybe a few days to himself, he's just in his head while being overtaken by heavy guilt.

I'm not sure if Dick would actually change for you though? I think he is even debating it. Yeah he's a yandere for his batsis but is his obsession with you enough to kick the other one to the curb? That's up to you. A hopeful person would say, yes he would. Anything for his babybat! He's going to do whatever it takes to prove himself again, anything to make you proud. This habit isn't worth it if hes loosing you.

My opinion? No, he won't change after his guilt wears off. He'll just pretend like he's reborn. Dick would try for like a week and then go right back to doing his habits. He's a manipulative piece of work and yeah, lying to you is bad but he wants his cake and to eat it too. He's not willing to give up anything that gives him a euphoric boost. Shh...what you don't know, won't kill you.

[thecharacterchronicler]

Snakebite || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader ||

Outline: Coriolanus has his eye on the new nurse of the caserne and he’d do anything to have her.

Word count: 5’593

Warnings: Peacekeeper Coryo is a warning in itself, blood, virgin/first time sex (and it’s not gentle), breeding/marking, pain, possessive behavior, rough sex, explicit smut.

Author’s note: If you’ve read my other stories, you know my way of writing peacekeeper Coryo is pretty wild. If not, please take the warnings seriously before reading this one. This is prompt # 4. (sorry I didn’t feel like writing another arranged marriage one for now but I hope this will be good enough.)

“Good to see you back on your feet !” Smiley said, as a greeting when Beanpole entered the cafeteria and joined them at their table.

“We were worried, you hit your head pretty badly on the ground when you fainted today.” Bug added.

Coriolanus watched as his comrade took place in front of him, his tray overly filled with an array of different foods. He was still pale and had a bruise on his forehead from where he had hit the ground but despite all that, he seemed happy. So happy in fact, that Coriolanus wondered if they had drugged him at the infirmary to put him in such a state.

“I’m honestly starting to wonder if you don’t do that on purpose each time we train outside, just so the new nurse gets to take care of you.”

“There’s a new nurse ?” Coriolanus inquired, his curiosity piqued by something finally remotely interesting.

“I think she’s an apprentice.” Beanpole corrected.

“Didn’t you notice the amount of guys lining up in front of the infirmary door these days ? I heard everyone talk about how beautiful that girl is.” Smiley added.

Coriolanus thought about it for a moment but couldn’t really recall noticing anything out of the ordinary. Not that he paid much attention to life in the barracks anyway. Or in District 12 in general. He missed the Capitol and his thoughts often drifted back to his old life rather than focusing on his current situation.

“She really is beautiful.” Beanpole commented, to answer Smiley, with a stupid smile on his face. He may as well have heart shaped eyes from how obvious his crush on the girl in question was.

The other soldiers at the table laughed of their friend’s amorous daze and everyone soon focused their attention back on their meal, knowing that they needed to gain some strength for what the commander had planned for them on the next day.

Smiley and Bug stood up as soon as their trays were empty, but Coriolanus lingered a moment at the table, watching Beanpole stuff his face with green beans and spinach leaves. He wondered how someone who lacked basic knowledge of table etiquette could be from the Capitol too. People there, even poor, were more refined and elegant usually. Was District 12 slowly turning him into some kind of feral animal ? What if it was happening to Coriolanus too ? What if he didn’t remember how to behave properly once he’ll be back in the Capitol ? The thought terrified him, the one thing he had promised himself was that he refused to let District 12 change him.

“Crap, I forgot to ask for painkillers.” Beanpole managed to say, despite his still full mouth.

“Didn’t you have a whole tablet of those in your trunk from the last time you hit your head against a tree ?” Coriolanus asked him, unable to conceal his sucpicious tone. He was wondering if, indeed, the young soldier was faking being of such fragile composure and in weak condition just to be granted extra trips to the nurse’s office. Not that he cared about his friend’s whereabouts, he just cared to know if Beanpole was this good of an actor, able to hurt himself just to get something he wanted.

“I used a few after I burned my fingers when I was on cooking duty and sold the rest on the black market.” He answered, totally and foolishly honest with Coriolanus. He attempted to stand up, his tray still half full but almost lost balance, barely able to catch himself.

“Are you alright ?” Coriolanus asked him, standing up to help steady him, even though he really didn’t want to.

“Yeah, it’s just the concussion.” Beanpole assured him. “I need to go back for some pills and then I’ll go to bed.”

“I’ll walk you there.” He offered, not out of the goodness of his heart but by sheer curiosity for the apparently very pleasant new nurse. He wanted to judge for himself, even though he didn’t expect her to be anything special, his comrades were so sex deprived that their standard barely reached the floor.

With a hand gripping his arm to help him walk steadily, the two peacekeepers made their way to the infirmary, Coriolanus almost dragging Beanpole behind him from how impatient he was to see what was really going on there.

At first glance, it seemed that Smiley told the truth, there were a line of more or less injured soldiers waiting for their turn behind the door, even skipping supper in hopes to be cared for here.

“It might take a while.” Beanpole sighed, ready to join the back of the line.

The door opened and a peacekeeper walked out with his arm in a cast, his face visibly upset but not because of the pain he had endured but because he was escorted out by Flavia, the old nurse instead of the new one. She gestured to the next man in line to enter her office and he shamelessly sighed in disappointment.

Beanpole and Coriolanus barely had time to take a step in direction of the end of the line when the door in front of them opened again, revealing you, wearing a white blouse and your hair tied up in a messy updo.

“Next please !” You called, and a soldier excitedly sauntered in your direction. But your gaze landed on Coriolanus for an instant, before noticing Beanpole leaning onto him for support. “Oh, is the concussion getting worse ?”

Coriolanus had to admit that you were very pretty indeed. Even with the worry that suddenly appeared on your face, you reminded him of the expensive dolls Tigris used to play dress up and hold tea parties for.

“I just need something for the pain.” Beanpole told you, trying to sound self assured but the sight of you made him smile stupidly again.

“He’s barely able to stand.” Coriolanus said because, as time went by, he kept leaning his weight more and more on him and at this point, he was starting to worry that he might have to carry him back to their dorm.

“Come in.” You said, standing aside to let them in the infirmary. There were a few whispers of indignation and protest as they passed by the line of eager soldiers, the one who almost got in taking his place back at the front while glaring daggers at them.

Coriolanus helped Beanpole to the bed placed in the middle of a small room, of which you closed the door and searched a shelf for a file, before stepping to the counter to retrieve some medical tools. He watched you as you carefully shone a light into Beanpole’s eyes, observing his pupils with attention before turning the small flashlight off and on in his face. You scribbled something in the file you had placed on the bed next to him, and exchanged the light for a stethoscope.

As you leaned forward slightly to reach his heart, your blouse hunched up, revealing some of the curves of your body to Coriolanus, who had a very privileged view of it all as he leaned against the wall behind you, his arms crossed over his chest.

He observed you carefully, starting to understand why all the young soldiers in the building were interested in you. There was something about you that was particularly enticing, maybe it was the alluring curves of your body, or maybe it was your pretty face and the way you made sure to be gentle as you examined your patients ? Whatever it was, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to forget it. And, as you turned around to take one more tool from the counter, you glanced at him in a way that made his whole body buzz with electricity, he could tell that you were disturbed by him, by his presence and by his appearance, the same hint of curiosity in your eyes than the one he felt for you.

————-

The sun was shining bright in the sky, yet it still did very little to ease the humidity that saturated the air. Coriolanus was assigned to patrol the borders of the District in the heat, while forced to wear his peacekeeper uniform and helmet, hand on his gun, always prepared. However, for once, it didn’t seem so bad. He knew that if he had a heatstroke and fainted, he might have the chance to see you again and the idea oddly excited him.

Actually, he had been thinking about you for most of the night, reminiscing of the perfection of your body underneath your white blouse and how you had looked at him, even smiled at him once when you had cleared Beanpole to go back to his dorm. He had seen with his own eyes the impressive amount of soldiers lining up by the door with the hope to spend a few minutes in your company and, this morning during breakfast, he had heard a group of them talking about how each of them was planning to attempt to ask you out before the weekend. You truly were the talk of the caserne.

He didn’t like that you had so many admirers, but what claim did he have on you ? He hadn’t even spoke more than a few words to you… And yet, he felt extremely possessive of you. Like you were some kind of precious treasure that should only belong to him. And maybe he had good chances to make everyone else jealous if he convinced you to give yourself to him, judging by the way you had looked at him, all he had to do was ask…

And, just for the sake of not waking up with a very painful and frustrating erection again - after dreaming of you, naked on your exam table for him - he was determined to shoot his shot at you. He knew it only was a matter of time until you’d agree to go out with one of the idiots who probably pestered you about it on a daily basis, so he had to act quickly.

He wasn’t sure of how he could fake a convincing heatstroke. And if he pretended to have fainted, he might stay there on his own all day until someone eventually found him and helped him. So he needed a better idea, something that wouldn’t require him too much theatrics to be convincing. In fact, being in real pain would probably help to coerce you into taking care of him before everyone else.

His fingers danced on the handle of his gun as he tried to imagine how bad the pain could get if he shot himself in the foot or in the knee. It would make him a pretty useless peacekeeper which might grant him a few weeks of forced vacation to recover but he was worried of where he might be sent to next if he wasn’t fit to be a soldier anymore…

He looked around him, seeing nothing but tall grass swaying in the wind and a rocky dirt road leading to a row of delabrated shacks that people from this District called homes. Not much to help with his plan.

Suddenly, something slowly undulating further down the road, moving the peebles on its way caught his attention. He approached carefully, realizing that it was a green snake trying to go back to the tall grass that it could use as shelter.

Coriolanus didn’t know much about snakes. Actually, his knowledge in the matter was so limited that he never would be able to tell the difference between a venomous snake and an inoffensive one. However, it seemed to him that this one was very similar to the one that had bit another peacekeeper’s ankle when they were running laps around the barracks. As far as he knew, the guy was still alive so it might be his best chance to get to see you again.

He kneeled down on the road and tugged the sleeve of his shirt up, offering his entire arm for the nervous snake to bite into. But it wasn’t aggressive enough to gratuitously attack a human being it seemed so Coriolanus picked the reptile up, feeling the cold scales under his fingertips before letting it fall on his bare arm. Nothing happened, except that the animal was now terrified and tried to slither away in the grass, at a surprisingly fast speed.

He barely managed to catch it before it vanished in the grass the same color as it was. He pulled it back to him and the reptile’s head snapped back to dig its sharp fangs inside the soldier’s exposed wrist.

Coriolanus grimaced, immediately pulling on the snake until he was able to pull his fangs out of his skin. He sent it flying across the road, not seeing where it landed as he focused his attention on his now aching wrist and the two dots of blood rapidly bubbling at the surface of his skin.

“Shit.” He breathed, the pain in his arm sharply stinging. It was almost as if he could feel the venom, slowly invading the blood in his veins.

He stood up, applying pressure to the bite so that he wouldn’t bleed too much despite the pain it provoked, and took off in direction of the casern. He was hoping that his plan would work and that he wouldn’t end up being treated by Flavia instead of you but, above all things, he hoped that he wouldn’t die from such a stupid action. You may be absolutely gorgeous but he wasn’t ready to die for that. Not yet.

When he knocked on the infirmary door, blatantly ignoring the queue in front of it, his main concern became reality as Flavia opened. The old nurse’s gaze was strict and unwelcoming, the polar opposite of your warmth and beauty.

“Another heatstroke ? Go wait in line for your turn.” She said, authoritatively.

“No, I was bitten.” He told her, showing her the mark on his now inflamed skin. Even if he was hoping to see you, his bite still needed urgent medical attention and he wasn’t sure he would survive if he had to wait in line before treating it.

Thankfully, as if on cue, your face appeared behind Flavia, eyes wide in surprise.

“I can take care of that, I just finished treating Armstrong’s heat rash.” You suggested and he could tell that you were hoping to see him as badly as he was hoping to see you.

“Alright. I was planning on taking a coffee break after this one, anyway.” Flavia nodded, before disappearing in her own office where a distressed soldier waited for her.

Coriolanus followed into the room where you had taken care of Beanpole the day before, but this time it was his turn to sit on the examination table. You repeated the same gestures as he had observed last time, fetching his file from the overflowing shelf before approaching to examinate his bite.

“Did you see what the snake that bit you looked like ?” You asked, as you ran your gloved fingers over the two deep holes in his skin. He noticed the worry that instantly showed on your face, making him wonder if you truly cared this much about your patients.

“It was green, and pretty small.” He recalled, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his arm because of how close you were to him. He could smell your perfume and see the subtle variations of the specks of color in your eyes from here.

“Mmh, I don’t think it’s a venomous one but it’s probably going to hurt for a few days.” You announced, going back to the counter to take a small glass jar in your hands. Then, you carefully applied an herbal salve to his wound, instantly giving him some relief from the stinging pain that lingered there. “But I only have one jar of this salve so you’ll have to come here so I can apply some to the wound and change the bandages every day.”

“Alright.” He answered, struggling to contain his excitement at your words.

You gently wrapped his wrist up in an immaculately white bandage, soothing the last bit of pain he still felt from the bite. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to ask you what every soldier in this building was dying to.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me sometime ?” He suggested, trying to sound as confident as he usually was but his heart was racing in his chest.

You lifted your eyes up to meet his, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“That sounds nice but unfortunately I’m not allowed to do that. The only time I can be seen with peacekeepers without risking my job is here, in the infirmary.” You replied and he silently stared at you for a moment, trying to determine if it was an excuse or if you really would have accepted if your position allowed you to. “But maybe you could spend more time here ? With me ?”

Your voice was hesitant and a lovely blush creeped to your cheeks as you said that, a risk you seemingly were ready to take for him.

“I could.” He smiled, charming as ever. “But how would we pass the time ?”

“Maybe we could get to know each other ?”

His smile grew wider as the vivid images of last night’s dream filled his mind again, visions of you naked for him, begging for his dick, that he was determined to make come true right now. He stood up, stepping closer to you, his hands already tugging at your blouse to get it to slide down your arms.

“I’d love to get to know you more… Intimately.” He whispered, his lips brushing over yours. And, since you didn’t step back or push him away, he finally pressed his mouth to yours, in a chaste kiss that still managed to get his whole body buzzing with adrenaline.

Your professional blouse dropped to the floor and his arms closed around your waist, pulling you into him, where you could very obviously feel the hard bulge that had formed in his pants pressing against your stomach.

His lips moved to your neck, peppering it with wet kisses as he eagerly tried to find the hem of your shirt so that he could pull it off of you and see what was hidden underneath. You let him, even though your heart was about to implode inside of your chest.

He only stopped kissing you to be able to take a good look at your now bare chest in front of him, the sight worth a thousand snake bites.

“Oh gosh.” You whimpered, as he roughly squeezed your boob in his hand, taking a bite at your lower lip to shut you up because you could say anything else.

He probably should have taken his time to enjoy every inch of you as he uncovered them one by one, giving attention to your very appetizing breast before attempting to remove your pants but he was never one to be patient, nor could he possibly renounce to something that he so ardently desired.

“Wait, wait.” You pleaded against his mouth, your hands on his chest to gently push him away but even like this, he had trouble to let go of you.

“What’s wrong ?”

“It’s just that… I wasn’t expecting this. I… I never did this before.” You stuttered, your eyes fixed to his with a bit of panic on your face.

“Well, it’s not that uncomfortable in here.” He remarked, briefly looking around before focusing his attention back to you. You were shorter than him and almost naked, chest bare and pants tugged down to your thighs. All he had to do was reach between your legs and he’d be able to catch a feel of your panties, see if you were already wet for him or if he’d have to work for it. As for him, he was already rock hard, his cock begging to be released out of his pants so that it could be shoved inside you. But he enjoyed being in his uniform in front of you, while you were about to be naked and vulnerable, at his entire mercy…

“No, I mean… I never did it” Your words had the effect of a cold shower over his head, pulling him out of his hungry contemplation of your body and getting his full attention on you. For the second time, he stared at you while trying to decide if he believed you or not, the idea of you still being a virgin making no sense in his mind, how could you be ? You were far too gorgeous to not have had many opportunities to lose your virginity to someone in the past, even here, soldiers lined up at your door every day, desperate for your attention. Surely one of them would have convinced you to do it by now. Or at least, if you were so concerned about the rules, some coal miner from your district or a free spirited muscician would have done it.

