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secretsandwriting · 12 days

Note

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that.

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama.

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you.

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were.

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death.

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow.

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone.

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders.

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back.

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger.

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections.

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there.

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him.

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating.

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.”

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would.

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself.

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once.

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited.

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting.

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!”

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores.

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving.

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird.

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was.

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind.

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning.

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it.

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped.

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last.

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe.

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you.

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to.

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough.

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence.

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear.

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that.

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky.

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you.

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.”

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were.

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it.

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable.

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left.

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had.

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother.

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too.

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her.

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size.

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much.

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

#dc #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #fem reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #Damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #batmom #request #cipheress-to-k-pop

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displ3azant · 11 days

Text

(Before cut is In-Character.)

Hiii! Helloooo!

Hello!!!!!! Hehe, thiz iz actually super weird trying to write an intro-- give me a minute.

So, HIII!!!!!!! I'm Unpleasant! That'z not a joke, that iz literally my name. There'z no "deep reason" behind it, it iz literally just what people refer to me az. But, if that'z too weird, I do also go by Unplez or Plez for short.

Uh, pronounz? I don't really care, actually. I don't have a set gender, I've never really met a gradient who doez. That being said, since I started hanging with Infected I have been called he and she specifically a lot... so if it'z easiest for you, just roll with the crowd.

Right, so... the blog. Thatz thiz blog, haha! Well, the easy answer iz I waz super bored, Infected can suck a huge ####, and I like talking about myself! But... I kind of suck at talking in general, so I guess I'll type and answer questionz about myself.

BUT KNOW MY BOUNDARIEZ BEFORE YOU ASK QUESTIONZ! 👇👇👇

(Below cut is Out-Of-Character.)

To those who know me: Good to see you're still stickin' with me! I promise I will make an effort to make this blog much less of a dumpster fire like the last one.

And to those who are only now coming across this blog: Hello! My name is Hex. You don't have to call me "Mod Hex", or anything, just "Hex" will do. I'm the only guy running this thing here. I'll talk more about myself soon, because oversharing is what I do best.

Blog-Context

So, if it wasn't obvious enough from the intro, this is an ask/rp blog for the Unpleasant Gradient from Regretevator, but specifically in the context of the plez-centric au I have created for him. Or, well, the "AU" in question is actually just some freaky amalgamation of all my fucked up headcanons, which means...

I AM NO LONGER DOING DIRECT BLOG ASSOCIATIONS! Really sorry about that, I love my friends with all my heart but if I wanna keep consistency, I'm gonna have to "write the story" on my own. However, I do want to give full credit to my friends @sk8tr1101 and @party-noob for some major concepts involving Unpleasant, especially Audrey who already has some awesome ideas herself. Go check them both out!

MAIN TAGS:

#unpl3zansw3rz - Asks

#unpl3zrambl3z - Non-ask related posts/reblogs

#unpl3zlor3 - Plot points and similar

#ooc - Out-of-character post

OTHER TAGS (to be updated):

(nothing yet, hehe)

Blog-Owner

So hiiii, I'm Hex. If I can be bothered, out-of-character posts will either have the #ooc tag, be in purple text, or be signed off with my name. I'd prefer if you refer to me using he/it pronouns, thnx!

I'd also like you all to keep in mind I am 17 years old, therefore a minor, and even if I wasn't 17 I do not appreciate NSFW/Explicit jokes towards me, ESPECIALLY if you don't know me. It's one thing when you're my very close friends or my partner, it's another thing when you are a stranger on the internet asking me things I should not have to answer.

My other accounts are: @hexexists - my main blog, if you receive notifications from this account, please know it is just me! @hexational - my regretevator blog @geometricgiovanni - a Jeremy ask/rp blog set in the same universe as this one! Please note, however, that in the context of this blog, Unpleasant is not aware of the blog nor would he like to be.

Ask/RP-Boundaries

Let's start off by reiterating that I AM NOT OKAY WITH NSFW/EXPLICIT ASKS IN ANY CAPACITY! Sick of getting them, they're repetitive and annoying. Asking safe-for-work questions involving Unpleasant's anatomy is one thing, but I am not responding to ANYTHING involving genetalia.

ALSO! I am very unlikely to respond to things that is either hard to make a unique drawing for or don't progress the story (unlocking "lore" and such). I'm watching your ass, Mango, I know what you like to do (/lh). Joke asks are still okay, you don't *have* to progress story, but please keep in mind my "criteria" for answering asks when sending them. A clean inbox gives me a clear mind. I do not like notifications.

Shipping content: Shipping content is okay, I guess. Not exactly the direction I want to take things, though some storylines will involved implied ships. Don't push anything that isn't hinted at, and under no circumstances encourage proshipping or any kind of illegal pairing. If a ship is hinted toward that you personally do not like, then just block me and move on with your day.

Roleplaying: While I'd prefer to not be in direct contact with other rp blogs, I am totally cool with roleplaying side stories and stuff, interactions and such! Please keep in mind though, Unpleasant in this is not a very social person, so you're probably not going to get the reaction you want.

Also! I think OCs are super cool and am happy to respond/interact with them as well! However,

PLEASE DON'T SEND YOUR GRADIENT OCS TO THIS ACCOUNT IF YOU WANT ME TO DRAW THEM! Please instead send them to @hexational! A lot of people were sending me their Gradient ocs to the previous Unpleasant account, and as much as I love seeing Gradient ocs and Gradient sonas, I'd love to be able to draw them, and if you are just asking an opinion on them and not an in-character ask or a genuine question involving other gradients I'd much prefer you send them to the account previously tagged!

That's pretty much all I can think of! Sorry for the long post, I just have a lot to say hehe

Lots of love, - Hex

#unpl3zansw3rz #unpl3zrambl3z #ic #ooc #ask blog #regretevator unpleasant #regretevator ask blog #regretevator infected #unpleasant gradient

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depravitycentral · 10 months

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Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama NSFW Profile

Yandere! Nobunaga Hazama x fem! reader

Tw: non-con, stalking, kidnapping, non-consensual touching, infantilization, delusional behavior, Nobunaga is a fucking creep, this one is not for everyone so please tread lightly, excessive Daddy kink, like seriously it's so much, corruption kink (can be applied to both virgins and non-virgins), pussy inspection, humiliation, mentions of reader having pubic hair, Nobunaga has a fleshlight that he customizes, again lots of talk about cum (if you were present on my old blog, the cum jar does not make an appearance don't worry), fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

Also small shout out to @holydayaria because I read one of her posts talking about how Nobunaga refuses to believe you're not a virgin and all I can say is that I agree. If you'd like me to take this down because of that, please let me know!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Nobunaga is certainly no stranger to sex; he’s always been a very physical man, craving human affection and touch, and for most of his life he’s sated his sexual desires via hookups, women he can fuck and leave immediately after. Sex holds some emotional value to him, but not enough to stop him from using women just for his own pleasure, no strings attached.

It’s more that sex with the right person means something to him - sex with you, for example, would mean everything. He’s a horny man by nature, aiming to get off at least biweekly if not more, and once you step into his life this increases monumentally, your presence only enhancing his natural desire to fuck and grope and mark.

He begins thinking of you in lewd ways pretty early into his obsession; it’s a byproduct of stalking you constantly, if only because he’s seen you naked often, your pretty skin and delicious figure revealed to his eager, smoldering dark eyes.

He’s studied every inch of your body before you’re even aware of his feelings for you - he knows where every single mole, scar and hair is, which areas you hold insecurities over, which spots you like to touch and feel when you’re awake late at night, your thighs rubbing together and little moans coming from your throat.

He knows you like the back of his fucking hand, which is why he’s very, very interested in doing literally anything sexual with you. You’re alluring, so pretty and sexy and perfect, and just the mere idea of getting you naked below him, moaning and writhing because of him and his touch gets him flushed, swallowing the lump in his throat, and having to find the nearest semi private area to wrap his fist around his cock and pound away.

He just can’t help but become addicted to fantasizing about you, because in a lot of ways, you’re the only thing he’s living for - aside from the Spider, of course. You’re the reason he gets up every morning, shaving and making sure he looks presentable, attractive, so that if you happen to see him or notice him, you’ll see him as a potential love interest. He wants you to deem him as desirable, to want him, because he yearns so pitifully for you that he can’t not have the feeling reciprocated. It would be too painful, too embarrassing, too much.

Thus, Nobunaga holds no qualms about touching himself to the thought of you - you must want him, too, so why should he feel bad about getting off to you, you starring as the main and only role in his fantasies?

However, as time passes, Nobunaga finds himself slowly craving more and more of you, his desperation to actually have your body to touch and love slowly becoming too much to bear.

He used to be satisfied with fucking his fist, letting his eyes flutter closed and imagine the way you’d moan his name and clutch at the pillow behind your head when he folds you into a mating press. Then, when that wasn’t enough, he was quick to get to work on his pillow, hoping that maybe the physical action of fucking something would make it better.

It did, for a while - moving his hips so quickly and harshly that the pillow nearly tore, his imagination running wild when he pretends it’s you below him, your perfect open spread open and waiting for him.

Then that’s not enough, and Nobunaga’s at a bit of a loss - where does he go from here? He’s not quite ready to steal you away yet, still needing to make a few final arrangements with both his living situation and making sure he has everything you could possibly need.

He needs more time - but his cock needs you, so what does he do? He finds the solution when he’s rummaging through an old box he’d found in one of his temporary hideouts, covered in dust and very obviously not used in a long time.

He opens it, curiosity getting the better of him, only to stare - he’d totally forgotten that a few years ago Phinks and Uvogin, ever the wonderful friends, had decided it would be a good joke to get the swordsman a fleshlight. They’d thought it was upset him, and while he was mildly confused, he found the joke funny too, the mental imagery of either of them vandalizing a sex toy shop making him laugh out loud.

He’d kept the toy, but it was still sealed in its packaging, still totally pristine and untouched - he’d been too embarrassed to use it, preferring instead to go find a real cunt to release into.

And yet, with the thought of you fresh in his mind, he’s quick to grab the toy, throwing the box aside and eagerly tearing into the toy’s packaging. He gulps when he finally gets it out; it’s big, easy ten inches long, weighing heavily in his hand.

The silicone on the outside is smooth, and Nobunaga notices with a cocked eyebrow that the manufacturer had fabricated silicone lips resembling that of a pussy on the outside, even going so far as to place a little nub at the top, surely meant to represent a clit. He gulps, examining the toy further.

It would do, he thinks - it’s good enough for now, at least, just as an experiment, if anything else. Maybe it would be easier to pretend it’s you - he’s sure you’d feel much, much better than whatever artificial pleasure the measly plastic can bring him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

As he’s staring at the toy, he notices the time, and quickly he’s scampering for his shoes, slipping out the front door and immediately heading over to your apartment, knowing that you’re always asleep by this time, meaning he can safely watch.

He likes to sit at the foot of your bed, his chin resting on his fist as he dreamily smiles at you, appraising your relaxed form as you breathe in, out, in, out.

(He hopes you’re dreaming of him, and a few times he’s actually heard you moan lightly in your sleep - he’s so, so very hopeful that he was starring in the dream with you, because who else possibly could be?)

It’s not until he’s been there for an hour or so that his mind wanders back to the toy. It would make do, for now, but it still wasn’t all that realistic - it was silicone, first of all, while you were flesh and blood.

It wasn’t the right shape, either, because he knows your lips aren’t like that - yours are prettier, more unique, more you.

The toy doesn’t have your scent, either, that musky, delicious smell that gets his knees feeling weak and his mouth watering.

The toy doesn’t even have any of your cute little pubic hairs, either - it’s bare, something he knows you’re not.

He sighs, realizing it’ll be a bit hard to make the toy actually feel like you, but it’s only when you roll over in your sleep that he realizes there may be a solution to a few of his objections. It’s not hard to find a pair of scissors and slide the sheets and your shorts down carefully, snipping a few strands of your hair and storing them in his kimono pocket.

It’s not hard to memorize every nook and cranny of your cunt, committing the way your lips fold and meet to memory, something he’ll never, ever forget. It’s not much, but as he rushes home, his heart beating out of his chest, Nobunaga feels excited, hoping that these additions will make the toy that much better, that much more like you.

He’s quick to grab his sword and get shaping the silicon, trying to carve the lips into something more similar to yours, carving in folds and minimizing ones you don’t have. When he’s done, he’s gluing on the hairs he’d collected, and once it’s all dried and put together, he can only bite his lip, excitement coursing through his veins.

It’s crude, and you’re much, much prettier, but it’s a lot better now - at least it actually kind of looks like you, and it’ll make it much easier to immerse himself in the fantasy of finally, finally sinking inside you.

He’ll climb onto his bed, swallowing hard and letting his hair down from its topknot, idly running his fingers through it imagining you doing the same thing. Would you tug at his hair, pull on his roots and make him groan in pleasure-tinged pain?

Long, slender fingers peel off his kimono and run down his chest, tracing lines of muscle and scars. Would you study every inch of him like this, leaving no part of his skin untouched?

Soon he’s reaching his cock, spreading his thighs a bit to make sure he gets good leverage, and as he slowly, very slowly wraps his fingers around his length, he shakily sighs. Would you pump him a few times before you truly had your way with him? Would you warm him up like this, get him at least partially ready for when you sink down on him, your tight walls or hot mouth enveloping him whole?

