meta on love.
i have a lot of thoughts in regards to love with patrick bateman. i have been re-reading american psycho and i genuinely feel like patrick’s ego would boost so hard if someone told him they loved him. if he has been spending time with your muse and if they display some qualities that he admires, he would definitely feel under pressure to hide his true self. he would keep up the mask of being this charming, wealthy and smart businessman that likes overpriced suits and restaurants. he knows he can’t stop his homicidal urges and he doesn’t want to understand them either, but he would continue killing in secret. he knows it is a standard thing to say, ‘i love you’ and to feel love, but he would have intentions of wanting to marry your muse in some way. & this decision won’t come lightly.
he will get attached to your muse if it progresses into a romantic relationship – especially if there have been ‘vulnerable’ moments that your muse witnesses with patrick & he would actually appreciate those moments that your muse is there for him. he will go soft eventually on your muse which will take your muse by surprise, and it surprises him too. and of course, the relationship will remain toxic and unfair, he will want to control every aspect of things in his ways. be careful of what you tell him. it depends on the situation as well but it will definitely not be an easy ride with him.
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{☆} characters arlecchino
{☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader, transfem arlecchino
{☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink, degradation, stomach bulge, dacryphilia, restraints
"Arle, hah..please. I can't– I can't wait any longer."
The pleading, almost pouty, words had her letting out a deep, husky chuckle as she fiddled with the buckle of her belt, admiring your body as she stepped up to the bed. Her knee sank into the mattress as she knelt down, pressing a placating kiss to your brow and gesturing for you to turn over.
"Come on, dove. Be a good girl, or I'll treat you like the whore you are." Arlecchino clicked her tongue, firmly grabbing your hands and tightening her belt around your wrists, giving the leather a firm tug to test its strength– and to make sure it wasn't too tight. "I'm in a good mood. Don't spoil it by being a brat, little dove."
The pout it drew from you made her grin, canines flashing beneath her lips as she settled in behind you, cupping your ass in her calloused hands with an appreciative grumble. Your panties were already sticking to your cunt, the fabric soaked. She couldn't help but drag one of her digits across the fabric, teasing your folds beneath it.
"Lucky I adore that pretty mouth of yours or I'd have cut out your tongue," She gruffly spoke, her tone neither in jest or too serious– perhaps she would, maybe she wouldn't. She liked to keep you on your toes. "Hm. Maybe I'll use your throat after– shut you up properly. You look so pretty gagging on my cock, you know?"
Arlecchino slid her fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down just enough to see your slick cunt, her fingers pulling the folds apart. Fuck, she could feel her cock throbbing against her boxers at the sight– she'd never get tired of it, just like she'd never get tired of using you like a toy.
"But in the meantime.." She finally pulled down her own boxers, her aching cock slipping free and slapping against your thigh– she slid right between your thighs, forcing you to squeeze them together around her. "Fuck, that's it." She growled, pumping her hips a few times before she was satisfied, lining up her cock with your entrance.
She had the decency, at least, to sink in slowly at first..let you adjust to her size for a brief moment before she snapped her hips forward and sank fully into your cunt with a sharp hiss.
Arlecchino typically enjoyed teasing you first, making you practically beg just for her to give you her cock at all, but she had other plans tonight– she wasn't going to waste time playing around this time. Her hand slipped down to your stomach pressed against the mattress, a low chuckle building in her chest at the distinct bulge her cock left. It was a wonder she fit at all– but she'd make it fit even if she hadn't.
"Be a good girl now and don't complain." She grumbled, leaning down to press you down into the mattress with her body, nipping at your ear before she pulled her hips back, hissing at the way you clenched around her in response. She took a moment to sit there, letting you ruminate and squirm at the lack of movement– only to grab a fistful of hair and start pounding you into the mattress before you can even think to whine about her lack of movement.
How quickly, how easily, you turn into a blubbering mess as she uses you like a toy for her own enjoyment. Not that you won't enjoy what she has in plan for you– just maybe not as much as she does. The mental image of filling you with her cum..it drives her thrusts harder, faster. She wants to fuck you stupid with her cock, fill you to the breaking point until her cum pools on the sheets, unable to be fully plugged up. Just the idea of watching her cum dripping down your thighs makes her control slip just the slightest bit.
