#strait-lacing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crybaby-bkg · 1 year

Text

His Muse

Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader Warnings: Yandere Bakugou, Obsessive Tendencies, psychoanalyst therapist reader, smut, extremely dubious consent, stalking, kindapping (tagging to be safe), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampies, kitchen sex, strength kink, threats of violence (not to reader). please let me know if I missed anything! Word Count: 6.5k Notes: this isn't a more violent yandere fic, and has lots of bargaining and dub con, just as a warning!! but I can't believe I came up with this idea in November omg I move so slow when it comes to full fics. also I tried gradient style for the title and I love it lol it was so fun to try. anyway, please enjoy!! Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on ao3!

When Bakugou comes to you to be his therapist, you don’t think twice about it. He filled out his application correctly, he answered when you called, his insurance went through, his problems sounded legit. You had become wary taking on new patients in your field—dealing with criminals, those with hardened and extensive records, people with all kinds of issues that an everyday therapist wouldn’t be able to handle accordingly. But you did it all (someone had to), so your vetting process was a little heavier than usual, if the therapy wasn’t state mandated.

But Bakugou Katsuki passed with flying colors. If anything, he sounded a little too normal for your line of work, but he kept promising that his issues would be better discussed during sessions. With a little hesitance, you agree and take him on.

He’s…okay, for the most part. A little gruff, rough around the edges and snappy when you try to touch on certain topics of his life. But in general, he’s a great patient; he pays on time, shows up five minutes early, doesn’t linger when your next patient comes buzzing, doesn’t try to touch you or seek out personal information from you.

If anything, he still seems a bit too strait-laced for you. That is, until he starts to delve into why he really wants to come to therapy—to deal with his tendencies of rage, lashing out, and obsession. You had told him that you didn’t deal much with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but he had assured you that, no, his obsessions and compulsions weren’t about checking the locks a certain amount of times on a Wednesday, but instead about people.

He obsessed over people, and when things wouldn’t go his way, his rage would rear its ugly head. He still hasn’t told you what his rage specifically looks like, especially with how he momentarily glances over at your little message pinned on your wall that warns people about admitting criminal acts that you’d have to report, damn the confidentiality.

“When did these obsessions start?” You ask him, body tilted toward him even though your eyes and hands move to your open computer. You document what he says, take note of it all, skimming over previous notes from other appointments.

“Maybe about eighteen months ago?” Bakugou’s voice is gravelly, deep and grating against the column of his throat. As he answers, he shoves his hands in his sweats pockets, scoots down a little further on your adjacent couch, looks around the room as if he hadn’t been in here a few times before.

“So this is a more recent development?” You ask, humming under your breath and nodding when he grunts an affirmation. You type, obsessive tendencies over people started less than two years ago, could be trauma based, and you wonder if he can read the words through the reflection of your glasses when you look over to see his eyebrows screwed down.

“Was it sudden for you?” You cock your head to the side, before shaking your head. “Let me rephrase; did these tendencies ever show their faces in other aspects of your life? Different time periods, situations? Or was it just a sudden thing that happened, something you realized once the obsession had already begun?” He starts nodding his head before you can even finish, his ash blond bangs shadowing his eyes for a second in such a way that sends a prickle of chills up your arms. You don’t know why, so you try to swallow the feeling down until it burns at the back of your throat, shifting a little in your cushioned seat. Bakugou watches you for a second before he opens his mouth to speak.

“It was sudden.” He answers, plainly, doesn’t offer up much else until you cock an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to go on. He rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath, shifting again before he shrugs dramatically with his hands still in his pockets.

“I dunno, I was fuckin’ normal until I wasn’t.” You chuckle a little at his tone, crossing your legs under the desk, watching how Bakugou’s vermillion eyes dart down to catch the sight of them, before they slide back up to your face.

“You’ve been in a relationship before?” You state more than ask, eyebrows slid high on your face in question, watching Bakugou roll his eyes a little before he nods.

“Yeah.” He offers, his mouth set in a thin line, obviously not wanting to offer up too much information on the topic.

“How many?” You push. How the hell does he expect you to help him when he keeps giving you short answers, nothing to work with? Why even seek out your help if he acts like being here is such a nuisance to deal with?

“Two.” Bakugou says through gritted teeth, eyes cutting at the decorations you have hung on the walls. “What does this have to do with anything, anyway?” He spits, cuts his eyes at you once more as you narrow your own at him.

“I’m trying to find a connection between your sudden obsessive tendencies with your relationships with people in the world.” You clarify for him, sitting up a little in your seat as his own irritation bubbling off of him starts to sink into your pores, too.

“People rarely have sudden personality flips and switches with no leading causes beforehand. Did these tendencies start because of preexisting mommy issues that were suddenly uncovered after being repressed for years? Were you in a long and committed relationship, which ended in such a way that it wasn’t necessarily on your terms, even if it was ultimately your own call? Was it an accident you were in? Have you always been like this and never realized it? Do you understand what I’m saying, Katsuki?”

…

Bakugou isn’t taking in a single word that you’re telling him. He wishes he could; he’s sure you’re saying some real shit that he should most likely take into consideration. But its so hard to focus when you look at him like that, when your neck rolls a little with every word, when your foot bounces under the desk, the way your lips curve just so.

You’re the reason he’s even here right now. The bane of his fuckin’ existence, but also the only thing that matters to him in the world.

You are his obsession. His muse, his fantasy, his daydream turned reality. And it’s all your fucking fault. With how you prance around your home with your curtains open, wearing nothing but slutty little shirts and no bra, no pants, just panties that sink into the curves of your ass and thighs. How you just go about your life without a care in the fucking world, always so oblivious to everything around you.

You hadn’t even noticed him, the months he spent watching over you. Didn’t catch his lingering stares, or how his ash blond head of hair always seemed to be at least ten feet behind you with every step you took. How your long time neighbor from across the hall suddenly disappeared, how a new tenant moved in when he knew you’d be out. How you forget entirely too often to lock your door, to put your used panties in the hamper. How you tease him with everything, how you’ve been fucking leading him on for over a year and a half now.

So, he had to get desperate. Had to search you up and find what qualifications he needed in order to be seen by you, a psychoanalytical therapist for those who want to be reformed.

But Bakugou had no plans on reformation. There was nothing for him to be reformed on. He just wanted you, and goddamnit, if he wasn’t going to have you.

“I understand you, doc. Loud and clear.”

***

It was your day off, and you had plans on spending it in your bed, catching up on some reading and maybe finishing that one show you started a while ago. But, lunch time came around, and you were craving something specific and didn’t have all the ingredients that you needed. You figured you could go out to the grocery store to grab them, get some fresh air on the way there, and maybe stop at that book shop you had been eyeing for a while.

You get ready quickly, closing your front door behind you, pausing for a second to stare at the door across the hall. You still can’t believe Ms. Hayashi had so suddenly moved out, especially after living in this complex since it was first built. She hadn’t even said goodbye, and you never got the chance to return the Tupperware she lended you.

It wouldn’t have been as weird if someone hadn’t supposedly moved in the next day. You were a gossip with your landlord, a nice older lady, and she gave you all up the updates on the people who lived in the complex. She had said that he was a nice guy, kind of scary and intimating in stature, but respectful the whole time. Said that he didn’t even look at the apartment before giving her the first six months rent and despot in cash. She told you to ever call her if you smelled meth cooking from that apartment, as no one who works a regular job just has that kind of money laying around.

You shrug to yourself, coming to the conclusion that maybe the new owner just needed to get out of town, away from somewhere or someone else. Everyone has their reasonings, and you can’t analyze every single move someone you haven’t even met before has ever made.

You continue down the steps until you’re out of the building, unaware of the crimson eyes that follow your every movement. The walk to the store is a little longer than you’d like for it to be, but you figure that the exercise can do you some justice, and it’s always nice being out in nature. You stop and pick a flower that grows from a crack in the sidewalk, twirling it in your finger the whole way to the store, finally tucking it behind your ear when you have to grab a grocery cart.

And still—and still—you don’t see the eyes that watch you. The figure that follows your every move, that disappears behind walls and aisles every time you turn your back. You feel it though, he can tell, because you move a little quicker and look over your shoulder more than usual.

You go to the self checkout, trying to hurry now, as an uneasy feeling starts to wash over you. You get these often, especially working in the field that you do with the patients that you choose to take on—hardened criminals, fresh out of jail and still ready to harm society, people that just like to see the world burn for the fun of it.

The therapist is typically one of the first few people to be taken out, after parents. You’re always too high on the list for your liking, despite loving your job.

You keep trying to scan an item, but it’s not working, and that only makes your panic settle in deeper into your bones. You try to remember the techniques that you give people when they start to feel overwhelmed by their emotions and what goes on in their heads, but its hard when that sinking feeling only grows deeper and heavier by the moment until—

“Need some help with that?” You jump away quickly, eyes wide as you hold up the can of soup you were gripping tightly like a weapon. You let out a breath though, only in slight relief, to see that its one of your patients standing beside you—Bakugou Katsuki. He looks different than he usually does in your sessions together; he’s wearing a tight compression shirt that hugs his wide shoulders, navy blue in color, sweatpants that wrap around the thick muscles in his thighs, and plain running shoes.