Nobunaga grunts, before reaching out and grabbing the toy, bringing it up to his mouth. Spreading the silicon lips, he spits into it, hoping that’s enough lubricant to have his cock sliding in and smoothly. With you, he’s sure that wouldn’t be a problem - you’d be so wet for him, so aroused and turned on and needy for him, already dripping down your thighs all because of his touch.

(He might still spit on you if you asked him to, though - he’d spit in your mouth if you’d let him.)

With shaky fingers, he brings the toy down, his free hand grasping the base of his cock and helping aim the tip into the toy’s lips, groaning lightly he slips inside with a wet pop noise, his toes curling a bit. He brings the toy down further, letting it slide down and down, until the base meets his pelvis.

Letting his head roll back, he takes a few deep, steadying breaths. The toy doesn’t feel like a real pussy - like your pussy, but it’s still strangely pleasurable, the inside all tight and textured, massaging his tip and making him curse.

Fuck, baby, he grunts, letting a hand run through his hair again, gonna let me fuck this little cunt? Yeah?

He likes to talk to himself while he touches himself, pretending you’re there to listen and respond, pretending he can hear your airy, strained voice as he you moan out a yes, please, need you to fuck me!

He growls, before suddenly getting onto his knees, one hand supporting his weight as he leans forward while the other holds the toy steady.

Yeah? Fuck baby, get ready, I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard, wanna make you make a mess for me. And then he’s thrusting, hips plunging forward into the toy and letting his head drape forward, dark hair falling in a curtain around him as he groans lowly, the friction of the toy making his elbows feel weak.

Fuck baby, fuck fuck fuck - he’s gasping, the sensation of actually fucking something so much better than everything else he’s been doing up until now.

A constant streams of curses are falling under his breath, his hips fucking into the toy with such vigor that his balls are swinging, smacking into the plastic lip of the toy over and over again, making an audible slap noise.

He can’t help but imagine you below him, legs spread and ass taut, your face pressed into the mattress as you take his cock, taking every bit of pleasure he can give you, every thrust making you cry out and moan his name and yes yes yes -

He’s approaching his orgasm much faster than normal, the hairs he’d glued onto the toy tickling his naval with every thrust, just like your own cunt would. Shit baby, you want me to come? Wanna feel me come inside? I can’t hear you, fuck - fuck, say it louder, tell me you want me to come in you!

His voice is a growl at this point, slurred and strained and shaking as the pleasure grows and grows, but he needs to imagine hearing you say it, to imagine the way your pretty voice would call out a yes, please come inside, need your cum please please please!

He finishes with a long, drawn out groan that starts low but gets higher as his cum spills inside the toy, hips stuttering and spasming, every muscle in his body flexed as he gasps your name, arms threatening to give out at any moment.

It feels so good - you feel so good, and Nobunaga has to squeeze his eyes shut to ground himself, fingers gripping the bedspread so tightly his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t bother cleaning the toy after he slowly pulls out, cum spilling as soon as the suction is released, staining his bedspread as he flops back, still panting, staring up at the ceiling.

The toy felt good, but you’d feel better - you’d clench him more, you’d be warmer, you’d cry out his name and tell him how good he feels, your cunt squeezing him and never letting him pull out. You’d be eager, pushing your ass back against him and begging him to go faster, to go deeper, to give you every last drop of cum he can squeeze out. You’d just be better, but this is enough for now, until he’s got you by his side, sleeping soundly with your pretty pussy ripe for the taking. This’ll do, at least until then.

(The toy, however, barely lasts - it gets so much use by then that all those modifications he made have all but fallen apart; all the hairs have fallen off, and those lips he was careful to create are starting to wear down from the speed, intensity, and frequency of his thrusts. Cum is starting to overflow the toy, crusting to the outer ring, but he can’t bring himself to clean it out - he wouldn’t clean it out of you after all; you’d just take it all for him, storing it nicely inside, keeping it warm and safe and cherished inside you.)

Nobunaga wants you, terribly, and while he’ll hold himself for as long as he can, the moment he has you? Well, he’s a patient man when it comes to you, but even he has his limits. And when you’re laid in front of him, in the flesh and staring at him like that, he knows he’s met his.

So really, just spread your legs and let him go to town - he promises he’ll treat you right, make you come, get you overstimulated and fucked out.

Just let him try. Please.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

While he finds every single inch of your body alluring, captivating, drool worthy, there’s a certain allure to your thighs that he just can’t shake.

Maybe it’s because they’re so soft; pudgy fat that’s perfect for him to grip onto, to knead, to idly rest his hand to get you squirming and anxious.

Maybe it’s because they look so damn good when you’re just wearing those panties and one of his t-shirts, the expanse of creamy skin open and begging to be admired.

Maybe it’s just because he loves the way they feel caging his head when he’s got you sitting on his face, the muscles squeezing and trembling as he tongues at your clit.

Maybe it’s because they’re perfect to throw over his shoulders when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you like an animal in heat and gasping your name, turning his head to pepper kisses along them as he goes harder, faster, deeper.

He’s not totally sure, but all he really knows is that he likes them - and he’s not exactly shy about showcasing this fact. He’s not trying to hide the way his gaze lingers when you’re walking around, seeing the way the fat jiggles as you walk, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s not shy about kissing them and sucking hickies into them, groaning against your skin and coming up for air to tell you that you’re so fucking hot baby, these damn thighs, god…

He’s not shy about slipping his cock between them, fucking them while you’re forced to watch, seeing his pink tip appearing between them then disappearing over and over and over, up until he’s stuttering your name and cum is landing in ropes on your tummy.

He always seems to have a hand on your thigh, especially whenever the two of you are sitting - over dinner he’ll have you sit in his lap, one hand holding his fork and the other squeezing at you, groping slightly and pinching you just to see you yelp and feel you jerk in his hold.

He’ll have you throw your leg over his waist when you’re cuddling, his grip around you like a vice, your thigh digging into his crotch and feeling the way he slowly grows hard.

He’s always smacking at them, sending you a coy look and telling you that you’re so jumpy babe, you like it when I slap you? You’re so dirty, Daddy’s dirty little girl.

His love for your thighs hits him out of left field, and one day he’s returning home with a few pairs of thigh highs, forcing you into them and making you parade around, spinning and twirling and giving him a show, only for him to end up breathing heavily and patting his leg, shifting his kimono to the side and making you sit yourself down on his cock, breathing out a heavy, strained c’mere baby, Daddy wants to show you how much he likes your new socks.

He’s investing in garter belts and every piece of lingerie he can find that frames them, that makes them look even more soft and supple and fuckable, only serving to get him drooling and frantic to get his hands on you.

Even outside of sex, he genuinely just loves touching your thighs - it’s a comfort thing, one of the most meaty parts of you, and keeping it nearby is like assuring him that you’ll never be able to get far from him, that he’ll always be able to reach out and grab, to drag you back and make sure you never stray too far from his watchful gaze.

You’re just so pretty, and can he really be blamed for wanting to reach out and touch something so heavenly? Is he really a freak for wanting to squeeze and grope at your thighs, loving the way you get all embarrassed and flustered?

He doesn't think so, so he won’t stop - he’s always reaching and grabbing and wanting, and eventually you’ll grow used to it, even finding some comfort in it. Just know that as long as his hand is on your thigh, there’s a very, very strong chance that you’ll be having to deal with his cock soon - something he’s more than pleased about.

His dick

In general, Nobunaga prides himself on being your provider.

He’s the one giving you shelter, making sure you’re properly fed and taken care of.

He likes to bathe with you, washing your body and hair (and often pinning you down in the bathtub and stuffing you with a fresh batch of cum, but that’s besides the point), making sure you’re squeaky clean and perfectly healthy.

He’s the one making sure no people with ill intentions cross your path, whether that’s those seeking revenge against the Troupe, or just your average, everyday criminals looking for another pretty girl to make their target.

He likes to think he does everything he can for you, that he’s the sole reason why you’re still safe and healthy and alive, to some extent. But his views that he fully provides for you don’t just extend into your everyday life - no, that philosophy invades the bedroom too, the swordsman full-heartedly believing that he takes care of you sexually.

He fully believes that he’s the only one capable of making you come (including yourself), that he’s the only one capable of making you feel good, making you get all whiny and moany and making a mess between those pretty legs of yours. It makes him feel special, important, like you need him, and he’ll fully rise to his self-inflicted duty - he will make you come, no matter how long it takes.

(Besides, getting to have his mouth on your pretty folds for an hour or two at a time is absolute heaven; you taste wonderful, your smell surrounding him and making him throb, the sight of your pretty folds and puffy clit making him groan and lick his lips. It’s absolutely not a chore to eat you out, and the way he moans and praises you will make you more than aware that he doesn’t view this as a punishment in any form, along with the wet patch staining his kimono right over his cock.)

He will get you crying out his name, no matter how embarrassing or depraved his actions, his desperation to get you feeling good nearly palpable.

But his absolute favorite way to satisfy you in bed is with his cock. Sure, he likes using his fingers and tongue and anything else you want (he’ll let you use any part of him - just ask with that sweet voice of yours and attach a little hesitant, nervous please at the end and he’s caving like putty), but there’s just something so right about the feeling of your walls wrapped around him, the way your cunt sucks him in making him light headed and dizzy.

It feels natural to slip his head past your slippery folds, to run his tip up and down your slit, collecting your slick and telling you that you’re so wet for me baby, Daddy’s so proud of you, makin’ it so easy for him to fuck his princess.

It feels right when you’re clenching down on him, moaning his name as he rams into that spot again and again, walls squeezing at him and forcing him to stay inside, wanting to keep him where he belongs.

He’s convinced that he knows what your little pussy wants better than you do, and he’s sure the answer, at any given time, is his dick - how can it not be, when you’re always wet for him, your legs shaking before he even sinks inside?

And god, when he finishes inside you, spraying cum as deeply as he can, he swears he’s in heaven, pure euphoria shooting through his veins because now there’s a bit of him inside you, and now you’re really his.

He can claim you like this, and if it makes you feel good and gets you creaming and fluttering, it’s really all just fate. It’s got to be fate, because how else can you explain the way every muscle in his body goes lax when he bullies his way into your cunt, his body almost instinctually knowing what to do, how to fuck you, how to please you?

(The answer, of course, is that you’ve gotten quite good at faking your orgasms - but Nobunaga must never, ever find out, unless you want to be yelled at and tied down for hours while he presses the vibtrator to your poor, oversensitive clit and his cock and fingers take turns stuffing your hole.)

DRIVE:

In general, Nobunaga is touchy.

He’s always hovering around you, not letting you have much personal space, always just being near you. You’re like a drug to him, and he just can’t get his fix without touching you in some capacity, whether that be a hand on your arm, a kiss pressed to your forehead, his chest flush against your back, or anything else.

It’s uncomfortable, really, how insistent he is - you can slap his wrist away, hiss at him to quit, but he’ll just chuckle and shush you, tightening his grip and pulling you against him, murmuring in your ear to give the act up, sweetheart, you’re not fooling anyone.

It’s infuriating, and eventually those more innocent touches will begin morphing into more lewd ones, more sexual and overt. He’s naturally quite horny, and the presence of you certainly doesn’t help quell this - if anything, being around you only amplifies his desire to get his cock wet, his desperation for sinking himself deeply into something wet, warm and tight only increasing monumentally.

And you, sweet, lucky little you, get to be the sole target of all the pent up sexual urges and tensions he possesses - and he doesn’t try to hide them, either. He doesn’t see the point - why should he bother hiding the way his cock strains against his kimono, throbbing and stupidly hard, all because you bent over to pick something up in front of him?

Why does he need to ‘go away’, as you told him, when he’s got his kimono spread open, his heavy cock exposed while a hand gropes and squeezes at his balls, totally exposed on the couch?

(He’ll even carry a conversation with you like that - he won’t stop touching himself, the veins on his hand standing out as he squeezes, eyes fluttering closed as he tells you that you look so pretty today baby, what do you want for dinner? I was thinking maybe we could try something new tonight - I’m making it just for you, and I’m sure you’ll love it. He never explicitly said what he meant, but you knew - the way his cock throbbed at his words and precum oozed out in visible globs makes his idea more than apparent.)

He’s not subtle in the least, genuinely seeing no reason why he shouldn’t be totally transparent about what he wants from you and your body, and no amount of reasoning with him will get him to lay off.

He genuinely believes you want him to touch you as badly as he does - why wouldn’t he believe it? After all, you’re always leaving those little hints for him, quiet pleas for him to push your relationship further, all because you’re too shy and embarrassed to plainly say it to him.

You wouldn’t be wearing that t-shirt of his if you didn’t want him to rip it off you and suck on your pretty tits until your nipples are sore and puffy, right?

(No, it doesn’t matter that it’s the only shirt you possess, that’s not the point.)

You wouldn’t let the sheets slip down to expose the sliver of your tummy your nightshirt doesn’t cover if you didn’t want him to stare and salivate, right?

(No, who cares that you can’t control what your bedding does while you’re asleep - it’s a sign, dammit, and you can’t tell him otherwise.)

He’s just stubborn, reading into everything you do and totally misinterpreting it, but there’s not much you can do about it.

After all, who’s the Class A bounty, and who can kill with a flick of his wrist? Certainly not you.

Because Nobunaga is more or less completely out of touch with reality, his hopes and desires for your sexual relationship are, accordingly, a bit unrealistic.

He’s fully under the impression that you’re just playing hard to get, that you’re going through this mock rebellious phase because you think it’s the right thing to do, because you’re scared of your feelings for him, because you’re scared to give in to the way your heart and body need him, knowing that he’s the only one for you.

