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d10nyx · 2 days

Text

promise i'm working on content right now but here's a drabble because uhh... it came to me x

corrupt cop leon !! 18+ content

tw: non-con, lil mysogyny and filming. fem!reader

Leon thinks you're cute. Real cute. He'd happily take you out to dinner and treat you real nice if Irons wasn't working his ass to the bone. He barely has enough time to eat or sleep as of late, let alone take the time out of his day to take a pretty girl to a fancy dinner. Not that he could afford to on his payroll, even if he wanted to. City life sure wasn't cheap, something he had to learn the hard way.

He's not a scary cop, not on the surface. He can see the way you instantly relax as you see his face after he pulls up next to you. He's still all baby-faced and bright-eyed, his gaze shining as he looks over you.

"Late night for a pretty girl like you to be out," he had said, shooting you a disarming smile. He'd gotten you to talk for a while, nodding and acting all interested until he got your guard down enough. He didn't have to sweet talk you, but he was nice enough to at least try and get the girl compliant enough to go along with him.

Didn't last long, though. You really started to kick up a fuss as he got a little too touchy with you. All girls like you were so stuck-up. How many dates did a guy have to splurge on to get into some panties? What ever happened to a good old-fashioned backseat blowie? The Internet really fucking ruined women. They all thought they were 'too good' for a quick fuck. Like that'd stop him.

He has you pushed over the hood of his car in a few seconds flat. Cop training came in handy, made him real good at restraining the pretty girls he wanted to stick his dick into. Had you cuffed with his hand cupping your mouth before you could even think about screaming, fumbling with his belt for about 30 seconds before he's hiking your skirt up and tugging your panties to the side.

He thrusts into you with one quick snap of his hips, groaning loudly as your tight heat wraps around his cock. You're not really wet, but the warmth and snugness makes up for your lack of arousal. It makes his cock twitch as you cry out into his hand, the feeling of tears gathering against the skin as they trickle down your cheeks making him grin. He always loved it when they cried, made him feel like his cock was really doing some damage.

"Can you do me a favour, sweetheart?" He murmurs, pressing wet kisses down your neck as he thrusts into you, his balls slapping against your clit repeatedly. Still not enough to get you dripping for him. Jeez, you were a picky one, huh? He had a pretty cock, most girls at least had the decency to get wet after a while. You're lucky you're just his type, or he would've dumped you on the side of the road by now.

"See that light right there?" He breathes out after a beat, his free hand tapping the window right where his dashboard camera sits, recording his every move. He grins against your neck, pretty blues peeking through his lashes as he stares at the camera. "Look at it for me, baby. Wanna be able to watch your pretty face on video when I fill you up."

His words seem to make you panic a little, your cunt clenching around his dick as you start to sob, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe against his palm. You're drooling all over him, and he's starting to wish he decided to fuck that pretty throat of yours rather than your cunt, cause that's the only thing on you that seems to know how to get wet. Oh, well. He's too close now to bother pulling out.

It only takes him a few more thrusts before he spills his seed deep inside of you with a whimper, his eyes squeezing shut as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He pulls out a minute later, tucking himself back into his pants, leaving your trembling body bent over his patrol car. Takes him a moment to catch his breath, then he unlocks your cuffs and rubs your wrists - all sweet and gentle.

"Up you get, sweetheart." He pats your ass before helping you up, straightening out your skirt with a sweet smile on his face - like his cum wasn't dripping down the inside of your thighs. He pulls out a wad of cash, stuffing it down your top just to get an excuse to peek at the tits he never got around to touching.

"Money for a taxi, cutie. There's some really nasty men lurking around this time of night."

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you

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railingsofsorrow · 18 hours

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we'll be alright

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: the one where it's the team's night out after a few long weeks of work and you're finally relaxing... not really. because you have a secret that's brewing your insides out.

pairing: s.reid x f!reader

w.c: 2.4K

warnings/content: mentions of pregnancy symptoms; sleep deprivation; alcohol; jj being a good friend; discussion about choices; fearing one's reaction; yk spencer reid the best (only) man on earth.

A/N: I planned this to be a small drabble... anyways, enjoy this blurb while I finish up a few requests.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

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“what are you doing?”

“chill, jj. I'm not drinking.”

you roll your eyes at the blonde casting you a suspicious look when she walks over. you don't know why she did it, to be honest. everyone seemed to be having fun over at the table, you just felt too uncomfortable and had to take a breath of fresh air outside. when you came back, you sat down by the counter, the bartender placed a red drink in front of you claiming it was from a guy across the bar. you didn't look, you didn't care. you push it aside with an eye roll and stick to the glass of soda you had previously ordered.

“are you okay?” her sympathetic voice is too much for you to bear right now, so you inhale sharply, actually thinking about downing that whole red drink in a go but you're one hundred percent sure certain jj would knock it off before it reaches your mouth. “sorry. I won't ask.”

“i'm just... confused.” you shrug, playing with the hem of the glass, tongue traveling over your lips. they are pretty dry, you can't remember the last time you drank water. “you don't have to keep an eye on me, jj. seriously, I'll be back in a second. I'm just... thinking.”

“have you told him?”

“no.”

her brows pull together. and before she can offer you her unwanted advice, you cut her off.

“don't tell me he has the right to know or anything like that. I know, okay? I know what I have to do, I know what I need to do. but I have a right to process everything on my own as well and I'm doing just fine doing that. for now.” you don't mean to snap, acknowledging the fact that jj means well, but you're tired of hearing obvious things about the situation and none of them did anything to help easing your nerves.

seems like people cared more about spencer's opinion on the matter rather than your own, when it is, in fact, a matter that you are carrying.

“i was gonna say take your time. you don't need to have it all figured out right this second.” you glance up at her, doubtful. jj gives your shoulder a squeeze and casts you a reassuring smile that almost sends you to jump in her arms to be coddled. “you're not on your own. I know it can be overwhelming, trust me, but you can talk to me anytime you want, okay? when you're ready.”

you smile for what felt like the first time in the night. relief swallowing down a bit of the nervousness rumbling through your chest.

“thanks, jayge,” you say.

jj gives you a wink. she leaves you alone after that and you enjoy a few minutes on your own when a familiar and welcoming touch trails down your back.

“you're quiet.” spencer eyes something above your head with hard eyes and his gaze immediately melts when it falls upon you.

“marking territory, doctor reid?” you tease, noticing the jealousy by his tells. his tries at being inconspicuous are foolish, but you like it.

he flushes red, clearing his throat and mumbling I don't know what you're talking about under his breath.

you hum, resting your chin against your palm as you look up at him. “i'm always quiet.”