“You… How come ?” Was all he managed to say, the question burning his lips since it seemed entirely impossible to him that you’d still be so innocent and unaware of the pleasure you were missing out on.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t interested enough in anyone to go this far…”

Coriolanus couldn’t help but smile at your answer. He felt insanely pleased imagining you refusing all these filthy miners and weak soldiers. You had standards. And you definitely were the only person that he had met in District 12 who was this reasonable.

“I can show you what it’s like if you want me to.” He suggested, trying to sound detached but the idea of being the one to take your virginity, the one to corrupt your innocent body, was making his cock ache in his pants.

You seemed hesitant, looking around at the office. He could understand that it probably wasn’t how you had imagined your first time would happen, not here, not with him. Yet, when your pretty eyes landed on him again, you quietly nodded.

He had to be cool about, appear as if it was a regular thing for him, like he had done it before many times and would be doing it again with other girls, but his blood was boiling with excitement. When he had asked you out for a drink, he was expecting to have to work for it. He would have been proud of being seen with you at The Hob by all the recruits lining up for your attention, and he would have made sure to charm you into taking things further, probably in a dark alley outside where no one would have seen your perfect body except for him, but where surely some people would have heard how good he was making you feel.

Unable to wait any longer, he reached down to open up his pants and free his hard erection from his underwear, stroking it in his hand, enough to get it to develop to its full length but not too much, in case he might cum just from the way you were staring at it, with wide eyes and shock on your face.

“You’re so big, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this.” You told him, worried.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to take it.” He assured you, with a proud smile on his face. He always liked when women noticed how well endowed he was. Even better when it made them nervous. “Sit down on the table.”

You obeyed, even though you still seemed very uncertain. He pulled your pants and panties down your legs, discarding them on the floor so that you really were completely naked now, beautiful and vulnerable.

“Maybe it’ll work if you enter just the tip.” You suggested, and an amused chuckle left his lips.

“Alright.” He agreed, but only to reassure you. He had no intention of depriving the rest of his length from entering you so you would have to take it fully eventually.

“Okay.” You sighed in relief but your body remained tense as he approached and forced your legs open. He held his cock in his hand and gently stroked your exposed folds with the tip, groaning from the pleasant warmth and wetness that instantly coated his sensitive skin.

He knew he should have been a gentleman about this and made sure that you were ready for him but he simply couldn’t wait. His desire for you was consuming him, he needed to have you and that instantly made him forget how cautious he should be to make sure the experience would be enjoyable for you too. So he lined himself up to your entrance and pushed forward.

“Just the tip.” You reminded him, your entrance stretching out for his wide dick, causing a sharp burn in your lower stomach.

“Right.” He said, with a smile, as he kept increasing the pressure that already felt unbearable inside you, very slowly but surely pressing his hips further against you.

“That’s too much.” You cried out, tears welling in your eyes.

“You can take it.” He said again, because one way or another, he was going to break that dam inside you and then, he’ll fuck you until he’ll be close enough to mark you as his with his cum.

“No, I really can’t.” You replied, your voice breaking. Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt in front of your distress, the grimace of pain on your face and the tears silently rolling down your cheeks weren’t exactly what he had imagined when he had fantasized about taking you on this examination table.

“Just try to relax.” He instructed, momentarily putting his eagerness and need for relief aside to focus on you. He pressed his hand between your legs, his thumb finding your sensitive spot and gently massaging it to ease you into it, mixing the pain of his intrusion inside you with the pleasure of his caresses.

With two fingers, he opened up your folds so that he could see his big cock shoved halfway inside your tight and aching pussy. He could see it sliding further inside inch by inch, his way of teasing your clit seemingly helping your body accept him.

And then, suddenly and without any warning, your pussy engulfed him. You cried out once more, as something inside you was teared apart to allow him to finally be completely buried in your tight warmth. Your arms instantly closing around his neck for support. He almost came from this alone, the force with which you clenched around him from the pain you felt almost making him dizzy.

“What’s going on ?” You asked, panicking. “Why did that hurt so bad ?”

“Your pussy just swallowed my cock on its own accord. Because despite the pain, you want me to fuck you, right ?” You want to feel me inside you, want me to show you what real pleasure is.” He explained, breathless, doing his best to calm down before his ejaculation might end this all too soon. “Say it, tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you…” You told him, wincing when he started pulling away.

“And ?”

“I want to have an orgasm. I want to be fucked until you have one too.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, realizing that his plan to calm himself down by getting you to talk to him was failing miserably. He almost entirely pulled his cock out of you, only to shove it back inside slowly. As eager as he was for relief, he now wanted you to enjoy it too.

The more he gently slided back and forth inside you, the more your face eased back into a peaceful expression, the pain visibly fading as he tried his best to replace it with pleasure.

“Look how well you’re taking me now.” He told you, and you both looked down to his impressive cock, his length coated in your arousal and faint traces of blood as it went back and forth at a peacefully steady rythym. As tight as your entrance was, he still fitted inside you, managing to hit deep.

“Am I bleeding ?”

“Yes, but that’s normal, that’s how we know you’re no longer a virgin.” He explained, even if you probably knew that already.

“Is it going to be like this every time ?”

“No, now that I broke you in, you’re going to enjoy it when someone fucks you like this. You’ll be able to take it fast and rough with a little bit of practice.”

“Is this how you like it ? Fast and rough ?” You asked him, curious.

“Most people do.”

“Will you help me get used to it then ?”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replied, his hands gripping your thighs to bring them up against his hips and give him better access to you. His movements amplified as his rocked his hips more rapidly now and you pressed your forehead against his, still fascinated by the way you could see his hard cock disappearing inside your folds and slamming deep inside you.

You closed your eyes, feeling something powerful building inside of you. A loud sound that carried the whole intensity of the pleasure that he was giving you escaped your lips. Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth with your hand, embarassed.

“Don’t, I want to hear you.” He told you, moving your hand away and pinning your wrist to the table. “And I want everyone outside to hear you too. Let them know I’m the one taking your virginity.”

“But… Flavia.” You warned him, breathlessly.

“She said she was going to take a break, she’s probably at the cafeteria.” He replied, trying to reassure you but in reality, he had no idea of what the other nurse was up to. He knew that you were risking your career if you got caught by anyone in such a compromising position but it didn’t really matter to him, not now, because he was pretty sure that if anyone bursted inside the room in hopes to interrupted him, he’d still keep fucking you until you truly belonged to him. Now that he had started, nobody would be able to stop him.

You didn’t object. You couldn’t. He could tell from the way you arched your back and rolled your eyes that there wasn’t a single reasonable thought in your head anymore. You needed relief as badly as he needed it too and that was exactly what he intended to give you.

“Oh… It’s starting to feel really good.” You panted, your nails digging in his shoulder to steady yourself as his thrusts grew a bit more brutal.

“Good.” He groaned, making sure to slam himself as deeply as he could inside you. Damnit you felt too good, he wasn’t going to be able to restrain himself much longer, the tightness of your virgin pussy around him and the knowledge that he was the first one to ever penetrate you so deeply was too much and relief instantly washed over him as warm cum spilled from his cock into you.

Fuck.

“Oh !” You exclaimed in surprise, not because he had climaxed without giving you a warning but because his twitching cock unexpectedly pushed you over the edge too. You were shocked by the strength of the orgasm that hit you, imploding in your core like a firework and washing over your entire body, ensnaring him inside you in reaction.

You moaned again, the pressure around him caused by your own climax felt unbearable. He was trapped in you and the contractions of your body were so intense that he groaned and felt his cock shoot another load of his seed inside you.

A moment went by during which only the sound of your panting breaths filled the room. Then, you relaxed and he was able to pull himself out, both of you watching as his soaked length dropped out of you. He adjusted his uniform, making sure he was presentable again as you did the same, putting your white blouse back on as if nothing had happened.

“I… I’ll need to take care of that bite again tomorrow.” You told him, still a bit breathless as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He promised, with a grin.

Everyone stared at him as he walked out of the office. He smugly smiled at the line of soldiers and stood straighter, feeling extremely proud of himself. Not only had he managed to fuck the new nurse everyone was after but he had also taken your virginity and marked you as his. Of course, the soldiers waiting in line had no way of knowing that your blood was still on his cock and that his cum was probably dripping down in your panties by now but, if they were observant enough, they might notice how you were leaning against the door for support because your body was sore, or the trace of faint lipstick you had left on the collar of his peacekeeper uniform.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[captainamericasmotercycle]

HARWIN SMUT HARWIN SMUT HARWIN SMUT ‼️‼️‼️‼️🧎🏼‍♀️🧎🏼‍♀️🧎🏼‍♀️

Forgive me, I fear I am not the best at writing smut, but I tried my best for my husband Harwin <3

pairing: ser harwin strong x fem!targ!reader (mother is unspecified)

warnings: quick mention of criston cole, 18+, minors DNI, reader is a targ (mother is unspecified), a bit angsty in the first part?, p in v sex, oral receiving (m and f), missionary, cowgirl, accidental creampie, reader has hair long enough to braid, use of the word whore, sworn protector harwin, forbidden relationship, loss of virginity?

wc: 2.5k

a/n: i need harwin strong biblically. smut under the cut <3

Ser Harwin Strong, son of the Hand to the Kind, was set to be your sworn protector, which you absolutely hated.

As the second daughter of King Viserys, he was quite protective over you, especially after losing Aemma and then your mother in childbirth. He was much more hesitant to wed you off, much more insistent to keep you safe from a fate such as theirs.

Though, by your Targaryen blood, you detested being safe; always searching for some kind of adventure, whether it be taking to the skies, or mingling in bars in Flea Bottom.

But now that your father’s strongest knight has been pulled from the City Watch to be your babysitter, there was no possible way for you to escape the Red Keep.

For weeks now, Ser Harwin has been closely following your every move: standing outside of your chambers at night, following you to your lessons, even going all the way to the dragon pit with you.

You started to get annoyed with him, clearly displaying it.

“I do not understand why you have to stand there,” you were in the gardens with your older sister, reading about the histories, complaining out loud.

She hit your arm gently, “He is only standing at his post.”

Ser Criston Cole was standing just a bit further away from the pair of you; Cole being your sister’s sworn shield.

“But does he have to stand there? His big body is blocking the sun,” you complained.

“I can move, if you wish, Princess,” he shifted backwards, but you stood and dusted yourself off.

“No need, I want to leave.”

He followed closely behing you. You walked faster, trying to lose him within the maze of walls in the castle. He never once put up a fight chasing you around the Red Keep out of the many times you’ve challenged his watch.

You began to run straight to your chambers, only slowing when you turned the corner to find your father walking with Lord Strong. His guards swiftly grabbed you by the arm, Ser Harwin not far behind.

Shocked at the sudden contact and the presence of your father, you straightened up.

“Father.”

“Please, do not tell me you have been running from Ser Harwin, again,” he spoke, vexxed at your behavior.

As if he was summoned, Harwin came around the corner. Your father shot his attention directly at your guard, his own father giving him a stern look.

“Ser Harwin, you would not lie to your king, correct?”

“I would never, your grace.”

“Has my daughter been keeping you agile, running about the Red Keep?”

He hesitated, glancing from your father to you and your hardened gaze; a slight shake of your head, warning him not to tell on you.

Looking back at your father he gently nodded, “Yes, your grace.”

“Mmm. Let her go,” he ordered his guard. Walking to you and placing his sickly hand on your cheek, he sighed, “The more you fight your protection, the stricter it will become. I am warning you, daughter. I am only doing this because I care for you.”

He dropped his hand and you sighed, “But father, Nyra doesn’t have this many rules, and she’s your heir!”

“What Rhaenyra is doing is none of your concern.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so! I am your father and your king! I will make the rules as I please.”

Everyone watched the argument awkwardly, standing as still as possible. You pouted at your father, nearly stomping away from the scene.

As you got to your room, you shut the doors quickly, preventing Ser Harwin from entering. Wanting to scream, you threw yourself onto your bed, an action truly unbecoming of a woman and more like a child.

A sudden knock at your door kept you from throwing a tantrum.

“Princess? Are you alright?” Harwin’s voice rang out.

Of course he would try and talk.

“Fine!” You shouted back.

“May I enter?”

Sighing, you walked to the door, the silence scaring him. You opened the large wooden door, meeting him face to face.

“Come in,” you stepped aside, allowing him in.

Continuing your tantrum, you started to rant to him.

“I honestly do not understand him! Nyra and Aegon both are reckless and barely watched, and yet it is I who is constantly under surveillance!”

He watched you pace around your room.

“And you! You following me everywhere is enough to drive me mad! For once I just want to be free of you!” You angrily spat out, only turning to see him with a slight frown.

“I did not know you felt so imprisoned by my presence,” your face dropped in an instance.

“I am sorry, Ser Harwin, I did not mean to offend you—”

“No need, Princess. If you truly feel this way, I can surely ask for a change of post.”

“No, just— just leave me. I’m sorry, I need to breathe.”

He bowed his head to you and swiftly left, leaving you feeling more guily than angry.

As much as you complained about being followed and watched, you truly were starting to enjoy being by Harwin’s side, when he wasn’t annoying the life out of you.

Although you were not being pushed hard to marry and would rather never wed, you wouldn’t mind seeing what the husky knight’s intimate moments were like.

Maybe it was your emotions controlling your sinful thoughts, or maybe it was the pent up frustration fueling your delusions, but now you regretted sending him away from you.

-

Late that night, you were still thinking about your earlier words; you had sent a maid to fetch Ser Harwin.

He quickly entered, his sword almost unsheathed, ready to fight whatever threatened you. When he found you alone, he relaxed.

“You summoned?”

“I did.”

“I thought you wanted to be free of my suffocation?” You could’ve had his tongue for that.

“I did.”

“Did? Not anymore?”

“Sit, please,” you pointed to the settee, he followed your directions, taking off his helmet and sitting.

“You know, I used to sneak out, before my father swore you to me, down into Flea Bottom.”

“Yes, I remember,” he was the one to report to your adventures to your father, telling Viserys that he could protect you from your late night leaves.

“I would go drink, for hours, only returning to the Keep just moments before the sun came up.”

Harwin listened silently to your story, watching you pace with wide eyes in awe.

“I used to walk past these houses… on the Street of Silk.”

“Princess, I am not sure where you are going with this story, but I am not sure if this is appropriate…”

“I always wondered what it would be like, as a common-born, free to roam the brothels.”

“You do not mean that.”

“I do,” you turned to face him, his face in a stoned expression, his helmet on his lap.

“But you are not a common-born, you are of Targaryen blood, born for greatness… not a brothel.”

You came to sit next to him, “Don’t you wish for one moment that you, yourself, could know what it is like?”

“To be someone’s whore?”

“Yes.”

“No. No I don’t. I am perfectly content as I am,” he lies to you. If he had been born into a common family, he would wish to be your whore.

Sighing, you placed a hand on his large thigh, “I just wanted to know…that is why I detested your protection! I did not want to lose my excersions out of the Keep.”

He looked at your touch, then looking away.

“What if I could show you?”

“Show me?”

He remained silent, still looking away from you.

“Harwin,” he breathed heavily at your voice, “Look at me.”

“I should go. I have overstepped. I cannot break my oath or my head will be on a spike before dawn,” his head was still down, looking away.

“Look at me. That is a command from your princess,” you said it more sternly, he turned his head to meet your eyes, “What do you mean you could show me?”

“I—”

“Speak free and plainly.”

“I had been into many brothels on the command of Prince Daemon, to find thieves and liars, to serve them justice as a Gold Cloak. I have seen the obscenities of the Street of Silk.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, he could not tell if you were horrified or intruiged. You moved your hand to hold the side of his face.