She's already big enough to bulge your stomach with every thrust, but she wonders if she can push it further.
She certainly wants to, and she intends to.
The fat tears rolling down your cheeks only got her more excited, her hands gripping your hips so tight she can already imagine the bruises in the shape of her fingers against your skin.
"That's it, dove, give in," Arlecchino hissed, a low growl rumbling in her chest as she continued to pound into them relentlessly, her thighs already stinging from the sheer force of it. "Fucking take it, you whore."
Her muscles flexed in faint restraint, the shifting of your arms against her as you nearly screamed at the intense rush of pleasure making her sink her teeth into your shoulder in warning– a futile effort, really, as your body twitched when you came so hard she briefly considered if she had to stop..but you were still moaning even through the tears rolling down your cheeks, rocking back into her thrusts weakly, unable to keep up.
She wasn't too far behind, either. Her teeth dug deeper into your skin, muffling the growl as she plunged into your soaking wet cunt, bucking into you in much shorter thrusts until she finally felt her cum spilling into you. It was almost enough to send her over the edge again– fuck, you were practically sucking her in with how tight you were, squeezing around her cock.
Her head slumped against your shoulder as she pulled her teeth from your skin, taking a moment of respite to catch her breath and let the sting and ache settle in deep– she welcomed it, if anything. But she wasn't done.
She was going to fuck you till you were full– fill you up until she couldn't fit another drop.
For now..she pulled out, admiring the way her cum dribbled out of you. She didn't mind all that much..she was going to replace it tenfold, anyway.
She couldn't wait to plug you up and see you squirm during the meeting tomorrow, full of her cum and unable to find relief– maybe she'd make it a toy, see how long you last before someone realizes what's going on. She was going to enjoy it thoroughly.
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Anakin as Obi-Wan's Campaign Manager?? Say more right now please!
correction - anakin (19yo) as obi-wan (35yo)'s nonconsensual campaign manager
here's a bit more! all just set up, i have no idea what i want out of this fic yet word-count wise. structure wise. etc.
The Kenobi thing happens accidentally, honestly. Anakin isn’t even sure how he got into it, but at the end of September, Padmé had mentioned how formative canvassing had been to her own political outlook, how impactful it had been to help out on a campaign, and Anakin had thought—that’s it. I can do that, and then she'll see we have things in common and then she'll fall in love with me.
And that night, he’d gone to his apartment and researched upcoming local elections. He’d found the list of people running for the city council, and he’d chosen one at a random. Obi-Wan Kenobi was thirty-five and up for re-election. He’d first been elected four years ago, at thirty-one, one of the youngest city councilmen in the history of Coruscant, running—as far as Anakin could tell—on the issue of city infrastructure and misuse and diversion of funds away from public goods like pothole-less roads to drive on.
Even just reading the summary on the guy’s past campaign had been boring as hell, but he’d won, is the thing. He’d won, which means he has a good shot of winning it again, which would make it incredibly easy to help him along. Not many people vote in city council elections—fact. Not many people vote for names they don’t recognize, and they have a higher chance of recognizing an incumbent’s name over a challenger’s—fact. It’s only impressive to canvas for a campaign if the guy you’re canvassing for is elected—fact.
So Obi-Wan Kenobi was a safe choice. A stellar choice.
Anakin hit the books that weekend, printed out a bunch of blurbs on what the guy’s done—apparently it’s been mostly advocating for filling in potholes on what Anakin would bet his tuition money on is the guy’s commute to work—and hit the streets to drum up support for him.
The election is in the middle of November, and today is October 2nd. Half the doors Anakin knocks on remain unopened, a fourth are closed in his face, and the remaining percentage are either not registered to vote or seem lukewarm to the idea of voting in a city council election at all. Three different elderly ladies have asked him if Kenobi is running for president.
Hell, next time he’s just going to say yes.