“not like that.” spencer points out, tilting his head as his lips stretch into a soft smile. his gaze says I know you. you can't fool me. and he's 100% right, you can't. “is everything okay?” he questions, fingers grazing your upper arm in a way that it almost causes you close your eyes and give in to sleep right there. the truth is that you haven't been sleeping for three whole days. tossing and turning and feeding the nightmare in your head that all would go to shit. your relationship, you mean. the most solid thing you have going on for you, you'd screw that up. personally, you're a fan of facing the problem right away so you could get rid of it quickly. but this is neither a problem — not for you — nor you could fix it.

“i have something to tell you.” you swallow with difficulty. “but I- I don't know how.”

“okay.” he caresses your arm, brows knitting together in slight concern. “do you want to go home? is that okay for you?”

you sigh, hand traveling cross your face. “i don't want you to stop having fun because—”

“i wasn't having fun.” spencer is quick to cut you off albeit gently like he always is. “i was basically begging for you to call it a night so we could leave.”

a surprise laugh escapes out of you. you believe that.

“okay.” you nod, convinced. and a little less anxious to be honest. it's not like you'd say what you want to say in the middle of a crowded bar filled with drunk people. “yeah, we can, we can go home.”

“great.” he kisses your temple and waits for you to accompany him to your friend's table so you can bid your goodbyes. the first indication that something is off was your withdraw nature throughout the entire day. not that you weren't doing your job perfectly fine, you were. but your mind seemed to be elsewhere from the moment you stepped into the FBI headquarters to this very moment now. the second indication was when you said you'd get a drink and never came back. he found you by the bar with, in deed, a drink before you. then, he knew he had to say something.

“where are your keys?” spencer asks, adjusting the leather strap on his shoulder as you stride out of the pub. you lift the car keys between your fingers and he outreaches a hand towards it to which your eyebrows pull together in confusion. “you drank, didn't you?”

your face smoothes out in understanding, “no.” he regards you with uncertainty. “i didn't,” you repeat with an eyeroll. “i can't. I ordered that one but I didn't touch it. if you wanna drive though, be my guest.” he takes the keys in the first chance and you just chuckle softly, walking to the opposite side and entering the car. when you finally adjust yourself in the seat, you let out a long breath in relief. your feet are killing you as well as your head. not to mention the dizziness coming back and forth.

you don't open you eyes when something presses against your torso, you know it's spencer buckling up your seatbelt that you had forgotten.

“what did you mean by you can't drink?” the peaceful silence is broken by spencer's gentle tone. he'd look over at you every few minutes, trying to point out if the cause for your pale cheeks is the faint light of the car or something else. your eyes are shut but he knows you are not sleeping by the constant shifting in your seat.

“what?” you stumble on an answer and that's the best you are able to come up with.

“you said I can't.”

“you're correcting my misspellings now?”

spencer's eyes widen slightly. when the traffic light turns red, he quickly turns to you ready to apologise. but he sees your smirk and backs down, letting out a sigh.

“no,” he says, rolling his eyes. there is still something unsettling about your behavior, he can't point out what. sometimes it just happened, that feeling. he knew something was off without a single glance your way. the red light turned green before he can carry on speaking.

he does it anyway, though his eyes are stuck to the avenue and not on you as he plans to.

“are you okay?”

silence. and then,

“why do you ask?” your voice is soft, almost uncertain. you are hesitant and holding back. something is definitely wrong.

“you're withdrawal. you look tired and you didn't sleep well last night. I'm fairly sure you're a bit pale since this morning.” you're groaning beside him and spencer frowns. you finally arrive at your apartment and he takes a while to park before he turns the engine off. “are you sick? do you have the flu? migraines? cause we could have gone straight home tonight, you know that right? do you have a fev—”

“stop, spencer.” you mumble before his hands reach your forehead to check your temperature. you hate that he notices so much so fast. even though he's quiet about it, spencer is always paying attention. always. “it's not— I'm not sick. don't worry.”

“i'm still worrying.” he replies matter-of-fact, earning a scowl from you. he isn't phased. “should we go to the hospital?”

you huff like a five year old. “i just told you I'm not sick.”

“and I don't believe you.”

somehow, you wish he noticed more so you didn't had to say the truth out loud.

“i'm not sick.” your tone was sharp though you avoid it, it was just how it came out. you were sick of that subject.

spencer frowns. he stops himself before he could ask if you were sure of that statement.

“but I might get sick.” you utter under your breath, unsure about saying it out loud but you already did it. spencer turns to you after he takes off his shoes, a pet peeve of yours is that you hate dirty shoes around the apartment. there's always a few pairs of flipflops by the doorstep in case you have visitors. or they can just walk around in their socks, you had no problem with that, which is what spencer did. “... once in a while.”

“what is going on?” spencer approaches you slowly, his concern starting to create a thousand of theories inside his head. “really, I'm worried—”

“i'm pregnant.” you let out and release the breath you've been holding for what felt like hours. there. it's done. when you open your eyes, you don't look at him but walk straight in the direction of your room. spencer is hot on your heels. you just wanted to shower.

“what— you're— what do you mean?” his frantic voice almost makes you laugh if you weren't so tired with a headache brewing.

“i really need to take a long shower, spencer.”

“I—” he blinks, studying you for a moment before he swallows all of his questions and he sees. he sees what's going on and why your behaviour has been off these days. spencer's very observant, but sometimes he can let one or two hints wander off his radar. “okay.” he wants to hold you but he stays in his spot. if you want space, that's what he will give you. “do you need me to prepare you a bath?” he prays you say yes but you shake your head, entering the bathroom and shutting the door.

he lowers himself down on the edge of bed and stares at nothing as his thoughts swirls around the signs being thrown at his face the whole week. the morning sickness. not being able to stand the smell of any perfume. a sudden dizziness... fuck. how could he have been so clueless?

spencer admits he's always beeng good at physics and chemistry and statistics and he's constantly praised for picking up certain behaviours in his line of work, but he sucks at social cues and most of the times he misses the joke in a room or your sarcasm — though he's infinitely better at detecting that.

he takes pride in knowing you. your little quirks such as the way you press your lips together when you're uncomfortable or when you pick at your cuticles when something is on your mind during a case. he doesn't know how he didn't notice that. really, you spent most of your time together, both at work and outside of work. hell, spencer knows your period cycle. he makes sure to fill his pantry with your favourites sweet and sour snacks for that time of the month. it truly makes no sense how be could be so oblivious.

he knocks twice on the bedroom door, apprehensive and extremely careful. he's afraid by your latest reaction that you don't want him around.

it's actually the opposite.