“I want you to show me.”

He leaned in closer to you, stopping just seconds before touching your lips to his, you could feel his breath on you, “I should stop. I am a man of honor—”

“I do not care. Dishonor me,” pushing yourself into him, you captured the sweet taste of your sworn shield.

He moved his body to face you more intimately, his helmet clanging on the floor. You clawed at his armour, he quickly untied every piece. As he fervently took off his outer layers, you pulled at the strings of your dress, until you were both in your undercloths.

You could see his manhood through the thin linen pants he wore. He stripped you down after pulling his own cloths off, still kissing you passionately.

He grabbed at your waist with his large hands, pulling you onto his bare lap to straddle him.

Your breasts pushed up against his hairy chest, your sensitive parts rubbing on his own. He moved to kiss your neck as he began shifting you slowly, his cock rubbing against your throbbing bud and slit.

Throwing your head back at the sensation, it gave Harwin an opening to suck at the base of your neck, nearing your collarbones.

He elevated you, allowing his mouth to move to your tit, kissing his way around your nipple bfore taking it fully into his mouth. You moaned loudly, Harwin’s hand coming up to muffle your yells.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in, he got close to your ear, nipping at your lobe, he let out a low growl, “Do you want us to get found, Princess?”

Stuttering out, you struggled to form any kind of response, “No— I, no.”

“Then we need to be silent,” he smiled at you seductively, warning you.

You pushed yourself off his lap, sinking down to the floor in front of the settee, between Harwin’s bare knees. Your hair was still braided from the events of the day, pulled back and out of your face.

You stared at the girth of Harwin’s cock, grabbing the base of it and stroking. You watched as he shivered at your touch.

Taking his length into your mouth, you started slowly, trying to find the right pace. As an instinct, his hand flew to the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock.

You toyed with his balls as you slid your tongue around his tip. Feeling himself about to come undone with your mouth, he swiftly pushed you off, it becoming almost painful at the loss of your touch.

“I mustn’t release before you,” he heavily stated.

Lifting you with ease, he laid you back, spreading your legs and slotting his face nearing your cunt. He kissed the inside of your thigh, moving closer to your sensitivities.

“Do not tease, Harwin,” you just barely moaned out. He kissed your bud, latching his mouth to it and sucking. He moved his way down your womanhood, his tongue reaching your entrance.

Darting his tongue into the squishy walls of your insides, you reached pleasures you could have never even dreamed of. Working wonders with his tongue, he licked up and down, in and out, pushing you to your peak.

Your legs shook, clamped around Harwin’s head. He moved to tower over you, kissing you to make you taste your own sweet release.

He lined himself up with your entrance, his large girth penetrating your maidenhood. It sent a pinch to your core at first, but you eased into it. You moaned out loudly at the feeling, an obscene moan, more sweet than anyone could hear in a brothel. Harwin nearly came as he heard you.

He thrusted hard, fucking you into the settee. You kept your eyes open to look at him as he fucked you. Leaning down, he kissed you all over your neck and breasts, forcing you close to another release. He watched your tits bounce with every thrust, pulling him close to his own release.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he shifted your position. He flipped the two of you, him on his back and you on top of him.

You steadied yourself with a hand on his broad chest, his hands shooting to your waist. As you straddled him, he groped at your waist, your hips rolling over his.

You leaned forward to be chest to chest with him; your hips were still moving rapidly. The motions of your hips forced your release, your walls clenching his cock; your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck.

The tighness of your walls made the waves of pleasure come crashing into him, releasing his seed into you before he was able to pull out.

“Princess…” he moaned out.

Smiling into his neck you laughed gently, “I think we are passed formalities, Harwin.”

The vibrations of your laugh tickled him into adoration, Harwin smiling as well. He wrapped his big arms around your naked waist, breathing into your neck.

You pushed yourself off, feeling cold at the absence of him inside of you. Picking up your small clothes off the ground, Harwin watched with a smile, “So eager to get rid of me?”

“I never said for you to leave,” you smiled back.

“I should go.”

“No. Stay with me, just for tonight?”

He sat himself up, spreading himself out, his elbows resting on his knees. His sweaty curls clung to his neck and forehead, making him look ethereal in the moonlight. He thought about your offer, nodding to himself.

“Just this once I will stay, but I must leave before morning light.”

Dropping your smallcloths back on the floor, you stalked over to him, mounting his strong lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed his jaw chastely.

He smiled at the touch, “So I would assume my presence isn’t suffocating you any longer?”

You rolled your eyes, dismounting and pulling him towards your bed, “Believe me, you are still unbearably suffocating… just in a different way.”

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 27: afternoon stroll

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Warnings: moral dilemmas, age gap (r is 25 and Spencer is 40) a cocktail of feelings, relationship between ex-teacher and ex-student, and I think that's it!

Going grocery shopping was one of the most ordinary things you could do. There wasn’t much to it, so it wasn’t exactly an activity that brought you much excitement.

However, that day, it wasn't just a routine. You knew it when, at the end of the line in one of the checkout lanes, you recognized a tall man in a suit. It had been three years since you last saw your professor, and, to be honest, just the sight of him made your heart race just like it used to. I'd dare to say it was even more intense now.

You tried to keep your composure, and for a second, you wondered what you should do. You glanced down at yourself, grateful you’d decided to wear something decent that day: straight-cut black pants, a long-sleeved, lightweight white shirt over a black bra, intentionally chosen to show through a bit.

You hesitated, wondering if you should walk up and get in the same line he was in, or maybe choose the one next to his just to wave hello, or if it would be inappropriate to go up and hug him, or if…

Oh, no. He’d seen you. You couldn’t help feeling a rush of excitement at the way his face lit up when he saw you or at the smile that spread across his lips, but there it was. He was just as handsome as before, maybe even more with the passing years. He looked gorgeous.

"Hey! It’s been so long!"

Your feet practically moved on their own toward him, still reeling from the whirlwind of feelings and passions you’d once harbored for your professor. You knew it was wrong, ethically and morally inappropriate, but you couldn’t help feeling what you felt.

"It really has been, Professor," you managed to respond.

You moved as if to initiate a hug, which he returned without hesitation, holding you around your waist with his free hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your cheek. You felt like you could die from how red your face must’ve been.

"Please, don’t call me 'Professor.' It feels strange now," he smiled, amused. "I’m just Spencer."

"Alright then, Pro– Spencer," you corrected yourself. You savored his name on your lips and realized it felt just right.

"So, what have you been up to? Come, I’ll let you take my place in line," he offered.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll just get in line behind you.”

“I insist,” he said cordially. You could never say no to him; you never could.

You ended up giving in, feeling oddly cared for when he offered to help with what you were carrying. He was still every bit the gentleman, the kind you rarely encountered anymore.

“I’ve been well,” you replied, remembering he’d asked you a question. You were standing completely in front of him, not wanting to miss a second of looking at him. “I’m working at an accounting firm now. It’s not my dream job, but at least it’s stable and pays the bills. What about you? Are you still teaching, or did you go back to the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”

“I went back to the unit,” he said, in that gentle voice you’d always adored hearing. “But I retired just a month ago.”

“Why?”

“A lot of things happened, and… I don’t know. I just felt it was time to take a break. They said the doors are always open for me, but I’m trying to live as peacefully as I can.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you encouraged him. “I’m glad to hear that; your health is the most important thing.”

There was something in Spencer’s expression you couldn’t quite read. Maybe it was just your love-struck mind imagining that he was looking at you with a mix of nostalgia, affection, and pride. His brown eyes shone in the sunlight, and it was enough to make you feel dizzy.

"Yes, but honestly, I’ve started feeling a bit restless with the inactivity. Next month, I might either pursue another PhD or find a job in my field that’s less demanding."

"Sometimes I forget you’re a genius," you murmured without thinking, your voice laced with pure admiration. "It’s so normal for you to take on a PhD as a hobby."

"Knowledge always opens doors. The more you know, the closer you get to finding the truth of who you are."

For a moment, you felt like you were back in one of his lectures and smiled shyly. He was such a mature man, with such a wealth of wisdom, that you could listen to him talk for hours about anything and never get bored.

Your gaze stayed locked on his for a few seconds, almost hypnotized, until the cashier called your attention to start ringing up your items.

Spencer studied your purchases carefully: a loaf of bread, a pack of cranberries, yogurt, some shampoo, and men’s deodorant. He thought about that last product. He had no doubt a woman could use such things, but it didn’t quite seem like your style. You smelled like something he identified as peonies and roses, so it didn’t make sense for you to choose a pine-scented deodorant.

It must be for a man. A man you were in a relationship with.

You paid. Then it was Spencer’s turn: a bag of coffee, honey, a package of walnuts, almonds, and dried fruit, a few pens, a notebook on sale, a jar of pain relievers, and a bottle of vitamins. Finally, there was a package of diapers for a newborn and a bib with the phrase: Snack now, think later.

Just as he had done with you, you analyzed the items, and, of course, that last one caught your attention.

He wasn’t buying those baby items just for fun, was he?

Your heart sank a bit as you understood what it implied: he’d just become a father.

“Thank you, miss. Have a nice day,” Spencer said, as polite as ever.

You stayed out of courtesy, watching him put his items in a plastic bag. Then he started to walk, and you followed.

"I guess this is where we say goodbye, huh?" you said. You didn’t want to sound hurt, but it came through. “It was nice seeing you, Spencer.”

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

That question left you in a dilemma. You looked at his left hand for a wedding ring, but there wasn’t one. The thought that your professor, whom you admired so much and had fallen in love with, might be the kind of man who took off his wedding ring to seduce young women disgusted you.

The sound of a phone interrupted the moment; it was his ringing.

“Hello?” he murmured. You hadn’t said goodbye, so you stayed in place. “I got Pampers, yes. I read that’s the best brand for newborns; they’re super absorbent and have a wetness indicator. And I found a really cute bib. Uh-huh, I’ll be there soon. Did you invite everyone? Great, I can’t wait to see them. See you, take care.”

Hearing his warm, affectionate tone made you feel envious; you wished you were the woman on the other end of the line.

“Your wife?” you asked.

“Wife? No, not at all,” he shook his head, almost offended. “That was my former unit chief; she just had a baby, and we agreed to meet up today with some friends.”

“Oh! For a… for a moment, I thought that was for your baby.”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I haven’t had that good fortune yet.”

You’d never really wanted children, but at that moment, your insides turned completely at just the thought of him speaking to you with the same warmth he had with his coworker.

“Do you really need to hurry to that get-together? I mean, if you’re still planning to walk me home?”

“Not at all.”

“I take the metro from Station 17 to get there.”

“That’s funny! I’m going to the same station. We could walk there together and then go our separate ways.”

You eagerly agreed to the idea, and the two of you left the store. In the first block, you talked about general things. He noticed you’d dyed your hair, and you complimented his, which looked really good.

The tension between you two was palpable, and all you wanted to do was let out the feelings you’d kept hidden all this time. At first, you’d thought it was just a silly crush, mere admiration. But as time went on, it became harder to deny the obvious. You wanted to be his favorite; you wanted him to focus on you, so you’d done everything to be his best student.

Five years after meeting him, you knew for sure that what you felt was love. He was a bright light, and you were just a moth, desperate to get closer.

"It feels like it was just yesterday when I was running around campus, worried about exams, essays… but I never forgot your classes. You were always a different kind of professor. You didn’t just care about us understanding the material; you cared about how we thought. I’d never felt so listened to," you whispered, watching the leaves fall from the now-orange trees.

You were walking through an incredibly quiet neighborhood; it was almost just you and him.

"Well, you were a brilliant student. You always asked questions that made me think, and that doesn’t happen often."

Oh, that validation. It felt like an elixir running through your veins.

“Was it just my imagination, or was I your favorite student?”

“It wouldn’t be ethical to say.”

“I’m not your student anymore, so you can be completely honest with me.”

Spencer shifted slightly, as if mulling over your words. You were right; you weren’t his student anymore, and he needed to stop seeing you as such.

“I wouldn’t say there was favoritism, but I particularly enjoyed working with you. You were very dedicated, your work was always flawless, and you always asked how you could improve. I think it was just that you were the kind of student every professor dreams of having.”

“Oh, Doctor Reid, I’m blushing,” you joked, though you couldn’t help the flirty tone that slipped in. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met under different circumstances. If I hadn’t been in college, as your student.”

It was a subtle but significant statement.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… you’re such an interesting person, and sometimes I wish I’d met you in a less formal setting. Maybe we could’ve been friends.”

Spencer looked at you for a moment, as if weighing your words. His lips curved into a faint smile before his gaze turned more serious, as if allowing himself to be vulnerable, if only for a second.

“You know, I’m not sure we could’ve been just friends,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost a whisper that the wind could’ve carried away at any moment. “You were always more than just an outstanding student. You made me question things I thought I had all figured out.”

Your heart skipped a beat at those words. It was like he was finally opening that door both of you had kept closed for so long. The world around you seemed to fall silent, wrapping you in a bubble where only your gazes and the sound of your shallow breaths existed.

"Really?" you smiled, trying not to let on just how deeply his words affected you. “I always thought I was just another student to you, but… you always felt like someone special to me. Like… like everything I did only made sense because you were there, listening.”

Spencer laughed softly, a laugh that almost sounded nervous, as if he himself were processing his feelings.

"Maybe you see me as someone who has all the answers, but if you knew how many times I tried to avoid… what I was feeling."

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, as if afraid to expose too much. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest, and everything around you spun.

“Sometimes I wondered if I was just imagining it.”

“No, you weren’t imagining it. It wasn’t easy for me. I knew I was crossing an emotional boundary, even though I never let it go further. There was an attraction, of course. But it was my responsibility to stay professional. I couldn’t fail you in that.”

The tension between you grew with every step you took. The street seemed to stretch endlessly as both of you searched for the right words to express what you really felt. Minutes passed, but the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, each second you shared without speaking seemed to fill the air with emotions that didn’t need explaining. And yet, deep down, you knew that time was running out. In the distance, you could already see the entrance to the metro station.

“You know, I never thought seeing you again after so long would affect me this much,” you said finally, not daring to look at him, as if admitting it in a low voice made you feel safer. He watched you with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d feel this way, either. I’d convinced myself that… that what I felt was simply admiration.”

His words made you stop, looking into his eyes with a surprised expression. It was a gesture that denoted an unusual transparency in him, as if he felt more vulnerable than he was willing to admit.

“Admiration?” you smiled, though you felt a pressure in your chest you could hardly bear. “And now? What do you feel now, Spencer?”

Spencer. He was no longer your professor; he was simply Spencer.

He lowered his gaze, searching for words he’d likely been repressing for years. The sound of his unsteady breathing was all you heard before he spoke again, in a voice low but clear.

“What I feel now… I don’t think there’s an easy word for it. But it’s something I thought I’d never have to confront.”

You were taken aback by that confession, but it filled you with such a wave of relief that it almost made you dizzy. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but also free. You decided it was time to stop measuring your words, to stop being afraid.

“Spencer, I… I fell in love with you when I was still in college. I always told myself it was just a crush, that it would pass. But I carried you in my mind, in my memories. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I graduated. And now I can’t deny that, even after all these years, I still love you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if processing everything you had just said. When he looked at you again, his eyes were like a deep ocean of emotions, and you couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world had stopped around you.

“What about your boyfriend?”

You didn’t want to ask how he’d picked up on that. But in the end, denying it would’ve been useless.

“My life hasn’t turned out the way I expected. I’m in a relationship that doesn’t fulfill me, and when I compare it to what I felt with you, even though nothing happened, I realize how empty it feels now. It’s like… I don’t know, like I’m just settling.”

You were still standing on the sidewalk. The wind brushed softly against your ears.

“It’s hard when you realize what you have isn’t what you thought it would be. Comfort isn’t enough; you want something deeper, something meaningful. And sometimes, I feel just as lost. My career has been my life for so long that, even though I’m successful, there are moments when I wonder if I’ve missed out on something important. Something I may never have. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s too late.”

You felt like you were going to throw up. All you wanted was for it to end, for him to lean in and kiss you.