He’s fully convinced that it’s only a matter of time before you begin craving him sexually, just as badly and frequently as he craves you, and because of this he holds very little qualms about kickstarting that sexual side to your relationship. He doesn’t see why he should bother holding back - obviously you want him, buried deep down in that little heart of yours, and if he can get the both of you feeling good, getting closer, engaging in the most sacred, intimate thing a couple can, why wouldn’t he?

And so, while he doesn’t fully force you to fuck him, he’ll find other methods of getting what he wants.

(He won’t actually shove his cock into you yet, if only because he doesn’t want any of that stupid denial you’re giving him in regards to your true desires - just quit fucking crying, because it’s ruining the mood, and he knows you don’t mean it. So, he’ll punish you by not giving you the pleasure he knows you want - maybe then you’ll learn to be grateful, to not play this dumb game anymore and simply let him love you like you know he can. It’s a small mercy, really, in the sea of horrible things he forces onto you, but you’ll take it - he’s terrifying, and every time he slips off that kimono of his, cock springing into view and a bony hand coming down to tug and jerk, to smear and stroke, you’ll be grateful that he won’t go through with it if you beg him hard enough. Hopefully.)

But frankly, those methods aren’t too much better - you will be getting intimate; no amount of crying or begging will get you out of letting him touch you, or excuse you from being forced to touch him.

Rather, Nobunaga will simply force you into sexual acts that don’t comprise of penetrative sex - specifically, he grows to love oral, both receiving and giving it. There’s something just so intimate about it, so sweet and personal and loving, and every time that you deny him sex, he’ll often just grumble at you, narrowing his eyes before softly sighing, letting a little smile grace his lips.

Okay then baby, but you know all you have to say is that you want me to taste that little pussy of yours, no reason to go cryin’ or making a big show when you just want my mouth.

He’ll sit you down on the couch or chair, licking his lips and spreading your legs. He’ll always insist on being naked - it’s not truly a passionate moment between two lovers if clothes are separating your bodies, right?

How can he fully take in the lovely sight that is you and your pleasure if a shirt is covering up your tits and tummy, or shorts blocking your sweet, tight little cunt, stopping him from tasting and touching and fucking?

And so, with both your clothes and his stripped away from you, he’s leaning in, licking a stripe up your slit and letting his eyes roll to the back of his head, your taste making him feral no matter how often he gets it. His dark hair is down around his shoulders, slipping forward as he leans in closer and closer, practically suffocating with how tightly his nose is pressed to your clit, his lips flush with your folds as he licks and sucks, letting his tongue dip inside to rub at your walls.

His hands will always find purchase on your hips, fingertips squeezing and groping at the soft fat. He fucking loves when you clench them around his head, his hips bucking involuntarily and a moan slipping out against your folds, the pressure making him dizzy and be forced to press even closer to you, eliminating any bit of space between his face and your body, sandwiching him in as if you never, ever want to let him go.

He’ll eat you out with vigor, spit getting everywhere and slick coating his lips, chin, nose and cheeks, just making an absolute mess of both you and himself. His stubble tickles against your sensitive clit, the feeling pleasurable despite yourself, and often he actually will be able to make you come this way, your body betraying you and giving into his ministrations. But oh, you coming is not the worst part - absolutely not, not when he’s so damn vocal, never shutting up even when he’s got his tongue buried inside you.

He’s insistent on narrating the whole experience, constantly throwing you praises and talking about how you’re so good, how you taste so sweet and delicious and fuck, you little minx, you like seeing me get all dirty from this little cunt? Makes you wet? I can feel you clenching around me - you’re so dirty baby, my bad girl.

He’ll be telling you about all the things he wants to do to you, peppering sucks at your clit between his words. Baby you don’t know how badly I need this pussy, how bad I need to fuck you - mmm, gotta show you you’re mine, make sure you know this cunny is mine. You’ll be so damn pretty all stuffed full of me, I know you can take it, you always take my fingers so well.

He’ll pause to give a series of thrusts of his tongue inside you, his finger rubbing circles at your clit that leave your toes curling.

Y’so good, this cunt was made for me, huh princess? It’s obnoxious, his words making your skin crawl, and the only genuine way to get him to shut up is to tangle your fingers into his hair and pull, pressing his face as tightly against you as possible and keeping him there, so that he can’t move back to talk.

And Nobunaga, ever the optimist, doesn’t see your irritation. If anything, he sees this as a sign that you want more, that he feels good and he’s doing a good enough job that you’re desperate for him to finish you off, that you need him to make you come, that only he can get you coming, spasming and spilling slick all into his eagerly awaiting mouth.

He’ll just groan, moans constantly slipping from his lips and muffling against your folds, and frankly, if he wasn’t a sick freak, you’d almost find the sight hot. Because really, a tall, strong man on his knees, face buried in your pussy while he blindly sucks and licks, rubbing his face in you like a dog, panting and cheeks bright red?

He’s the picture of depravity, pathetic and sad, but once he finally pulls away (with strands of your slick connecting him to your cunt, his lips licking feverishly at his lips), he’ll just smile wobbly at you, pressing one last kiss to your clit and whispering that he can’t wait until we’re finally one, I promise I’ll make you feel so good, I want you to squirt for me baby, would you be willing? I want to make you feel the best you ever have - Daddy knows exactly what you need, after all.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Daddy kink

It’s a pretty recent development, really - before you, he’d never felt any particular draw to being called Daddy in the bedroom.

Really, he didn’t even find sir or master or any other name attractive - it was weird, something he never really understood the appeal of. And even in the beginning of his infatuation with you, this is mostly true - it’s not until he hears you making a joke that things begin to change.

He’s following you one night, listening to you chat on the phone with a friend (a female friend, he checked, though he still doesn’t like that you hug her every time you see her, or that you end each call with a love you, but he lets it slide since he knows you don’t really mean it, at least not in the way that you love him).

You’re laughing at something she said, before saying something along the lines of at least he didn’t make you call him Daddy - imagine that! Your voice went up a few octaves, squealing out a mocking fuck me, Daddy!

Nobunaga’s frozen, his eyes stuck on your face, your words ringing through his head. It’s not that he’s immediately taken with the name, but rather that he notices, in that moment, that it seems to slip off your lips really easily - you sound good saying that, not whiny and annoying like the women in porn sound.

His brows furrow, but he quickly knocks it aside as you keep moving, staying in the shadows so that he can move with you, too. He doesn’t really think of it again until later that night, when he’s standing in your doorway, watching your sleeping figure.

Daddy, huh?

Now that he was giving it some thought, he could see why some men liked it - it was weirdly authoritative, something that felt taboo on his tongue, the way you’d said it even more. He lets the thought marinate, mind wandering to imagining the way you’d sound moaning it, your face all scrunched up in pleasure and the petname falling from your lips as you scratch at his back and clench down on him. It’s a pleasing image, and Nobunaga gulps and shifts his weight, deciding that okay, maybe I could get behind this whole ‘Daddy’ thing.

It’s not until he falls deeper into his obsession that it really starts taking root, though - not until his delusions have fully set in, his mind warped and untethered from reality that he really starts liking the nickname, imagining the way you’d smile up at him and call him that, your lips curving and caressign the syllables, the sultry tone of your voice, the way you’d set your hand on his chest, as if wanting more, the nickname like some dirty innuendo.

Except, as some of his protective tendencies intensify, the nickname takes on a more encompassing role, something he wants to hear both in and out of the bedroom - he’s flooded with fantasies of the way you’d wake up in the morning, planting a kiss on his lips and little murmur of good morning, Daddy.

He’s daydreaming about the way you’d gasp and moan it when he’s got you on your hands and knees, hand smacking your ass and cock bullying its way into you, your breathy gasps and moans making his head spin.

He decides he really, really likes it, and from the moment you end up in captivity, he expects you to refer to him as Daddy, liking it just as much as Nobunaga.

In the bedroom, though, it must be Daddy - you can get away with Nobu sometimes, but a few whimpers of the petname and he’s feral, pumping into you and desperate to get you creaming around him, to feel your walls flutter and clench down on him, squeezing him like a fucking vice.

He likes the power dynamic the petname incites; he’s your protector, the one who’s always taking care of you, making sure you’re happy and safe and that your little cunt is properly satisfied, so why shouldn’t you refer to him as that?

It only makes sense, and he will be actively referring to himself as such too, often switching between first and third person all in reference to himself. It’s exhausting and you’ll think it’s weird, gross at first, but as time passes you’ll slowly find yourself succumbing to it, it all becoming second nature as you kiss his cheek and tell him thank you for the orgasm, Daddy, I can’t wait for tomorrow’s.

(He expects you to thank him after every sexual interaction - after all, he tries so hard to please you; shouldn’t you be a little grateful for all his effort? Even if he didn’t manage to get you there - he still spent a good forty minutes with his head between your legs, and shouldn’t that count for something?)

Don’t try to fight him on the nickname - it’s too ingrained, and you’ll never win, the petname sticking around. He just likes it, the power rush, knowing that if he’s Daddy, then you’re Daddy’s little princess, his sweet little thing that’s all his to love and spoil and fuck.

It just makes sense, and the thought of you calling him that makes him flush, his cock growing hard, his heartbeat growing erratic because god, what he wouldn’t give to hear it.

Mirror sex

Nobunaga’s got this big, framed mirror set up in the bedroom he’s set up just for you, and its presence is no mere coincidence.

It’s huge, easily covering a good third of the wall, its reflection angled perfectly towards the large bed he shares with you. It’s ornate, and while you wonder at first whether it has a purpose or if he just really likes gaudy interior design, as soon as he gets intimate with you, the question is quickly solved.

He’s obsessed with the idea of watching you while he’s touching you, or while you’re touching him. He wants to see you from every angle, not satisfied with one measly view. He needs to see everything, your front, back, side, every curve of your body on display while he fingers you, fucks your throat, makes love to you, as he likes to say.

(Though, you’d argue that the way he clutches onto you, his hips jackhammering, the way he loses control is all much more reminiscent of a wild animal rather than two lovers - as are the sounds he makes when he’s inside you.)

Not every sexual encounter you two share will involve the mirror, but anytime the two of you are in the actual bedroom, he will be positioning you so that he gets the best view, making sure that either your face or your side is facing the glass.

He’s always telling you to look at it, narrating what he’s seeing, telling you that you look so fucking sexy baby, look at the way you’re taking it so well, look at the way Daddy’s cock is just sinking into you so easy, god -

He’s always praising you, forcing you to sit in his lap facing the mirror and spreading your body out, making you spread your thighs and keep your arms at your side, so that your cute cunt and chest are displayed, perfect for him to fondle and grope all while you watch.

He’ll toy with your folds, spreading them and rubbing teasing circles at your clit, growling in your ear that you’re so damn pretty, look at this princess cunt, always sucking my fingers in, always so wet and ready for Daddy, you’re so dirty baby - always wanting Daddy’s attention.

He’ll cup your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples, laying kisses along your neck and sucking hickeys into your skin, growling about how these tits are so damn perfect, makes Daddy wanna come all over them - you want that, baby? Want Daddy’s cum on your pretty tits?

He’ll make you give him head while he faces the mirror, so that he can look down and see you on your knees, cock disappearing between your lips again and again, all while staring at the curve of your back in the mirror, the way your ass cheeks separate, sighing shakily because you just look so damn pretty from every angle.

His favorite, though, is fucking you with the mirror nearby - particularly, he likes taking you from the back, either facing the mirror or with the mirror at the side. With the former, he can see your face as he fucks you - the way your lips part, eyes rolling to the back of your head, sweat beading at your temple and your brows sinching together. He likes watching you fall apart, and this way he can see your face when you come and watch his cock sink into you, seeing your cute little asshole and grope at your cheeks.

(Especially when your arms give out, collapsing onto your chest with your ass still high in the air, giving him an even better view, one that makes him growl and lean all the way over you, truly looking like an animal as he mounts you.)

When the mirror is set to the side, he pays close attention to the way your entire body is pushed forward by the force of his thrusts, the smack of his hips against yours propelling you forward and making you cry out.

He likes seeing the ripple in the fat of your ass and thighs, seeing how your back arches, and god - the way your tits jiggle, and if they’re big enough, the way they fucking swing? It’s the stuff of wet dreams, and he just can’t stop staring at the profile of your body in the mirror, a hand coming down between your legs to eagerly rub at your clit, grunting out about how you’re so damn sexy baby, Daddy’s sexy girl, fuck fuck fuck!

He’ll even be actively aiming to include the mirror - fucking you directly against it, so that you’re face to face with your reflection, seeing for yourself the way he makes you feel, snapping at you to keep your eyes open and watching.

He’ll even sit you down in front of the mirror, so that your pussy is mere inches away from the glass, and finger you for hours - he won’t give your poor cunt a break, his fingers never stopping their pace as he rubs figure eights on your clit, going so fast and insistent, not willing to stop until he gets you squirting all over the mirror, your pretty reflection tarnished by the clear liquid dripping down the glass, evidence of the way he pleasures you.

He wants you to see how good you look falling apart for him, and how good you look together - how your bodies just seem to meld into one, how every dip and curve of your body perfectly fits against his, how you’re made for one another.

It’s romantic, in his eyes, and while it only really effectively embarrasses you, eventually you’ll grow to enjoy it. Because really, there is something taboo about seeing yourself, and while it made you a bit insecure at first, this way you can see Nobunaga’s face, too. You can see how choked up he gets, how the orgasms you tear from him absolutely wreck him, his cheeks flushed and thin brows furrowed together, even a bit of drool slipping from the edges of his mouth because you just feel so fucking good.