“come in.” you're finishing getting dressed for the night. one of his old Caltech shirts slipping through your frame as he walks in slowly. you raise a brow in his direction, eyeing his figure standing by the doorway.

“i made you some peppermint tea. it's good for, hm, nausea.”

letting out a sigh at his hesitation, you lift a hand, silently asking him to come closer. “i'm not mad at you.” you clarify, breathing into his neck as he gently pulls you into his arms. “i was frustrated and tired and sore and sleepy. 'm sorry I was rude.” then, you chuckle awkwardly. “and sorry I dropped that bomb on you without a notice.”

he squeezes you, running a hand through your back. “don't be sorry. I understand.”

“are you mad?”

he pulls back a little, stunned that you even asked that. “what? why would I be mad?”

you shrug, meddling with the collar of his work attire he still hasn't taken off. “we didn't plan it. it's not ideal.”

spencer shakes his head, lifting your chin slightly to meet his gaze. “i don't care. I'm here for whatever you decide to do. there's no such thing as ideal.”

your mouth quirks up in the corners and you brush a honey brown curl behind his ear, fingertips trailing down his jaw.

“what?” he nudges your nose with his.

“i love you.” his grin is contagious and you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you. you love him so much.

“and i love you.” you let out a shriek as he pulled you up in his arms, your feet being suspended from the ground. “hey,” he cups your cheeks lovingly. “we'll figure it out. together. alright?”

you nod, warmth flooding through your chest as you close your eyes and lean into his touch. “yeah, yeah, we will.” you mumble in the croak of your boyfriend's neck. “I love you.” you repeat just because you felt like it.

spencer mutters the same three words softly into the crown of your head. and you know everything will be alright.

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taglist: @lilyviolets ; @whore-for-spencer-reid ; @yeonalie ; @ninkieminjaj

#reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction

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formula-nyoom · 3 days

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Hello hello hope you are swell 🩵 I see you do platonic drivers 👀👀

Could it be possible to request a platonic! Reader who is a younger sister (that is also a driver, any team) to a driver of your choice who is given either a drink or meal before going on the race and getting a severe allergic reaction. Like rushed to the hospital asap reaction please 🥺

A/N: The only thing I’m allergic to is bullshit(and mosquitoes), so I don’t know what it’s like to have an allergic reaction to food. Hopefully I wrote this ok but do let me know if there are things I need to change. I decided to keep this as a blurb only because it's so similar to the last oneshot I wrote and I went with Oscar for this one

~~~

“Shouldn’t they be back by now with our drink bottles refilled?” Your teammate asked as you looked over some data. The race was set to start in just under an hour and the matter your teammate was more concerned about is the assistant that had gone to refill both your drink bottles rather than look over data with you.

“They only left a minute ago. I know you’re used to everything going fast but they’re not a race car.”

“Well they better be back soon with my energy drink. I have to drink one before every race. Helps with my performance.” Your teammate said. You just rolled your eyes.

The assistant soon came back with both your drink bottles refilled. You thanked them and took it. As you were about to take a swig, your phone vibrated with a text from your brother, Oscar.

Papaya-Bro: Chit chat before the race?

More often than not, you and Oscar would find each other in your respective drivers rooms to talk before the race. It was a small amount of time where the two of you would talk about anything but racing, giving the two of you a sense of peace before you had to face the chaos of Formula One. You sent him a text that you were on your way over and made your way to the McLaren garage. Some of the McLaren workers waved at you as you walked in, having gotten used to you making appearances in the garage to see your brother.

“Mom wants to know what she should cook for dinner when we come back home.” Oscar said, looking down at his phone while sitting in a chair.

“I’ve been craving her meatloaf for the past couple days. Ask her if she'll make that.” You said, taking a sip from your drink bottle. Your face scrunched up in disgust as you tasted something that wasn’t water on your tongue. You ended up swallowing whatever it was you just drank as your first reflex was to gag at the taste of whatever you consumed. It was sour, with a hint of fruitiness.

“What’s wrong?” Oscar asked.

“This isn’t water.” You said, handing him your drink bottle. “Taste this for me.”

You gagged again and then started to cough as Oscar took a swig of the mysterious drink.

“Yea, that’s not water.” He said. “It’s got a–”

“--fruity taste.” You started to cough more violently while trying to gasp for breath. Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself as you struggled to breath.

Oscar didn’t have time to figure out exactly what the drink was. He was able to guess what was in it though as he witnessed you starting to have a severe allergic reaction to whatever the mysterious drink was.

“I need medical assistance!” He called out into the hallway, hoping anyone heard him. Oscar quickly opened the front pocket of his backpack that always carried the spare epipen and grabbed it. By now you had gotten down to the floor, still struggling to breathe. Kneeling down in front of you, Oscar steadied the orange tip over your outer thigh, before having it make contact with the fabric of your race suit. He pushed the auto inject button till he heard the click. He then looked down at his watch to watch the seconds go by.

“One…two…three…”Oscar then removed the epipen and checked to see if it went in. But to his horror, there was no puncture hole from the needle. Of course race suits that were designed to keep a driver safe from getting burned or injured in a crash can prevent a needle from going through the fabric.

“I NEED SERIOUS MEDICAL ASSISTANCE!” Oscar yelled again. This time someone seemed to have heard him as a McLaren worker came in with a medic right behind them.

“She’s having an allergic reaction! The epi pen didn’t puncture through the race suit!”

The medic took out a pair of scissors and an epi pen before they started quickly cutting the pant leg of your race suit and fire proofs. Once the material was cut away enough to reveal the skin of your upper thigh, the medic didn’t hesitate in administering the epipen, which successfully went through this time. Oscar helped steady the pen while the medic put an oxygen mask over your face to help you breathe while the medicine worked its way through your system.

Eventually you were able to breathe again and your throat no longer felt like it was closing up. But you and Oscar both knew that you couldn’t just hop in the car and race. You’d have to be taken to the hospital to make sure whatever allegens you had consumed were fully out of your system. Oscar made sure one of the McLaren personnel went over to your team garage to inform your team that you had an allergic reaction and could no longer race today, before he helped you up off the floor and handed you off to the medical staff.

“Kick their asses for me.” You said to Oscar before leaving, your voice raspy from coughing.

“Will do.” He promised.