You took a step forward.

“There’s nothing between us now. I’m no longer your student.”

"I’ve thought about that. But it wasn’t just the fact that you were my student. The age gap also complicated things. I mean, I’m fifteen years older than you. I couldn’t ignore how inappropriate that would’ve been."

“Fifteen years… yeah, that’s quite a bit. But I don’t think that would’ve mattered so much if we hadn’t been in the situation we were in.”

“It’s not just that, sweetheart,” sweetheart. “You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities. I couldn’t allow myself… to interfere with that. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“You’re talking as if you’re condemning me to a life sentence. And it’s not like that.”

Spencer took a deep breath, holding eye contact for a moment before speaking honestly.

“Still, the age difference will always be there.”

“What are you worried about? What people might think?”

“It’s not just that, but how it would affect you in the long term. A fifteen-year age gap can be a chasm.”

“Maybe. But connections don’t always follow set rules. What I felt then was real. What I feel now is real, too. And I don’t think age changes that.”

Were you seriously confessing your love to this man on that street? After seeing him again for less than an hour? Were you really that desperate for him?

In theory, he had already confessed to you. And that was only proof of how much you both had longed for each other, despite the years that had passed.

In a bold move, you took another step toward him. Your hands reached up to his cheeks, and he felt like he was out of breath.

“You’re an extraordinary man, Spencer. You’re gentle, intelligent, you’re a gentleman, you’re… you’re like a dream. And any woman would be lucky to have you. But if you don’t want me to be that woman, I respect that.”

“Don’t do that,” he groaned. Your fingers felt like fire burning his skin. “Don’t make me say something that isn’t true.”

“Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong time. You want that family, you want to experience everything you missed out on. I want security, attention… I want you.”

He closed his eyes, defeated. A storm of emotions swirled within him.

“We need to take this slow; it’s… it’s a lot to process.”

You nodded and stepped back. For a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake, especially when he was met with the coldness of his skin now that you weren’t touching him. But a second later, you handed him your phone.

“Give me your number. After we’ve both had time to think about this, you’ll call me, and we’ll go out to dinner. If you’re not sure, we’ll just go our separate ways. If you are… we’ll decide what to do.”

It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command. There was no room for argument.

He typed in the digits, almost trembling with nerves, and felt ridiculous for showing himself so vulnerable in front of you. But you were breaking down every ethical boundary he believed he had; dating a former student… what kind of person did that make him?

However, as he returned your phone and looked at you, he realized that you were no longer a child. He was not taking advantage of you at all; you were an adult capable of making your own decisions. And you were choosing him. Above everyone else, he was the one you wanted.

You called, and Reid's barely modern phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling that he now had your number too. Spencer watched you with a mix of nostalgia and resolve, as if this were the last second before the world began to spin again and forced them back into their lives.

Finally, he sighed, lowering his gaze slightly, as if he wanted to hide a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said quietly, with a sincerity that broke your heart. "I don’t know if it’s fair that, after so long, we reopen this door just to risk things not working out."

"We’ll never know if we don’t try," you whispered, trying to stay calm.

He nodded slowly, processing your words, and then, very slowly, took a step toward you, getting close enough for the murmur of his voice to be almost a whisper next to your ear.

"Okay," was all he managed to say. His eyes reflected the same longing and uncertainty that you felt inside.

You walked in silence to the station, and once there, there was no verbal goodbye. You simply moved closer to him, wrapped him in a hug, and he responded with a deep kiss on the cheek.

He went to the right. You went to the left.

Once you were seated on the subway, you felt your phone vibrate with a message.

Hi. I’m Spencer. Please keep in touch. I don’t want to miss you.

And all the way home, you smiled.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it.  You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

 “I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

~

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

~

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

~

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

~

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

~

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

~

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment.  You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

[eelnoise]

supplicate (nsfw!)

18+ MDNI!

Trafalgar Law x afab!reader cw: mild brat taming, teasing, edging, snarky law, piv sex, creampie an: this one kinda went overboard and was not meant to be this long. it was supposed to be two drabbles for both zoro and law but i kinda got carried away. i'll post them separately or whatever idk. tagging: @bby-deerling @themushroomofdeath @risenwrites @kaizokuniichan @strawheart-pirate

At this rate you were going to kill him.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair as his jeans tighten again. You’d been at it all day – touching and teasing him every chance you get. Running your fingers down his arm when you bring him coffee and lingering far longer than you usually do before departing with a small smirk across your lips, not-so-subtly unzipping your boiler suit just enough for him to get a glance of the soft flesh that lies beneath when you cross paths throughout the day’s work, and he doesn’t miss the sultry, half lidded gaze that seems to follow wherever he goes.

Must be some kind of cruel joke, he thinks. Something you and Ikkaku had conspired together to conjure just to drive him up the wall. Law wasn’t keen on any of the crew knowing of your shared… situation, though considering the fondness you have of your crewmate, he should’ve known it was inevitable. And usually, he pays it no mind – so long as he isn’t bothered by any unwelcome, irritating comments or jabs.

But today it eats at him, riles him until your very image is superimposed onto the backs of his eyelids. As much as it pains Law to admit – your stubborn attempt at teasing him had worked, and probably much more than you even knew. Of course, he could simply take care of the ever growing, insistent need for you right now – right here in his office, and without you. He considers it for a moment as he leans back in his chair. There's poetic irony in the thought, and he chuckles selfishly to himself imagining the look on your face when he doesn’t give what you think you’ve won.

Though why deny himself the sweetened privilege of correcting your impish behavior? You’ve earned it at this point, a victory certainly – though perhaps not quite the prize you seek. Law’s mind reels with possibility, bringing him to a point of distraction that leaves him unable to focus on his own tasks. He wants to teach you a lesson, wants to hear you beg, whine, writhe beneath him, pleading for release that he plans on withholding until your absolute limit. 

The way his cock throbs painfully against his thigh gives him an answer that he can’t ignore, and without a second – more rational – thought, utters a near-silent “Room. Shambles.” 

Suddenly it doesn’t matter where you were or what you were doing. And Law isn’t surprised when you appear before him looking smug and as expectant as ever. 

“Took you long enough,” You begin, the coy edge to your voice cutting through the silence that had been his prison for the past few hours. “Thought maybe-”

Law slides backwards away from his desk and cuts you off with a snap of his fingers – a sure signal for you to keep your mouth shut. “Strip, and make it quick.” The way you shiver from his words alone does not go unnoticed, lips twitching upward at just how easy it is to make you come apart from him.

Spurned onward by both his demeanor and his obvious predisposition, you hastily peel your layers off and leave them in a heap around your feet and step toward him. Law leans back and places his elbows on either arm of his chair. Seems like you’re going to have to work for it.

He only assists you with a slight raise of his hips when you move to free his cock from its confines and allows you to pull his jeans and underwear down as you see fit to do. Instinctively you lean down with means to wrap your lips around him, but Law grabs you by the forearm and clicks his teeth – twisting you around to settle into his lap. 

Law reaches down to the backs of your thighs, pulling you into a position that aligns himself near perfectly with you, and pressing your back to the edge of the wooden desk. You gasp when he glides his length along your slick folds, an excited half-mewl that lets him know that you’re exactly where he wants you to be. He delights in the sight of you trying in vain to roll your hips for any sort of friction, but his hold on you is too heavy and the attempts get you nowhere. “Law – come on!” 

At your frustrated plea, Law tilts his head forward to peer at you with a knowing smirk on his lips. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be talking,” He purrs smoothly, breathing hot upon your neck. “Let alone making demands.” 

He ruts his hips slowly – painfully – against you. Whines befall your lips as he lazily slides his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to press just a little harder against your clit. Law knows what makes you tick, having analyzed and researched each reaction to his ministries over the years at sea. He knows just how to make you cry out in limited bliss, how to inch you right to the precipice of paradise – only to whisk it away at the blink of an eye.

Why should you get away so easily?

Still tight within his grip, you’re at his will. Each stroke of him against your walls, feeling every throb of his cock within you leaves you a whiny, needy mess. The frustration turned ecstasy in your gaze cracks his guise further, though not enough to unmask him – yet.

He’d never admit it at a time like this, but the way you sound, the way you feel, the way your expressions twist and curve at his teasing – he needs you like a man needs food. And deciding that you’ve had your fill of his game is a good enough excuse to up the ante.

Law guides himself to your entrance, and using the abundance of slick that glistens along his flesh, eases you onto him. You hiss out a moan as he bottoms out, and a moment later he’s bouncing you up and down his cock, pace still unhurried and languid. 

It's agony, sweet and unsated passion that you’re not being given despite your best attempts goading both now and throughout the day. Your laments fall on deaf ears as Law continues his tortuous campaign, pulling you down onto him until your hips are flush together, letting the head of his cock twitch against the spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. You’re desperate, the need for him begins to outweigh your tolerance of his little game – so you do the one thing that you know will make him crumble.

You reach out for him, pressing a hand to his cheek to lead him into a tender kiss. Law’s eyes widen in surprise, but cannot help to fall into your trick. He closes them and leans into you, deepening the lip lock and groaning in satisfaction. You slip your tongue between his lips and the grip on you loosens enough to allow you to more freely grind on him. 

It takes Law a moment to come to his senses, too lost in kiss and affection to notice that you’d taken control. He breaks the gesture with a growl and a feral grin to match, and that's all the warning you get before he stands up from the chair and folds you backward onto the surface of the desk. Papers crease and books shift as he presses your thighs up to your chest, his cock drilling into your core as fast and as hard as he can give you.

“So fucking needy,” Law taunts, hovering his head just out of your reach. “Look at you. You’re desperate. Drooling for the thing only I can give you, isn’t that right?” He follows up the words with a smack to your thigh and a low chuckle. 

So much do you want to speak, though words fail you again and again. You’ve been reduced to nods and wails of pleasure, and Law is living for it.

He brings you to the edge so many times, and only a handful does he allow you to leap. Law’s stamina doesn’t give, and just when you think he’s close he stalls to a near stop – leaving you breathless and panting and giving you some respite before slamming his hips back into yours until the sound of skin against skin echo throughout his cabin once more. “Law, I can’t–” You wearily exclaim, tears pecking at your eyes beyond the hazy, fucked-out gaze you’re giving him. “It’s too much, I can’t…”

“Of course you can,” Law directs from above you. He clasps your jaw with one of his hands, lithe fingers grasping and forcing your face toward his. “You’ll take everything I have to give you since you’re being so good for me now, won’t you?”

The familiar tug from low in your belly pulls once more at his words, and in an instant you’re cumming again around his cock again. His name falls from your tongue like it's the only word in your vocabulary, and it sends his mind reeling. Law’s words eventually deceive him, and soon enough he’s digging his nails into your thigh and sighing into your neck as he fills you to the brim with his own cum.

The moment stalls, and for a moment Law looks at you, the hand nearest to your face coming to rest gently upon your cheek. You offer him a smile, and it makes his heart skip a beat. It always does. Law leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, and trailing an even softer one to your lips. It isn’t something he says often, what he’s saying to you now. The simple phrase is a whisper on his tongue, and made only for your ears – it's one you return just as quietly, though almost too eagerly.

After all, you do love him.

[crushmeeren]

no bc thinking about akutagawa, the port mafia dog that everyone thinks is so scary (he is) but who is actually the biggest gentleman. who hates plants bc they’re such a hassle to take care of, but who buys you flowers and puts sugar in the water vase to keep them alive ! 🫧🫧

who also just loves biting you. who is the biggest dick in bed, choking you and watching you cum with slits for eyes. who’ll kiss your throat right after he bruises it.

i forget if this is canon or not, but i saw somewhere that he doesn’t know what the frilly thing around his neck is called 😭 (i think its a cravat?)

Oh my FUCK!! Just like that I’m being sucked in and writing about him… Also I think that’s correct, it’s a cravat. Levi from AOT wore one too.🤤

master list link

You’re right…. Ryuu is such a fucking guard dog — a Doberman, if you will. He’s tightlipped and terrifying when he tails you around town, or anywhere really.

You want a few inches of space while you’re in the bar? At the store? At a birthday party? Too fucking bad. He sneers at everyone who gets too close, challenging each person who dares chat you up in his presence without a single word. You smack him in the chest when he pushes the line, teasing him with a “down Ryuunosuke, be a good boy.” He huffs, unhappy, but backs off for the time being. Until something sets him off again.

Although you have to use an unfair amount of willpower not to show it, Ryuu’s aware, and smug, about the fact that his protective and obsessive behavior tugs on the part of your brain that tells you to shove him into the sheets when you get home.

This isn’t to go without saying that Ryuu’s such a sweetie when it comes to you. Like tooth rotting sort of sweet. It’s not so much displayed through words, but rather it’s spelled out in his actions. As stated above, the man does not have a green thumb. First off, plants require far too much attention. Attention that he’d rather spend on you. Second, even if he has tried to grow plants before, though he swears he hasn’t, they just seem to mock him. They die and if he’s honest, he can’t be bothered with whether they live or not.

But, for you, Ryuu did just enough research on how to keep flowers off of life support. When Ryuu brought you flowers for the first time and he noticed how your eyes brightened, how you buried your nose into soft petals and inhaled a lungful, only to hum in delight and aim the single most affectionate look he’s ever gotten at him, well, he needed the flowers to live for as long as you willed them to.

Ryuunosuke loves to suck bruises along your throat, your collarbone, any unmarked part of your body he can get his hands on. It absolutely ties into his possessiveness. You tell him he’s a “territorial ass,” but you moan his name and tilt your head to the side, spreading your thighs open as you insult him. You ask him for more kisses without really asking him.

He rolls his eyes but one side of his mouth twists into a smile, fitting himself snug between your legs. He always comes back with “Yeah? Well you’re a fucking brat,” pressing the harsh words into your collarbone. “You think I won’t mark what’s mine? That I’d let anyone not know who owns you?”

It’s got to be common knowledge that Ryuu is a jerk in bed. That he likes to tease, likes to edge you, even ruin your orgasm once in a while because his dick gets hard when you cry. A thrill races down his spine when you let him choke you, stomach drawing in tight. The pads of his fingers press deep into the sides of your throat, making your head throb and your cheeks flush hot to the touch when all your blood rushes to them. He almost bites the tip of his tongue off when your pussy squeezes the life out of his cock.

On the other side, something probably scratches the out of reach itch in Ryuunosuke’s brain when you take the reins from him. He’s always got too much on his plate, and being able to give up control satisfies his secret desire to be taken care of. His expression is never more open, never more loving, more tender than when you’re riding him. It’s slow and steady, you appreciate every inch of his cock as it slides in and out of your pussy.

You brace your hands on either side of his head and Ryuu stares up at you, his heavy lidded gaze mirroring yours as he pants, these small puffs of air that are just loud enough to make out. You repeat the smooth, steady rise and fall of your hips, lips parting and a breathy “Ryuunosuke,” drips off your tongue. You play it up a bit, knowing how worked up Ryuu gets when you moan his full name.

It works this time as it has all the others.

His breath stutters in his chest, nails digging in and pinching your ass. “Ryuunosuke, please baby, make me cum. Your cock is so good, help me.” Your pussy squeezes tight around him.

Ryuu’s eyes begin to roll, lids fluttering before he lets out a breathless laugh. “You’re playing with me, angel.” He’s too smart, he realized what you were doing from the get go. He secures his arms around your waist and rolls until your back hits the mattress. “Such a helpless little thing for me, aren’t you princess?” He pushes his hips forward and you swear the tip of his cock presses against your cervix.

Ryuunosuke trails his fingers up the underside of your forearms, tickling you, and laces your fingers together, pinning your hands by your head. He dips down to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t have to worry, my angel. I’ll ruin you. You’ll never think of another man or want someone else’s cock ever again.”

You belong to Ryuunosuke, but you knew that already, didn’t you?

[metranart]

“I must admit you picked a pretty one, real pretty girl—” Dabi's grin only grew as Hawks’s scowl deepened. “—Let me know more about your new pet, Keigo. I usually can’t shut you up,” he smirked, reaping some humor from the nasty situation. 