And while you may hate Nobunaga, despise him and wish him dead, there’s something oddly satisfying about knowing that you’re having such an effect on him, that your pussy and body are capable of reducing him to such a fucking mess. It’ll make you feel good, and poor, pathetic Nobunaga will take this as a sign that you want to fuck more, that you’re not satisfied with the every other day schedule you’d been following.

And he’s more than happy to fulfill your wishes - as long as your cunt can handle it, he’d gladly spend the rest of his life snug in its warm embrace - snug inside you.

Corruption kink

Nobunaga is firmly under the impression that you’re a complete and utter virgin.

He fully believes, with every bit of his heart, that you’ve never known the touch of another, that you’ve never been pleasured or have pleasured anyone else.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s true, whether you have more experience than him, even - you are a virgin, and that’s final. Perhaps, you’ve never even kissed anyone before - as soon as the thought flits into his head, he decides he likes it, deciding that it’s the truth, that you’re truly, utterly inexperienced, and therefore it’s his job to make sure you learn.

It’s his responsibility to make sure you’re properly taught, that you feel comfortable and eager to enter this new world of sexuality, even if you’re already proficient. It’s infuriating, the way he totally disregards anything you say that negates this belief, even throwing to the wind any skill you showcase to him - it doesn’t matter if you give him the absolute best head he’s ever had.

You’re still a virgin, and the male body is still an enigma to you. As a result, Nobunaga will feel that he needs to introduce you to sex, starting from the absolute basics - he has to teach you to kiss.

He’ll sit you down, his cheeks a bit pink, this oddly intense look in his eyes as he shuffles closer to you, so that your thighs are flush.

Listen, baby, there’s something I need to show you, he starts, gulping. Kissing goes like this - I’m going to lean in, and I want you to do what you feel me doing. He leans in much too quickly, practically headbutting you in his desire to get his lips on yours, and distantly you wonder who the hell taught him to kiss because there’s too much spit, too much tongue, too much of everything.

But when you don’t respond, he’ll pull back slightly, dark eyes flicking between your own eyes as he tells you don’t be scared, I promise it’ll feel good, how can you get better if you don’t try?

He’ll keep going until you eventually start kissing him back, the moan he lets into your mouth making you shiver in disgust, but he won’t just stop there - the kisses get more frantic, and suddenly he’s pushing you onto your back, hovering above you and letting his dark hair fall over his shoulders.

He’ll kiss you for a long while, enough to leave your lips swollen, before eventually pulling back, panting and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

Now, baby, I’m gonna show you how it feels to be touched, if something feels especially good let Daddy know. He’s quick to tug your shirt over your head, letting a smile flit across his lips as he sees your bare chest and stomach (he’d not brought any of your bras with him when he stole you away, and thus you have none to wear - giving him quick, easy access), meeting your gaze and telling you that you’re so beautiful, a body like this deserves to be worshiped, so glad Daddy’s the only one who’s ever seen these pretty tits…

He’ll reach down and cup them, thumbing over your nipples, sucking in a sharp breath because you’re so damn soft. Your face will crinkle up in disgust as he brings his mouth down to suck at them, but he misreads this as pleasure, letting his teeth nibble on your sensitive skin and very lightly biting, making you yelp.

Shh, it’s okay, I know it feels good, just let it take over, don’t fight it baby.

He’ll move to your shorts next, tugging down the hem along with the pretty lace panties he’d forced you into that morning, your body now bare and exposed underneath him. He whines, his eyes wide and irises blown out, a long, slender finger running from your sternum down to your naval, both hands coming down to rub circles right over your hipbones.

Now baby, I know you’re probably scared - but Daddy’s got you, he’ll make sure you’re feeling good.

His voice is uneven, rising and falling along with his heavy breaths, but before you can comment he’s reaching down, spreading your legs and pulling you closer to him. He licks his lips again as he stares, coming down to lay on his stomach and get his face as close to your cunt as he can manage, so that you can feel his breath against your skin.

He’s brushing his fingers along your slit, rubbing at your clit, sinking them inside and curling, his own whimpers slipping past his lips at the feeling of your folds significantly louder than your own.

All the while, he’s telling you that this is called fingering, do you like it? Hope so, because soon Daddy’s gonna put something much bigger inside - no don’t worry! It’ll be good, it’ll feel good, he’ll give you an orgasm, I promise.

Soon he’s reaching down and licking at you, his eyes rolling to the back of his head because you taste fucking divine, and he’s quick to tell you as much, moaning out fuck baby, you taste so good, making me so damn hard - do you wanna see? Do you want to see Daddy’s cock, see what you do to me?

And you don’t really answer, or at least Nobunaga doesn’t listen to your answer - he’s suddenly standing up, ripping off his kimono and letting it fall to the ground, immediately palming his cock and shuddering a bit, his gaze not leaving you. You’re still laying on the bed, and he comes up to stand beside you, his cock mere inches from your face.

See how hard it is for you? You make me like this, Daddy gets so fucking hard when he’s near you, I just want you so bad.

He’s slowly stroking himself, his length already fully engorged, and you can see the way his tip is shining in the light, precum smeared all across it.

He’s biting his lip, slowly bringing it closer and closer and closer, before telling you you can touch it, use firm touches and don’t be scared - it’s warm, and sometimes it moves on its own, but Daddy would fucking love it if you’d touch it.

And when you reach out, slowly wrapping your fingers around it, Nobunaga can’t help but throw his head back and thrust forward slightly, the friction making him hiss. Fuck baby, how’re you so good at this? ‘Ts like you’re made for stroking Daddy’s cock…

After a while of thrusting into your hand he’ll move on, breathing heavily and desperate for more. He’ll lean forward a bit and press his tip to your lips, telling you to open up baby, gotta teach you how to suck cock, we’ll go nice and slow, I think you’ll love it.

He pushes in slowly, with a long, low groan, his fingers clutching at the sheets of the bed, eyes squeezed shut because god, how is your mouth so wonderful and wet and warm? Bob your head baby, back and forth, use your tongue and run it over the tip, mmhm, fuck baby just like that, Daddy likes that, fuck!

He’ll start thrusting too, shallowly, though occasionally it’ll slip too far, the tip reaching back and choking you, and when this happens he’ll just chuckle through a gasp, running a hand through his hair and murmuring soon we’ll get you trained to take it all the way - shit, Daddy wants you to take all of him soon.

Eventually, though, he’ll be crawling back over you, grasping his cock and lining it up with your folds, pressing a deep, wet kiss against your lips and slowly sinking in, hissing out to relax baby, you’re too fucking tight, deep breaths, don’t be scared, Daddy will fuck you right, he’ll make you first time special, just please - please relax or else I can’t get in!

And as he slowly starts thrusting, balls gently smacking against your ass, he’ll lean up to whisper in your ear, one hand finding a home at your breast.

Shh, shh, don’t worry, it’ll feel good in a minute, just gotta stretch you out a bit - yeah? You like that? Daddy likes that too, but it’s gonna get faster, ‘m gonna fuck you a bit harder, get you used to the way Daddy’ll fuck you from here on - nice and hard, just like you deserve, angel.

And with that he’s picking up the pace, ramming into you and groaning your name, burying his face into your neck while you cry out, the sudden change in speed making your back arch. He’s still speaking into your neck, praising you for taking it so well, claiming you’re made for this, that your cute little virgin cunt must want him badly enough that you’re adjusting so quickly, even clenching down on him and grinding back.

He’s in ecstasy, and as he nears his orgasm he’ll pull back slightly, grunting in your ear that he’s gonna come, Daddy’s gonna come inside you, you just - fuck, just look pretty and take it for him, yeah? Shit baby, it’s close, little cunt’s squeezing so tight, oh - oh fuck, it’s coming, take it all for Daddy, take it -!

And soon there’s little spurts of warmth, making you feel sticky and wet, and Nobunaga’s moaning in your ear, slurred syllables of your name as his hips rut and unevenly clap into yours, the last bits of his orgasm slowly leaving him.

He just likes talking you through everything, pretending as if you’re fully innocent, as if he’s the very first one to get his greedy hands on you - after all, you’re his, and wouldn’t it just be perfect if you’d been saving yourself for him?

Wouldn’t it just be right if you’d been carefully thwarting other men, keeping your virginity intact so that it can be taken by the only one who really loves you?

Nobunaga thinks so, and even after he’s fucked you a few times, the patronizing way he guides you and teaches you never really fading.

(Often, he’ll even teach you the wrong things - he’s showing you how to properly touch yourself so that you can take care of yourself when Troupe business takes him away for periods of time, and you want to scream because he keeps neglecting your clit, the little nub swollen and begging for attention, telling you that it’ll come eventually if you just keep rubbing that spot inside you that feels so good, exactly like his cock does. It won’t, but he seems convinced.)

Just let him believe that you’re utterly inexperienced, that you’re totally ignorant of anything involving sex, because no matter what you say or how you fight him on it, his beliefs are law. Always.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Scent kink

Nobunaga is a dirty, disgusting man.

He has absolutely no sense of boundaries when it comes to you, believing that since you’re lovers and clearly soulmates, there shouldn’t be any boundaries between you. He doesn’t keep anything from you, so why should you keep anything from him?

It would be wrong to not be completely open with one another, and Nobunaga takes this in the most literal sense. As a result, he has no shame when he discovers his affinity for smelling you. You’ve always had a scent he likes; something calming, a hint of sweet, something smooth and warm and sexy, and that’s just your natural aroma, something Nobunaga swears is his own personal drug.

But your cunt?

Well, that smells like something else entirely - something earthy, musky, heavy, and because you insist on wearing panties at all hours of the day, he’s bit limited on when he can get a good, deep sniff like he wants.

(Although, you’ll notice that when he’s got you naked, spread before him and ripe to tease and fuck and taste, he’s always leaning down, getting his nose right up to your folds and inhaling, deeply enough that its audible, making you embarrassed and try to close your legs. This only inadvertently brings his head closer, giving him an even better smell, making him moan and start rutting against the nearest surface.)

Instead, he has to find alternative outlets when the mood strikes him and you’re not currently getting intimate.

And so, Nobunaga falls back on those damn panties, deciding that if you’re going to be so insistent and constantly wear them, then he’ll make the most of it.

There is no dirty laundry hamper with him - when you’re done with a pair, you must hand them to him, directly, reporting to him how long you’ve had them on, whether you were aroused while wearing them, and if so, what you were thinking about.

He’ll keep them stashed away, one always tucked into the waistbelt of his kimono, so that whenever the mood strikes him, he can reach down and take a good, long sniff, sighing and palming himself through his clothing.

You just smell so damn good, and he’ll hold onto them until you’re complaining that you don’t have any more clean ones, that you need to do the laundry. He’ll just cock a brow and tell you that he’s not convinced you want them all that badly, why don’t you show Daddy just how much you want them.

And it’s only after he’s down fucking your throat that he’ll hand them back over, ready for you to clean them, only for the cycle to restart all over again.

(Although, for the mean time, since you don’t have any to wear while you’re cleaning, why don’t you wear a pair of his underwear - don’t mind the fresh, suspicious stains. That’s not cum, just - just something that looks like it, that’s all. Just put them on, because he’ll keep those after you’re done too, smelling both your scents combined, something perfect and wonderful and unexplainably ours, as he likes to say.)

Thigh riding

While he prefers to be taking an active role in your pleasure, even Nobunaga can’t deny that there’s something enticing about the idea of you just using him, of simply watching you try and get yourself off using his body.

It just reinstates his belief that you need him, that you aren’t capable of orgasming without his touch - or, at least, without his body. It makes him feel good, and very quickly he’ll be perching you on his knee, smiling at you with that same half-lidded, dopey grin, telling you to go wild baby, Daddy wants to watch you make a mess.

He’ll help guide your hips at first, pushing you down a bit and forward, making sure your cunt is rubbing against the muscles of his thigh, humming out a that’s it baby, good girl, keep going.

Then he’ll lean back, staring at you the whole time, enjoying the feeling of your cunt slowly growing wet, the slick smearing across his bare skin, the warmth overwhelming. It’s a real test of his patience, though, because while you look incredibly hot rutting against his thigh, dragging yourself along the muscle, it’s excruciating having to hold himself back from just impaling you on his cock, grabbing you by the hips and yanking you down so that he’s buried in that wet heat you’re teasing him with.

But he’ll grit his teeth, trying to distract himself by staring at your body. He likes the way your tits sway when you do this, nipples pebbled and peaked, and he’ll often reach out and pinch at one, liking the way you yelp and jerk a bit. He’ll watch the pudge of your tummy, your abdominal muscles rolling and clenching as you slowly work yourself, his fingers longing to reach out and grope at the soft fat.

And your face? Oh, he thinks you don’t realize how seductive you look like this - biting your lip, desperate to get more friction and more solid pleasure, the feeling of grinding against his thigh not nearly enough to get you off.

And eventually, he’ll take pity on you, asking if you’re close. You’ll whine and tell him no, ‘m not, I need more, and Nobunaga can’t help the way his cock visibly bobs at that, at what you’re insinuating. You want Daddy’s cock, baby?

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you’ll nod, needing something more than what you’re currently getting, but Nobunaga won’t mind providing for your needs - not at all, liking the idea of you being all desperate and needy for him, for his touch and body and cock.