For some reason though, the panic in your stomach doesn’t fully quell at the sight of him.

“No, I got it. Thanks though, Bakugou.” You tell him politely, smiling shakily. Why does the sight of him unnerve you so bad? You’ve run into patients before on the street, and they never make you feel like this, this uneasy, even when it was dark and you were dressed more scantily than you are now, with your baggy pants and too big shirt.

“You sure?” He grunts, cocking his head at you as he gently pries the can from your still tight grip. “I watched you struggle with it for like, two minutes. Let me.” He tells you, never taking his eyes off of you as he scans your item easily enough. He only looks away when he bags it for you, and starts to scan the rest of your things as if you weren’t standing there.

“Oh no, it’s okay, I can finish that myself.” You wave him off him with a shaky smile, finally breaking out of your stupor when he’s damn near finished. You reach out to stop him, but Bakugou only waves you away with a grunt.

“’S alright. It’s the least I can do for you helping me figure my crazy out.” Bakugou shrugs at you, a joke you’re presuming, as he glances over at you with a tiny lilt at the corner of his mouth. It calms you, only for a second, before something ever so slightly changes in his eyes, in the way he looks at you and takes you in, makes you feel like something sinister is sinking deep into your bones. Your stomach tightens again, and you have to force a smile when he finishes, before it drops when you see him reaching for his wallet.

“Oh, I really can’t let you pay for my groceries.” You tell him, stepping up to him before pausing when he looks at you out of the corner of his eye with an expression so terrifying, that it makes stone drop into the pit of your belly.

“Let me.” Bakugou tells you more than asks you, and you nod slowly, swallowing the thickness that has settled into the back of your throat. You can only watch as he pulls out a wad of cash, counting through it before inserting it into the machine, mouth set in a thin line all the while. You try to take him in, figure out where his own groceries are to be in this section, where all this money is coming from, if his address that he put on the file is even anywhere near this area.

It’s not.

“Cmon.” Bakugou snaps you out of your trance, big veiny hands holding all of your groceries as he nods his head to the exit. You’re stuck there, wondering if this is really happening, if these are just boundaries being crossed or a crime about to be committed. You feel tears stinging at your eyes as you try to blink them away, hiccuping slightly as you slowly shake your head.

“Please give me my groceries, Bakugou.” You don’t even recognize your own voice, soft and shaky and purely terrified. Bakugou fixes you with another deadly expression but this time—this time he smiles at you, and its everything but friendly. All big white teeth and too sharp incisors, all falsely charming and all weaponry, all threat with no escape from his drooling maw.

“I think we should go home, now. Don’t you?” He asks you with a cock of his head, body still turned to the exit, his stature eery with how the veins in his neck throb with every second you stay rooted in your spot. “Before something happens to these nice people in here, right? Before they have to bear witness to a massacre, all because you don’t want to walk home with me.”

You have to bite back your sob that bubbles up in your throat. You’re terrified of what will happen to you, but you’re a caretaker first. You have to put yourself before these people, put yourself before the monster that wants you as a sacrifice before he burns an entire village down for you.

So you nod, and take the hand offered to you as he switches the groceries to one hand, just to squeeze yours in the other.

You leave out of the grocery store with tears muddled in your eyes, a quivering chin that you try to conceal, hope no one wants to be a hero and find themselves hurt, or worse, because you can’t school your expressions.

This was taught in a psychology course you took in college, you remember. One of your classes after you started working on your highest degree—what to do in real life situations as a psychologist. How to avoid more conflict when a patient is erratic. How to deescalate. How to survive.

Everything you’ve ever learned has gone out the window now.

You and Bakugou walk down the street hand in hand, looking like a normal couple for the most part, besides your trembling jaw and shaky steps. You glance up to him, watching him squint in the sunlight before he glances down at you, squeezing your hand gently, as if to comfort you, as if he weren’t the cause of your panic. You notice that he’s walking right in the direction of your apartment, as if the route were memorized.

“How do you know where I live?” You ask shakily, mouth full of cotton as Bakugou keeps his head forward, grinning. He glances at you again, eyes bouncing between the delicate flower tucked behind your ear, and the terrified expression your eyes carry.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t offer up anymore information until you stand outside of your building. “You know, for you to be a therapist to fuckin’ weirdos, you don’t watch your back good enough for my liking.”

You didn’t think your stomach could sink any lower, but it does. It does when the realization settles, when his words kick in—that he’s been watching you, but for how long? How could you not have noticed? Did he even contact you because he needed help, or was this only a way to grow closer to you, to his obsession?

Before you know it, Bakugou has walked you up the stairs until you reached your floor. Your body turns to instinctively to your door, but you’re pulled in the other direction.

“Wha—” you go to ask Bakugou, before you notice he’s set your groceries down to fiddle with the key to…to the apartment across the hall from you. You feel the tears flood again, letting them flow this time since no one is around to try and save you and put themselves in harms way anymore.

“It’s been you? This whole time?” You ask slowly, starting to pull away when Bakugou opens the door to Ms. Hayashi’s apartment, still decorated the same before she mysteriously disappeared—you don’t think its so mysterious anymore.

“Of course it’s been me.” Bakugou scoffs as he grips your hand tighter, pulling you closer until you near the doorway. “I had to watch over you—do you know how careless you are with everything? With your life?” He snarls, whirling around on you when you plant your feet and try to keep him from pulling you into his lions den. Bakugou is all snarls and teeth, invokes such a deep fear within you that you can’t help but shrink under his gaze.

“Now come on. I’ve been waiting for this for entirely too long.” His voice is downright salacious, eyes turning sharp and hungry, and in a way that makes you feel like nothing more than hunted prey.

Bakugou damn near drags you within the apartment, despite your whimpering and pulling at him—he’s just too strong. He walks you a few feet inside before he dumps the groceries on a coffee table, finally letting go of your hand so that he can lock the door, emerging a key from his sweatpants pocket to one of the many, many locks, an insurance policy of you never leaving him unless he allows it.

You try to put on your therapist boots for a minute, swallowing your fear as you try to reason with him, swallowing thickly when he turns around and takes your trembling form in.

“Bakugou,” you start shakily, “this doesn’t have to end bad for us. You can just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened. I won’t report you, or anything. Please, please, PLEASE!”

He comes rushing at you before you know it, on you in seconds, despite trying to turn and outrun him before he pounces. But it’s too late and he’s too big and too overwhelming, and he grabs you up in his arms, shushing your screaming with his mouth pressed against yours.

So this is what he wants, you think to yourself, terrified to say you’re slightly relieved. You’ve worked with men who liked to torture women for fun, and you were scared that he was secretly one of them, but it looks like he just wants—

“You.” Bakugou whispers with a swallow against your mouth, hot and breathy. “I want you so fuckin’ bad, wanted this for so long, fuck.” He’s wrapping you up within him in seconds, arms crushing your ribs, tongue sneaking into your mouth, hands grabbing handfuls of whatever he can reach.

You’re stunned, mostly. Finally putting the pieces together of everything that is Bakugou, his coming to you about his obsessions, his secrecy despite needing your help, the way he always looked at you, how he devours you now like a mere schoolboy. It all makes sense now. You pull away from him, eyes round and wide as you take in his lowered ones, how he dives back in to nip at your jaw and chin and cheek.

“I’m your obsession.” You whisper shakily, hands on his shoulders, despite them making no moves to move the large man back. Bakugou groans at that, damn near sinks to his knees at your realization, wraps you up even tighter as he buries his face into the skin of your neck.

“Fuckin’ finally. Thought you would’ve caught on sooner by now, dumbass.” He scolds you, licking up the expanse of your skin as you shiver and try to back away. But Bakugou only holds you tighter, and you whimper at the bulge that nudges your hip.

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve—could’ve worked on exposure therapy, had someone there to monitor you for our safety, could’ve—”

“Too much work. I just want you.” Bakugou moans, nipping at your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass when you squeak. He walks you backwards until your back meets a wall, the breath being knocked out of you as you gasp, eyes wide when he finally pulls away from your skin.

You’ve never seen him like this, all fucked out and relaxed and even a little excited. Always saw him with a bored or irritated expression, one of indifference. But now, Bakugou looks high on euphoria, with kiss swollen lips and low eyelids as he takes in your still shocked expression.

“Let me taste you,” Bakugou rushes out in a quick breath, diving in once more to lick at your mouth before he pulls away, big hands squeezing at your waist and ass excitedly. He’s like a dog with a bone, like a pup with no master, waiting for you to give the command, the permission to go.

You wonder if you have more control of this situation than you originally thought. So you try your hand, see how far you can push before you can wiggle your way out of this entire thing and get the chance to call the police.