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader (in future chaps)

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 12)

-

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

“She doesn’t seem particularly special,” The leader of the League of Villains had hissed. Red, bloodshot eyes set on the wicked set of photos provided by Dabi, even though he wanted to look particularly uninterested in the material, he couldn’t stop flipping through each photo over, and over again. 

“Don´t tell me,” Mr. Compress peeked from behind Shigaraki’s shoulder to have a glimpse at the material, “—does Hawks have some kind of fucked-up crush on her?”

Dabi merely smirked, shrugging his shoulders. “Don´t know, don´t care.” 

Dabi was Hawks’ contact with the league, since he had introduced him to the group with some ‘I wanna change sides bullshit’, -which no one really believed. 

Since that day, the fire-bender used to tail the winged hero to keep an eye on him, what was his surprise when he found him raping you in a dark alley, after no less than having saved you of a Nomu, earlier that same day.  

His cellphone wasn’t the best but the photos he took were quality, clear and concise. 

Dabi didn’t even have to worry about being found out since Hawks was so smitten by you— Dabi could have been sitting on a garbage can across, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

So, he printed a few copies of this magnificent evidence against the prominent hero and went down to business. 

Shigaraki finally finished browsing the pictures, to glance up at him. 

“If you don’t care—why are you showing us these?” he fanned the photos on his hand. “Do you get off like this, you, sick staple-face?” The silver-haired leader wondered, knowing that Dabi’s actions always had a second agenda.

“What I get off with isn’t your business, crusty. But I thought it would be proof enough to trust the heroic birdie’s change of sides.” He shared, calmly. Uncrossing his arms from his chest to fish his hands inside his pockets, lazily leaning against the nearest wall.  

That had caught Shigaraki’s attention. 

“It could have been consensual….” The silver-haired suggested, holding in his hand a photo where Hawks was devouring your mouth while nailing you against the cold concrete of the wall – your little hands grabbing at his shoulders for sweet support while his held you up by the hips, way too greedily, you looked cock-drunk. 

Turning it around, showed it to the rest for a more unanimous opinion.

“She’s so pretty, like a cute little doll~” Toga shared dreamily, slowly leaning closer to snatch the photo from Shigaraki who effortlessly dodged her.

“Oh! That’s not correct, they are in public, how naughty! I can’t see…” Twice looked away to immediately spin around and look back to the photo, “if they did it like that, it’s because they like to be seen… Hawks is such a dog…” his other personality kicked in, starting a hilarious fight which, everyone ignored, except for toga who constantly giggled.

“The girl looks way too naïve to be doing that consensually,” Spinner judged without giving the photo a second look, his sense of justice feeling sickened by the fake winged hero’s actions.  

“-And on top of that, she looks way too young…. probably closer to Toga’s age, don’tcha agree?” Mr. Compress stated, fascinated by the lewd images.

They could probably sell them and aside from making some good money, they would dismantle the reputation of Hawks, Mr. Number Two Hero in the country. But why would they want to do that to a possible fellow villain?  

He couldn’t help but be… intrigued.

“I say we let him into the league, this…” Mr. Compress tapped at the photo with his finger, “is a despicable act of rampant carnality against a minor, and consensual or not, it’s still a crime.” 

Dabi agreed by nodding his head once. 

“Looks like it~” Toga agreed as well and soon Twice did too. “That little birdy is a bad birdy.”

Spinner grunted an affirmation, and Shigaraki sighed annoyed before announcing. “We’ll give him a chance, now he can join our meetings and some plans…. But he’s not part of the League yet, he’s on trial.”

Everyone agreed, and Shigaraki glanced at warp user who calmly approached. 

“Kurogiri, do me a favor and inform Hawks of our decision— and personally deliver these to him,” he handed over the photos and before releasing them, said, “Tell him it’s our warm welcome gift to the League of Villains.”

Kurogiri nodded, to then disappear in the back. 

Shigaraki scratched at his neck staring at Dabi. “You are still his contact, charred face. As your oldest acquaintance as you presented him…. -If ends up betraying us, you alone must kill him.”

Dabi entertained Shigaraki’s lofty order with sadistic patience before untroubled replied a short. 

“Noted.”

-

Meanwhile, Hawks was a mess, a beating uncomfortable mess. 

Slowly his wounds were healing, even though the encounter with Dabi had been a couple of days ago. Although he still paraded with a broken lip, traces of burns on his clavicle, torso and arms. His hero suit far from salvable, all scorched and stained with dried cum, —even part of his eyebrow had turned to ashes, not to mention, how affected his wings were, he was barely able to fly.

The blond sighed, tiredly.

Having to sneak through the window of his own agency so as not to arouse suspicion among his subordinates was beginning to bother him...... —he shouldn't have gotten carried away, he knew Dabi only wanted to annoy him, enflame his blood just out of sadistic entertainment.... Yet, he was stupid enough to allow him. 

In the last couple of days, instead of patrolling he had been sitting in his office, wasting precious time just analyzing every little detail of what had transpired between you and him…. how his rut ​​had gotten out of control thanks to your quirk. 

Whatever your fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his instinctual responsiveness. Everything had felt good—fucking amazing, mind-blowing, life-changing—though right now, sober and away from your numbing effect, Keigo couldn’t decide if was just your quirk deluding him into thinking your pussy was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was. 

NO! Deep inside he knew it, YOU really were just that fucking incredible. 

His instincts didn’t lie. Actually, it was taking him a monumental effort not to fly to the UA dorms and snatch you away, back to him, safe by his side. 

It’s only been three days away from you and he was already feeling hopeless. Hawk’s mind wandered back to you... and to that stupid ‘welcome gift’. 

Once again, the League of Villains gift greeted him from his desk, without a doubt, this little bastard had been the catalyst for the fight with the fire-user.

Those damn photos that laid scattered all over, screaming his crude crime at him. Mocking and equally enticing for someone as warm-blooded as Hawks. Those damn photos were grotesque, heartbreakingly brutal to his psyche, raw evidence of his brutal attack against you… he hated them— but hated even more how much he had already used them to jack himself off. 

Normally, he would have managed to tame his libido with practiced control—just his imagination to enjoy the ride. But shit it was not fucking working. 

So, just to gauge the obvious upper hand the League of Villains held on him, he thought of scrutinize the photos. He needed to analyze the evidence, yet each printed scene was brought back to life in his mind…

Your pussy gripping him so gloriously, calling him home— that tight, lovely look on your face as you buried yourself onto his lap, taking him fully in one go was fucking thrilling. 

His breath shuddered, as his patience thinned in a matter of seconds. Not even taking himself out, started to stroke himself hard and fast, nose pressed into the poor remaining of his old hero jacket, he breathed in what still lingered of your sweet scent between the fibers.

“Baby bird~” He called brokenly. “Y/N…” His eyes closed at the thought of you. 

You were so smart and funny; it skyrocketed his excitement. The thrill of having another duel of wittiness almost made him cum on the spot. 

Not to mention how well you were fit together, those perfect tits he loved to see bouncing while he breed you… your perfect ass, which look much nicer with his handprint swelling onto the skin, and your pussy—fuck, he could almost replay how tight it felt around him, how viciously grip him and milk every last fucking drop of his cum straight into your fertile womb—making him wonder perhaps, he was already a dad. 

He wouldn’t mind, the commission will deal with the public eye, as he dealt with you and his chicks. 

The mere vision of you all swelled and round with his baby ended up doing it for him. He came, hard! in thick, hot spurts, all over the photos…. ropey, white streaks now decorating each single piece of evidence. 

“Fuck,” he panted, chest heaving, limbs trembling. If he hadn’t been sitting down, his quivering knees would have failed him.  

Never has he ever spilled himself so wonderfully just by his own hand. You had him really stupefied, he idolized you, now you were his everything.

Goddamn it, he thought glaring at the stained pictures of him fucking into you. I have to add hypocrite to the list... that thought came almost automatically. He had almost maimed Dabi days ago for doing the same thing he had just done.

-

After receiving the envelope with photos, Kurogiri had disappeared into the blackness of the night leaving behind a frantic, inflamed and choleric, Takami Keigo.  

He had scanned quickly all the photos, and there was one—a close-up of your pretty face, flushed and sweaty, eyes close tight while you resisted his energetic thrusts: it was splotchy. A crusty, off-whitey stain splattered across your face in the picture.  

It felt like a blunt punch to his gut. His vision went red when at the tact, he recognized how cum looks like when it dries out.  

This was definitely Dabi´s reckless and mocking, signature.

His wings spread bristly and sharp, buzzing with anger, in a calculated jump leaped off the ground and pulled out his cellphone sending a text message.

Hawks.-

We need to talk.

Typing...

Touya.-

Sure, bucket of chicken, see you at the usual spot.

Hawks's eyes gleamed with cold rage as he sped up toward the meeting place.

“Endeavor saved the day again, with the help of hero Hawks, they rescued a student who was caught in the crossfire of a Nomu attack—” the reporter informed, while recorded scenes of the incident were played on the back. 

Dabi rested his elbows lazily on his knees as he waited for the birdman to show. He must be livid. Dabi thought, amused. His gaze analyzed the footage on the TV. Blue eyes watched Endeavor’s flames burn like a thousand suns, so intense and so irresponsible that if it weren’t for the bucket of chicken, you would have been charred— and that was, when he spotted it.

His bright blue eyes widening at the odd discovery. Rewinding it, he watched it again, and again, and again. The villain recorded every appearance of his father on the TV, to analyze it thoughtfully and so one day fry him to death, properly. 

It was a noticeable and severe, injury.

Endeavor's flames had licked at Hawks’ arm and part of his wing. Nevertheless, in the surveillance photos he had took out of a lucky strike, Hawks didn’t sport those injuries. How had he missed it?

What a peculiar oddity, the raven-haired villain thought, looking at one of the copies he kept for private usage.

The image printed on the paper was a true masterpiece. Dabi knew Hawks from way back, and the second the Hero joyfully requested to be accepted in the league of villains, claiming to the four winds that he wanted to change sides, Dabi knew he was playing the sordid spy. 

Even so, the villain played it by ear, taking advantage of what he could and discarding what was plain garbage. 

These photos, well, this were pure gold.... Hawks finally looked like the villain he pretended to be. Fucking the brains out of the poor student –whom he saved from death earlier– plunging inside your pristine pussy with ferality he had only witnessed when the blond was in heat, all of this at the commodities of some dirty alley. Your pretty face pressed against hard concrete while he carved the shape of his heroic cock deep inside you, more than ten photos supported this indecent act of Hero number two, a whole variety of sexual positions, a real feast to the eyes…. Not even Dabi himself could have done it better.  

The oldest Todoroki chuckled. Wicked gaze set on your pretty face…. What is your quirk? He wondered, obnoxiously intrigued by you.

You were like a mouse in the hawk's claws, squeaking and scurrying about ever so cutely. You had achieved what he never did, make Hawks reveal his darker side in plain light... Bravo! you deserved a standing ovation. Dabi was definitely hooked.

His fat and awfully hard cock pressed against his stomach was proof enough of how much he liked those photos, maybe he could give himself some relief before Keigo arrived, all bristle and aggressive. Dabi wished to welcome his oldest acquaintance, jacking himself off, looking at your pretty face contorted in pain and bliss. 

The smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips when the wave of air from Hawks harsh landing, blown the skirts of his trench coat. Buh, too late…. 

“Hello there, birdy boy,” Picking the set of photos, stuffed them inside his trench coat and twirled around to meet him. “Tell me, how do you feel after getting your rocks off? —Let me be the first to tell ya, you are glowing.”

Dabi teased, proficiently. He could tell, behind those stormy, golden eyes of his, there were questions brewing. 

“—Who the fuck do you think you are, Dabi?!”

“What did I do?” the villain feigned mocking innocence, looking amusedly offended.

Hawks ignored the vile that dropped down his spine at hearing him replying so unabashedly.

“Do you have people tailing me?!” The blond growled low in his throat, “without a fucking doubt this Nomu attack was your thing-”

“Nah, nah, nah, birdy boy.” He shook his head, playfully. “That has Shigaraki’s signature all over it—don´t blame it on yours truly,” he said it like that on purpose, knowing it will unbalance him and... it did.

Dabi spared a glance his way, with that crazy look on his face he always gave when felt overly amused by a situation and continued explaining. “Dust-face wanted to test his new creation against number one hero... It turned out to be great disappointment.”

“—I bet not as disappointing as your father in you.” Keigo couldn’t stop the snarl that fell from his chest accompanying a wicked twitch on his lip. The blond was blazing with toxic anger, and Dabi entertained his punch under the belt with sadistic silence.

“After fucking a pretty student against her will in some dirty alley, one would think you'll in a better mood.” He grinned his most wicked grin. That comment had irked him. 

Takami Keigo was the only other being alive who knew about his sordid secret past, of course, that sensitive topic would eventually backfire at his face! After all, they used to tousle among the sheets during Hawks’s heats, and those kinds of topics were like their pillow talk. 

If they were a Heroic team, their name would be ‘The Daddy issues duo’. 

Dabi stared at him fully, and there was so much sadism or wickedness in what he said next, that it made his words all the more antagonizing.

“I must admit you picked a pretty one, real pretty girl—” his grin only grew as Hawks’s scowl deepened. “—Let me know more about this little cunt, Keigo. I usually can’t shut you up,” he smirked, reaping some humor from the situation. 

“Go on, I’m intrigued to know how firm her tits were, the tightness of her pussy—was she a virgin? -…” Hawks felt exasperated, almost at the verge of a fit, “... but what am I saying, of course she was! You damn criminal—”

His next words caught in his throat as Hawks rushed to him, in a vicious attack. Even been waiting for it, Dabi had trouble dodging it, his damn feathers were devilishly sharp against his staples.

A feral fight broke out, giant blue flames licked the walls of the abandoned building, thankfully the roof was already destroyed beforehand, otherwise it would have exploded, thus drawing the attention of some unwanted Hero who was patrolling around. 

Hawks viciously attacked him with precise movements, gliding around him and sneaking up to slash his chest with the long feather he was using as a sword. Dabi's agility was nothing to laugh at, anyone else would be cut in half but he only had a scratch, and the mourn of his favorite white shirt.

“You owe me a new shirt, birdbrains—”

The flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to attack, and Hawks fell directly into his trap, he dodged, anyway his other palm was already smoking and without preamble the raven-haired fired a puff of blazing blue flames which licked the crimson wings of the hero forcing him to take flight and stay away from him.

From up high, Keigo read the intentions in Dabi’s daring stance, as he calculated the risk of keep on teaching him a lesson. 

“You can’t just keep burning everything around you, Todoroki-” he said up high in the sky, emphasizing his last name since he knew, he hated it. Calculations had been made. 

The blond had decided he wanted to see the villain on his knees and begging for his unreachable forgiveness.

“Says who?” The white-hot glare in his turquoise eyes was as bright as the one on his palm, which smoldered into the bursting blue of flames as it lit up his fingers. “Says you? You stupid overly-sensitive pigeon—” he smirked a snort, looking up at him from the ground. Exposed chest heaving, and palms shining with dancing flames.

“Come down here with me, scared dove. I’m going to roast you! and then I’m going to find that girl, and I’m going to fuck her RAW—” Dabi spread his arms out, theatrically. The stare on his eyes more vicious from the high angle of Hawks. “I think I’ll debut her sweet, virgin asshole, it must be SO tight and warm… by the way, did you like my gift?” 

The banter in his voice made Hawks hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked down at Touya’s hot glare, those pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just mockery, something akin lust... it was, pure hunger.  

“I had forgotten to thank you Keigo,” He tilted his head tauntingly, in false courtesy. “I didn't even remember when the last time I had rub one out like that—fucking mess I did… next time, I’ll cum in her REAL face.” 

Takami Keigo just saw red, his brain snapped, instincts overcame him. He knew had to be cautious, the black-haired villain was up to something, relentlessly taunting him… nevertheless, his body attacked, unable to control himself. 