So while it’s not something that happens super frequently, when Nobunaga wants to teach you a lesson or just simply watch you, he’ll put you on his thigh, telling you to get to work, give Daddy a show, and expecting you to hump and grind at him until you’re near tears, desperate enough to come that you’ll beg.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

In general, most activities in the bedroom with him will be more humiliating, always making you feel like you’re incompetent and in need of being taught a lesson (how to properly take his cock, how to behave, how to just lay there and look pretty while he does all the hard work).

There’s just something about him that makes you feel small and weak, and with the way he’s always spouting nonsense about how you really feel, total delusions about what you are and what he’s done to you, you’ll slowly feel like you’re going crazy.

But Nobunaga, on the other hand, loves the atmosphere between the sheets with you - he’s been dreaming of getting intimate with for so fucking long, wanting to touch you and kiss you and make you scream his name, and now that he’s finally, finally getting to do all those things, he’s a bit of a lost cause.

He’s so consumed by all the various fantasies he wants to enact with you that he gets swallowed up, too overwhelmed to really wade his way through. And yet, there’s this one scenario that’s been in his head for as long as his feelings for you have been in his heart; that is, Nobunaga wants desperately to give your cute little pussy an inspection, to study every part of you and make sure that everything is in working order, that you’ve been good.

It’s a way to exercise his control over you, feeling dominant and powerful and like he’s taking care of you, but even more than that, it allows him to unabashedly stare at you, to examine the most intimate part of you. It gets him giddy, just the thought making his cock stand at attention, his fingers shaking a bit and his heart thrumming in his chest.

It would just be so damn hot, and you’d look so cute at his mercy, with your fingers spreading your pussy lips so that he has the best view, legs spread wide open to accommodate his body, because he really has to be as close as possible in order to really observe, to really see everything.

It’s something he’s always idly wanted, and as soon as he’s got you under his thumb, he’ll be enacting it - he’s just looking out for you after all, because while he cares about every part of you, he’s especially partial to your little cunt, so much so that he’s willing to take the extra time and give it the care and attention it deserves. More than willing.

He’s still in that honeymoon stage, having only relocated you a few days ago, and as soon as you walk out of the bedroom, rubbing at your sleepy eyes and yawning, he’s beaming. Immediately he’s racing to you, arms circling around your torso as he squeezes you into a hug, leaning down and letting his nose burrow into your neck, breathing deeply. “Goodmorning baby, how did you sleep?”

You’re still all shy, not able to look at him in the eye, and as you pull back, you mumble a small ‘good’. Nobunaga sighs, fingers playing with a piece of your hair, before resting his hands on your shoulders.

Part of the reason he’d been in such a good mood this morning was that today was a very special day - he’d had this planned for months now, excitement brewing in his chest as the days drew closer and closer, eagerness settling in his chest. It was finally the day he’d decided that he’d give you a proper inspection, just to make sure that your pussy is all ready and prepared for him, so that he can get you feeling good and making you cream daily from here on out.

He shivers, swallowing. “Okay baby, follow me.”

He takes you over to the dining table, the wood an oaky color, and tells you to hop up onto the table. “Go on, get that cute little ass up there.”

You follow his commands without any hesitation, settling yourself on the table and looking at him expectantly. He was playing with his hands, tongue flicking out over his lips, and distantly you wonder what he has in mind.

“Spread your legs, angel, Daddy wants what’s in the middle.”

You blanch at his words, embarrassment creeping up your spine. When you don’t move, Nobunaga’s smile twitches a bit, and he’s grabbing your ankles himself, spreading your legs and shimmying your panties down your thighs, stuffing them firmly in his pocket as he gulps. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty…”

You can’t look at him as he settles onto his knees, coming closer until he’s right eye level with your cunt, his lips slightly parted to accommodate the way his breathing is growing more labored by the minute.

After a few moments his gaze flicks up to you. “I’ve gotta take a good look at this pussy baby, gotta make sure you’ve been good. Daddy can’t fuck you until he’s sure you’ve been a good girl, that you’ve been taking care of yourself and you aren’t too stretched out from him showing you how to finger yourself the other day.”

He licks his lips again. “Spread yourself for me.”

You do as he says, pulling your lips back to expose the soft inside to his prying gaze, the cold air of the kitchen making you clench up. Nobunaga watches the movement carefully, unable to look away as you lightly spasm, nervous and embarrassed at the way you’re so exposed for him. He’s tilting his head this way and that, looking at every angle, eyes appraising every nook and cranny.

“Fuck baby, looks good so far… let’s check that little clit.” He’s nearly whispering now, too lost in his own world as he reaches out and brushes his thumb over your nub, chuckling when you jerk a bit at the contact. “Good, you’re sensitive… Daddy likes it when you’re sensitive.”

His thumb comes down to swipe over your hole, feeling the way you clench yet again at the slight contact. He throws you a playful glare. “You’re so dirty, getting all excited from the inspection. Daddy’s gonna have to punish you for that, you know.”

You shiver at his words, biting your lip and shoving your hips forward, a bit of your confidence having returned despite his heavy stare.

“Mmm, you’re not as wet as I hoped, but that’s okay, I can still get what I need…” He trails off, before leaning forward and licking a long, languid stripe up your exposed hole, closing his eyes and letting the taste of you sit in his mouth, smacking his lips a bit to make sure he fully tastes your flavor. “Good, good, you taste like you should baby. So proud, you’re doing so good so far.”

He gives you a little kiss on the inside of your thigh to punctuate his point.

“Only one thing left now, baby, almost done and then -” He shudders. “Then, we can do something more fun - Daddy can show you what he’s been wanting to do to you since last night.”

You’re still spreading apart your lips, and Nobunaga gets ever close, a finger prodding and lightly pushing into you, feeling around your walls. It almost feels like he’s searching for something, curling and rubbing against certain areas.

Soon it stops though, and he lets that dopey, too-wide smile slip onto his lips. “Perfect baby, Daddy’s little cunt is nice and tight. You’ve been good, haven’t been putting anything too big up there - that’s good, it’ll show you how nice and big Daddy is, how he can fill you up just right.”

He shivers at the thought, leaning forward one more time to give a nice, hearty suck right over your puckering hole, before pulling back and licking the slick off his lips. Soon he’s standing up, his kimono untied and falling to the floor, and he’s grabbing your hips, flipping you over so that you’re on your stomach, ass pulled to the edge of the table. He leans over you, cock pressed against your asscheeks, and you feel him throb as he sighs out.

“Ready, baby? I know your pussy’s ready - I can read her like a book, it’s Daddy’s pussy, after all. And she’d never lie to Daddy…” He traces a finger up your spine, before grabbing your neck, slender fingers wrapping around the thin skin.

“Now get ready to scream Daddy’s name, and don’t worry about making a mess. I’ll clean you right up.” He lines his tip up with your hole, spreading your cheeks ever so slightly to make room for himself. “Remember to tell Daddy when you’re coming, he wants to come with you. Deep breaths, angel, it’s going in now.”

And as he pushes in, he can’t help but groan - you were still so damn tight, his inspection not lying when he’d discovered you hadn’t stretched yourself out on anything lately. He gasps your name and pushes in flush, his balls snug against your clit, before coming down to kiss at your shoulders. “Remember, if you want to show Daddy you love him, you’ll come for him. And you do love him, right?”

You answer with a mix of a sob and a moan as he starts clapping into you, hips smacking so loudly it’s the only thing audible in the tiny kitchen, aside from your cries and his grunts.

And, when you’re wailing out that you’re close a few minutes later, Nobunaga can only groan, feeling his own orgasm hurtling towards him. This is the last part of the inspection, the last thing you need to pass before Nobunaga’s free to fuck you as he pleases - can you hold everything he gives you? Can your little pussy store every last drop he pushes into you?

And, the more important question that comes a few minutes after that - can it hold two loads?

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere nobunaga #yandere nobunaga hazama #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_nobunaga hazama

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snaxle · 6 months

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just saw someone say the reason bi lesbians are problematic is because they're inclusive of radfems, and that bi lesbians spew terf rhetoric. i dont know what kinda secret alternate universe you're living in where terfs are supportive of mspec identities but im begging you to turn on your brain cells for longer than 5 seconds at a time and then go outside instead of wallowing in queer twitter discourse made by 15 year olds 10 hours every day you fucking idiots.

terfs dont fucking like bi lesbians. terfs would rather watch us either kill ourselves than ever support our identities.

"i hate mspec lesbians because they tell people who hate men that they're sharing terf beliefs, which is exactly what terfs want!!" have you literally never seen a terf's account before in your life? they fucking hate men and want everyone in the world to know that every single man in the world no matter how old they are that they're gross ugly creatures who all hate women and want nothing more than to prey on the downfall of all women. yea, even those 6 and 12 year old boys that live next door to you. so yea, while you're posting your quirky little "i hate all men they're disgusting 🙄" posts every three days for your 400 twitter followers, you're 100% spewing terf rhetoric!! no that doesnt mean you're a fucking terf but you're sharing into their beliefs and spreading their agenda every time you do this shit which is what they want!!!!

"the term lesbian is already inclusive of trans and nonbinary people, so using the term bi/mspec lesbian is problematic because you dont think trans people can be lesbians!" look me in the eyes. do you genuinely, honest to god think that terfs care about that. do you genuinely think terfs are okay with trans people calling themselves a lesbian. terfs dont fucking care, they still want you to either detransition and realize how "evil" being trans is and follow in their beliefs, or they want you dead. a nonbinary trans man who uses he/him pronouns calling himself a bi lesbian is literally the least of your fucking worries.

i am trans and bigender. even if i just called myself solely a lesbian without the extra labels, terfs still wont fucking accept me because i am not a pure innocent 100% woman. they will not accept me even when i tell them i feel more like a woman most days than i do a man because i am not their definition of what a woman should be. "it doesnt matter what terfs say, lesbian is still inclusive of trans people!" no, it's only inclusive of trans people that you deem are good and women enough to use the label.

people love going around talking about how they're so so supportive of any and all identities and then immediately turn around and be like "hmmm but not Yours." i could be the most perfect woman in the world, but the second i so much as mention i think a man looks attractive, then i am not being a lesbian the Right way.

so who the fuck cares anymore. who cares if i use the term bisexual lesbian to identify myself? im already doing it all wrong supposedly, so who cares if im more of a problem than i already am? the queer people im supposed to share a community with would rather side on the side of terfs because im not being a lesbian in the supposedly Correct way, and no matter what i say to try defending myself I'll never be seen as a true and proper lesbian because random strangers on the internet i will never meet ever in my life has already dictated that I'm not good enough. that my existence is problematic and harmful to everyone else, completely ignorant of the fact that they're unwillingly sharing in the beliefs of transphobes, homophobes and conservatives who would like nothing more than to wipe us all out instead of standing together as a community.

but you know, putting bi lesbians on your dni or whatever is more important.

#og #txt

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joelmillersdumbslut · 10 months

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I took your matches before fire could catch me

(joel miller x f!reader) 18+ part one

summary: Who knew meeting Joel Miller on a dating app would turn into the world's worst first date? (no outbreak. no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors do NOT interact) warnings (for this chapter): age gap (reader is in late 20's, joel is mid 50's), dirty talk, pet names, fingering, dubious consent, p in v sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, drinking, hand kink, referenced cheating, degradation, angst, orgasm delay/denial. word count: 2.4k a/n: this is my first ever fic, please be gentle :')) a03 link

Another Friday night with a bottle of wine and shitty reality tv to keep you company. It suddenly hits you. Pangs of loneliness. You’re nearly 28 years old and you’re destined for the single life. Relationships never seem to last with you, or at least make it past the honeymoon phase. You take a sip straight from the bottle as you curse the boys who pretend to be men. The ones who’ve fucked you over, the ones who “aren’t ready for a relationship” after declaring their love for you and fucking you for six months, but will change their status and post a picture on Facebook with their arms wrapped around a new woman days after your breakup. When will it be your turn?

You’re soon drunk enough to make questionable decisions. You download that new dating app your friends keep gushing about. Lily. You tap on your phone screen, a picture of a flower loading up with the catchphrase “Are you ready for your love to bloom?” You groan at that alone, tempted to turn right around and delete the app already. But, something inside you tugs at you to give it a try anyway. You upload pictures, some selfies, some with friends, some candids at the beach, at a concert, at the park. Your bio is hard to come up with though. How can you use 400 characters to describe yourself to a stranger? You settle with including your name, a generic title of your occupation, some of your hobbies, and ending it with an open invitation for drinks. There. Easy enough, right?

Now, it’s time to swipe. Apparently when you like someone’s profile, you send them a virtual flower. A lily, to be exact. In order to message someone, they have to send you a lily back. You start to wonder if this app can get any cornier when your first profile appears in the queue. He’s an older man. 56 to be exact. You don’t remember setting an age limit, but you’re intrigued by his handsome appearance. His dark hair appears to be graying, his brown eyes sinking into you from beyond the screen. You swipe through his profile. He has nothing written so you have to guess his personality and hobbies from the pictures alone. There’s a picture of him with a teenage girl. Maybe his daughter? Another one of him playing guitar. Maybe he likes music. Maybe he’s a rockstar. He looks rugged enough to be one. A picture of him sitting at a table in red flannel with a beer in hand, a small smile emerging from behind his facial hair. He’s… hot. And too old for you. Fuck it. You send him a lily. Then you throw your phone down and pace all night wondering if he’ll send you one back.

In the morning, you're matched with Joel.

—

You ask Joel out for drinks. Immediately within your first message. All the dating advice given to you by the Internet says not to wait. Get to know someone as fast as possible for best results. No time to get attached if it doesn’t work out. You’re not much of a texter anyway, so you ask him if he wants to grab some beers at your favorite dive bar. You hate beer. You hate dive bars. But, you’d be willing to drink a thousand pale ales if it meant you got to share this attractive man’s air supply.