~~~

Oscar was a bit rattled throughout the race because of what had taken place just before it. That wasn’t the first time he had to administer an epipen for you, he’s seen you have allergic reactions before. But the fact that it didn’t work the first time is what really freaked him out. But knowing that you were ok and breathing was enough for him to score P3. And the fact that he beat your teammate seemed to make you happy so Oscar took that as a win.

“Because I saved your life today, can you let me freely pass you during the next race and defend me from the people behind?” Oscar asked as he drove you home from the hospital.

“You didn’t save my life. The medical staff did.” You said, playing with the medical band around your wrist.

“I attempted to! If our race suits weren’t made so tough to protect us from crashes, you wouldn’t have needed to be rushed here.”

“That’s kinda a big flaw with the race suits. They can protect us from fiery crashes but prevent someone from administering an epi pen.” You noted.

“I’ll talk with the FIA tomorrow to propose new safety regulations so race suits have to be made so a giant needle can break through the fabric. I’m sure that will go over well with the other drivers.” Oscar joked. Your phone buzzed and you looked down to see a text from yours and Oscar’s manager.

“Mark just texted me. Apparently the energy drinks my teammate has before every race are now banned from the garage. Turns out it’s got lychee in it.” You told your brother.

“Honestly they should have been banned from the start to prevent what happened today.” Oscar said. You nodded in agreement.

“So you’re not going to let me pass during the next race?” Oscar asked. You rolled your eyes.

“Only if you defend me from my teammate if they end up behind you. Which is often.”

#formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x sister!reader #platonic grid x reader

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i-heart-hxh · 17 hours

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During the shinju scene,meleoron mentions theres something killua cant tell him, what is it that killua couldnt tell him?

from what i seen,shinjuu isnt always romantic,was it he couldnt tell meleoron he was going to die w gon because of his romantic feelings

The line

meleoron:‘if you joking,whyd u have that incredibly sad look on ur face(talking about when he was observing killua with gon)’ ‘you cant tell me,so i wont ask’ or in different translations its ‘cant you tell me?’ But in the original japanese its about being unable to tell somebody something

Hello!

So, I decided to just post (most of) these two pages because I think seeing the art and layout of the actual pages helps with understanding exactly what's going on and also analyzing it. I also went and looked at the pages in Japanese just to see if anything stood out. Aside from the famous shinjuu line, the translation seems fine.

Just to summarize and be clear before I launch into further analysis: In this scene, Killua says (with a rather dark expression) that the worst case scenario is he and Gon die together in a lovers suicide. Killua sees that Meleoron is rather vexed/taken aback/discouraged by this response and doesn't know what to say, so then Killua immediately claims he's just kidding and that they'll be okay after all, and he knows how to snap Gon out of it.

Meleoron then internally doubts that Killua is kidding about this, because he was there when Gon said the "It has nothing to do with you," (essentially) line that pushed Killua away, and he saw how heartbroken Killua looked by that. He then decides it's not worth asking because Killua clearly doesn't want to be honest about his feelings, he can't or won't express what he's going through, so he backs off.

I'm glad you brought this up because it's a piece of the whole shinjuu scene that people don't talk about as much, but this whole exchange and Togashi bothering to show Meleoron's reaction to it in the first place says a lot about the importance of the scene. If Meleoron didn't pause and connect this to Killua's earlier heartbroken moment (and notice how it takes up literally half of the page--it's important!), it would be easy to read on past it without thinking about it more deeply.

In other words, this further exchange with Meleoron is emphasis. It's there so the readers don't simply gloss over what Killua said about the shinjuu, and so the readers understand that he means it, that no matter what he says to the contrary, Killua is in fact serious about this possibility. It's there to slow things down enough so the readers can reflect on and ask their own questions about the situation.

I'm sure this is why Togashi bothered to put Meleoron in the scene with Gon pushing Killua away in the first place--there was no other reason for him to be there, other than being an observer of this moment and standing in to ask these questions.

Meleoron--an outside observer without as much context for Gon and Killua's relationship as the rest of us--wonders what's going on here, why Killua looked utterly destroyed by a few simple words. But because he saw Killua's immediate urge to lie and say it's a joke when he hesitated, he knows Killua won't open up to him about exactly what's going on, why Killua was so devastated by what Gon said to him and why Killua intends to do a teen lovers suicide with his best friend if all goes badly. Meleoron is definitely pointing out (in his view, anyway) that there are feelings behind this that Killua is unable and unwilling to talk about. Is he implying they're romantic feelings? I mean...

This happens so much in Chimera Ant arc around Killua's feelings. Togashi leaves it open-ended, doesn't spell it out blatantly, but it seems like the question is being asked over and over again--what exactly are the nature of Killua's feelings for Gon, anyway? And there keep being these moments where the concept of romantic love is conjured in some form in connection with or around this unspoken question being asked, like multiple instances in the Palm subplot I've talked about a bunch of times now. (Linking to that post in particular because it links to a lot of other Palm subplot related posts.)

Even the way Killua asks if Gon considers him a friend or a comrade, asking What are we? basically is essentially a shoujo trope--and especially how it was presented, very dramatic with a lot of focus and emphasis on Killua's internal turmoil around asking the question.

There are just so many times in this arc where emphasis gets placed on a question of, What are your feelings for Gon anyway, Killua? in an indirect way, including this moment with Meleoron. It's repeated so many times and there are so many instances where there's some subtext around or even direct mention of romantic love hovering around these questions, it's basically daring the audience to answer.

It's true that shinjuu can be non-romantic in some cases, however the word choice is meaningful. Togashi knows what the implications of it are, especially in a literary sense. He could have chosen other ways to phrase this, he could have opted not to use this word in particular. If it was presented completely in isolation from any other romantic subtext, there would be more of an argument to be had for it just being included in a platonic sense, but with how much repeated romantic subtext there is with Gon and Killua's relationship to begin with...I think the word choice is very intentional.

I hope that answers your question!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #killugon #gonkillu #gon #killua #meleoron #meta #my posts #asks #anonymous #long post

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satancopilotsmytardis · 2 days

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prince of hell tomura turning good little touya into a succubus..... the process is a relatively slow one, slow enough that touya doesn't fully realize what's happening to him until it's already too late. but by then, he's already in so deep with tomura that he thinks maybe this is a good thing. he'd rather be dabi, tomuras prized possession, than the neglected cloying human he was before.

HOT!!!