“You’re NOT allowed to mention her!” Keigo swooped towards him, “—you’re a piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her!” 

The Hero wheeled around him slicing his trench coat through the back. The black leather fabric hugging his torso slipped to one side, and the photos safely kept in his inner pocket fell to the filthy ground. Hawks's fierce gaze landed on the pictures, and that scarce moment of hesitation was more than enough for Dabi.

Dabi’s flames spread across his wings like fire on dry leaves, the hero fell to the ground, spinning around to put them out and before he could adopt a defensive stance again… Dabi was on top of him. Beautiful cerulean flames licking at his fingers, as a wicked smile stretched across that stapled face.  

“—Oops! looks like I burned your precious wings,” The manic grin on his face had only made Keigo remember his number one rule: never underestimate Dabi. 

The blond just stared up at him, doing his best to stay compose.

“You don’t seem worried…” the villain accused, “I´ve been meaning to mention this: I can't see the wounds that my piece-of-shit father left you yesterday…” the sole of his boot pressed into Hawk’s chest to moved it from side to side while pretending to check, “that’s odd—you ought to solve this riddle for me, birdbrains.”

He stomped on his charred arm making him wince, and leant down to whisper, teasingly. “Do it, and I might even reward you,” he grinned too pleased, “-by letting you suck me off, as you love to.”  

Hawks grunted low, though it wasn’t the timber he had used before, it was different. Genuine displeasure leaked into his voice. “I don’t do that on purpose—”

“Yes, you, fucking do!” Dabi stressed, squatting down over his chest, hovering over the injured Hero. Fingers tensed as flames licked their tips. “Don't know if you heard blondie, but when you are in heat, it´s like if you were made to be fucked and breed by yours truly.”  The broad smirk that shifted his metallic staples made Keigo shift uncomfortably.  

Dabi was actually frustrating him. Hawks just wanted to erase that sly smile from his lips, too sly and self-indulgent, almost as if.... Oh!

To Dabi’s surprise, Hawks started to giggle- it seemed genuine. A real laugh. The blond couldn’t help it. His hunch was awfully hilarious.  

“Is that it, Dabi... really?” he asked, scoffing. A lonely brow raised on the fire-bender’s face, holding something close to bewilderment. “Are you really that jealous that now I have a mate, and I´ll no longer need you to help me with my ruts?” he kept on giggling, openly ignoring Dabi’s deadpanned frown “—how lame…” 

Dabi mumbled something intelligible to then snort and shrug, flatly. Shaking his head while straightening up, and not even a second apart, the kicks began. Each time harder to make sure he hurt the blond, his face never losing the same mask of boredom and indifference he was known for.  

“Don’t flatter yourself, hero imitation, you’re just a cumdump to me…” he informed, almost bored. “A flesh-light, if you prefer. It amuses me to see you squirm like a whore under my touch—"

Dabi wrinkled his nose, and Hawks chuckled, a teasing, annoying sound that only served to make Dabi hiss. 

“Nah, Touya’s jealous of a little schoolgirl,” the blond boasted, “…c’me here, and I’ll even gift you a kiss, so you can stop crying—” 

The blond taunted him sporting a broken lip, blows adorned his jaw, singed wings, and dirty and emaciated suit... Yet, his smile was devastatingly bewitching as he held out his arms, inviting the villain to take the space in between them. 

Dabi snarled, straddling his body once again and delivering withering blows. 

“—I’ll burn that fucking smirk of your ridiculous face, shitty hero.”  

No doubt Hawks knew how to rattle the Todoroki, not many had the ability to make his blood boil.  Hawks covered from the strikes with his forearms, and in a twist, he swiped his leg making Dabi stumble upon himself.

“Don't go around falling for me, Touya-” Keigo shared in all sarcasm and giggles only to receive a square punch in the face. 

Dabi sighed, fed off. “Not everyone is in love with you, you self-centered idiot.” He spat, grabbing Hawk’s jaw inside his fist. “That's why I hate heroes, they fall in love with their own legend—” the flame-user tightened his hand around his jaw and without letting go, hauled him up to face him.

“I'm intrigued, not jealous, you narcissistic jerk... there's a huge, gigantic difference …” Dabi sounded threatening and Keigo’s mouth shaped in the form of an ‘o’ as if realizing the true colors behind Touya’s actions, and just when he thought he had him figured out— his lips slammed against his in a coppery flavored kiss.  

COMING SOON PART 12....

➡️ ARTWORK OF THIS STORY

@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e @alicecil87 @geniejunn @justanerd1 @bakugosgirl01 @toxicxmindsposts

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Raphael's First Love—A Talk With Splinter

part of the First Love Talk miniseries!

sfw 💫 word count: 1.2k

The old metronome in the corner of the dojo ticked on incessantly as Raphael sat in indignant silence with Master Splinter. After four outbursts, a fight with Leonardo, and days of distance, Splinter had put his foot down and called his son in for a talk about his behavior. Beneath his stern exterior, Splinter was concerned.

"Raphael, explain yourself," Splinter demanded with a calm voice, treading a thin line with his angriest son's temper. Not out of fear—Splinter could and would easily put the giant back in his place even as an old rat. That was no issue. "What has gotten into you?"

Weeks of this crap, that's what, thought Raph bitterly. Weeks of feeling sick to his stomach every time she was around, trying to put up a good front and getting embarrassed by himself or his brothers; he felt stupid. Weak. Utterly at her mercy, and she didn't even know. Good. I don't want her to. Splinter gave him a skeptical eye. He shifted his position multiple times, uncomfortable and trying to look casual. Grunted dismissively. But he knew his father was not going to take that for an answer. He let out a scoff, dodging eye contact, "Things gettin' under my shell like usual."

"But not like usual, because you are worse-off than usual," observed Splinter.

His mental health was actively declining the more he deliberated on the pang in his heart he felt when he thought about her. It made his guts twist to think about why he was so angry, why he was even afraid of her, deep down. The last thing he ever wanted to admit to himself, let alone Splinter, was that he cared what she thought. A lot.

Too much.

All of his brothers seemed so confident, and yet he was self-conscious. Why? Why do I gotta be like this?!

Raph shrugged. "You know me, master. Comes with the whole package, whether all of you like it or not." He was already moody, prone to rapidly-changing emotions. That was never a guess, it was a given. "Look, I'll do us a favor and just end this convo now—I ain't in a bad way. And Leo needs to stay in his lane comin' to you over a little fight." He started to get up, leave the terrible silence of the training room and that god awful ticking metronome. Splinter jabbed his cane into his plastron, knocking him back, and then brought it down hard on his foot. Raph yelped and stumbled down, quickly reassuring his seated position.

"Enough!" Splinter barked. "Sit, Raphael."

Splinter had his full attention, now. The top of his foot ached dully.

Raph was seething on the inside. On the outside, he slumped over his knee, hiding his face behind his thick forearm.

This was all her fault. If she hadn't fallen—literally crashed—into their lives, he would be fine. There would be no question about what to do or what he was feeling. It was always them and the shadows—no people, no complications. He always knew that would never be accepted despite craving it with every ounce of his being. Why change that? Why suddenly bring more emotions into the mix? Before her, it was all straightforward. Now, he worried if he was too brutish, too much of a freak, if his normal habits weren't so "normal". He didn't want to feel like he was under one of Donnie's microscopes, with her eye looking through the lens.

Splinter furrowed his gray brow at him, resting his hands on his cane. "This is about your self esteem, is it not?" he questioned carefully. Prying.

"You couldn't know anything about it!" Raph shouted back. He swung his hand as he spoke. "I'm a six-foot turtle, there's no changing it! No changing me!"

Sighing a light breath, Splinter closed his eyes. This was going to be the challenge for the day. No day was without its challenges. He recentered his thoughts, looking for a different angle. He wanted to speak his son's language.

"Correct, there is no changing you."

Raph stuttered on his response as his face fell almost imperceptibly, but Splinter knew every minute expression of his kids.

If she knows, I'm done for. Raphael's mind was swirling and his thoughts were reaching dead-ends left and right. There was no changing. No hope? He couldn't tell. He'd given up before he'd even tried. Because like his weapon, he was defensive, and did everything possible to protect what? Himself. His big, soft heart in there that needed some serious attention. The thought of telling her made him want to hurl. But like a moth to a flame, he kept coming right back to her, torturing himself with "what-if's" and doubts he had all the while.

"What do you want me to say, Splinter?" Raph spat with a low voice.

"I want you to be honest with yourself," Splinter replied.

Raph poked the tip of his sai into the mat before him, digging it into the material. "Okay, I'll bite," he said, "what do you think I'm lyin' about? Huh?"

He already knew the answer to that. It was everything; he rejected the shyness he felt inexplicably when she was around. He felt dirty next to her, or if he accidentally touched her, it was an ordeal. Because he was a mutant and she was a human. Out of all of her pick of people, he never could have been at the top of her list. He doubted he even made the list as an option.

Knowing Raphael was lying then, too, Splinter simply lifted his chin at him, and waited for the real answer.

The silence was getting to be too much for him. He jammed his sai into the mat, stabbing through it. But in his face was sadness, not anger. He finally admitted, "I just want to be accepted. Even just by her." Fiddling with his sai, he averted his eyes to stare at something random next to him, adding quietly, a little bashfully: "Aaaaaand sometimes I think Leo has a…better shot than me. That's why we were fightin'. I went nuts because he was gettin' along with her and it made me feel some stuff I don't want to feel."

There it was, thought Splinter, bingo. "Well, you are certainly not the first young man to make a fool of yourself over a girl."

"Master, I don't even know what to do with myself. How am I ever gonna know what to do with her?"

"The first step would be to stop ruining my mat," Splinter said as he bonked his son's head with the end of his cane, irked that he was creating a hole in it with his sai. Raph quickly tucked his weapon away. He muttered an apology. Splinter cleared his throat before continuing. "The second step would be for you to face your fears, Raphael. Accept them, conquer them. You are as you are—what humanity thinks of you is not your concern. You know who you are. I would like to think that [y/n] does as well."

Raph shifted, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I don't think she does. I don't really…"

She was all too kind, beautiful, and smart; a deadly, terrifying combination, in his predicament. He'd been plagued with dreams of being with her night after night. Not worrying about a single thing until the moment he woke up—he was stressing every morning. His anxieties always seemed to curse him cropping up in his dreams; not even in sleep could he escape her sphere of influence.

Placing a gentle hand on Raphael's shoulder, Splinter looked down at him, "Then, you show her who you really are. Raphael."

[v-anrouge]

Verryyy long ranting under this about vil and how this fandom treats him for absolutely no reason pls excuse any mistakes and feel free to correct me with any accidental misinfo i passed <3

Mentions of racism, fatphobia, eating disorders, elitism & ableism and also SPOILERS for Vil's character story (eng only)

Ever since this game started getting super famous in tiktok and twitter it seems that people just love to butcher literally every character in Twst and sometimes it's genuinely baffling how wrong some of the takes are, it really does make me wonder if some people just don't read the story and just skip every character who isn't their fave, and if they really do that, what makes them think they know enough about the rest of the cast to post in the character's main tag the most rancid read on a character, often accompanied by some accusations of literal crimes of bigotry that really should be taken more seriously instead of being terms thrown around.

I'm gonna be talking about Vil specifically but characters like Leona, Jamil, Sebek and a few others have it exceptionally bad as well (especially Leo and Jamil who's haters can even be quite racist)

I've been playing for a very long time (in eng) i remember being there to watch the Heartslabyul final release and the release of Savanaclaw's chapter and through these years ive seen the most horrific takes on Vil's characters, ranging from the accusations of racism (which have been debunked again and again especially by JP players) to accusations of supporting eds, fatphobia, elitism and ableism. The funny thing is that even with a very quick read of any of Vil's story you'll find out there is no support for any of such claims. They like to use the incident with Epel's accent when for years JP players have pointed out how this was strictly an error of localization since they couldn't find a situation similar to the one that is portrayed in the original game to put in eng twst, they went with the one we have where Vil asks Epel to "hide his accent" (he really doesn't he was talking about the way Epel is rude and disrespectful which would definitely end with him being beat up and then expelled bringing a bad fame to Pomefiore and also making Vil look bad for not properly guiding his dorm students) which is a terrible choice but alas it seems people prefer to ignore facts to stick with their claim that Vil is some sort of monster when this man is literally a teen. He's 18 years old and has to constantly look out for his image in and out of school since he grew up in front of the cameras.

Vil's character is all about beauty and self care and self acceptance yet for some people this seems to translate to "starve yourself if you don't want to be a disgusting fat pig" which is very weird to say the least considering all mentions Vil makes about diets he is talking about keeping a balanced diet to nurture your body and even has a voice line pointing out the importance of eating. Vil himself may be coded to have an ED in his overblot and Lab vignette but he has never and would never encourage one, he literally goes out of his way to annoy students to take care of themselves what makes anyone think he'd encourage them anyways? It's such a weird thing to assume of a character.

A lot of people seem to think that Vil is also the "beauty standart" king which doesn't even make sense considering vil is a gnc man, he already doesn't follow beauty standards and would definitely be against it, Vil's vision of beauty for himself may be twisted due to his traumas and troubles yet his vision of beauty for others is always exclusively on the person being their best version, this includes dressing how they want to and feel comfortable in, using whatever makeup they want (or just not using it at all) etc.

The way Vil speaks is often misunderstood as he tends to be strict and can be read as mean (I've already shared my theory on what may have caused this behavior here before so i won't be getting into too many details) but Vil is a famous and respected housewarden because if you actually stop and think about his advice the end result is always an effort to make the person's desires come true. (a good example is how Vil made Epel clean the windows and although Epel was displeased with the hard labor in the end he notices how the task may help with muscle growth and gets happy)

Vil's way of caring for others is often misunderstood and obviously that's understandable, not everybody may get his "rougher" way of handling advice, but also it's a bit weird how people react to it when in game all of the characters seem to be okay with it, Pomefiore has a lot of students and if they considered Vil to be a bad leader he would've been voted out a long time ago, no? And if i remember correctly wasn't it said in game they had very few transfers? (as in characters moving out of Pomefiore and into other dorms) That wouldn't make sense if Vil was really the cruel leader some people make him out to be. The truth is Vil is a nice caring person and his students recognize that which is why he is respected all across the school and not simply on his dorm (because ive seen people say Vil has brainwashed the Pomefiore students into thinking he is a good housewarden 💀)

Vil surely has issues he needs to work through, after all this game is literally about that, dealing with troubled teenagers and their internal struggles and the importance of asking for help (omg friendship is magic...) but Vil is also a teenager, and he is one of the characters that show the most desire to get better, immediately showing regret and apologizing to Yuu and his classmates for the danger he put them in, that is because Vil genuinely does care for them.

Another accusation people make is ableism, i remember seeing many posts saying Vil wouldn't respect disabled people and/or mentally ill people which is 1- extremely fucking rude to say? 2- absolutely wrong. Again just a quick read on Vil's character will tell you everything you need to know about how he'd feel about disabled people, he'd treat them like everyone else, and would adjust his handling accordingly to their needs, i really don't get where this claim comes from but it's quite ironic because a lot of Vil haters tend to be ableist themselves by claiming that Vil is a bad person mentioning traits that are often caused by mental illness and the effect of traumas, failing to analyze how their treatment of a character that displays common mental illness symptoms may affect people in real life who displays the same symptoms, and often being ableist themselves by judging these actions irredeemable and inherently evil/heartless, once again dehumanizing people with mental illness in real life who deal with the same symptoms.

Another common thing is the constant invalidation of Vil's trauma. A lot of people seem to read book 5 with their eyes closed and take away from the story that the reason Vil "got pissy and almost killed a guy" (wording of a terrible post i saw a few days ago<333) is because he's a "spoiled brat who couldn't handle getting the paper he wanted in a movie boo hoo" which is kind of funny with how terribly wrong it is, i really don't know what your thought process has to be to get his backstory this wrong but sure, let's start; The start of Vil's problems with being cast as a villain starts from when he was very very young, he was just a child when after being cast as a villain for a movie he was almost beat up by a group of boys for being an "evil guy" and by his reaction it wouldn't be impossible that this wasn't his first time dealing with that kind of thing. Vil also tells jack (who scared away the group) that he had trained so he would be able to deal with them on his own which again, could be a hint that this wasn't that uncommon in his life. In Vil's overblot dialogue is all we really need to know to debunk this claim.