Joel simply says, “Yes.”

—

You realize you stand out at the bar. And not in a good way. You wanted to wear something to reflect your personality. So, you picked out a baby pink bodycon dress that stops at the middle of your thighs. You paired it with your favorite white ankle strap heels. Perfect for a night club. Not for meeting a middle aged dad at a dive bar. You decided you’d worry about that later.

You’re early. Like always. You belly up to the bar, unsure of what to order. You assume they don’t have your favorite brand of white wine, so you ask for your dad’s go-to. Whiskey on the rocks. It’s bitter, and you begin to gag as a man comes up behind you, resting his hand on the small of your back. The smell of sandalwood and dirt pierces your nostrils. You turn to see Joel. He’s wearing jeans and that red flannel from his picture.

“I like women who can hold their liquor,” he states, looking you up and down.

“Well, that’s not me,” you wince, eager to change the subject. “You must be Joel?”

You choose to go for a hug, he holds out his hand instead. The two of you stare at each other, reaching a stalemate, the jukebox in this shitty ass bar blasting a country song you hate. You shake his hand. Noticing his fingers are rough, calloused, and thick. Probably from the guitar playing. Maybe he really is a rockstar.

You sit down on the bar stool, crossing your legs as best as you can. It’s probably not wise to flash a man on the first date. Joel requests a beer from the bartender, and the two of you look anywhere but each other. You start to ask questions.

“So. You play guitar?”

“Yeah.”

“What music do you play?”

“All kinds.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite song to play?”

“Don’t know.”

You pound back your whiskey, slam the glass on the counter, and motion the bartender for another.

“Is that your daughter in your picture?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sarah.”

“Oh, that’s nice. How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

“Cool. You a single dad then?”

“Yeah.”

You squint at him. This is worse than pulling teeth without Novocain. You decide to launch the ball into his court.

“So. Is there anything you wanna know about me?”

“Yeah, actually. Ain’t you the one who fucked Tommy? While he was still married?”

Your skin ignited. The wind completely knocked out of you. How does he know about… that? How does he know about the guy you slept with one time in college? And even worse, does he know how much you enjoyed the affair, even though you ruined that guy’s marriage and, ostensibly, the rest of his life?

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” you muse, trying to keep your cool.

Joel slams the beer bottle on the counter, its contents flying out the neck and hitting your dress. You stand up, wobbly deer in headlights.

“How do you know?” is all you can whisper.

“Because he’s my brother.”

Tears began welling up in your eyes, your hands shaking. “I was 21, I didn’t know any better.”

“Whatever.” Joel says, turning away from you.

You grab your purse and sprint to the bathroom. Congratulations, you’ve just set a new record for the world's worst first date.

—

You stare in the mirror. Tears streaming down your face. Your makeup is ruined. You’ve accepted that. You’re so angry that this old memory is bubbling up to the surface. The one you’ve tried so hard to push down for the past six years. You met Tommy at a bar while out with your college friends. You noticed the wedding ring, the framed photos on the walls of his living room, but you fucked him anyways. And you left your underwear behind for his wife to find. You enjoyed every moment of it. You even got off to the memories of that one night stand for months after the fact. You’re a goddamn monster. You’ve accepted that.

But, what you can’t accept is that Joel just ruined your favorite dress.

You take a deep breath between sobs, scrounging through your purse for a Xanax. The bathroom door is kicked open, and you turn to yell at the intruder to get out.

But, it’s Joel.

You stare at him with a blank expression while he locks the door behind him. Something you were too distressed to do.

“What are you doing?” you whisper. “Haven’t you had enough from humiliating me in public?”

“No,” he exhales.

Joel quickly shoves you up against the wall. Your purse and its belongings clatter against the dirty floor. You gulp as his left arm leans against the wall, the other reaching up to caress your cheek.

“What was it like?” he asks.

“What was... what like?” you counter.

“Don’t get smart with me.”

You feel like you should be scared. But, you’re not. If anything, you’re super turned on right now while the brother of the man you had an affair with all those years ago begins to fondle you in the bathroom of a dive bar.

Joel’s right hand grabs your breast, he toys with it while staring into your eyes. You can’t help but moan and he pinches harder.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“It was… It was stupid. I was a dumb college girl and what I did was wrong.”

“Then, why’d you do it?”

You swallow. His hand moves down, brushing against your stomach, heading towards the hem of your dress.

“Is this how you treat every girl on the first date? Corner her and interrogate her li-li-like a creep?” you try to sound venomous, but your words are shaky. He notices.

“You can leave any time you want, babygirl.”

The word “babygirl” causes a sensation to ripple through your core. You feel a wetness spreading between your thighs. What the fuck is wrong with you?

You finally answer, “I just wanted his attention. I’ve always liked… Older men.”

Joel pauses, his hand hovering over your thighs. He meets your gaze again.

“Do you now?”

Then he pounces. Before you can even comprehend what’s happening, his fingers are inside your underwear, rubbing your clit. Your head hangs forward as you moan against his touch.

“That what you sounded like when Tommy touched you?”

“N-no,” you sputter, your hips bucking up involuntarily.

“I wanna hear what you sounded like.”

Joel spins you around so you’re facing the wall now, his fingers still groping your pussy. He hikes up your dress and pulls your underwear to the side.

“Wh-why do you wanna hear? You a pervert?” you shoot back at him, but your body betrays you and a gush of wetness secretes from between your thighs.

“You’re a naughty fuckin’ girl, you know that?” Joel mutters in your ear. You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, something prodding against your back. Something big.

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson,” he adds, his fingers now tracing your entrance.

“For what? Fucking your brother? Sounds like someone’s jealous,” you spit. “Like you can still get it up anyway.”

And with that, Joel’s fingers pound into you, a whine fleeing your throat. It hurts at first, but the enjoyment you’re experiencing is quickly overpowering. You shudder at the way his fingers glide in and out of you at a rapid pace.

“Too quiet,” Joel grumbles, biting at your neck. “I wanna hear what you sounded like.”

“You wanna hear me? I’ll make sure everybody in the fucking bar hears me,” you hiss back at him and begin to wail with pleasure.

You quickly feel a pressure growing inside your lower belly. You feel startled, your hands grasping against the wall for anything to hold onto.

“Did Tommy make you cum like this?” Joel whispers in your ear.

You shake your head violently. How does this man know you’re so close already?

“Wanna hear you, babygirl.”

Fuck. There it is again.

You moan Joel’s name as loud as you physically can while your body tenses up and you ultimately surrender to its release. You glance in the mirror on the other side of the room. Watching yourself get finger fucked by this strange old man in a bar bathroom sends you over the edge. What kind of person have you turned into?

Before you can even catch your breath, you feel the tip of his cock plunging into you. You let out a yelp, and you feel Joel’s hand on top of yours. He’s still covered in your cum, and his fingers interlace with yours.

“If you can fuck Tommy, you can take daddy’s cock.”

Your eyes are nearly bulging out of your fucking skull. You try to distract yourself from how turned on you are, how your pussy is already throbbing for more. Especially at the mere mention of Joel calling himself, “daddy.”

“Daddy, huh? You really are a pervert,” you cough as Joel pushes into you.

“You need to be punished,” is all he says. You feel his cock sitting inside you, but Joel doesn’t move. You start whining, rocking your hips back and forth in an attempt to get friction, something, anything. Joel’s hands are immediately on your hips, forcing you to sit still.

“You ruined my favorite dress, the least you can do is make me cum,” you snap at him, squirming in place.

“And you ruined my brother’s life, the least you can do is take your punishment like a good girl.”

This was the most you’d heard him speak all evening. Was he really this hung up on something that happened years ago? And not even directly to him?

Before you can unleash another quip, a heavy groan escapes Joel as he begins to pump relentlessly. Guess he had enough of trying to punish you too.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” he snarls, his fingers digging into your hips again, bruises already forming underneath your soft skin.

“I always get what I want,” you murmur, feeling the pressure building inside you again. Your body starts clenching down on his, you begin to pant against the wall. You’re so fucking close.

“Don’t think so, babygirl,” Joel grunts, quickly pulling out.

Instinctively, you whine, and are about to call him a two pump chump when you realize he’s cumming all over your back. His sticky essence dripping down your skin. Your pussy throbs, dissatisfied with the neglect he gave you. Turning around, you see his pants already buckled again and he’s taking off his flannel, tossing it at you. Before you can process what is happening, you glance in the mirror realizing there are now not only beer stains, but also cum stains all over your favorite dress. You catch the shirt in your hands and stand there, mouth agape, as Joel leaves the restroom in a huff.

—

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel x you #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou

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ludwigplayingthetrombone · 3 months

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Hello! Firstly I wanted to say that I'm an old fan since your overwatch days and I've always admired how much depth you're giving all the characters and relationships you touch! I'm talking like, mariana trench DEPTHS. And how confident you seem about just doing the things you enjoy and exploring the themes you want? I really respect that.

I'm having a bit of an art crisis recently and I was wondering If you could offer some advice?

I'm thinking about self-indulgence in art, particularly fanart. I like to dive in deep to expand on characters, I find it as enjoyable as creating my own work. But I fear of people getting angry at me for latching onto these characters, thay they'll say the original work wasn't THAT deep, or that I'm completely wrong or cringe or whatever. And I don't care about being right or anything, I just want to have fun here and tell my little stories? :( The fear is making me keep the work to myself and I don't know what to do. Would it be better to just enjoy it on my own?

Your blog really is goals when it comes to that, so I'll respect your opinion a lot. Thank you for your time!

holy moly thank you so much for your sincerity first of all!! Second, this is making me misty eyed ngl!! I have alot to say about this so i shall put it under a read more bc im gonna ramble

If someone cares about you fixating on your fave characters, then they're usually the fucking weirdos in this situation if they dont just block you and move on. I LOVE making shit up about my faves like i have a modern au hc that kakashi and gai are ddr competition rivals and i gave yeehan 7 dogs just for funsies!! we were in the trenches in early overwatch making up our own lore bc there was none and it was so fun

I've always been like that now that i look back bc when i first started uploading my shitty ms paint fanart on deviant art in like 2006(naruto funnily enough we've come full circle) i was still drawing cringey shit /I/ wanted to see. I don't agree with almost all of it today, but i remember the fun i had while making it, and that's really the trick. Drawing what you personally want to see then people can come and go audience wise. If they like it, they like it, if they dont? oh well! There's people who still follow me from when i was 14 and i follow them even tho we're in completely different spaces now.

The fanart part i vibe with personally bc im really bad at coming up with totally original work and premises. i much prefer having pre-established rules and worlds to work with (plus the characters i love getting massacred in the writing i HAVE to save them)

Just existing online will garner you mean comments or asks, and my best advice is its not worth it to take the bait even if its absolutely absurd and wrong, i just block and go now, and im much happier :) this all being, of course, as long as what you're doing isnt harmful, bc even with good intentions, you'll mess up/blunder eventually. If the heat gets too much for you, no one will judge you for withdrawing your art from social media. thats a perfectly safe thing to do to keep it for yourself.

As an adult, shits not that serious im 28 drawing naruto fanart bc it makes me happy after a long day of work, so have fun!! art's supposed to be fun don't let the fear win i love sharing my art with strangers on the internet!! Hope this made any sense at all and I wish you the best, my friend!!! If you ever wanna dm me, feel free

#asks #happy tag #if we survived early overwatch fans we can survive anything

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theloveinc · 10 months

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thinking about.. retired!dilf-but-no-kids!deku.. and the hedonistic lifestyle he starts living the second he retires as no. 1 hero..

the thing about him.. he’s nasty, his house becomes a blacklight’s nightmare, there’s a certain musk that begins to linger in the air as a result of his new.. hobby.

the hobby being wrapping a hand around his cock and talking to strangers on the internet.. watching copious amounts of porn.. spending his massive amounts of wealth on toys and custom vids from his favorite pornstars of both genders..

he’s still the symbol of peace in the physical sense.. all soft muscle and titan-like build.. but in character? fat chance.

He’s just like every other sleazy old man who loves busting nuts above everything else, he loves sleeping in and immediately taking care of his morning wood, loves having porn on the living room tv and watching it like it’s the news, loves wearing the same pair of undies for days on end.

(bonus)

he coaxes you into this lifestyle after getting together with you, convinces you to quit your job and slowly pulls back the mask of nobility he created. <3

ur horny old bf who just wants to live carefree and hornily alongside you. <3

He... is........................... DISGUSTING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fucking ass print sweat stain on his office chair from constantly jerking off, he’ll answer the phone and even FaceTimes right in the middle of a diddle, hair pushed back with all that natural grease, face all sweaty and pink!! He barely even cares to listen, either—too distracted by the screen full of ass behind the electronic brick to give a damn about taxes or Bakugo’s latest complaints or whatever else it is.

(Until it's you who's calling, then he's finally willing to listen even if he's still going to ask you to flash your tits at him by the end of the call...)

But he’ll even do this in person, when he’s busy looking at his collection of your home videos and someone comes into his office, or even you, yourself, get close enough for him to touch your tits. Rather than paying attention to the words, he’ll hone in on the way your body feels in his hands, the image of your pretty pussy on screen… and soon enough he’s so spaced out that he’s hard, leaky and desperate to get into your panties for real.