“Bakugou,” you start, quickly being cut off by him with a sharp nip to your chin.

“Katsuki,” he corrects. You nod.

“Katsuki, if I—if I let you do this, this one thing of…of tasting me, will you promise to let me go?” You try to reason with him, cupping his cheek when his eyes wander over your form instead of your face, leaning into your touch instinctively.

“We can,” you pause with a swallow. “I can do this. I can create a therapy plan for you, for your obsession over me, and it can be fully consenting and healthy, but you have to let me help you and let me take control.” You try to reason with Bakugou, hope he understands what you’re saying, that he won’t catch on to this just being a trick. But he only groans and turns his head, sucking your thumb into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at your gasp before he releases you with a pop. He turns half lidded vermillion eyes to you, frowning as he rests his heavy head in your palm.

“Whatever you fuckin’ say, just let me taste you, goddamnit.” He mutters petulantly. You can only hold your breath, wonder if what you’re agreeing will hurt you in the long run before you nod.

“You can—you can taste me, Katsuki.”

You think you might’ve sealed the deal with a devil, with the way you can practically see horns protruding from his forehead and a tail flickering behind him when he drops to his knees. Bakugou is too quick for your liking, yanks your pants around your ankles too fast, hurries you out of them, rips your underwear away from your skin until it tears and falls limply in a pile on the floor.

You squeak when his face is suddenly pressed right against your cunt, his nose buried into your pubic hair, the sound of a big sniff echoing throughout the room. You can’t help but cringe, but don’t dare push him away—people need to be exposed to all aspects of things in order to overcome them, even if those things are sniffing what lies between your legs.

“Fuck, smells so good.” Bakugou grunts under his breath, huffing a few times before he forces your legs further apart until you can accommodate the wide expanse of his shoulders. You grunt from the stretch, trying to make yourself comfortable, but Bakugou picks up on it quickly, and grabs your knee to hike your leg over his shoulder to rest on.

It creates a better angle for him anyway, with your lips glistening with your arousal—you were aroused. Turned on by him just as much as he was with you. You were wet, even if it’s not as much as he would prefer, as he would get you to that amount in only a matter of time.

You throbbed when his tongue traced the hood of your clit, of your lips, your folds. You twitch hard against his mouth when he keeps licking and licking at you, until your slickness and his spit mingle and he doesn’t know where you end and where he begins. Until it makes a mess of his mouth and chin and the floor below him, and you, with your pretty moans and grabbing hands.

Bakugou has waited for this moment longer than he can really care to remember, at this point in time. Waited to worship you on his knees, be able to look up from between your soft thighs and see the scrunch of your brows when he sucks your clit between his lips and runs over it with the flatness of his tongue.

It’s an addictive feeling, really. Makes him feel higher than any drug could ever take him, makes his eyes roll back and his cock throb so hard that he has to grab it from beneath his sweats to keep from busting his load already.

You can only stand there and take it—take the incessant licking around your hole, and the dipping of his tongue inside of you, and the sweet little kisses he plants on your clit. You try to reason with yourself, convince yourself that this is an improvised session with a client that needed your help so badly that you decided to take him on your day off. Try to tell yourself that this is all apart of the therapy that he needs in order to get over you.

You only hope that the taste of you doesn’t become so addictive, that your plans for him will go flying out the window the moment you try to reason with him.

But its hard to reason even with yourself when Bakugou is sliding a thick, middled finger inside of your dripping hole as he noisily sucks your clit between his lips. You cry out at that, knees wobbling, but he’s there to catch you with his free hand, his shoulder. Holds you up steady like a pillar as he lashes his tongue against you, twists his finger, curves it slowly, before he’s adding another one before you can even register what’s happening to you.

“Shit, Katsuki,” you moan out, cursing yourself for letting him make you feel so good, for getting so wrapped up in this ‘therapy’. You can only hope that the board doesn’t take your license if they were to ever find out about it.

“Thats it, baby, ride my fingers just like that.” Bakugou breaks you out of your trance with his groan. You hadn’t even realize how your hips were moving against him, grinding down on his digits that curl up inside of you, that slide against that swelling spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes cross.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” Bakugou whispers against your mound, trailing spit from his mouth down to your clit once more, eyes never leaving the pleasured look on your face.

Did you know he imagined this, in damn near every session he’s ever had with you? While it wasn’t plenty of sessions (he had only started seeing you about six months ago), it was all he could think of. Every Tuesday at 2:45pm, in office number 218, first door on the right, the mint green office—all he could think of was you. Even when you asked him questions with a professional and friendly smile, even when you were covered head to toe, even when you ripped him a new one for his shitty answers and responses.

This was all he wanted, all he craved to see. The way your mouth dropped open when he starts damn near directing you in how he wants you to ride his fingers. How your hips move and swivel and tremble when he keeps bringing his fingers close to his face, inside of you. How you grip so tightly at his hair and pull when he won’t stop sucking and licking and messily kissing your clit. How he damn near makes out with your hole, tongue drooling and smacking against your soaked skin until he feels himself about to burst in his pants.

This was all he wanted, and Bakugou always gets what he wants. Even if its you—especially if it’s you.

“I’m—oh, I think I’m—shit!” Your brain is damn near fried when you start to orgasm, an earth shattering moan slipping from your throat as you throw your head back, hips bucking against Bakugou’s face and hands. He has to hold your entire body up steadily, fears that you may fall from how hard you’re coming, how you shake in his arms.

His fingers are steady inside of you, and only slows when you start to finally come down from your high. Bakugou kisses the inside of your thigh sweetly, nibbles at it when you groan and complain about feeling too weak from the intensity. But that’s not a problem for him at all.

“Hey—what are you—” Bakugou cuts you off with a wet kiss pressed to your mouth when he stands to his full height. His tongue slides against yours and you can’t help but moan when you taste yourself on him. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away and try to slink back to your own apartment, instead hoisting you up quickly in his arms as he starts to walk to a room behind you.

Before you can protest, you’ve been dumped on the kitchen table, Bakugou pressing you down with a hand to your sternum when you try to sit up, shooting you another one of those eery looks from earlier. You still instantly, before slowly lowering yourself back down on the table, eyes wide again when he levels you with a stare for a beat longer before he steps back to yank his shirt over his head.

“I thought,” you mumble, trying not to stare at how well built Bakugou is, how his biceps might literally be bigger than your entire head. “I thought that we agreed for you to only, um, taste me, and then you’d stop.” Its hard finding your voice when Bakugou stares at you like that again, not scarily, but hungry like before. Hard to fight back and push him away when he grabs your shirt in two hands and rips and pulls until your torso is exposed, like the fabric meant nothing to him.

You clench your thighs at the display of strength and hope that he doesn’t notice. (He does).

Bakugou shrugs at you, pulls your bra down until your tits are on display, grabbing a handful of each and massaging them in warm, sweaty palms. He ducks his head down and gives a sweet kiss to both of your nipples, licking one crudely before he stands back up to his full height, your breasts still in his hands. You think he must’ve forgotten what you said, or simply didn’t care to answer, but he surprises you when he squeezes your tits tightly and speaks,

“Think I need a little more exposure before I have to be reduced to doses only, doc.” Is all Bakugou gives you, squeezing your chest one last time before he pulls away. You try not to show the panic on your face when he reaches to pull his sweats down until they bunch around his corded thighs, cock damn near bursting from its confinements.

Bakugou reaches inside of his boxers, biting at his bottom lip when he touches it directly for the first time since he’s gotten you, groans a little at your gasp when he fully exposes himself. He’s thick, curved a little to the side, his head a dark flushed color, a fat vein forking up the side of his shaft. He rests his cock over you, makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat when the precum slides from his tip and pools in the dip of your bellybutton.

“Shit, I love you so fuckin’ much,” Bakugou mutters under his breath as he positions himself at your entrance. Your eyes bulge at his confession, but before you can even touch on what he’s said, he’s already sliding his way inside of you.

Your head falls against the kitchen table, the dull pain quiet compared to the overwhelming pleasure that settles low in your pelvis. You groan, thighs hooked around Bakugou’s waist as he fucks his way inside of you, a moan on his tongue as he watches the way your lips split and suck him inside so, so sweetly.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t wait anymore,” Bakugou mutters against your mouth. As he soon as he settles inside of you, he’s pulling out until his tip kisses your entrance, before he fucks his way back in. You shudder, his cock warm and heavy inside of you, his tip brushing against your sweet spot with every stroke until you start to cling to him and ask for more, more, more.

And Bakugou gives it to you, with feral growls, hiking your legs up higher until they rest on his shoulders, hunching over you with every wet slap of his balls against your ass. The position forces him even deeper, makes your feet dangle entirely too close to your face, Bakugou leaning over to kiss you sweetly on the ankle.