What Vil wanted wasn't just to be a hero in a movie, he wanted to be seen, to be heard and cherished, he wanted to be more than a pretty prop they could put on the front to get attention only to be taken out of stage when he was no longer necessary in the next scene, do you get it? He wanted to be able to see his hard work pay off, to see his efforts of years being rewarded, to for once not be exchangeable for someone more favorable. Vil wanted to feel like all his pain was worth it in the end because finally he could shine in the stage, being himself instead of just another persona to attract people. In his overblot it's shown clearer than ever that Vil does not have a stable view of his own image unlike what he has trained himself to show, even calling himself ugly and begging them to not look at him. I don't think Vil is used to be being vulnerable, which would explain why he was so freaked out when the overblot happened, and why he cried when his beauty (the one thing about himself that was always recognized by others and therefore the thing he'd always been the most desperate to nurture) was taken away by aging in book 6 (note; the fact Vil sacrificed it for his classmates also just debunks the people saying he only cares for himself, if he did he wouldn't be who he is.)

I said i wouldn't give my thoughts again but i will, just briefly, i believe an easy explanation to Vil's behavior (the tough love he gives and his strictness) might be because of the industries he grew up in, we can't know for sure how similar twst's version of the movie and modeling industry is when compared to the real life one but considering the way Vil is, my guess it's that it's pretty similar, especially in the regard of their treatment towards children, in Vil's overblot he hears two staff members talking about how he'd never be able to pull off a relatable role because he is too perfect, and sure those may not look like insults, but to Vil who's only dream his entire life was to be seen in good light, those words stuck to him so deeply they'd come back to him during his overblot. (note; i have not seen a jp translation of the overblot scenes so i don't know if they also suffered from localization issues, if anyone has a link to one i could see id really like to see what the staff said to Vil)

The general point of Vil's overblot was how his efforts and hard work were always overlooked and ignored in favor of someone else, this happens with quite a lot of characters and happens as well with another overblot (Leona, who happens to be quite similar to Vil in many ways) and although i don't expect anyone to read it and think of analysing it more deeply even with a shallow vision of his overblot it's still incredibly insensitive to call it a "non-problem" especially considering the fact this is Vil's ENTIRE life, he's been working hard and failing for years again and again and that does get to you. I remember when i posted my first rant on Vil quite a lot of people who reported to be skilled at something (say for example music or dancing) as a child that any failures absolutely destroyed you inside, and that people who haven't passed through the same tend to call them dramatic and say they're overreacting to situations that can be classified as trauma depending on how much it mentally impacted said child. (and in Vil's case it's clear it had a massive one, after all he wouldn't have overblotted if he didn't have issues that had been bottled up until they finally exploded)

Mentioning Leona again, he and Vil share the same sentiment of anguish for being discarded and having their hard work be thrown away, the difference in them is the way they reacted to it, while Leona ended up not seeing any value in attempting to do anything because he assumes the outcome is always going to be the same, Vil overworks himself and forces himself to do things he might hate clinging to the hope that this time it'll work out.

Since we're talking about trauma ill already answer some things that may or may not come with this post (because in my first one i got this response a lot) "Vil's a fictional character it doesn't matter" and sure if you think like that cool, personally, when im talking about a fictional character that tackles real life traumas and issues, i talk about it as if referring to a real person because the character has been written with one (or multiple) in mind.

Twst may have issues but the character writing is undeniably about real life traumas and experiences, and the characters are quite accurate and good representation of the issues they tackle, so when you invalidate them, you are by result invalidating real life issues. Of course this won't stop anyone and i know that a few people will probably scoff at this and brush it off as being too sensitive but personally if you wouldn't dare invalidate say for example Riddle's traumas because you know it's a representation of mommy issues, which is a very real problem, to not go against your own morals you should also respect the issues of all the other characters, even if you personally think some are more "serious" than the other.

[howtofightwrite]

For a character that virtually can’t die and regenerates in order to keep living, how do you make action interesting? Emphasize they still feel pain, why they’re doing it?

I'm actually going to step back a bit from this question first, and complement it. This is a very honest question, and something most writers who include violence in their work, should really think about. Even if you don't think you have characters like this, you do.

Now, I'm going to dunk on Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw for a moment. Ages ago (I think it was in one of his Resistance reviews), Yahtzee described, “threatening to blow up the world,” as the laziest form of raising the stakes. Because, “hey, I live on a world.” He's mostly correct. Threatening your protagonist's life is even lazier. In the vast majority of cases, your audience knows you won't go through with it. That you won't kill off your protagonists.

With that in mind, when you decide your protagonist is completely immortal, that changes less about how you write them than you might expect. The biggest difference is simply that they're directly aware of their plot armor, rather than them engaging in faux indecision based on their perceived mortality. Again, this is something that every writer who uses violence should think about, at least a bit. It is natural for a character to fear for their life, and have reservations about risking their life, but making the part where your character's lives are on the line isn't automatically suspenseful. In a lot of cases (consciously or not), your audience will call your bluff, when you threaten to kill off a major character.

If you think back to major character deaths where something drops them without warning, part of what makes those scenes work is the lack of (apparent) setup. The writer didn't spend pages teasing you with the idea, they just went for the throat and ended that character on the spot. This is more respectful of your audience, because you're not telling them, “well, I might kill this character, or I might not.”

To be clear, I'm not saying that there's no place for teasing your audience with a character's impending demise, just pointing out that in a lot of cases, this won't generate the kind of suspense you'd hope for.

So, to get back on topic, how do you make it interesting? Remember that while this character can't die, the same is not true for the characters around them. Depending on the tone you're going for, you could create an absolutely brutal crucible effect, where everyone around your immortal gets burned off, sooner or later. Whether that's literal, or figurative, is up to you. Even if your character can't die, watching people they care about suffer and die is going to have an effect on them.

You probably don't need to draw special attention to the physical pain they experience, but you do want to be aware of it. Especially in the context of how pain affects the victim's behavior. Beyond that, there is probably an element of pain being far more annoying to the immortal than it would be to a normal person. They know it's not telling them anything meaningful, but it is distracting.

Long-term, both of these can easily result in personality shifts. And, legitimately, this is a scenario where a character may be immortal, but they would still experience significant changes over time, and with the growing emotional pain, could have very adverse effects on your personality. This does have some very real, “live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” potential. How many friends can you lose before you stop caring? How many funerals can you attend before you start taking the phrase, “you're either part of the solution or part of the problem,” a little too far? How many times can you pick yourself up off the pavement a blood-covered alleyway, surrounded by corpses, before you start to forget what made you human in the first place?

And, that's not the only option. The simplest answer for maintaining tension when one of your characters is immortal is keeping your eye on what they're trying to accomplish. Keep track of their objectives, because I guarantee they can fail those. Even just keeping their own nature concealed from the mortal world is probably fairly important, because of the idea that men in hazmat suits will drag them away to some research lab and poke them until they figure out how to replicate their immortality, is a classic (and potentially plausible) threat. (Bonus points, if you're wanting to loop in something like the medieval inquisitions, or some other secret societies that could pose this kind of a threat.)

So, what do you do? To dig out an old cliché threat, “there are fates worse than death,” and it's probably worth exploring them. This also opens up new possibilities for threats. Finally, it's worth remembering that immortality does not guarantee success. If your character is hoping for that, it might be time to give them a very harsh lesson.

-Starke

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[elsecrytt]

Kinktober Day 5

Prostate Massage | Blindfold | Cages

Pairing: Satoru Gojo X Reader

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, yandere/controlling behavior, drugging, captivity, panic attack

He’s missing again.

This is more surprising than one might think – Gojo, for all his whimsical tendencies, doesn’t typically slack on exorcizing curses.

It’s why they think he’s just going off the grid for a bit to take care of some other business – goodness knows he drags in enough sorcerer children to the school.

But it’s been a while, and no one’s heard from him.

If he had meant to defect, he would surely have done it when Suguru Geto was still alive. So this must be another fit of arrogance, running off and doing whatever he pleased. It was annoying, but who could stop him? He was, after all, the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Certainly, no one was expecting to find Satoru Gojo in a cage inside your basement.

You’re not a sorcerer, after all. No one Satoru knew or had ever known would even know your name, much less where you live and that Satoru was with you.

You don’t even bother visiting him for the first few days. There’d be no point. He’d try to convince you this was a bad idea (it probably was) and to let him go (you absolutely could not, not under any circumstances). He probably wouldn’t lie – you never thought him to be the type, even if his life were truly on the line – but nothing he said would be of any use to you.

He’d already said enough when under the influence of those helpful substances you slipped him. You’d gone through a few before you found one that made him pliable enough to repeat the words you needed.

A binding vow. One that would keep him here, and keep him tame, for as long as you wanted.

Oh, you’re sure he was terribly confused for those first few days. Wondering what kind of curse or curse technique had him trapped in there. Poor baby was probably bored to death, too, if anything you knew about him was correct.

But it would take a while to get to him, to get him to the place he needed to be. And you had all the time you needed.

After all, good things come to those who wait.

You open the door, a thrill in your heart at the thought of just how excited Satoru Gojo is going to be to see you.

The worst part is, you’re right.

Satoru’s been stuck in here for three days now. He is, frankly, bored. Worse than bored. He’s sort of going insane.

It’s not like he needs to use the restroom, or even eat. Sorcerers – anyone who could use reverse curse technique, really – had ways to suspend bodily functions and stuff like that, for use on long missions, in extreme environments, or domains with weird effects.

So, no. He’s not hungry, or thirsty, he doesn’t need to use the restroom. That’ll catch up with him eventually, of course, but it’s not a problem right now.

The problem right now is that someone was powerful enough to trap him in here, had some weird power that stopped him from escaping, but they just. Left him.

All. Alone. In the dark. Even with the six eyes, it was dark in here. He can tell where the door is, but the light level is far beneath what a normal human could see. There’s almost no sound. No cursed energy at all. Nothing interesting in the room to stare at, nothing moving.

It was a weird, surreal sort of experience, for about ten minutes. Hard to tell even how much time was passing. Just the sound of his breath and the thoughts knocking around in his head. He didn’t get time like this often, didn’t just sit down and think. It cleared his head in a strange way – no more migraines, no more constant analyses from his six eyes, no more reverse curse technique constantly healing his brain.

Like taking off a weight he hadn’t noticed was there to begin with. He felt lighter, so many physical demands suddenly lifted from his body. A breath of fresh air.

Fresh air got old pretty fast, when most of his thoughts kept coalescing on Why can’t I use my curse technique and What the hell is going on? At first, there was even fear, too – he wasn’t totally crazy – but after that?

This is just boring. He’s never been so bored in his entire life. His brain feels like it’s rattling in his skull, waiting to drop out the next time he tilts his head. Satoru is about ready to start banging it against the bars just to have something to listen to.

So when you open the door, light suddenly flooding in from a crack (it’s bright enough to make him wince, with his eyes), Satoru Gojo is entirely focused on you, in an instant. Taking in every single detail about your body, your voice, your cursed energy and cadence.

It’s amazing, how much you can learn when you pay attention.

He learns that you’re not a sorcerer. That he’s not kept here by any curse technique or tool – rather, it’s by a binding vow. One that only you can release. You’d drugged him through his infinity using a knockout gas and gotten his half-conscious self to repeat specific words to make the vow.

He learns you think you’re doing this to help him, save him.

“I just don’t think you’re that strong. I mean, it was easy enough for me to get you like this, right? And I’m not a sorcerer at all.”

His eyes are fixed on you like shattered sapphires. You’re insane – you must be – but it isn’t every day some insane person manages to get one over on him.

Maybe the reason you were able to get this far with him was because you were so crazy.

“For your whole life, you’ve had to be strong.” Your eyes soften; he can discern your features on a microscopic level, the tiny flecks of warmth and concern, “But you aren’t. And you don’t have to try anymore. I’ll protect you.”

Something weird twists in his guts.

There’s lots of kinds of crazy in Jujutsu sorcerer. He’s no stranger to it. But this kind of crazy? He’s never seen it before.

Love is the most twisted curse of them all.

And that is what you tell him, that you love him. You continue by telling him all sorts of funny things – that you’re taking care of him now, getting him back on track, this is for his own good, yada yada.

It’s definitely crazy person speak, but it’s new and refreshing that it’s directed towards him. And maybe because it’s so novel and fun, he goes ahead and sits back and enjoys it.

Like, he tries to tell you he’s important. People to protect, students to teach, all that stuff. You just dismiss him, tell him he’s weak, tell him he doesn’t know what’s best for him. He wasn’t meant for sorcery – his life will be better, now.

(Somewhere in the back of his head, he realizes with a belated horror, that this is what he sounds like to other people.)

 It’s funny, though, it is. He laughs at you (you smile, though, because you’re delusional like that, even if you can tell he’s mocking you), at the thought that he could be meant for anything but sorcery.

And hey, it’s not like he’s got anywhere to be. Anywhere he can be. He’ll give it a try.

Although it’s not so much a try as endure the very carefully calculated daily plans you lay out for him. You’ve got a lot of free time – probably some work-from-home position – and a lot of money, too.

(Great taste in body wash also. Amber and honeysuckle or something. He’ll have to remember it when he gets out of here.)

The room he’s in is special in that it’s painted a gentle off-white color, and sparsely decorated. His little cage is large enough to fit him just sitting down, tall as he is, and it’s large enough for a cot in the corner. It’s kind of cozy, he’ll admit, in a camping kind of way.

When you send him to bed – yes, like an actual child – he finds out the cot is a lot softer than he’d expected, some kind of memory foam he’s never tried. The sheets are extra cooling, the pillow feels like a dream, the room is pitch black and chilly. It only takes him a few minutes of moody contemplation to start drifting off after he lays down.

Sleep training, you’d called it. Satoru’s pretty sure he’d be offended if he actually knew what it was.

“You have your healing powers, sure,” (when he’d interrupted you to tell you it was reverse curse technique you’d paused and waited out his explanation like a champ), “But there’s no substitute for a good eight hours of sleep, Satoru.”

Your voice is stern and laden with something he can’t quite get, but it doesn’t matter anyways. He’ll be out soon.

It’s interesting, lying down inside the cage. This room is so small. It’s all fitted just for him, perfectly sized to leave neither empty space nor squeeze him too tight. His world is reduced to this cage and the things you choose to put in it.

He’s quick to complain about the boredom, but you don’t mind his whining. You actually hook up several game consoles to a small TV set carefully placed at head height for him, sitting up, with controllers you hand him through the bars.

“I’ll have to limit your screen time – it’s not good for your eyes. It’s probably even worse for the six eyes. So I’ve got a collection of books here, and an e-reader, so you can get anything you want. Oh! I’ve also brought some puzzles.”

Yaaawwwn. You don’t even flinch at his exaggerated expression of boredom, promising instead to find more complex puzzles online to entertain him. Rubik’s cubes, jigsaws – these things bored him. He put everything together right away.

You find a puzzle made in braille, one that has to be put together by touch. Brain teasers that required out-of-the-box thinking… you’d even brought him a jigsaw puzzle with a mixed up image printed on it, one that couldn’t be put together by the visuals at all. He had to hand it to you, that was neat.

There’s almost an amusement in watching how diligent you are about finding things to entertain him with. The video games, the books, the puzzles, some TV, too. He’s half worried that you stole his collection of movies, but it turns out you just have some streaming services. It’s fun enough to kill time. Human Earthworm 4 really was garbage.

You laugh when he tells you so. Your defense of the dumb movie is that it was half-parody (you are correct), and he tells you with a sniff that you have no taste, and you laugh, and his stomach feels funny.

Clearly the isolation is getting to him, if you feel like decent company.