And god, when he walks around the house with his cock out… it’s horribly sexy but emphasis on HORRIBLE… you don’t know whether to love it or hate it, especially when he cages you into the closest wall and grinds himself wet and sticky in between your thighs, whining just to let him have you, that he wants a treat :((((( ... just tweak his nipple a little, put your fingers, yes, baby, there... or get on your knees for him pleasepleaseplease, he doesn’t care that you’re busy, he’s a fiend itching for a fix.

That old acting like a damn teenager!!! A bitch in heat! And he doesn't even care, not after spending his whole life working his ass of for the benefit of other people. It's his turn to enjoy himself.

And don’t you dare tell him about any interest you have in his friends… boys, girls, anyone and he’ll practically pay to watch you get fucked by them. To see one of his high school friends rub their pussy on your face or spit cum back into your mouth (or vice versa)... only for you to pull him into the mix, too... he's so, SO sick!!

...At least when you're together he's able to get rid of his horrible collection of video downloads and hundreds of dollars worth of escort subscriptions... and get tested for STDS... and starts to clean his sheets once in a while... and eating better... and—I give up.

#deku #SORRY IF I DIDN'T GET THE VIBES RIGHT I DIDN'T KNOW HOW I WANTED TO RESPOND FOR A LONG TIME #I WANTED TO CAPTURE THE. SAME NASTY BUT I DIDN'T KNOW HOW AND I FEEL BAD #SO.I HOPE THIS IS ALRIGHT I LOVED THIS LMFAOOO EVEN THO HE IS DIRTYYYYYYYYY #ADJKFHALSUIDFHsdh #caitie things #gen #caitie answers #anon

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aromantic-diaries · 8 months

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hello. i know that this is not a help blog (feel free to delete this ask) but i need help and i don't know where else to go.

i am barely old enough to be on the internet, and it can be argued that i am too young to know whether i am ace, but the thought of puberty (as in increasing libido and beginning to feel sexual attraction and/or romance) horrified and disgusts me. i tried asking my mom for advice, but all she would say was that i was too young to know.

i don't want to be a late bloomer. i don't want to bloom at all. i'm terrified that puberty will turn me into something that isn't me. i cannot stress how genuinely horrifying sexual attraction and libido are to me. i don't know how i would cope if i felt either of them.

i just. even if you don't want to answer this ask, could you just say something like "hey anon, you know who you are, x could probably help you". please

Okay, first thing's first stay safe on the internet. Anyways I don't believe in telling people they're too young to know if they're ace but I do think it's probably easier to know if you're ace or not once you've hit puberty

Now as someone who's gone through puberty, one thing I can assure you of is that it doesn't just creep up on you and get you all of a sudden, for the most part the changes occur slowly and steadily. A lot of it is pretty uncomfortable and feels gross but that's mostly cause as a kid you're kind of taught that bodies are taboo when really that's just how we're put together. Having a body is gross sometimes and that's okay. As for libido and sexual attraction, I think it's best to take it slow and learn about it from a safe source. I know sex ed is flimsy in most schools and I was unfortunate enough to learn about sex through the internet which lead to a lot of confusion so I recommend asking a trustworthy adult that you feel safe with to explain things to you. If that's not an option, there's probably some good sources online or in your local library. Understanding sexuality can make it a lot less scary

I don't know if you're ace or not. If the idea of sex makes you uncomfortable as of now, it could be cause you're still very young. Regardless of what the case is, you don't have to rush into it. Your safety is important and I should warn you that the internet is a scary place and finding porn is way too easy, and being exposed to that stuff at a young age can seriously mess with your brain chemistry. If you do end up experiencing sexual attraction, the most important thing is to explore it safely. Don't interact with people in NSFW spaces on the internet, if you reeeally want to look at that stuff, only lurk. There's a lot of creeps online and any adult who isn't a creep will tell you to stay out of these online spaces for the sake of your own safety. Same goes for reading fanfic. No one can really stop you from reading it if you want to read it but the 18+ warning is there for a reason. As for actually having sex, only do it once you know you're ready and with someone you really do like. And if you are ace after all, I recommend taking the time to learn about the identity so you can understand yourself better.

I should also mention that having a libido is something that can happen even if you do turn out to be asexual. This is because if someone's a mammal with all their parts in tact they'll come equipped with a reproductive system and all it's functions, regardless of whether or not they want to use it. So don't be alarmed if you feel stuff even though you don't really want to do anything about it, it might feel uncomfortable but that's mother nature for you.

I hope I could make this whole ordeal a bit less intimidating for you, apologies if I sound condescending at times, I'm just trying to talk about things without being creepy (at the end of the day I am still a stranger)

If anyone in the audience has some good resources that could be helpful for youngsters, it'd be greatly appreciated

#anon #mail time

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phoenixyfriend · 1 month

Note

I liked hearing your post about hearing Israelis out and I'm Jewish with Israeli friends but I have one issue and I'd like to hear your opinion on it. Unsurprisingly extremism especially after something as traumatic as oct 7th is rampant, the ensuing violence in Gaza and less so throughout Israel and the West Bank has ensured that civilians everywhere more easily fall victim to extremism in the face of desperate and scary times. I know these friends and I know where their hearts lie however I have a hard time drawing the line between allowing the processing of trauma and calling out bullshit because they become defensive really fast. At this point I'm really tired and it feels like there's so many more important issues that should be talked about, not just the same old feelings that are based on paranoia. I don't know.. Its really hard to avoid extremism in general online right now and I just want to know how to better confront people on their traumas. Sighs.

Hey anon.

I feel for you, but a general rule of the internet is: do not trauma dump on strangers. I know you framed it as asking for advice, but just reading this ask ratcheted up my anxiety.

I do not know you. I do not know your friends. I am not a professional, and I try to be very clear on that front. This is a situation that needs to be handled delicately, and I am just not anywhere near close enough to it to give advice on what you can do here. Delicate interpersonal relationships need details and context, and I am an internet stranger.

My post is about propaganda and how it can affect policy, because I have been talking a lot about geopolitics. I am not a psychologist, or a relationship therapist, or anything in that vein. I am not qualified to give advice, especially in something like this.

Please, please talk to a professional for guidance. If you're in school, talk to a guidance counselor. If you're not, maybe your employer offers mental health benefits. I don't know and I cannot know, because you are an online stranger.

Please, people, do not ask me for advice on your personal lives. I am very bad at personal lives. It's also just... inappropriate.

#Anonymous #phoenix answers asks #israel #current events

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glacierruler · 4 months

Text

I wanna talk about something...

There was a post I saw a few days ago, that's a few years old at this point(50% sure op deactivated, but I forget). Where they were talking about how their teacher was talking about internet safety and not giving your address to a stranger on the internet because of the dangers.

op basically told their teacher that their internet friends wouldn't take advantage of them. And said to rb if you weren't a predator or smth like that. And it sort of spiraled from there. And there's two things I want to talk about with that.

Again, this post is a few years old, and no hate to op. I get it, no one wants to believe that someone they're close to or think they're close to would do something bad.

I want to make something clear here. I AM NOT SAYING THAT YOU SHOULDN'T EVER MEET YOUR INTERNET FRIENDS!

It was kind of clear to me that op was probably a younger teenager at the time this post was made(based on the fact that I was pre-teen to young teens when I started getting told things like this, and assuming that they didn't lie about their age to make an acc, which in the US is young teen years). And those years are lonely, or at least they were for me, and it seemed that way for op based on their post. But at the same time, it's not safe to give internet strangers the exact address of your house. Especially if you're not an adult.

And yes, I know I'm not the best example of this. Considering my mental breakdown a little while ago.

However, there are safe ways to meet your internet friends. Meetup in a public area, bring someone you trust irl(if you're not an adult I suggest bringing a trusted adult with you)(and encourage them to do the same!) I am not saying you shouldn't meet your internet friends irl, but it's best to be safe about it. Because at the end of the day you only know the internet persona they put on, you don't know them!

But this isn't just about that.

It's about the fact that people took that post, and then called those who scrolled past or didn't/wouldn't reblog it predators. I get that it's reblog bait in a sense. And I fall for a lot of reblog bait, I'm always scared that someone's going to hate me because I decided not to rb something. Intrusive thoughts and Anxiety are not a fun combo when seeing most of those posts. And I'm probably going to still fall for reblog bait after this as well.

And I guess this is a more general statement, but still. No one should be called names(homophobic, transphobic, aphobic, predator, etc...) because they didn't want to reblog a post. It's one thing to comment something like "reblogging this could save a life," under a post with important information. I prefer those ones, because they tell you the good impact that you could have by reblogging it.

But it's another to call people names, to say that they're a horrible person for not rbing it. And I know I've rbed stuff like that before, and I can't say that I'll be able to stop. But here's why:

I have this terrible terrible fear of people leaving me, of not being perfect enough and people hate me for it.

And these posts, they make it worse, because all of a sudden, if I don't reblog then they're talking about me. Because I saw the post and didn't reblog it. That is who these comments state they are for. And I hate it so much because I know that I'm giving this anxiety to someone else who feels similarly when I've reblogged it. But it's hard not to, when that feels like the only option. When the other option makes it feel like I'm going to lose friends, or that people will associate me with these horrible things.

I've gotten better at ignoring those posts, but I still reblog them. It's hard for me not to, almost impossible at times. And, I'm not mad at the people who reblog them, either in good faith or because they have a very similar fear to mine. But I am mad at the people who make the comments calling people those horrible things, with no regard for the context or how that affects(effects?) other people.

It sucks, because this isn't something that I can say will never happen again. I know it will. But it's also something that I am so sick and tired of.

#glacier rambles #ok to rb #(there were some personal things in here which is why i put the prev tag)#i didn't word it very well sorry about that #serious #i'll be rbing this on my rb acc to that way people over there see it as well #honestly i think that post was just the straw that broke the camel's back

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1863-project · 6 months

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This is silly but you're the only blog I have notifications on for and I changed my Tumblr notification sound a while back, so every time you post or reblog I just hear "Hello my little tism! I can sense the autism radiating off of you, very nice!" in an Emmet voice. It adds to the experience of being online, I think. (I mean all of this in a very positive way, for the record.)

Hi, anon. I do appreciate that this is likely meant to be a compliment, so thank you. However…it's a bit of a weird thing to do for a stranger you don't talk to. It actually comes across as a little infantilizing, even if that isn't your intent.

I'm just some guy. I'm not an internet celebrity. I'm a 34-year-old archivist who knows a lot about trains and happens to be autistic. This is the sort of thing you do with a friend you've known for a while, not a stranger, and it might serve you well to think about the implications of how parasocial this seems. I don't know you, and you don't know me.

I'm glad you like my blog enough to get notifications from me, and I always appreciate people associating me with Emmet, but it's important to make the distinction that I'm not someone you know personally and that it's a bit unusual to set a phone notification with a sound effect that makes it seem like you do.

Thanks for reaching out, and please think about this - I know you don't want the people you admire to be uncomfortable, right? That includes me. Intent doesn't equal impact, so even if you have the best of intentions, remember that things won't always be received that way, and respect people's responses accordingly! Thanks for your time.

#replies

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couldntbedamned · 10 months

Text

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 26

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best

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Chapter 26

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Three days after their six-month anniversary, Peter was a mess of nerves. He'd woken up much earlier than he'd wanted, even though the night before Stephen had said they could have a lie-in until at least seven-thirty and they'd stop at the local coffee shop for donuts prior to their appointment at the BCSS office.

"Peter," Stephen said, taking the tie he'd worried into a wrinkled mess and setting it aside. "Everything is going to be fine." He picked another tie after looking at what Peter was wearing and after positioning Peter just so, went about tying it for him.

"I know, I know," Peter fussed. "I can't help that I'm nervous."

"We'll get through this and then we'll enjoy the rest of our day, hmm?" Stephen adjusted the tie with a critical look. "There's a new exhibit at the natural history museum in Upper York."

That got Peter's attention. "Really?"

"Yes. It's based on the latest findings from deep sea explorations."

"That sounds both exhilarating and potentially terrifying," Peter said.

"Agreed." Stephen looked at his Kang watch. "We should get going."

"And my tie looks good?" Peter asked.

"I tied it," Stephen said with a smirk. "Of course it looks good."

"Who are we talking with, again?" Peter asked as they waited in the lobby of the satellite office.

"I'm meeting with Mr. Fury and you're meeting with Ms. Hill," Stephen said after consulting the confirmation message he'd received when making their appointment.

"Okay, good."

"Do you know them?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Kind of. Fury was the head custodian and assessor of my dorm while I was here. He didn't like me. Well, he didn't like any of us, really, but especially me."

Stephen's eyes narrowed. "What was his problem?" Who on earth would dislike Peter?

"I wasn't submissive enough, I guess." Peter shrugged. "I wasn't humble enough, either, and didn't know my place."

"And Hill?"

"She's mostly okay. She's kind of a hard-ass but she was always fair." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't here all that long, right? I was here for less than a month."

It was an incredible thought.

Less than a month and in that time Stephen had visited to inquire about selecting a spouse. He’d happened to catch a glimpse of Peter playing chess in their recreation hall and his decision had been made.

Foolhardy, sure.

But Peter was beautiful. Stephen had barely even skimmed over the profile the Assessor had reluctantly given him, claiming that Peter wasn’t “as gracefully settled into his place here as we’d prefer our potential spouses to be.” He'd ignored the stack of profiles that the Assessor had laid out ready for his review.

But what was done was done.

He hadn’t wanted a spouse, at all. But he had wanted Peter.

Now he had Peter and he'd be damned if anyone but Peter ended their marriage.

They'd sat waiting for close to twenty minutes before someone approached them.