“So, fuck, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Bakugou taunts you, grinning down at you when you blink bleary eyes up at him. He’s sweaty and golden and has a halo of light behind his ash blond hair from the overhead light. He’s prettier than you want to admit, but its hard trying to keep a face of professionalism when his cock keeps kissing your sweet spot and his chest pressed against yours makes your nipples harder than rocks.

“Huh? What happened to that fucking smart ass that would lecture me in our sessions?” He teases, smile wide and feral as he holds your cheeks tightly between his thick fingers. He forces your mouth into a pout, kissing it, when you blabber nonsense up at him.

“Fucked you dumb already? All those years of college right out the door, huh, baby?” Bakugou’s so mean, makes you whine and claw at his shoulders and nape. You could answer him, give him your professional opinion—not like you even had one in the first place—but he makes it so hard to think. When his cock is balls deep inside of you, when he looks at you with his teasing and yet adoring little grin, when he keeps shaking your face at him with a taunting coo, when he sneaks a hand between your bodies to circle your clit.

“It’s okay; I can think for you. You don’t have to use that pretty little head even once when you’re with me.” Bakugou’s coos sweetly, reaches down and pecks your forehead and mouth when you whimper pathetically up at him with teary eyes.

“Gonna cum? Yeah?” He asks you, hips never faltering as he fucks you into the table, his mouth pressed against yours as you grab him tightly, feeling the oncoming orgasm starting to flood your system.

“Yeah,” you whine softly against his mouth through your puckered lips, making Bakugou groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. You tighten up around him so deliciously, sound so pretty with your fucked out moans and hoarse voice, look so gorgeous all high out of your mind and pliant on his kitchen counter.

How could he ever remember to pull out?

You try to protest when Bakugou holds you tight and starts to cum inside of you, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. He only holds you tighter against him, groaning loud in the skin of your neck as his cock spurts his hot seed deep inside of you. When he finishes, he collapses on top of you, breathy and sweaty, and you’re in no better position. Its quiet for a while, despite your legs and back aching, and the cooling feeling of his cum starting to spill from around his softening cock still buried inside of you.

“So,” Bakugou starts, and you’re almost fearful of what he might say next. “Can you start scheduling my appointments to your apartment instead of your office now?”

You’re at least a little thankful that he has plans to let you go back to your life, even if he’s forcing himself to be apart of every little aspect of it. You nod tiredly, wondering how and if you’re going to tell your boss.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#bakugou treats! 🍬#tw: yandere #tw: stalking #tw: dubcon

1K notes · View notes

halfrican-heat · 9 months

Text

Upstanding Gentleman (Ony)

Onyankopon was raised in a strict Ghanian household. He was pretty strait-laced...until he met you, of course. Still, Ony has many tricks up his sleeve that never fail to surprise you.

A/N: Yes, I'm high. Hello. So, this is the second Ony post I've had lingering in the back of my mind. It's in head cannon format but I think this could be something. Enjoy!

Warning(s): Explicit Sexual Content; Depictions of smoking marijuana; Penetrative Sex (p in v), Oral Sex (M receiving), Sex in childhood home, Black reader in mind, N-Word used; AAVE/Dialogue with Dialect

Pairing: Sober!Onyankopon x Stoner!Reader

Inspired by: Lauryn Hill and my bf :)

Sober!Ony was raised by a single mother who kept him in line. No drugs, no alcohol and he definitely had a curfew.

Straight A student and graduated the top of his class in high school

Spent majority of his childhood playing video games and taking apart old computers his mother would bring home from her teaching job.

Played basketball and practiced frequently with his friends

Loved taking photos and drawing

Only smoked weed once when he was seventeen and felt guilty about it for a week before he told his mom. (She smacked his head but wasn't that mad)

Never had a thing for drinking. His mom let him have some wine during his graduation dinner. His uncle, later that evening, gave him some liquor. Ony wasn't a fan.

Sober!Ony who went to college in a different state-- hours away from his mother.

He chose to go to a school pretty far away from home to study photography. He loved his mom but he felt like he needed a firm separation from his home life and college life.

That's where he met you. This sweet little thing from a town he had never heard of. So cute...

...and yet you smelled like trouble. Ony's suspicions were confirmed when you offered him a blunt in your car one night. Y'all had been talking for a minute at that point but you never gave off stoner vibes.

Ony declined but didn't mind hanging out as long as you rolled the windows down.

Turns out, you were a huge stoner. Bongs, smoking pieces, a stash larger than some of the ones he had seen back home. You weren't a plug, not really, you just really loved weed. You were super smart, too. Ony had known people like you from back home-- motivated stoners who smoked frequently but it didn't impede them getting shit done. You were like that and Ony really liked that about you.

Ony wasn't sure how to proceed at first but...one thing was sure: You had a hold on Onyankopon that he just couldn't deny.

Sober!Ony who, four years into your relationship, isn't super sober anymore.

"Mama, let me get one of them fruity drinks out the fridge." "They got alcohol in 'em Ony," You call from the kitchen. "I ain't ask you all that. They taste alright-- I feel like a classy nigga drinking them." "Okay, Classy Nigga," You say, bringing him one. "Mister Classy Nigga to you," He says, with a wide grin. "Pinkies out, baby."

Sober!Ony who branched out after meeting you but didn't partake as frequently as you did.

"Let me get a hit, baby." "Nigga, you don't smoke!" Ony kisses his teeth, side-eyeing you. "Then do that shit where you kiss me and blow the smoke in my mouth." You laugh loudly, throwing your head back at his nerve. "Okay, baby," You say, sparking up. Afterwards "Shit, where my inhaler at?"

Sober!Ony who made a great impression on your parents. Perhaps too great.

Your dad loves him, speaking highly of him every time your boyfriend comes up in conversation. "That Ony is a fine, upstanding gentleman," Your dad alway says. Little does he know... "What's that, ma?" His voice is husky in your ear as he thrusts into you roughly. His hand is over your mouth as your childhood mattress squeaks under your weight. Ony has you bent over, his pace punishing as he fucks you from behind. Tears streak your face as you helplessly claw at your sheets "Better be quiet," Ony drawls. "Don't want your folks to hear us, right? Or they gonna know what a slut you are for this upstanding gentleman."

Sober!Ony who loves the way you give head while high.

After many extensive and deep discussions about consent, Ony finally lets you give him head. At first, he was chilling. But then... "Shit, baby! Fuck," He groans, his head falling back. "Slow down, ma." You got his cum on your cheek from the first time he came but you don't care. You don't let up, taking his length down your throat. You suck the entire way down, slurping as you pull back to swirl your tongue around his leaking tip. Your tongue runs along the vein underneath his shaft before taking him back in your mouth, hollowing you cheeks as you slurp him down. "Fuck," He hisses, throwing his arm over his face. You had that man's toes curling and all.

Sober!Ony who loves how sexy you are at any given time of any given day but especially loves when you're feeling yourself while off the za.

Now the skies could fall...not even if my boss should call... Your hips sway seductively to the music as you take a pull from the blunt, in your own world. Lauryn Hill blasts from the radio as your lights change colors in a slow fade. Ony stands at the door of your shared bedroom, watching you sing and dance. You turn slowly, finally noticing him. You wordlessly hold out a hand to him with your body still moving to the music. See I don't need the alcohol...your love make me feel 10 feet tall... He takes your hand, pulling your body close to his. His hands trail your body, finding your ass as the two of you grind on one another. Yeah, Ony is gonna take his time with you tonight.

Sober!Ony who loves you as much as you love him despite your differences.

"Papa, you seen my bong?" "Judie?" "No, the other one." "She in the kitchen cabinet, baby."

"Ma, you seen my screwdriver?" "The fuck you doing drinking those?" "Bae...the tool. My tool." "Oh, it's on the counter by the microwave." a moment later "Onyankopon, what the fuck did you do to my damn radio!"

Overall, Sober!Ony who has changed a lot since the two of you got together. As long as you don't give him any cause for concern, he's happy to let you do as you please (and partake when he feels like it). You level each other up in ways no one expected. You're his lady and Ony doesn't want any one else but you.

"C'mere, my lil pothead," He says, cuddling up to you in bed. "Shut up, nigga." "Watch your mouth. Now lemme rub my legs against yours..."

A/N: I had fun with this. Asks are open!