Tomura always has such a large feast laid out for him to eat at meals, even if the demon prince barely bothers with mortal food at all. And Dabi usually doesn't have a problem filling his stomach with the offerings. He's ravenous now, so he he tucks into the meal voraciously, but the first bite only makes his mouth water more, and he finds himself eating quickly, barely chewing before he's swallowing to make room for another forkful of whatever he tries. Chicken, steak, bread, asparagus, potatoes, fish, fruit, wine, water, he eats and drinks, trying anything on the table, everything, with a haze falling progressively thicker across his mind. He needs to eat, he's so hungry. But nothing that he swallows makes him fuller. He can't feel it settling in his stomach at all, and he eats, and eats, and eats, until he's cleared two of the massive platters, and his stomach still is flat, aching, and impossibly empty.

A weak sob tears out of his throat as he throws his silverware at the table, pushing back and trying to get to his feet even as the cuff settled around his ankle clinks softly. "What did you do to me?" Because Tomura has been watching him this whole time from his end of the table, because everything wrong in his life is because of the demon, because if he's hurting and needs someone else to blame, he's always a safe bet.

"I didn't do anything, my darling." He purrs, watching Dabi's whole body tremble from how weak he is with hunger. "It looks like your body finally decided what it needs to eat now that you're mine." Tomura pushes back his chair and spreads his legs a little wider, a hand moving lazily to palm himself through the thin gauzy fabric of his pants, and Dabi is suddenly hit with a scent of rolling thunder that makes him so hungry that his mouth begins to water before he can stop it, drooling across his chin. He tries to swallow it, to wipe it away, and he's startled to see that it's tinged pink. Is he bleeding? Does he care? When Tomura is starting to lazily palm his cock as he beckons him over. He's going to die if he doesn't eat something.

He stumbles over, not even needing the prince to pull on his leash, and practically falls to his knees. He's whimpering, more of that thick drool all over his tongue and his own cock hardening rapidly despite his hunger, as he practically presses his face into Tomura's crotch, trying to get that good smell even closer to him, like that alone can fill his stomach. "Tomura," he pleads.

"It's alright, little boy," he promises too sweetly, one hand going to stroke his hair and cup the back of his head to angle him up, eyes smugly amused when they meet his. And his other hand-- Dabi can't help but moan-- moves to his pants and he pulls his cock free. "I'm going to let you eat as much as you want. All you have to do is ask nicely."

Dabi doesn't want to, he hasn't begged any of the times the demon has decided to use him, but he feels like the cramps in his stomach might kill him faster than being burned alive did. "Please, master, please let me," tears spill hot and humiliated over his cheeks. "Please, I'm so hungry, please, my prince."

"There's a good boy, open wide."

Dabi does immediately, and Tomura pulls him forward, pushing his cock between his teeth and all the way into his throat in one smooth movement. It should hurt, he should choke a little, but instead that strange thick spit has made him soft, wet, and ready and Dabi finds himself moaning loudly as he starts to feel a strange slickness lower too. He can't think about that now though, not when Tomura's cock tastes so good. He starts to suck at him and swallow, moaning around his skin when the prince feels his eagerness and wastes no time in starting to fuck his throat roughly.

"You're going to make such a pretty little succubus for me, baby boy." He purrs, "I'm going to have so much fun keeping you in my bed, and having you kneel at the foot of my throne, just like this as I take court so that everyone can see how the defiant little son of an exorcist became my perfect, needy little pet."

The words should repulse him, should sour the pleasure and spoil his appetite, he thinks, but they don't. He's too busy trying to chase more of that arousal, his body screaming that getting the prince to his peak will help fill the emptiness in his stomach. He needs this, has to be used. And he cries harder as he catches the other's tail and brings it beneath his long skirt, unable to beg for it to fuck him the way Tomura has so many times before. He needs that now too. He'll die without it.

Tomura laughs as fucks his face harder, until Dabi is barely managing a breath as he moves. And it doesn't matter. He just needs the demon's cum on his tongue.

#tanco speaks #ask #asks #I'm not saying i could be bribed into making this a full fic #but i'm also not not saying that 👀#I came up with a whole expanded AU and backstory for this one #nsft txt #Shigadabi

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slippinmickeys · 1 day

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Prompt: more from the "Funfetti" universe? Is that even a thing? (Can it be a thing?)

William marched through the door of their house and angrily threw his backpack to the floor.

Scully, who had only just gotten home a few minutes before and hadn’t even taken off her shoes, whirled around.

“Whoa!” she said, setting down the mail she was sorting.

The doorway darkened behind William and Mulder made eye contact with her with a slight lift of his chin.

“Little trouble at school today,” he said, coming inside and shutting the door behind him.

William huffed his frustration at his father’s words and kicked off his shoes, then whipped his jacket into a chair.

“How about,” Scully said, with an eye toward mediation, “we have a snack and then sit down and talk about it?”

William clenched his jaw in a way that was purely Mulder and then said “Can I have cookies?”

Scully, knowing a hangry William would be far harder to deal with, just said “yes” rather than suggest an apple and a couple cheese sticks. She suspected William was hip to this tactic and couldn’t fault him for playing her.

Several bags of Famous Amos cookies and two full glasses of milk later, Scully had him sitting in a chair in the living room while she lowered herself onto the couch.

“Want to tell me about what happened?” she asked.

Mulder, who had followed them into the living room, said, “His teacher told me that-”

At this, William bristled. “I’ll tell her,” he said, and Mulder just held up both hands in surrender and backed out of the room.

William went on to detail how he’d been ganged up on at recess while out in the woods past the edge of the playground.

She and Mulder had picked the school because of the extensive grounds and the fact that many classes were held out of doors year round, using a teaching philosophy that was immersive and geared toward experiential learning. William was thriving there, but kids would be kids. And teachers couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“It’s not fair,” he grumbled in conclusion.

“What did they say?” she asked gently.

“They called me a freak.”

“You’re not a-”

“Mom!” he said, stopping her from finishing the platitude. “Come on.”

Scully sighed. She could hear Mulder tinkering around in the kitchen.

“Did something happen that precipitated this?”

William huffed a breath himself and fell back into the cushions of the chair.

“I don’t know,” he said, noncommittal. “I don’t think so.”

She tried not to worry. If something had…happened, they’d have gotten a call rather than a teacher pulling one of them aside at school pick-up.

“You can’t control what people think,” she finally said. “But you can control how you treat others. You’re still pretty new. Just be kind,” she went on. “They’ll come around.”

“They’re not going to come around, Mom,” he said. “They’re assholes.”

“William!”

“They are though.”

Some people were assholes. And there wasn’t much you could really do about it.

“William, what do Dad and I always say to you? When they go low, we go…”

“Lower!” came Mulder’s voice from the kitchen.

Good lord, Scully thought.

“We go high,” she said with a little more emphasis than she normally might have put into it.