He takes meals with you, too, and you’re particular about them. No more mochi for breakfast and dinner, no more coffee at all actually – “It’ll interfere with your rest,” – instead, you make him eat ‘real food’.

Complete, home-cooked, admittedly delicious meals. They’re all way more palatable than most things he eats, all foods he likes, he ends up liking… at first he didn’t want to try, but you’d dangled so many sweet looking deserts over his head – specially made mochi, fresh souffles and macarons, carefully crafted crystal candies.

Ugh, you know way too much about him. And you look so pleased with yourself, too. He wonders if you make them yourself – so he asks, and watches your face blush lightly, watches you smile, eyes softening as you look at him in that way he doesn’t get.

Isolation. It’s getting to him. Definitely.

“And of course, I’ll be here to allow you socialization time. We could play games together, or if you want, we could read the same books? Or just talk, if you like. I’m not letting you out, but I’d be happy to hear about your life from before, your likes and dislikes. You can make requests, too!”

Normally he’d be all like “No way, creepy kidnapper,” seriously. But to be honest, he’s kind of looking forward to a chance to pick your brain.

You seem all too happy to oblige. Delighted that he’s taking an interest in you, which is kinda cute and pathetic, since it’s totally not what’s happening. He just wants to know how the hell you got to be so fucking weird.

“I think love makes us all a little crazy, don’t you? As for why I love you, Satoru… well. I couldn’t pick only one reason. Suffice to say, I’m really happy to be talking to you now. It probably sounds weird to you, but being around you just these past few days has been awesome for me. Being around you just brings me so much joy. I want to make it good for you, too!”

Yeah, to be honest, it’s really weird how accommodating you are. You let him out for bathroom breaks at regular intervals – he’s still not sure why you put him in the cage at all –

“Oh, the cage? That’s for your benefit, not mine. Obviously this room is locked. But I think you… it’s difficult to explain. But your awareness of the space around you is warped somehow. I constantly see you nap in awkward places, sit or lean in positions that would stress your body out, zone out from your surroundings. I think it’s important to reset your senses.”

It’s creepy at this point. Or it would be, if it hadn’t blown wayyy past that part.

He likes that you don’t press him much. You just confess your love and go on about your day. No expectations, no freak outs. You’re crazy but you’re obviously not so crazy you think he loves you back. You just think you’re trying to do the right thing by him, which is like, really sweet, in a super weird and demented way.

Satoru had already decided that he doesn’t want to go after you once he gets out of here. You’re not malevolent, even if some distant part of his mind knows that people are dying while he’s chilling out in here.

No, you’re just lonely, and you’ve somehow attached yourself to him with this completely delusional idea that you understand him on a deeper level, and you wanted to protect him. Wasn’t that sweet? The cutest thing?

He can’t really bring himself to be mad at you. Not when you’re probably the only person on earth who’s ever thought this about him, who tried to do something about it. And it’s a damn good try, he’ll give you that.

The cage really isn’t that small. It’s comfortable in here, actually, it’s nice. It’s simple and easy in a way that would be boring if you didn’t give him company, entertainment, meals. The bed is so easy to fall asleep in, he has more energy waking up, he’s happier,

He gets where you’re coming from. You’re still totally insane, of course, but he sees the idea behind it. It’s not the space that he’s in. It’s what’s happening in that space.

It’s his time. And you seem to have so many ways to occupy it.

He starts thinking about you more and more. It gets weirder. He runs into you fresh out of the shower, no clothes on, watches the blush on your face and feels himself –

No. No, no no. It’s not a big deal. It’s whatever. He knew you were crushing on him. You’d made absolutely no secret of your feelings, and he knows the attraction is there, he can tell.

So maybe he sneaks in a hand job or two during these lonely nights. Purely for fun. It’s your fault for not stimulating him enough!

Are you watching on camera? That’s what all the stalkers do. You’re totally a stalker, you know way too much about him. You have all his skincare, shampoo, and conditioner in the bathroom.

You’re totally watching him. He licks his lips while he jerks himself. If he listens hard enough he can hear your breath in the other room.

(Turns out you’re all the way down the hall, but he’s got the six eyes, not the six ears.)

He could put on a show for you, even. His dick gets harder at the thought. He wonders if you’ve thought about this. If you watch him in the cage touching himself. If you want to be in here with him. In the room, or in the cage.

Would you want to touch? The thought absolutely tickles him, has him twitching in his hands, licking his lips. Would you want him so badly? You’re so dedicated, so diligent about his welfare. He could just imagine your pretty lips opening right up, how hot and wet your mouth would be, how those eyes of yours would look at him, always so full of care and affection.

Your hair looks soft, silky even – what would it feel like in his hands? Are you so crazy for him you’d let him fuck your face, or would you guide him through it, like you guide him through everything?

A pulse, another pulse, throbbing in his fist. Your hands would be smaller, softer. What would they feel like on his bare skin? He’s gotten more skin-to-skin contact these paste few weeks than the past ten years. What would you feel like on him? How would you touch him, where?

How would you look at him? He thinks of your face – of your eyes when you smile at him – he feels a squeeze –

When he cums, he does it with an exaggerated moan, head tilted back, lips wide and open. Spurting all over his hand as he makes a little blissful sigh.

He looks up, where he imagines a camera might be, eyes half-lidded. Smirk fighting to tear his lips as he closes them around his fingers, licking them clean.

Maybe you weren’t watching, but that doesn’t stop him. Not from giving you looks the next day.

There’s something in his chest. Wobbling around. Something knocked loose. He finds himself waiting for you to visit, impatient between meals. Demanding. You give, and give of course, but you never give any indication that you’ve seen what he did.

Actually… that was probably his way out.

He tries to proposition you, of course. Lays it on thick. But you hesitate to accept. You blush, and he thinks cute, he thinks he’s got you, but you act like you’re too good for him or something, like you’re not sure if you really want to be with him.

Like you’re too good to be seduced by him? When you fucking kidnapped him in the first place? You don’t want to come in here in the cage you put him in?

It makes him acidic. The rattling in his chest feels like the rattling in his head, only, his tolerance has gotten so much lower.

It’s not long before he snaps at you.

“What?” He says cruelly, words escaping him without his will, “You didn’t think I liked you or anything, did you?”

There’s something mean in his voice, something awful that curdles in his chest. He brandishes it like a sword. Swinging at you, carving sorrow over your features.

“You fucking kidnapped me.” The words come as a surprise even to him, but it was true, wasn’t it? “I’m not here willingly. You’re keeping me here against me will, you’re not helping me. Did you think I’d forget?”

(He can’t even convince himself of that lie. He knows he’d forgotten.)

You look at him, something strange in your eye.

“…If you want to leave, then leave.” You say, and he feels it, like the click of a lock, the crunch of a shackle. How the Binding Vow unwinds in an instant. “I’m not going to drag you back. It’s pointless to keep you here if you hate it so much.”

He tells himself he darted straight out. He didn’t hesitate for a single moment.

But he can’t tell himself that he didn’t look back. That would be too blatant a lie.

He tries not to think about the look on your face, empty and indifferent. He tries not to think about how it felt like a knife to his chest.

And just like that, he’s back. And –

“Gojo? About time you showed up. There’s several special grades waiting for you to exorcise. Where the hell were you? Okkotsu has barely been able to help out your other students.”

His students. His precious students, the ones who needed him, the ones he was preparing to take over the Jujutsu world –

God, the world is so big, isn’t it? It feels so vast and massive now, like he’s suddenly stepped into the shadow of a terrible monolith, blocking out the sun. It doesn’t feel like the first daylight he’s seen in weeks. This light is blinding, like a shadow convalesced.

“Gojo, do you hear me? I’m sending Ichiji over with the car.”

And there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, dragging him down in a way he normally doesn’t feel. This isn’t something that bothers him. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why.

He likes fighting. He likes sorcery, and he’s good at it. Exorcizing curses, beating curse-users to shit. It’s fun. He’s so strong that it’s not a risk anymore, just something to do with his overpowered abilities, and that’s cool. He’s not afraid, not in any universe.

So why does the voice asking him when he’s going to go kill these curses fill him with a sudden, inexplicable nausea?

Why does the thought of having to do this again, all over again, always on repeat, have the pit of his stomach burning? Like there’s a pressure on his shoulders that he knows he can’t relieve.

Satoru knows he has to do this. He’s the only one who can. Other sorcerers are weak – many of them would die. For some of these special grades, it’s him or nothing, with the lives of regular civilians on the line.

Each thought sends his stomach churning. He has to. He has to. He has to do it he has to go he has to he can’t avoid it. Today and tomorrow and the next day, too, over and over and over again.

The sky – it’s so big. So massively big, so wide and yawning, he feels like he’s falling into it. His head is pounding, information flooding back through his senses. One special grade, two, three or four – he has to teleport to them, exorcise them. He has to teach his students. He has to report to the elders. He has to – he has to – there’s so much, so much to do –

The six eyes are screaming at him, the sky is screaming, light burning into his retinas it’s too bright. Too fucking bright out here.

His legs carry him to a nearby wall. He’s leaning against it, now, breaths coming heavy and labored.

And then, it comes. He’d only been half expecting it – part of him still probably thought he was invincible, untouchable.

And he’s right. Nothing is touching him. It just feels like his skin is crawling for no reason. Pins and needles, electric adrenaline racing through every last nerve fiber in his body.

He’s simultaneously too strong and feverishly weak, collapsing against the wall. Gravity feels like it’s pulling harder, off balance, only it shouldn’t be. He should be fine, he should be able to move his limbs however he wants, they shouldn’t feel gangly and overresponsive and desperately twitchy.

His heart shouldn’t be trying to beat itself out of his chest. His lungs shouldn’t feel like they’re on fire. He shouldn’t have alarm bells going off his head, his limbs burning hot with too much energy and not enough.

Between ragged breaths he catches a faint, familiar scent, warm like sunlight –

“Satoru?”

It’s – it’s – it’s you, you’re back, and something awful in his chest jumps with irrational delight, a weight shifting on his shoulders, almost lifted. He tries to control his racing pulse, stammer through your name –

A mind, indifferent gaze meets his eyes. It freezes him in place. All his anxiety swinging on a precipice.

“Is something wrong?” A voice that betrays no emotion, no affection, no hidden longing. No I missed you, or I’m happy to see you, or I hope you weren’t lonely while I was gone.

He’s going insane, he must be going insane, but with all the adrenaline shooting through him, limbs trembling, he’s barely able to keep himself upright against the wall.

“Don’t – don’t you – ” Insane, insane, he knows he’s delirious while he’s saying this, why is he saying it, but his body is acting on his behalf, mind paralyzed with fright, “Don’t you want me?”

How could he sound so – needy? So forlorn? You’d fucking kidnapped him, he should be afraid, he should be angry, if anything.

(Maybe that was his fault from the beginning. He’d never really been quick to anger. Never been one to fear others, either. Deep down, the only thing that had ever hurt him was being left behind.)

Even the six eyes cannot discern your tone, “I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I tried to make things work with you. You didn’t want it.”

He didn’t, of course he didn’t, you were keeping him fucking captive. He knows this, the information is there in his mind, but his body won’t stop shaking. The sky is too big, the street is too broad, too many bodies, too much cursed energy, every object in every direction overwhelming his senses.

It feels like a migraine. It feels like his legs are about to give out under him, no solid earth to be found. Too big it’s too big he wants to go –

“Unless… you want to come back?”

Satoru knows he doesn’t. He knows the answer is no. He knows that you fucked him up, that this is a consequence of your captivity directly, that he should be able to overcome this if he just bears with it –

I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. I tried.

“Please,” His voice says without his permission, “I want…” To go home. Take me back. Don’t leave me.

Relief floods the entirety of his quaking form as soon as you smile.

“Of course, Satoru,” Your eyes soften, and against all rationality, he feels like he’s made the right choice, “Take my hand. Let’s go home.”

He’s messed up, this is messed up. He’s better than this! He isn’t stupid, he knows what you’re doing! He has the six eyes, for fuck’s sake, he’s the strongest sorcerer in the world!

You’re not strong, Satoru. You only think you are, and I understand why. The whole world has been telling you this forever. But you aren’t, and that’s okay. I’ll protect you.

He doesn’t have to be the strongest sorcerer. Not if he doesn’t want to. He can go back where it’s dark and comfortable and warm, and he can be Satoru Gojo, your cherished pet.

He looks at you, six eyes blinding him, headache burning though his skull. He thinks of how close and soft and safe that place was. How you stayed with him for hours and hours on end. He never had to be alone.

Nothing has ever felt as right as your hand clasped with his own.

[soapyghostie]

hii ^_^ can you do slasher hcs, can be anyone you choose, with a child!Reader (platonic ofc) suddenly saying a bad word infront of them? Lol idk i just thought that it would be a funny scenario, you dont have to do it if u dont want to btw :3 have a nice day!

Since this was a free-bee, I took the chance to write for a couple slashers I haven’t gotten a chance to write for yet. One of them is one I’ve written for multiple times already, but I know how y'all are and that Michael Myers content. Y’all will eat that shit up. Well anyway, enjoy!

Charles ‘Chucky’ Lee Ray

Chucky, known for his foul-mouthed and sarcastic personality, would most definitely burst into a fit of maniacal laughter upon hearing the inappropriate language that just came out of your mouth. He finds the situation very amusing, secretly proud of your choice of words. He used to think you were a deadbeat child, but it seems you are starting to take after him in terms of mischief and a devil-may-care attitude. Maybe he’ll give you a shot.

He’d playfully scold you for stealing the spotlight, jokingly reminding you that he’s the only one allowed to say those kinds of words while giving you a wink. He’s pretending to act like a normal parent would if their child cursed so Tiffany doesn’t throw dishes at his head again for god knows what he did beforehand. Anyways, besides the friendly reminder to be careful about where and when to use foul language, Chucky feels a sense of camaraderie in their rebellious spirit that he’s never expressed before. Is this care and kindness he feels? It can’t be! He’s an evil serial killer with no feelings for anyone! Just between you and me, he did care about you in his own way from the beginning. He just hates to admit it and ignored the feeling for a long time. 

Chucky giving you lessons in creative cursing is a must: in a private setting of course. He doesn’t want to have to deal with Tiffany’s scolding about encouraging and, even worse, teaching you such bad behavior. However, if the language goes too far (cursing Tiffany out), Chucky will actually draw a line and sternly explain the importance of knowing when and where such language is appropriate.

Stu Macher

Stu, being the laid-back and humorous person he is, most likely burst out into a fit of laughter initially, thinking it’s just a child’s innocent mistake. However, he’s taken aback. He was not expecting to hear such foul language come out of your mouth and especially wasn’t ready for it since he’s normally making the crude jokes himself rather than hearing it from a child. 

Stu would exchange an amused glance and playfully scold you, reminding you that it’s not appropriate to use such language, especially in front of company. However, Stu may share a few inappropriate jokes of his own, trying to bond with you through your humor. God dammit Stu! Don’t be a bad influence like Chucky is! 

If you continue to use inappropriate language, Stu will employ a more serious tone and discuss the consequences of your behavior. If you don’t listen to him after that (I don’t know how you could not because Stu never serious), Stu will probably be like, “Well what the fuck! Who cares?” and will join in and playfully participate with you. 

Michael Myers

Michael would remain expressionless and unreactive to hearing you say the inappropriate word. He will convey his disapproval through his body language though, such as a stern gaze or a slow shake of his head. You pick up on these cues, going from comical and bright to eerie and uncomfortable, understanding that your words are unacceptable.

Michael does expect immediate compliance, and you are expected to correct your behavior under his imposing presence. In rare cases, Michael will intervene if your behavior becomes continuous and punish you, such as grounding you or giving you a whoopin, to teach you a lesson about the consequences of your behavior. 

Once Michael decides you’ve been punished long enough, if you got the ‘your grounded to your room’ punishment, he’ll make his way to your room and have a conversation with you to instill the importance of respectful behavior. You two end up having a good talk, ending with you promising to use more appropriate language from here on out and Michael promising to get you a tub of ice cream on his next outing if you have good behavior.