#Onyankopon x reader #Onyankopon x black!reader #aot x black reader #aot onyankopon #onyankopon smut #Onyankopon fic #reader insert #black!reader insert #fan fiction for black women #black reader #Lyv Writes #My Writing #Ony's Observatory #Lyv's Library #Sober!Ony

751 notes · View notes

neondryadtarot · 2 months

Text

free pick a pile ~ tarot cards

choose pile 1, 2 or 3

who is around the corner? 👀🔮

if you chose pile one

three of cups / the fool

this person might take a little while to reach you because they are too busy getting distracted by anything shiny they see on the way! you might meet them through friends or when you’re out with your friends. they will be smiling, carefree and will give you a needed energy boost. adventures await. long term? i think this person has trouble settling down and you might choose to enjoy your time with them and move on. either way, have fun!

if you chose pile two

the high priestess / justice

this could be a work connection, you will initially see this person as very serious and strait laced. wearing a tie or suit. this will be a person that you learn a lot from, but be careful to keep the balance and let them learn things from you as well! maybe how to loosen up a bit or i’m seeing cooking and taking care of themselves being a weak spot for this person. long term? a definite possibility, providing you treat each other as equals.

if you chose pile three

two of pentacles / five of wands

i’m seeing an online connection here, text only to begin with, a very funny person who cheers you up. i think this person may have difficulties to deal with irl which they will attempt to keep from you at first. if they come clean they may deserve a second chance but i think that although this person will help you for a short time, you will choose to let them go after the truth is revealed. a bittersweet connection, worth having and learning from nevertheless.

#tarot reading #intuitive #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a pile reading #pick a card reading #love reading #tarotcommunity #1 2 3

86 notes · View notes

thetruthwilloutsworld · 7 months

Text

If anyone knows a thing or two about sex scenes, it’s Sam Heughan. Over the past decade, the 43-year-old Scottish star of Outlander, the cult-hit historical drama, has filmed hours of notoriously raunchy footage in his role as Jamie Fraser, the dashing 18th-century Highland rebel, with his wife, Claire – a time-traveller from the 20th century, played by Caitríona Balfe.

Yet two years ago, Heughan, as one of the executive producers (with Balfe), introduced an intimacy co-ordinator to choreograph such scenes, which had been criticised by many as excessively violent.

“The industry’s completely changed since Outlander started,” Heughan says, sitting in a Soho bar on a visit to London from his home outside Glasgow. “Not just our show but also shows like Game of Thrones were very graphic, with no room for the imagination, in a way that’s quite jarring now. As young, keen actors, we were just expected to get naked and go at it. Caitríona and I formed a bond and trusted each other, but there were times when we were pushed too far.” He was especially troubled by a scene involving full-frontal nudity in season one, when Jamie was tortured and raped by his rival, Black Jack Randall (Tobias Menzies). “That really didn’t sit well.”

Everything changed following the MeToo scandal, leading Heughan to employ Vanessa Coffey to choreograph the sex scenes. “So now everyone knows what the boundaries are, like in a football or rugby match. It’s been so helpful and freeing, and it was because I didn’t want younger actors to go through what we’d gone through. Now, the scenes are sexually charged, but not gratuitous.”

Despite his heartthrob status, Heughan – who’s 6ft 2in, with the strapping physique his role necessitates – is modest and thoughtful company. He also had Coffey enlisted to co-ordinate his latest project, Channel 4’s erotic thriller The Couple Next Door, filmed during the short break between Outlander’s seasons nine and 10, in which he plays Danny, a policeman living in a Leeds suburb in an open marriage with Becka (Jessica De Gouw).

“We didn’t want to make a salacious or seedy show about swingers,” Heughan says. “It’s about the psychology behind it – what is it to be in an open relationship where two characters love each other so much that they can invite people into that relationship? I think it’s possibly the greatest form of romance to allow your partner this, if it’s the itch they need to scratch. My character struggles with it.

The couple’s (initially) strait-laced neighbours are played by Alfred Enoch and Eleanor Tomlinson, who in 2019 finished five seasons as Demelza in Poldark. With Outlander about to start filming its final season, she and Heughan compared notes on moving on from a huge, long-running costume drama.

“It’s emotional. For me, the prospect’s hugely bittersweet. It feels like getting out of an institution. Outlander’s like a family, it literally defines who I am.” After all, Heughan has created an empire of Outlander spin-offs, including books, television travelogues and his spirits brand, The Sassenach – named after Jamie’s nickname for the English Claire – not to mention his charity, My Peak Challenge, which has raised nearly £5 million to fund a variety of causes, including hunger relief and blood-cancer research. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world,” he says.

Still, he felt now was the right time to wrap. “Outlander could have finished after the ninth season, but, personally, I felt we hadn’t quite got there. So now we have the problem of pushing the writers to do something that’s hopefully satisfying for the audience, but also exciting.” So Heughan doesn’t yet know how Outlander ends? “No idea, and it’s really tough because Diana [Gabaldon, the author on whose novels the series is based] has written so many books.”

The show has a vast international fanbase; VisitScotland has cited a 67 per cent rise in visits to the show’s locations, such as Culloden and Inverness. “I do feel like I’m an unofficial ambassador for Scotland, and sometimes I don’t think the show is given enough credit for what it’s done for Scottish tourism,” Heughan says. “I think the numbers are even bigger than they say, because reams of Americans are just making their own itineraries. Doune Castle’s numbers are up 800 per cent, it’s been completely renovated as a result.”

The show has also transformed the local film industry. “For 10 years, we’ve been employing people at over 200 Scottish locations, we’ve started an intern scheme, we’ve built a studio with five sound stages where there was nothing before. So it’s going to leave a legacy.”

The son of an artist single mother (his father walked out when he was a baby), Heughan spent his early childhood in the Borders, his teens in Edinburgh, before studying at Glasgow’s Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, where his mentor was third-year student James McAvoy.

Having worked in London and Los Angeles, Heughan fell back in love with Scotland when he was cast in Outlander. Initially against independence, filming the first season in the run-up to the 2016 referendum transformed him into a vocal advocate. “Scottish politics right now is a bit of a mess, which is a shame, but maybe they’ll find a new rallying cry. We’re a great wee country with amazing resources, most of which are controlled by the British. Similar small European countries have great identities.”

Initially, Heughan is hesitant to discuss the issue, aware taking either side will provoke a social-media backlash, but then he decides: ��Why can’t actors have opinions? The problem is you have to come down on one side, there is no room for debate. Everything has become so aggressive and then social-media algorithms mean you only get to see one side of the argument.”

He had his fingers burnt when last month he signed an open letter from Artists for Palestine UK, alongside the likes of Tilda Swinton and Steve Coogan, which accused the Government of “aiding and abetting” Israeli war crimes, but failed to condemn Hamas’s terrorism. The following day, Heughan rescinded, saying he hadn’t “fully understood” what he was signing.

“I was maybe naively calling for peace, which is what we all want, but, unfortunately, that situation is so complex, I can’t understand it all,” he says now. “As an actor, you have a platform, but if you put your thoughts out there, you upset people, but you’re also damned if you don’t say anything.”

Heughan’s taking time to navigate a potential post-Outlander career path. “I’m a workaholic, but I have to be discerning. Whatever I do next, I have to feel really passionate about.” Possible plans include directing and exploring a different side to Scotland than misty heather and bagpipes. “I think that underbelly you see in [Ian Rankin’s] Rebus and Irvine Welsh is very interesting, there are still pockets that are very hard and gritty.”

Back in 2005, he auditioned for James Bond in Casino Royale – the role that eventually went to Daniel Craig. Now, there’s a new vacancy. “I’ll throw my hat in the ring,” he says, grinning. “I’d be a brilliant Bond, I’m good at action and I’d bring a lot of emotional intelligence.”

There might even be space for a personal life. Heughan’s mystified by “facts” he reads about his private life online. “There’s so much nonsense that’s completely false – apparently, I have a daughter. News to me!” he says, flushing. The truth, he says, is that Outlander leaves no time for relationships.

“It’s insane hours and takes over everything. Caitríona’s carved out a beautiful family for herself that she protects very well, but I’ve seen how hard it is for her to do that. I want a cat, but I’m too scared even for that, how would I look after it? One day, maybe,” Heughan says, dreamily.

Posting again as some people had difficulty opening the previous link.

139 notes · View notes

temptresstitania · 1 month

Text

i am once again thinking about strait-laced authority figures who hide their depraved desires. priests who go home from mass and jerk off because one of the attendees looked too vulnerable, too desperate while praying. employers with wandering hands doing their very best to not grope their secretaries. militant generals who find themselves struggling to ignore the allure of cadets stripped down to singlets and trousers, waiting patiently for orders like dogs. perverts with the power to act on whatever disgusting whim they may have, but try so hard to resist doing so. they may go a few days, a week, a month even, without taking advantage of their prey, but they always relapse.

#from the temple #dyke nsft #t4t nsft #nblw nsft #wlw nsft #corruption kink #power imbalance #bd/sm degrader #bd/sm dynamic

57 notes · View notes

multi-fandom-imagine · 1 month

Note

Can I request a one shot with Mordecai Heller x fem!reader and mordecai has had an annoying day of work thanks to serafine and nico. So as soon as ue comes home he decides to fuck readers brains to mush :3

A/n: I do apologize this took me so long and I apologize if it sucks, because i am not sure how i feel about this.

Mordecai could feel the irritation roll off of him in waves, the only thing he wanted to do was to lay down and be left alone.

Slamming the door shut, the man shrugged off his coat, the next came his tie. He would have removed his shirt if it weren't for you standing in his way.