Mulder wandered over to lean against the wall where the kitchen met the living room. There was a steaming mug in his hand.

“There’s something to be said for a well-timed knee to the groin,” he said.

William looked from Mulder to her earnestly. “I like Dad’s idea.”

“Dad’s idea is going to end up getting you suspended,” she said to her son, but swung her head to glare at Mulder. “Will, you know we have to be careful,” she added softly, turning back to the boy. She reached out to squeeze his knee.

“That’s not fair either,” he grumbled. At this, he stood, swiped his backpack off the floor and marched up the stairs. Scully could feel his frustration and waited for his bedroom door to slam, but he closed it quietly.

“That was less than helpful,” Scully said, turning to look at Mulder, who pushed off the wall and flopped down into the chair that William had just vacated. He handed over the mug in his hand. He’d made her a cup of tea.

“They’re picking on him because he’s different,” Mulder said.

“The less attention he pulls to himself, the better, Mulder, you know that.”

“My solution ensures that they’ll leave him alone.”

“Not necessarily,” Scully said.

“And what would you have him do?” Mulder asked. “Scully, you know his powers are harder for him to control when he’s upset. The more we let these kids pick on him, the more likely it is that he’s going to go off on them. In a way that’s a lot more disruptive than a trip to the principal’s office.”

Scully sighed and leaned back into the couch, rubbing a tired hand over her eyes.

“What if I talk to the other kids’ parents? Explain what’s happening?”

Mulder took a turn to sigh, himself. “Half of them won’t believe that little Joey could ever, and the other half are going to knock some heads together which will only make things worse for Will.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“What should we do?” Scully asked earnestly.

“I could show up to drop-off tomorrow strapped.”

“Carrying your Glock to a gun-free school zone is a wonderful idea. Why didn’t we think of that before?”

Scully’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Mulder, but he remained silent with a thoughtful finger to his temple. When Scully blew a raspberry and put her feet up onto the coffee table, Mulder reached forward and pulled her boots off, digging his thumb into the aching arch of her nearest foot. She groaned in rapture.

“We could move again,” Mulder said as he worked his magic. “Or try homeschooling.”

“He’d be miserable,” Scully said sadly. “He likes this school. We like this school.”

It was their third school in five years and by far the best of the lot. Which it should be–they paid enough in tuition.

“We could talk to his teacher. Talk to the Head of School.”

Scully sighed. “I think we’ll have to. They’ll have to do something.”

Mulder switched feet. “We’ll figure it out.”

Scully closed her eyes and felt the day’s stresses evaporate with each deep swipe of Mulder’s thumb. They would figure it out. They always did.

“If that doesn’t work,” she finally said, eyes closed and head resting on the back of the couch. “I’ll pretend not to notice if you teach him a few moves you learned at Quanitco.”

#the x-files #fanfic #my fic #msr #au #prompt #asks #funfetti

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keelywolfe · 3 days

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I've been thinking; If there won't be a prequel about the first time radioapple had sex (and totally get why, I'm not sure I'd want to go back that far either after all the hard-won development), could we get the TLDR? I'm mostly curious about who initiated, if there was any precedent or was it just a horny eruption, what in the seven hells was going through Lucifer's mind as it happened, etc.? I think the baseball bat simile gives us enough of an idea of what the deed itself was like 😅 (Poor Al) but I can't get the possibilities for the road leading up to it out of my head. How do these two boys even end up in that situation?

Ooh, this is tough to answer without spoilers because their first time is going to come up again. Lucifer isn't always the most reliable of narrators and Alastor has five different reasons for everything he does.

Suffice to say that one of Alastor's greatest skills is knowing how to push buttons and he hammered on Lucifer's until he broke. Constantly sniping at each other, never pass up on a short joke or chance to needle him about helping Charlie. I like to think that Lucifer's restraint eventually just snapped like a soggy twig and the only real thing going through his mind was making Alastor shut up. If the only way to shut his mouth was with his own? So be it. One hard kiss wouldn't be enough, all it would take to push Lucifer completely over the edge would be for Alastor to laugh at him. About his height? About Charlie? A taunt about his kissing skills? 'If that's the extent of your sexual prowess, it's rather amazing you actually managed to reproduce at all.'

It would be enough for Lucifer to see literal red, to haul Alastor through a portal to his room, he wants proof of sexual prowess? He'll get it.

After the first time, it only gets easier to give in. By the second time, ('I do hope you can do better this time, my dear, I prefer being able to sit without wincing') Lucifer already knows what Alastor looks like on his knees, the little sounds he makes, soft and staticy-sweet, the way he never closes his eyes, watches Lucifer greedily, like he actually sees him, like he wants to see him. Knowing that Alastor is deliberately taunting him into this doesn't stop him from wanting it, damn it, all that wild, rough fucking.

Things don't change on that front until they hit a hinge moment where Alastor gives Lucifer an unexpected present but more than that, based on Lucifer's reaction to it, it's a moment that he might just have been waiting for. Lucifer is terrible at this, he can barely admit his emotions to himself in his own mind. We know what happens from there. 😉

#radioapple asks #radioapple #asks #lucifer and his terrible etc etc

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 2 days

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Metal Moths: Bigby Wolf x Reader

Oh babe, I feel it. My messages are always open if you need to talk to someone, I'm always available to help out anyone I can.

Contains: Self-Depreciation, depressing thoughts

Something was off.

It didn’t hit him until he was gnawing on yet another cigarette bud that was burnt down to the filter did it suddenly click in his mind. It had been bugging him for the past few days but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t unpaid bills or reports he had neglected to file, nothing like that of the sort. It felt… social? That kind of thing always stumped Bigby as he wasn’t really the social type, always avoiding the Remembrance Day bullshit and shying away from whatever events King Cole puts on to raise even more money for Fabletown.

He dropped his pen when he suddenly realized what exactly was missing, back straightening up quickly, his knees smacking against his desk that was too big for his comically small office that almost caused the piles of papers and folders filled to the brim to scatter across the semi-clean floors.

When was the last time he saw you?

Regret pinched at a nerve between his shoulders as he tossed the cigarette bud into the nearby trash. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at his neck, leaning back in his chair as he ran through what he could in his mind of the past few days. He knows he saw you this week, that was for sure. He hadn’t seen much of you the past few days thanks to some fucked up case that practically pushed him down the rabbit hole, but he knew you had called the Business Office only for Bufkin to answer and take your message. You were asking for Bigby to come to your apartment, but he couldn’t make it.