—---------
But Ahsoka isn’t wrong. Anakin hates to admit it, but he knows he has to. She’s not wrong. Something needs to change in his strategy because he’s not getting the numbers he needs. Honestly, this whole adventure has made him lose faith in the effectiveness of democracy.
Maybe dictatorships aren’t so bad. It’s not like these people are voting anyway.
He’s smart enough to keep this observation to himself, of course, but he wonders what could have been so eye-opening about Padmé’s time canvassing when Anakin’s having a hard enough time making this whole thing door-opening.
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Nikolai with a s/o who always has a hand on his chest? With consent ofc, and it’s always to feel his heartbeat. I think of this all the time and it’s always super cute in my head.
Hello! That is pretty cute!
Nikolai Always with Reader’s Hand on His Chest
Nikolai is a pretty laid back and chill sort of man, so he usually doesn’t mind you putting your hand over his heart. Maybe not while you’re walking, though, he doesn’t want you to trip. It’s very sweet to him: You wanna make sure that he’s alive? That he’s still with you? That his heart is still beating? Trust me, not even death could take him away from you. He’d dig his way out of his grave after killing the reaper with his bare hands himself. You can always put your hand over his chest while you’re at home together, though. It’s nice to feel you. After a while it would be reassuring to him as well, feeling that you’re there, that you’re with him. He thinks it’s sweet that you always want to be touching him, because if it was up to you he’d do the same thing with you. After some time, once he’s realized that you’re always touching him whenever you can, he tries to get into positions that facilitate you touching him a bit. Usually lies on his back when you’re cuddling so you have full access to him. Can and will fall asleep like that, but will also want to hold you back. Will also put his hand over your heart as well so he can “get back at you”. In reality, feeling your heartbeat is also just nice and reassuring to him. However, he sometimes might lie on your chest in order to hear it as well, something like it lulls him to sleep, after all. You can put your hand over his chest in public as well, though, he doesn’t particularly mind cuddling in public either. There’s a good chance you’ll be nicely clothed, though, so you won’t feel his heartbeat unless you slip your hand under his clothes. You can do that, he doesn’t care about strangers staring in public. However, once it’s time to continue walking around, release him. You can continue your antics once you’ve found another nice bench to sit on.
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plot bunny of the day…
Jegulus breaks up after Reg gets the mark, but ends up having sex one time that James is at Hogwarts for Order stuff at the end of Regulus’ last year at Hogwarts, which leaves Reg pregnant (yes, Reg is trans in this). Regulus then proceeds to tell absolutely no one about this kid, not sure even Barty or Pandora and just tells everyone he has to go to Paris for some potion training for a year (which he actually does) and disappears from public life for a year.
When he comes back, he buys an apartment for himself and his son (let’s call him Leo, I’ll come up with something better later) where no one is ever allowed except for Kreacher and Leo’s tutors. Now, this kid isn’t secluded from public life, he has a very normal life actually, just he’s never seen in public with Regulus. Why? Well, initially it was just because he didn’t want his family to know about how the kid came to be, but he also wasn’t willing to abandon the last gift James ever gave to him, as he’ll later refer to his son.
Then, however, the fact that our Regulus is still planning Voldemort’s downfall with Pandora also came into the picture, so he’s afraid that if they get discovered little Leo might be in danger. After that the story goes pretty much as we know it, except Reg doesn’t die in the cave since he tells Pandora that he’s going because this time he’s not taking chances, he has to go back to Leo. He also doesn’t leave a note for obvious reasons.
However, he knows that he’s still very much in danger of one day never coming home to Leo, so as soon as Leo turns 5-years-old he gives him a letter and a jar of chocolates that he’ll refill periodically, then he tells him to eat one and only one (he charms the jar) every day and that if the chocolates ever run out he has to take the letter and find James Potter.
A few days after Leo Black’s 8th birthday, the chocolates run out, and an 8-year-old shows up on James’ doorstep with a letter from a long lost lover that goes:
James, my dear angel,
if you’re reading this, I’m probably dead or worse. I will never be able to thank you for everything you have given me, and I’m so incredibly sorry to have to place this on you, but I have one last miracle to ask you…
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