"Not now." The last thing he wanted to do was to take his anger out on you because of those two idiots he had to deal with.

Sighing, you rolled your eyes cupping his cheeks. The swaying of his tail and the twitching of his ears by how irritated he was. "Take a breath and calm down Mordecai, you're going to give yourself a heart attack."

He needed a distraction, he needed to relieve his stress. Pa

"Fuck,” He groaned against your ear as he hovered behind you, his deft fingers are so close to ripping your clothes off your body since he’s desperately need to be inside you.

Letting out a light laugh, you pressed your body into Mordecai's back. "They must have really worked you over of you're swearing."

"Tech."

Glasses nearly slipping off the bridge his nose, he wasn't about to answer you but instead Mordecai firmly yet gently pressed you down to the plush mattress, his hips met your ass, making him grinding sensuously against you. “Let me take care of you. All you need to do is sit still and let me do all the work. Just lay down."

Eyes sliding closed, you took a breath in feeling your skirt rise as you bit back a whimper,as you nodded your head. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Mordecai's eyes darkened with desire as he heard your whimper, it only fueled his desire to possess you even more.

"Good girl," he purred, his voice laced with a mix of dominance and affection. He moved swiftly, his hands roaming over your body, caressing every curve and dip. His fingers trailed down your spine, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake.

He positioned himself at your entrance, teasingly brushing against your slick folds. His voice dropped to a low, seductive whisper. "You're so wet for me already, baby. I love how responsive you are to my touch." With that, he slowly pushed into you, savoring the tightness and warmth that enveloped him.

A groan of pleasure escaped his lips as he began to move, his hips rocking against yours with a steady, controlled rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he claimed you as his own. Each thrust was powerful, driving deeper and deeper into your core, leaving you gasping and moaning.

Mordecai's lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin. His teeth grazed over your pulse point, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you. "You're mine" he growled possessively, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and dominance. "Mine to fuck, mine to breed. You belong to me."

Doing your best to match his thrust, his name slipped past your lips. You enjoyed seeing this side of him, the way he would just let himself lose control for once since he was so strait laced.

He quickened his pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Pleasure surged through his veins, his cock throbbing inside you as he neared his release. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained with desire.

With one final, powerful thrust, Mordecai pushed you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathless cry. He followed suit, his body tensing as he spilled himself deep inside you, marking you as his own. He collapsed against your back, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pressed kisses to the nape of your neck.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" Mordecai held you close, his nose nuzzled into your neck. He could himself twitch within you.

Laughing softly you shook your head as you curled your body into his chest. "You did not hurt me Mordecai....so don't worry." You cupped his cheek as he closed his eyes leaning into your palm.

"Thank you."

#drabbles #drabble #mordecai #mordecai heller #mordecai x reader #mordecai x you #mordecai x y/n #mordecai heller x reader #mordecai heller x you #mordecai heller lackadaisy #lackadaisy #lackadaisy mordecai #lackadaisy mordecai heller #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy x you #mordecai lackadaisy

89 notes · View notes

nessieartss · 1 month

Note

The twins ryomen and jin thing? The possible criminal curse user fun wine aunt uncle?

So, we've established the possibility that Kaori was a nerd delinquent, right? What if her gang was all genius nerd delinquents who did delinquent shit but were super passionate and prompt in school? There was the main nerd delinquent she looked up to, who is passionate about the Heian period, higher education and ancient poetry-all of which his nephew took a liking to-was Ryomen.

Who introduced his "little sister" of the gang to his strait-laced twin brother.

Can you imagine how weird that would be? Delinquent Kaori courting her "big bro's" twin? Like aggressively?

Jin recalls all the corniness of it all and how much his wife and his brother have no game(Ryomen likes to remind him that Kaori did win Jin's heart so she definitely has game and she's his disciple so "shut up, jin")

Yuuji: So what dad's saying is that Kuna has the worst of both worlds because he's like uncle Ryo and mom, and that he's never gonna get Gumi.

Nobara: *shakes her head* Sukuna's genetically cursed with no bitches.

Yuuji: *sadly* No bitches...

Sukuna, Kaori and Ryomen: *offended* WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO BITCHES?!?!

Jin: *too busy laughing*

I'm sorry, the dynamic. Also, it's funnier if Ryomen is the younger twin so technically the baby brother, the clingy baby brother at that.

Now, if Grandpa Itadori were alive this would be even more hilarious.

Omg the family dynamic has already been written and im all here for it. Now everytime i see ryomen sukuna i just think of them like 2 different people 😭😭

#jjk sibling au #uncle ryomen au #ask #blurbwitch #answer

48 notes · View notes

marcobodtlives · 4 months

Text

I feel like a lot of the one sided/pining/unrequited love jeanmarco fics are very ‘Jean is oblivious (and likes Mikasa instead)’ with a spoonful of ‘Marco holds most of the unrequited love for his bestie (who he is mostly sure is definitely straight and could never like him back).’

But I wanna see more Jean being hopelessly in love with the tall, freckled boy from Jinae that everyone loves.

I want stubborn, seen-as-somewhat-of-an-asshole Jean pining for the cute boy who everyone knows and trusts.

I need to see Jean facing earth-shattering, life-ending adoration for the kid that everyone says is going to be a great leader someday.

Give me Jean seeing Marco in the line up on day one of training and falling absolutely head-over-heels for him.

Show me Jean teasing Marco because he really likes him and it’s the only way he can think to get close to him.

Let me see Jean blushing and fumbling over his words each time he gets a private moment with Marco.

Where is my Marco is kind and loving to everyone, so he misses how much Jean is trying to work up the courage to do something.

Gimme Marco missing all of Jean’s hints and stupid pick-up-lines because they fly over his head.

I want a Marco who is so study-focused and convinced that Jean is a strait-laced, Trost-raised, hot-shot that teases him because Marco’s a classic teacher’s pet and not because he’s in love.

Present to me a Marco who confuses Jean’s moves as something he does to and for everyone, thus entirely missing the obvious conclusion that this is Jean hitting on him.

#petition over #sign here folks #bite me #I’m writing this #nobody can stop me #jeanmarco #marco bodt #jean kirschtein #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #or if you wanna be funky:#marco bott #jean kirstein #my drabbles

74 notes · View notes

theniceandaccurategoodomensblog · 10 months

Text

Who or what is Maggie?

Maggie the Mirror

Maggie is a mirror for both Aziraphale and Crowley. Firstly, we associate her with Aziraphale. She owns a record shop instead of a bookshop, she’s sunshiney and strait-laced, even her appearance reminds us of Aziraphale. Plus, of course, she’s in love with the grumpy one. So far so good. But then we realise that Nina is a mirror for Aziraphale too— her abusive relationship is a lot like Aziraphale’s relationship with Heaven and Maggie, like Crowley, yearns and waits.

Read more under the cut

This alone—a switcharoo in the mirroring—is interesting and unusual (in a good way!) But it isn’t left in that place. After making the switch, after setting us up to think that Maggie = Crowley and Nina = Aziraphale we have a final and strong gesture towards Maggie being a mirror for Aziraphale after all—Nina calls Maggie “angel” right in front of Crowley himself.

What the hell?! How blatant can you get? Why do this now after the switcharoo?

Maggie is a mirror. But which character is she being held in front of: Aziraphale or Crowley?

It reminds me of this line from one of Crowley’s favourite songs:

“If I could make the world as pure

And strange as what I see

I'd put you in the mirror

I put in front of me.”

Is she somehow a mirror for both? Is that the point?

Maggie might not be human

And then we have the suggestions that Maggie is not entirely human. There are two key pieces of evidence for Maggie being something other than human.

Firstly, there’s her spelling error in the note to Aziraphale. She spells urgent as “ugrent” which later becomes significant when we find out that demons can’t spell. This suggests that Maggie is a demon.

It has been suggested that the spelling error might be explained as a Freudian slip as it puts the word “rent” into the word urgent. But this is not a good explanation. Freudian slips involve an unconscious preoccupation not a conscious one and secondly they don’t involve making a whole other unrelated mistake first in order to make the slip, ie Maggie had to write the “g” in the wrong place before she could slip in the “rent”.

More importantly, this is a work of fiction. What is the narrative purpose of including a Freudian slip? It is to tell the audience what is happening in the character’s unconscious. There’s no need to include a Freudian slip here because Maggie herself tells us about the rent directly. It is not a slip.

It has also been suggested that it could be part of the mirroring. But Neil has confirmed that Crowley can spell. So that doesn’t make sense either. Mirroring should point at Crowley directly not reference a demonic characteristic that he himself does not have.

The only plausible narrative purpose for including the spelling error is to make us wonder if Maggie might be a demon. Now that doesn’t mean that she definitely is a demon. It could well be a red herring! But it was deliberately and intentionally included and there’s just no other reason to have included it. We are meant to wonder if Maggie is a demon.