He really wanted to. Honestly, he did. He would rather take the brunt of another silver bullet than do anything to hurt you, but unfortunately, this slipped through the cracks of his fingers like fine sand.

He stood up, wincing when a few folders slipped from their place on his desk and scattered the contents across the floor. He’d deal with it later.

He slipped out of his office door and trekked through the oddly empty halls. He strained his ears and sniffed at the stale air of the Woodlands, scoffing at the horrible air fresheners Snow had installed to raise the appeal of the damn place. It didn’t do much, the barely there floral scent did nothing to cover the decades of cigarettes, blood, sweat and tears these hallowed halls carried. It only distracted his nose from catching your scent to see if you were even home, the voice in the back of his head scolded him, asking him why he didn’t just call you from the old rotary he still had in his office.

But he caught your scent when he turned down the hall that contained your apartment.

Something was wrong.

Your scent wasn’t the usual ambrosia to his nose, the one thing he would always somehow find in the crowded city of Manhattan like a needle in a haystack. No. It wasn’t sweet like caramel or warm like coffee, but… dull? He didn’t know how to describe it, but he knew how it made him feel.

And he felt bad. He felt something bad looming over him and he felt something bad bubbling in the deepest pits of his guts.

He slowly approached your apartment and strained his ears. No sound came from inside, but he could hear the faintness of your heart beating away deep inside. It was slow, kept to an odd rhythm of neither rest nor active.

He knocked, knuckles lightly rapping at your chamber door. The key to your apartment was on his keyring, but he didn’t want to use it. He wanted you to get up, he wanted you to walk over to the door and open it, he wanted to see you upright and standing before his eyes to quell the worry that made the beast inside of him start to prickle with life. There was silence on the other end of the door yet again besides your heart beating, but it picked up upon him knocking. He even heard you take a quick breath in.

He knocked again, the worry about to bubble over into slight panic as he sniffed again. He couldn’t smell any blood whether it would be dry or fresh, but he could smell something else. Something salty. Were you crying?

He heard the sheets rustle, you had to have been tucked into your bed, curled in the sheets. His heart yearned for you to open the damn door so he can take care of you.

“(Y/n),” Bigby called. No answer. The silence was deafening to him as he heard his blood roaring through his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, he felt the beast clawing at his spine for control he would never relinquish. He knocked again, a little louder this time. “(Y/n), are you in there?”

He heard your feet meet the floor inside, the covers being thrown away from your person as the bed creaked under your shifting weight. He took a step away from the door, eyes pinned on the doorknob as he heard the wooden floorboards of your apartment creaking as you slowly padded over. Were you… stumbling? It sounded as though you were, steps uneven and a little heavy for your usual gait.

Ironically, he waited for you at the door like a dog.

And when you opened the door finally with a heavy click of the lock turning, Bigby felt the panic snuff out inside of him when he saw that you were actually standing before him.

You looked like you had been dragged through hell and then some. Dark circles around your eyes, your irises were barely focusing on him and your under eyes were so puffy from crying. How long have you been crying for? Your cheeks were tacky with dried tear tracks and your lips were a little swollen from worrying at them with your teeth, your bottom lip even had a split in it from where you bit a little too hard. You were wrapped up in clothes that needed a good wash, the collar of the baggy sweater you were wearing was soaked from you probably wiping your tears away not too long ago.

Seeing you like this made the knife twist even harder in his gut.

“Hey Bigby,” your voice was so soft and so hoarse, it almost didn’t belong to you.

Your words were trembling, vocal chords strained from crying for so long. How long had you been like this? How long had he failed to realize something was wrong?

“Can I… come in?” Bigby found himself hesitating.

He had to. If he didn’t he didn’t know what would’ve come out of his mouth, and he’s a walking trap for accidents to happen as a lot of people would put it.

It was your turn to hesitate. You glanced tiredly over your shoulder back into your pitch black apartment before stepping away, giving him just enough room to allow him to squeeze past you before you closed the door behind him.

“Mind the mess,” you murmured as you sank down onto your couch.

Your curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the evening sun and the rows of neon lights that were slowly turning on for the night. There was the scent of something stale and bitter lingering in the air, it had Bigby wincing just a bit. It wasn’t pungent like cigarettes or food left out a little too long, but it was something else he couldn’t quite place.

He eyed you warily, stepping close to you as you stared mindlessly at some little spot on your rug that overall needed to be vacuumed. Something was haunting your mind and Bigby would be damned if you kept suffering alone in silence. You never let him be affected by this kind of stuff since you both had started seeing each other, and he’d rather be shot up with silver than let you pull a Bigby move.

“(Y/n),” he crooned softly, “what happened?” You didn’t answer at first, you just sat on the edge of your couch with your head in your hands and rubbed at your exhausted face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come see-”

“It’s not your fault,” you pulled away to look up at him. “You’re the sheriff, you’re busy. I shouldn’t have been calling and bothering you, especially with that fucked up case that got slapped on your desk.”

“(Y/n), sweetheart, you’re not a bother to me.” He walked in front of you and crouched down, taking your soft hands in his calloused ones. He ran the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles and made direct eye contact with you. Fuck, seeing you like this, it really made him want to tell Snow and Cole to fuck off for a few days so he can stay here and help you. “You’re never a bother to me.”

“I just,” you hesitated as you pulled your hands away from his warm ones, “I feel like I’m… too much,” your gaze fell to your lap.

“Too much?”

Bigby placed one hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing little patterns at the bend. Your skin was a little cold, he could feel it through the heat that radiated off of him constantly.

“I just- I don’t know. I… I feel awful that I called and I’m sorry that I did. It’s not fair to you. I really didn’t help with that and you-”

“Let me stop you right there.” His voice never rose in volume, it never got harsh. It was deep and rumbling like rolling thunder in the distance. He squeezed your knee to get you to look back up into his big brown eyes. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. I know I suck with words and all, but I really do care.” He could see your eyes getting all watery in the corners. “You’re never gonna be too much for me to love you.”

And with that, the tears finally shed as you collapsed into Bigby’s awaiting arms.