"Appointment for Strange?" At Stephen's nod, the woman and her companion offered them a brief smile. "Good morning," the older woman said. "I'm Agent Melinda May. For this part of your Sixth-Month Assessment, you'll be interviewed separately." She motioned to the other woman. "This is Agent Kara Palamas. She'll escort Mr. Strange and Dr. Strange, you can follow me."

Peter reluctantly followed Assessor Palamas at Stephen's nod. "How long will the first part take?" He asked.

"It usually lasts for about two hours," the woman said. "It may go longer if your Assessor feels there's a need to dig deeper."

That didn't reassure Peter at all. He didn't know why it would need to be that long. Just what were they expecting from him?

Peter was shown into a bright office that he unfortunately recognized from roughly seven months prior.

Why was he in Fury's office? He was supposed to be meeting with Hill!

"Just have a seat and Nick will be with you shortly."

Peter wanted to protest and insist there had been a mistake. But he wanted the Assessment over more.

He plopped himself in a chair and did his best to relax. It was just a few hours in total. Just a few hours and then he and Stephen would go to Upper York and have a nice rest of their day.

"Mr. Parker," came a smooth voice. "Welcome back."

"It's Mr. Strange," Peter corrected, looking at the man.

Nick Fury was a tall black man who always seemed to know something everyone else didn't. He was suspicious by nature and rarely amused. He'd run Peter's dormitory with an iron fist and Peter, for some reason, had been the subject of his ire and disdain from the moment the BCSS had moved him to Sanctum Heights.

"Ah, yes. Your Selecting spouse is the renowned Dr. Strange. You did well for yourself, landing a doctor. I'd have never believed it if I hadn't seen the contract with my own eyes."

"I wasn't trying to land anyone," Peter said. And he hadn't been. He'd just been trying to keep out of jail and off the streets. He knew he'd lucked out with Stephen.

"We had a slew of candidates hand-picked for Dr. Strange," Fury told him, sitting down behind his giant desk. "We'd chosen the best candidate profiles to present to him. Each one was educated, accomplished in a variety of ways, and exactly the kind of person who could move with ease in a top-surgeon's privileged world. But instead he insisted on you."

Peter shrugged. "I can't speak for my husband." But Stephen wanted me, Peter thought. He thought I was beautiful and he picked me. He didn't see the fuss himself, but apparently Stephen did.

"No, no you can't. I'm glad you've retained some of the education we tried to provide you. You weren't exactly receptive to self-improvement."

Peter bit his tongue. No, he hadn't been receptive to Fury's attempts to browbeat him into submission. He wasn't going to act like he was some lesser person just because he was a selected spouse. The other custodians hadn't expected it of him; why did Fury?

"We might as well get started," Fury said. "There's quite a list to get through." He motioned to a thick packet. "And I'll be recording this."

"Did Stephen sign off on that?" Peter asked. He knew Stephen would need to.

"He did," Fury said.

"I want to see it," Peter insisted.

With a put-upon sigh, Fury printed off a document from his computer.

Peter reviewed it carefully and sure enough, there was Stephen's signature - he recognized it well. "Okay, then."

Fury started to ask Peter questions.

"How was your first day as spouses?"

Peter considered. "Long, kind of a blur, looking back. We had a nice dinner and then went home."

"And did you allow your Selecting spouse to assert his rights?"

Peter fought the blush that wanted to creep up on his neck and face. He succeeded, even! "I did," he said evenly. "I don't deny him."

"And to your knowledge, is he satisfied with your performance?"

"I enjoy sex with you Peter, very much, and as you've experienced, I have no problem indulging."

"Yes."

"How can you be sure?"

Really? That was important for them to know? "If Stephen is unhappy with something, he has no problem making it known."

Eventually Fury started back on the packet and went down the list of questions. Peter gave simple answers, much to Fury's annoyance.

Do you have any concerns regarding your marriage?

No, I don't have any concerns regarding my marriage.

Peter really didn't, not after the progress they'd made. It wasn't something he'd exactly wanted, but he was content now.

Do you have any concerns regarding your Selecting Spouse?

No, I don't have any concerns regarding my Selecting Spouse.

Stephen was a good husband and very fair. For the first few weeks, he'd been very concerned, but he and Stephen had found their rhythm soon enough. Now, he knew that Stephen at least cared about him. His biggest concern was how lonely Stephen seemed to be, sometimes.

Are you afraid to express your thoughts and emotions to your Selecting Spouse?

No, I'm not afraid to express my thoughts and emotions to my Selecting Spouse.

Peter felt that he and Stephen were in a good place. Peter knew that Stephen found his smart mouth amusing most of the time. And the times Stephen didn't... well, Peter's ass paid for it. He had a much better idea of where the line was.

Do you feel alone?

No, I don't feel alone.

He didn't, not really. Stephen wasn't the most outgoing of people but they spent plenty of time together. Stephen went out of his way to keep their date nights on Friday evenings.

What communication obstacles do you face?

Our biggest obstacle to communication is that neither of us are big on sharing, let along oversharing.

He and Stephen were both private people. But they'd gotten better about it, for sure.

On and on the questions went. Peter answered truthfully to the best of his ability, even though some questions, like Do you feel sexually satisfied in your marriage? were embarrassing enough that even keeping his answers short and to the point, he couldn't control his blushing, much to Fury's amusement.

Every so often Peter would give an answer and that would prompt Fury to ask more questions. Peter had no idea just what the man was looking for.

As the clock showed the two hour mark approaching, Fury finished up with his packet.

"Wait right here while I go check in with Ms. Hill," Fury said. "Then you'll move into the next phase of this assessment."

Left alone in the office, Peter stood and started pacing. It was stupid, to let this room have any kind of power over him when he was so clearly out of the man's grasp. It was just another office, occupied by just another man who for some reason, felt that Peter was an easy mark.

Had Fury even read the books on the shelves? And just who was he friends with that he'd take a picture with?

Peter stepped closer to look at the photo.

His heart went cold.

It was a photo of Fury... with Quentin Beck.

Stephen followed Assessor May to an office where she bid him to sit.

"They'll be right with you," she said.

He sat, hoping Peter was doing okay. His young husband had been a nervous wreck; it hadn't mattered how many times Stephen tried to reassure him. He'd have to treat him that afternoon - maybe something in addition to their trip to the natural history museum.

"Dr. Strange, I'm Assessor Maria Hill."

He studied the woman who entered the office and frowned. "I thought I was going to be speaking with Assessor Nick Fury."

Hill checked the packet she carried. "Nope. Must have been an error. Sometimes the system puts assessors in the wrong order." He very much doubted that. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"No, thank you." He held up his bottle of water and briefly wondered if Fury was extending Peter the same offer.

"We'll be going over some basic questions, all routine. And as you've previously approved, we'll be recording this visit."

"That's fine with me."

"Tell me about your first day as a married couple."

Oh, hell. This was a mistake.

"It was busy, what with the time spent here signing the contract, meeting, and then marrying Peter. We had a nice dinner out and then went home. It was pleasant enough, if awkward."

He'd been ecstatic that Peter was his and determined to not let any of that show. He hadn't lied when he told Peter that day that he hadn't wanted a spouse; he still resented having his hand forced. But oh, he could hardly bring himself to do much talking over dinner because he couldn't quite believe that it was actually real.

"And did Peter allow you to assert your rights at his Selecting Spouse?"

"He did, yes."

It hadn't been a smooth night, certainly. Peter had been emotionally wrought and defaulted to angry words in an attempt to push the inevitable back. Stephen had tried to give him some time to clear his head and when that hadn't worked... Well, he'd had to put Peter over his knee and inform him exactly how things were going to be.

It was nothing like how he'd wanted their first night to go, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

"Is there anything you'd like to add to that?" Hill asked, looking amused.

"No," he said flatly. It was none of their business.

"Are you satisfied with Peter's performance?"

What the hell kind of question was that?

"I don't understand the question," he answered.

"Was Peter's submission that night acceptable to you?" Hill rephrased.

"Yes."

Peter had submitted so beautifully to him in bed later that night and knowing that he was Peter's first still gave him a rush of euphoria he didn't think would ever fade. If things worked out the way he wanted them to he'd be Peter's only.

Hill wrote something down on her packet and then started going through the questions. He kept his answers simple and to the point. They didn't need to know the inner-workings of his marriage to Peter. Peter was his husband and what they thought didn't matter.

Do you have any concerns regarding your marriage?

I do not.

He and Peter were in a good place, he thought. They'd struggled some the first couple of months but overall he felt they were doing well.

Do you have any concerns regarding your Selecting Spouse?

No, Peter is wonderful and I have no concerns regarding him.

Peter was a bratty little smartass who was almost too clever for his own good and still too quick to brush off his own needs. He was funny, kind, generous, and just so... good it nearly hurt to be around him sometimes. But oh, he adored Peter.

Are you afraid to express your thoughts and emotions to your Selecting Spouse?

I'm not, no.

Well, he was getting better at it, at least. And Peter, whether he knew it or not, was helping with that tremendously. He still preferred to keep his own council, but he couldn't exactly expect Peter to do one thing while he himself did the opposite.

Do you feel alone?

I do not.

Stephen had never been the most outgoing of people and he'd often found connecting with others difficult. There were rare exceptions for people he found himself perfectly comfortable around, like with Tony and Sharon. There were others whose company he enjoyed and whom he admired, like Clea and Ava, Ben, Misty, and hell, even cantankerous Len. Nic was even growing on him.

He'd had a group of close friends and confidants two years ago, before they'd committed what he considered to be a massive betrayal and he'd found himself adrift and determined to bury his loneliness in his work.

Until Peter he hadn't realized how lonely he'd been.

It was hard to stay so closed off when Peter was just so open and friendly.

What communication obstacles do you face?

I can't discuss much about my work but otherwise we're fine.

He was a private person in general, and so, it seemed, was Peter. But they were getting better.

Everything with Peter was just... better.

He was relieved when they worked their way through the packet of questions.

"You know, I wasn't working at this particular satellite office when you approached us, but I've read up on your case. It's kind of funny; when you first inquired about selecting a spouse, the Bureau here bent over backwards to choose profiles they thought would be compatible. They were some of our most educated and accomplished candidates and you barely looked at them. Instead you insisted on a poor young man who'd barely settled in here. Why Peter?"

He hadn't wanted their profiles or their recommendations. Not after he'd caught that glimpse of Peter in the rec room playing chess.

"Call it a gut feeling," he said.

Peter had never been so glad to see Stephen in his life. He needed that cool, calming and protective presence of his like never before. With Stephen, he was safe.

Stephen wouldn't let anything happen to him, not ever.

In a separate waiting room, they sat and waited for the next phase of their assessment.

"Did everything go okay?" Stephen asked him quietly, when Peter's knee wouldn't stop jumping and he took Stephen's hand.

"Yeah, I'm just ready for this to be over," Peter said. It wasn't an outright lie.

"Did Fury upset you?"

Peter sighed and leaned into Stephen. "He always upsets me."

"Well, after today, I doubt you'll ever have to deal with him again," Stephen soothed. "We'll be done with this place."

"You're probably right," Peter agreed. Peter certainly hoped Stephen was right. Knowing what he knew now, he could never risk coming back to the BCSS.

It wasn't long before Assessor Palamas came and escorted them to yet another room.

How many rooms does this damned place have? Peter wondered.

It was the most welcoming space Peter had seen thus far in the entire center. It was light and open, with a cozy little couch across from a dark navy leather armchair. Nothing about it felt sinister, stiff, or overly bureaucratic. It was simply comfortable.

The man who entered - carrying yet another packet, of course - seemed pleasant enough. He smiled at them and following Stephen's lead, Peter rose to shake his hand.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "I'm Agent Triplett. Please, have a seat. I'm sure you've had a long morning so I'll do my best to keep this moving along."

"We appreciate it," Stephen said.

The setting this time didn't leave Peter feeling uncomfortable and Triplett was much nicer than Fury had ever been. There didn't seem to be any artifice in the man, though Peter's radar for that was, he would freely admit, terribly unreliable.

"Overall, how would you describe the current state of your marriage?"

Peter looked to Stephen before answering. When he got the nod to go ahead, he did. "I think we're in a good place," he said. "It was a little rough the first couple of months but we figured it out."

"And do you agree with that assessment, Dr. Strange?"

"I do," Stephen answered.

"Well, you might be relieved to know that that sentiment is fairly common in these marriages. It's when couples say they haven't had any rough spots that we start to worry."

He asked them more questions along the lines of "Do you feel the Bureau did an adequate job in preparing you both for your marriage?" and "Have either of you encountered any resistance from others regarding your marriage?" and "What feedback would you like to provide us?"

Peter followed Stephen's lead in answering and as he did so, felt much better about the day's events than he had prior to speaking to Triplett. Stephen keeping a hold of his hand had helped as well.

"Alright then," Triplett said. "That wraps us up for today. You'll receive a letter in the mail summarizing today's check-in and in five months, additional instructions as you approach the year-end mark. If you have any questions, please, don't hesitate to reach out to me personally." He gave Stephen a business card before shaking their hands again and personally escorting them to the front door.

Six months ago, Peter would have given anything to avoid getting in Stephen's Buick. Now, he wanted to dive into the front seat and beg Stephen to never bring them back.

Now, he'd give anything to stay with Stephen, where he was safe.

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#couldntbedamned fic #spiderstrange #stephen strange x peter parker #peter parker x stephen strange #1950s modern fusion au #1950s au #read the fucking tags and warnings #no seriously read them #GGSHB #goodbye grey sky hello blue

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