The second piece of evidence that Maggie is not human is the fact that two of Aziraphale’s miracles fail on her. When the demons storm the Bookshop, Aziraphale tries to use miracles to get Maggie to flee and to do whatever Crowley says. But she just blinks and asks if Aziraphale is trying to hypnotise her. Aziraphale’s miracles don’t fail (unless there is a miracle blocker around) so this is significant. Again, it isn’t proof. But it was included intentionally. We are meant to wonder why Aziraphale’s miracles fail on Maggie.

So, is Maggie a demon?

Possibly. But then we need to consider what that means for her conduct around the Bookshop. I don’t think the fact that she can step over the threshold and into the shop is a problem. She was invited, after all. But she does invite the demons outside into the shop and this works—once she says that they can enter. It could be the case that this is just how it works, that anyone invited into the Bookshop has the power to invite new people in. Or it could be that she herself had that power because it is a Heavenly embassy.

Wait? What? Is Maggie an angel then?

Maybe. It would explain why her invitation to the demons to enter the Bookshop gave them the ability to do so. It would also fit with Nina calling her an angel later on.

Angel? Demon? What else is there?

Angel and demon are not the only two possibilities. It has also been suggested that she could be a fictional character invented by the Metatron. We also know that witches exist in Good Omens (and we don’t entirely know what witches are or the limits of their powers). So she could be a witch. She could also be a human possessed by a demon.

What about her backstory?

We know that Maggie her family have had a long association with Aziraphale and his bookshop. If she is a demon or an angel this means that either she’s been in place as a spy for someone (the Metatron? God?) keeping an eye on Aziraphale for many years undetected by Aziraphale or Crowley or she’s been installed recently with the Book of Life or something else used to retrofit her backstory in. I do find the idea of an angel or a demon secretly having such a long association with Aziraphale without Crowley getting wise to it a bit odd. He’s pretty damn good at protecting his angel. But we also know that the body swap worked for Aziraphale and Crowley and that Crowley snuck into Heaven undetected. So, it is potentially in line with that. Especially if she was sent by the Metatron or God under their orders and protection. So maybe.

What is she doing then?

We know that Maggie: (1) set Aziraphale down a path of trying to get Nina to fall in love with her (which of course also prompted him to try to further his own relationship with Crowley), (2) invited the demons into the Bookshop bringing a safe enough situation to a dramatic head before Crowley could return, and (3) had the little chat with Crowley that primed him to confess his love to Aziraphale and respond as he did to Aziraphale sharing the Metatron’s offer.

I think we should take seriously two possibilities. One is that that she is in league with the Metatron, working under his orders. The other is the exact opposite: that she is trying to help Aziraphale and Crowley, to bring them together, perhaps at the bidding of God herself.

I don’t think it is possible to say exactly who or what Maggie is from season two alone. I don’t think we are meant to work it out yet, just to ask the questions. But I do think we will find out in season three.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #good omens analysis #Maggie #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #gos2 #good omens s2 #my meta

153 notes · View notes

turbulentscrawl · 4 months

Note

i haven't seen lots of edgar content lately,, maybe general hcs for edgar valden if you can? :D

👌

-Edgar is a tunnel-visioned, broken-hearted creator who spends most of his energy seeking out the meaning of life and a reason to live. After the death of his mother and sister, he gave up on fulfillment through love or friendship, and now appreciates the world only through his art. Otherwise, he is apathetic. He does remain cordial with people, though, like his mother taught him to be.

-Edgar is an observer in most senses of the word. He rarely cares to devote energy to conversation himself, so he watches and listens instead. He doesn’t have much remaining interest in participating in the ‘game’ that is society, or the subtle mind-games it requires, but he is intrigued by other people’s reactions to them. When he does interact with others, he expects it to be strait-laced. Anything else is a waste of his time. (In short, he’s nosey. He enjoys knowing all the gossip but very rarely spreads it himself.)

-In that same vein, if Edgar has a specific opinion on something, you know it’s because that something has inspired him in some way. Edgar is a Centrist and does not hold very strong views of political or social situations one way or the other. In general, he thinks it’s best to let people do what they want, so long as it doesn’t interfere with what he or anyone else wants.

-Since the betrayal of his master, he’s developed a strikingly low tolerance for interruptions and interference. Edgar’s artistic muse is the most important thing in life to him, and he’s already lost it once. He’s not willing to lose it again, and does not give a damn about what anyone else thinks about his methods of maintaining it.

-Edgar was used by people for so long for his artistic skills that he has a hard time connecting with anyone who’s first interest in him relates to that. Ironically, with time Edgar gets along well with people like Kevin, who was confrontational and distrusting of Edgar in the beginning. Kevin did not give a fuck about Edgar’s art, and disliked him for some entirely different principal. And his art neither salvaged Kevin’s opinion nor won him over when they were finally on neutral terms. People like that can be trusted to be genuine, as far as Edgar is concerned, and frankly Edgar doesn’t see conflict as a dealbreaker for friendships or relationships. Disagreements happen.

-He’s physically weak—this boy has never seen a day of recreational exercise in his life. He is, however, not squeamish or easily disgusted. He dislikes what he perceives as ugliness, but has no issues witnessing or interacting with dirt, grime, or gore. He’s also not easily frightened and tends to be one of the more level-headed survivors in matches. He holds a similar reverence to death as Aesop and isn’t afraid of dying in matches. Some little part of him wishes it could be permanent—as some final devotion to his art, his Swan Song.

-Edgar cross-dresses sometimes. He needs no particular reason for it, as far as he’s concerned, but if you must know it just comes down to ‘he likes what he likes.’ And he likes flowy skirts. He’s not the type to let the gender roles of a society he’s not even part of anymore dictate what he wears. Were he alive in a modern world, he may identity as Agender. He doesn’t care much about gender and just presents however he feels like on a given day.

-Outside of his art studio and bedroom, Edgar is terrible at keeping track of things. He’s blind to anything he sets down outside of those two spaces, it simply no longer exists to him. Other people in the manor are often returning his things to him (especially Joker, who has a knack for finding things without even knowing they were lost.)

-When he was younger, he was taught several other skills that were normal for young men of high class. Piano and dancing, for instance. he didn't like them enough to practice much after his mother died, but he's still decent at them.

-Edgar has commandeered several hallways of the manor to hang his art. He’ll probably take over more later—he’s got an eternity to make his art, after all.

#idv x reader #identity v #idv painter #edgar valden x reader #turbulentscrawl

72 notes · View notes

yuurei20 · 4 months

Text

Jade and Floyd Info Compilation part 40: Trey

Both twins give advice to Trey during Phantom Bride, and after Trey is slapped Jade explains, “Your similes were a tad mundane”

In a vignette Trey sees Jade get scolded by Azul, lectured by Riddle and brushed off by Floyd and apologizes for not stepping in to try and cool Riddle off.

Trey tells Jade that he is “doing a bang-up job” as vice-housewarden and tells him to not be so humble: “I’ve been watching you for a while, and it seems to me that all you do is listen to what- Azul or Floyd have to say…you secretly think they’re self-centered, right?…You should do whatever you want to do.”

Later on Trey again comments on how dealing with Floyd and Azul “must be borderline tortuous for a strait-laced guy like him,” to Riddle’s surprise.

The two eavesdrop on Jade’s conversation and hear him share his plan to intimidate the new students after they have turned them into loyal pawns by earning their confidence. Jade then gifts Azul with a dossier of information about Octavinelle’s new first-years, including their home countries, hobbies, tastes, least favorite foods and worst subjects, as Azul had requested of him.

Jade then reveales that he took the liberty of cataloguing their Magicam accounts as well, up to and including secret accounts: information that Azul had not even asked for, but “they were easy enough to discover, so I went ahead and jotted them down for you.”

Trey says that he has thought that Jade was humble, diligent, submissive and a chronic worrier, but now realizes he was wrong.

In another vignette Jade goes to Trey to ask for strawberries he has cultivated for use in a birthday cake for an important customer for Mostro Lounge, as Floyd ate all the fruit that they had intended to use.

Trey is reluctant as he had been growing the strawberries specifically for Riddle, but ultimately relents in exchange for a strawberry tart from a famous patisserie.

Jade says that he had Floyd queue up first thing in the morning as punishment for stealing food from the lounge. When Trey says he has a hard time imagining Floyd standing patiently in line Jade explains, “I’d make anyone give back what they embezzled. Even family.”

#twisted wonderland #twstfacts #twstjade #twstfloyd #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #jadefacts #floydfacts

67 notes · View notes

fallatyourfeet · 1 year

Text

Good For Business (Jealous Tommy Shelby x Female Reader) Part 2/2

Completed

Summary: There is still no doubt that you're good for business, but maybe you're a little too good. And Tommy can't handle the consequences.

Reacquaint yourself with part 1 or read it for the first time here.

Word count: 1838

Warnings: Swearing. Jealousy. Reader being disrespected.