#the wolf among us #twau #bigby wolf #bigby x reader #bigby wolf x reader

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scoopstrooptm · 1 year

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it's not mother's day where i'm from but it would be for robin and one day i will talk in much more depth about the Complicated relationship she has with her mom

#&. headcanon ( robin buckley. )#her mom is..... not my favourite person lmao #the reason why robin does so many extracurricular activities ? because her mom enrolled robin while at elementary school #in an attempt to push her to socialise #and getting her into soccer was to help with her coordination after her developmental issues as a toddler #and this is the thing: it's always to /push/ rather than to help #i have muses with way worse parents #and i do think they could repair their relationship later in robin's life #but robin's mom is someone who was a 'perfect' queen bee at school and ends up frustrated when her daughter does not fit the same mould #and then there's dustin. who is extremely close to his mom but also plays a pseudo-parental role with her from time to time #because she's alone and a lil fragile. and because dustin's dad left and dustin subconsciously tries to fill that void #they're two very interesting dynamics to me tbh

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kindnessoverperfection · 1 year

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I've found that, when interacting with others (or myself), it's useful to consider the lessons I'd want to teach a growing child.

If a child makes a mistake, I wouldn't want them to feel shame. I wouldn't yell at them, humiliate them, or in any way indicate to them that their mistake is a reflection of their worth or of who they are as a person.

Instead, I'd want them to associate the process with love and joy. If they say something that hurts someone's feelings, or otherwise ostracizes someone in some way, I'd compassionately explain to them. Ideally, they'd walk away knowing why they said / did it in the first place, how to handle similar situations in the future, and would accept the consequences (e.g. if a friend no longer wanted to hang out with them).

While the consequences may sometimes be painful, I'd do my best to instill in them that mistakes are human and natural, and that the process of learning from these mistakes is an opportunity to improve connections with others and express love.

I have a tendency towards excessive guilt. Memories in which I've said / done something ignorant or hurtful are infused with this guilt and shame- but ideally, I'd feel a sense of love and peace, and perhaps happiness, when looking back on them. Because they were moments of growth, moments I learned how to be more compassionate (even if the actual learning came years later).

So I'll put this out into the void:

When you make a mistake, that is not a reflection of you as a person. It is a moment in time, a moment which was informed by your past experiences. Humans are not static labels, or monsters in an RPG game. We are social creatures who live and learn and react and grow and experience and love. Be gentle with yourself and move forward knowing you're doing so in accordance with your values.

#parenting #internet culture #self compassion #i'd also want to teach them critical thought of course - there are varying ideas of what constitutes mistakes or ignorance or harm #and that's a messy subject which is often a challenge to teach and is beyond the scope of this post but it's important #to avoid being subject to manipulation or becoming reactionary #but anyways #to clarify something in the tags here: it's okay of course to feel bad. that's a normal response. but it's not necessary. and a culture of #shaming people for their mistakes isn't helpful in the same ways it isn't helpful to do that to a child. people become defensive and/or #self-hating. divisive and reactionary and more easily manipulated. fearful and ashamed and avoidant. afraid of disagreements or of trying #anything new. increased all-or-nothing thinking and blowing things out of proportion. it just doesn't help in the long run #sometimes when someone says something i want to express hatred and mockery towards; i think of my trans friend who's full of light and love #and compassion. who came from a smaller more conservative community and used to have some of those same stances (and may still hold some of #those feelings/anxieties). and i remember that i can be firm on my boundaries and spread love and acceptance and safety *without* spewing #vitriol at anyone who makes even a minor mistake. i want people who were impacted by oppression and bias to have space to grow and #find safe communities and be able to think for themselves. i dont want to push them away or be another person in their life screaming at #them. there's always a person behind the screen.#like that doesnt mean i have to interact with them. in fact in most cases it's better to step away. and there are still unsafe people out #there- but yelling at them won't do any good either. saw a tip to focus on the people you want to help rather than the opposition #and that's been super helpful for me

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sanstropfremir · 1 year

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"like the whole bts thing as parasocial friends instead of boyfriends is genius but oh god the damage it id" can you elaborate on this? idk if i wasnt into kpop back then or what but what happened 😅

oh there wasn't actually like, an 'announcement' about it or anything lol. so basically bts' whole new marketing strategy post their failure to hit big as a hiphop group was that they were self-produced 'anti' idols with an emphasis on 'loving and accepting yourself' and 'making a supportive community'. which, on the surface, those are not bad things. kpop fan communities are often support systems for those involved, and you should try to at least be neutral about yourself. and there has been a distinct lack of community and community building in the western world + with the age of the internet and people are desperate for it, even if it's not something that people are cognizant of, so just on paper, it isn't a horrible idea. HOWEVER: when that push for community comes directly from a company, the company and the community get capitalistically intertwined and there becomes no way to separate the two. plus, it makes an extremely toxic community, as we've all seen, because the foundation of it is based on capitalism and consumption, while simultaneously hiding the fact that it's based on consumption, because fans will do overtime defending the company because the company pushes the community branding.

the other big part of this is pushing them as 'authentic' and 'real'. obvs this is straight up just not true, BUT it heavily appealed to western and intl fans who on the surface don't really understand the kpop model (it's also the western pop model but marketing™️) and who had orientalist views that kpop is 'manufactured' by the company and therefore 'not real music'. by presenting bts as these anti-idol figures that are 'fighting against the industry' (this was a big part as well), you hit a tonne of the demographics that wouldn't be caught by typical boy group marketing and it's precisely engineered to catch western fans. and a lot of those fans are not going to be familiar with how the industry works, and because bts' content is numerous and separated from the industry, it creates a closed loop where those fans never interact with any other groups' content and feed back into 'the community' perpetually.

also they pretty notably have done very little 'racy' content compared to other groups of their age. esp since they started doing their western push they've been pretty buttoned up, which i'm not gonna begrudge anyone who has personal boundaries about that kind of thing, but it IS unusual to family-friendly brand an entire group like that, which further enforces the "they're your friends" narrative.

#that one love yourself album or whatever it was called is the locus of this like the damage that album caused to kpop is irrepairable atp #also yes pretty much ALL kpop fan communities are based off consumption bc that's literally how the industry works #its all capitalism all the way down #but no company has ever successfully managed to HIDE THAT in the same way that hybe has #like the way hybe has company shooters is fucking crazy like NO other company has that #875 #they do a lot of the 'we're your support system trust us we're here to help 🥺' rather than 'hey you wanna fuck me'#which is VASTLY more insidious bc 1) ALL KPOP IS FAKE and 2) it's harder to break the illusion bc it has a wider reach #and is 'more rational' than the boyfriend thing #text #answers #kpop questions #lalksdjfsdf this made me laugh i always forget that not everyone is a hag like me #also also about the modesty thing there are a fair amount of nevernudes in kpop #but very few groups are wholly family friendly like them #famously hakyeon is the most nevernude but also he's arguably the hottest member of vixx and that's POWER #so this is not a condemnation of modesty or that modesty = family friendly #it's just that hybe is using a particular image to push a narrative

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