A/N: This was a long long long time coming. It was written in patches over a long period of time. So, I really hope it doesn't feel too disjointed. It’s actually the first thing I've posted in 5 months, FIVE, but I do hope it's not so long before I post another.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

Tommy sat in his favourite restaurant, at his favourite table, with a tumbler of his favourite whisky residing in the palm of his hand, marveling you. You really were, good for business. The man sitting across from him, a man renowned for being nearly impossible to deal with, was like putty in your hands, and you weren’t even trying to turn on your charm. It was just you.

Bringing you along to this business deal was not an easy decision. Since that glorious day in the office of the Garrison, you had virtually lived in each other's pockets, but that didn’t mean he wanted you getting involved in his shady day to day business. Working at the Garrison as a paid employee was one thing, but getting directly mixed up in his business deals, well, that was an entirely different matter. But leaning back in his chair watching you unravel this tightly wound and notoriously difficult man, with a simple smile, was something to behold.

This very lucrative deal was for all intents and purposes, legal. However, Tommy’s long-term intentions were not exactly above board, and the very difficult and strait-laced, Joe Robertson, knew it. On multiple occasions he had refused to meet with Tommy on the account of his reputation, so when he finally agreed to sit down and talk, Tommy did his research. Not wanting to take anything by chance and blow the only opportunity he might have of securing a deal with this man. He left no stone unturned, barely falling short of knowing what he ate for breakfast. And boy, did Tommy pull out all the stops. But Joe was seemingly unimpressed, and Tommy thought all opportunity was lost. All until it was time for you to join them at the restaurant.

They were already sitting at the table; drink in hand, barely exchanging words with the contract lying forgotten on the table. Then you breezed through the door, instantly catching Joe’s eye. And that was the moment Tommy wondered, if maybe the only moral weakness the honourable Joe Robertson had, was you. A string of beautiful, well-dressed women had filed through the restaurant door for the past 45 minutes and he barely even noticed them. But your warm inviting smile and natural charm, had his features flickering to life and suddenly expectant when he realised you were being ushered towards them.

Both men stood up when you stopped at the edge of the table, Tommy offering you the seat between them, making introductions as he did so. “Joe, this is Miss Y/N Y/L/N... my better half... Y/N this is, Mr Joe Robertson.”

Tommy’s palm gently caressed your back as he guided you to your chair, noticing how the contact seized Joe’s attention, his eyes lingering on Tommy’s hand with a touch of jealousy. And yet, he nodded politely and greeted, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/L/N... I see Tommy’s good taste isn’t restricted solely to tailored suits and fine whisky.”

Your answering smile was stunning, and your words playfully disarming, “Yes. It seems his good taste also extends to future business partners too.”

Joe laughed, the effects of your playful flattery showing in the redness of his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he took a breath, “Well, we’re not quite there yet, but the evening has suddenly taken a more promising turn. Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, do you often accompany Mr Shelby to his business meetings?”

Tommy leaned across the table, reaching for the bottle of champagne he lifted it from the wine cooler and poured a glass. Handing it to you, he found himself holding back a smirk when you took a sip, savoured it, and replied, “No. But if the champagne is always as good as this, then yes, I do believe this meeting will be the first of many.”

Tommy relaxed back into his chair and lit a cigarette, happy to take the back seat while you worked your effortless magic. And the man was instantly under your spell.

With a nod of his head, Joe leaned towards you, his voice lowered just a little, “Well then, I’ll make sure to have a bottle of the finest champagne waiting for you whenever Mr Shelby and I arrange a meeting.”

Taking another sip, you settled into the curve of your chair and smiled. It was warm and genuine, and the hum leaving your lips formed a distinct appreciation for the champagne, before tipping your glass towards him, and replying, “Then let’s not leave it too long between drinks, Mr Robertson.”

The normally hard features of the strait-laced businessman were suddenly soft and pliable when he connected the edge of his glass with yours, “Let’s not.” And Tommy found himself butting out his cigarette to once again, sit back and appreciate his whisky, whilst marveling you.

And before long, you had done all but secure his signature across the dotted line of the contract. And yet, Tommy grew uneasy. Yes, Joe’s features remained soft and pliable as he soaked up every smile and word you spoke, but as the evening progressed, Tommy felt his upper lip tighten when Joe gazed a little too long across the silky skin of your bare shoulder. Fought the impulse to narrow his glare when he admired the soft curve of your bust with a little too much appreciation. And found himself rapping his cigarette case a little too forcefully against the tabletop, when the man, renowned for his unrivalled morals, failed to disguise the growing vile thoughts in his eyes. But Tommy endured it. All he needed was Joe’s signature and he would never have to see you spend another moment with the man. Surely, he could endure it for that long. Surely.

Dessert had just been ordered, and Tommy had managed to remain civil, when you stood up and brushed your hand across his shoulder, reaching for your clutch you excused yourself, “Gentlemen... excuse me a moment, while I disappear to powder my nose.”

Nodding his head, Tommy smiled, watching your retreating form as you made your way towards the ladies. Turning his attention to Joe, he found him doing the same, the hungry look in his eyes doing nothing to lessen the tight grip Tommy had around his tumbler. When you finally disappeared behind the door, Joe picked up the contract and reached inside his jacket pocket for a pen. “I think we have a deal, Mr Shelby. My lawyer has already combed through the contract you sent him and gave me the green light to make my own decision. However, there’s just one condition I’d like to add.”

Penning down an amendment to the contract, he skipped to the final page and signed it before pushing it across the table to Tommy, speaking as he did so. “I had no intention of signing this today or making any kind of deal with the likes of you, but I am willing to make an exception... if... you accept my ‘additional’ request.”

Not liking the edge that Joe’s voice suddenly carried, Tommy took a long slow breath in a calculated effort to calm himself. Yet, the strain still showed at the edges of his mouth, his voice harder than he intended, “an ‘additional’ request?”

Gripping the sides of his glass, Tommy’s fingertips turned white, his resolve almost shattering when his free hand sifted through to the amended page of the contract. There it was. Your name. Written in the ink of Joe’s messy scrawl. ‘A whole night with Mr Thomas Shelby’s better half, Miss Y/N Y/L/N.’

‘FUCKING WHAT?’ Tommy screamed the words inside his head.

Staring blindly at the page, the single sentence blurred into a mess of blue ink, the typed black font of the contract all but invisible to him. Clearing his throat, Tommy closed the contract with unnerving calm, though his internal dialogue was ropeable, ‘The fucking gall of this man. Who the fuck does he think he is? Does he fucking realise who he’s dealing with?’

While it was true that Tommy’s virtues in the muddy world of business deals, were at best, questionable. And all he needed was to scribble his name right beside Joe’s signature, and the deal was done. Somehow, the thought of sharing you to secure probably his most lucrative deal to date, left him seething. Not to mention the poor whisky residing in his hand at risk of spilling across the table, if the crystal tumbler finally succumbed to his choking grip.

Lifting his head, he stared coldly into Joe’s eyes. This man. This so called, ‘moral honourable’ man, was requesting a night with you. One whole night to do with you as he pleased. Did he think you were some cheap common whore? With a deep breath, he raised his brow, his voice low and threatening, “Y/N is not a commodity of the Shelby Company, Mr Robertson. She cannot be bought sold or bartered with. And she is certainly, no whore”

Joe shook his head casually, “I’ve never been interested in whores, Mr Shelby... I’m interested in the lady currently powdering her nose.” Then leaning across the table, he tapped at the contract a few times, before offering Tommy his pen, “If you want this deal to close, you’ll sign this paper now... I will not consider any other deal.”

It took all of Tommy’s strength to keep from tipping the table over and grabbing the smug fuck by his collar. Wanting nothing more than to roll his hands into fists and break the man’s jaw. Would render so much gratification from seeing his smug pompous eyes roll around in his head. But Tommy had bigger plans, now. Forget the fucking contract. He didn’t need it anymore.

Taking Joe’s pen, he slipped it inside the pocket of his jacket, and stood from the chair. Emptying the whisky into his mouth, he grabbed his cigarettes, before taking the contract and rolling it up like a newspaper. Handing it to a passing busboy, he tipped him generously, before instructing, “Burn these worthless papers in the kitchen, eh?”

Standing there a long silent moment, Tommy watched the boy rush off towards the kitchen, just as you made your way out of the ladies. It could not have been more perfect timing. Turning his attention to Joe, he calmly smoothed over his jacket, before buttoning it up, then leaning towards him spoke with a cold and steely voice. “You’ve just made a big mistake... one big fucking mistake... You’ve disrespected the wrong woman, Mr Robertson. This is not going to end well for you.”

Taking you by the arm, he could see the confusion in your features, and the questions spilling from your eyes, but you said nothing. Nor did you even look back at Joe when Tommy spoke his farewell. “Apologies for the early departure, but I’m sure you’ll understand. I have a whole night to spend with this lovely lady... and I’d rather not waste any further of our time with you... Good night, Mr Robertson.”

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby imagines #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine

563 notes · View notes