Liz’s Crack Corner

18, weeb, nerd, artist

[themetalhiro]

And all was right in the world.

[tetsupeach]

All Must Descend

prince bakugou x f!reader

summary - you pass an eventful night in the dungeon as bakugou reckons with what your appearance means for stability at court. sir kirishima shows his hand.

cws - game of thrones au, same tone as the show. murder, violence, political intrigue, smut, magic, old gods, new gods, choking, true love, lore, allusions to torture, prophecy, reader has brown eyes. dom!bakugou. sub!reader.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 - updates on fridays

please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.

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Prince Bakugou kicks the dusty path in the garden, frowning so hard that deep caverns are forged in his brow, when Kirishima finds him.

“That bad?” He asks quietly.

“I don’t even recognize her.” Bakugou says in a low growl. “She says it won’t rain until we have the churches blessing, and we can’t get gods grace without Amathar’s heir, without her true power my power is fuckin’ useless apparently.” Kirishima nods. “She just repeats it over and over again, Gods Grace,” he mutters, “It’s every fuckin’ word out of her mouth. Maybe my whole family’s crazy, maybe the stories are true, that every leader who sits on the throne of Yuuei is destined for goddamn madness.”

He kicks the gravel path again, the dust gathering at the bottom of his more court appropriate clothing, simple for a prince, but still obviously made of the finest materials, a pair of dark brown trousers, a loose white shirt and leather boots. There's a ceremonial jeweled sword at his hip that he doesn’t take his hand off of while he paces.

“You aren’t.” Kirishima says fiercely. “I’d stake my life on it. And your power is more than enough, you’re unmatched on the battlefield, even when you’re not wielding holy fire.” Bakugou shrugs off the praise, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“What does it say that I don’t want to walk around my own fuckin’ castle without bein’ armed,” he looks up at the sky, dappled with diamond twinkling stars. Kirishima sighs.

“Court’s dangerous, right now, but not for you, Bakugou-”

“I’m not worried about me,” he says, pain creeping into his voice like ivy up a wall, “I’m worried about you, about the people I love, and the people,” he gestures to the city, “The people out there. They’re starvin’ and the only thing I can get the Queen to say about it is that when we find Amathar’s bastard things will get better.” Bakugou spits on the ground. “And now I gotta face that girl, from today. My men killed her family. What the fuck am I supposed to say to her about that?”

“All you can do is tell the truth.” Kirishima reaches out and touches his friend's upper arm. “All you can do is tell her you’re sorry, which you are, and that you’ll do what you can for her.”

“How is she?” Bakugou asks and Kirishima thinks again of the sound of your aching dry sobs, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon.

“Afraid.” Kirishima says quietly. “She’s terrified.”

“My mother wants to meet her.” Bakugou says very quietly. “I convinced her to wait until we’d conducted the ritual to see if she’s a descendent of Nahelenia.”

“I talked to her,” Kirishima says, “I don’t think she’s a spy, or anything at all even. She was probably just lashing out at us because she’s afraid.” Bakugou nods, a hand coming to rest over his heart.

“I can still feel the way she was holdin’ onto me as we rode into the city. I can’t,” He presses his lips together, “I can’t, I don’t know what to say to her. Of course she fuckin’ hates me, but I, I feel like I owe it to her to make sure she lives through this.” He looks out across the moonlight garden, white flowers practically growing in the blue light.

“Well, you do.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s just not making it easy. I’ll take her down to see what might await her, if she doesn’t behave, and that’ll help. But you could always try being,” Kirishima searches for the right words. “Being kind, to her.” Bakugou groans.

“I can’t accommodate her mouth,” He shakes his head, “Or it’ll get her killed. I gotta break her for her own safety.”

“Well and,” Kirishima grins, “As far as problems go, at least she’s one with a pretty face huh?”

“Don’t wanna hear shit about it,” Bakugou starts and Kirishima flashes his palms.

“I’m just saying, maybe once she understands her place here, she’ll be able to show you a little gratitude-” Bakugou swats at his friend. “Bakugou, forgive me, but I’ve never seen a woman ride on your horse.”

“I’m not talkin’ about her.” Bakugou snaps. “I didn’t want her holdin’ your sorry ass at knifepoint again, speakin’ of, if you think we’re not gonna talk about how some peasant girl got the drop on you you’re out of your goddamn mind.” Kirishima blushes.

“I,” he thinks about it, “No there’s not way around it I uh, I underestimated them. None of the women have ever resisted us before. I wonder where she learned to fight.” He pauses, surveying the gardens, attempting to change the subject. “It’s so green here in the palace , it’s easy to forget the troubles of the outside.” Bakugou nods, then an a cloud crosses his face.

“None of the guards touched her?” He asks, and Kirishima nods, teasing smile back on his face.

“She’s not a virgin though, said she’s a widow. Not that you’ve ever shown a preference for virgins, as long as a woman is well behaved.” Bakugou spins on his heels, eyes ablaze with anger and Kirishima flashes his palms, “My king.”

“Yeah that’s right,” The prince snaps, “Remember your goddamn place just in the nick of time.” Kirishima giggles. “S’not funny, you tease me about that shit in front of Queen Mitsuki and she’ll order me to behead you right there.” Kirishima shakes his head, shivering.

“I never speak in front of the Queen.”

“Probably a good move these days.” He stretches a little. “Prophecy said no children, didn’t mention virgin. But uh, I think-”

“Prince Bakugou,” a cool voice breathes, cutting through the silence, Kirishima jumps but Bakugou contains his surprise at being snuck up upon.

“Primogen Tobita.” Bakugou says gruffly, and the older man bows to the Prince and nods to his knight. “Not very priestly of you to be eavesdroppin’.” Kirishima keeps his face neutral, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, but the tall, grey haired man just laughs warmly.

“I’m far too old to be overhearing conversation that isn’t happening right in front of my eyes.” He’s a tall man, though both Bakugou and Kirishima have a few inches on him. His long grey hair is parted down the middle, and despite his claims of age his eyes sparkle with the youth and mischief of a young man. “Though I did hear you had quite an adventure today.” He presses. “I’d love to meet the young woman you liked so much she earned a spot on your saddle.”

“She was trouble.” Bakugou growls. “I needed to keep an eye on her.”

“Well either way, you caught me on my way to the dungeon to pay her a visit.” Bakugou and Kirishima exchange a glance.

“I’ll accompany you.” Kirishima offers. “Someone of your age shouldn’t be wandering the maze of the dungeons, you’ll need an escort.”

“Certainly you’re not worried,” he touches his chest, “About the intentions of a man of the church, who the gods have chosen, are you?”

“I can assure you his only concern was for your safety.” Bakugou says, practically spitting the words. “How fares my mother, Primogen?” The primogen sighs theatrically.

“Overtaken by visions and headaches. Hopefully we’ll find Amathar’s heir soon.” He clasps his hand together. “Perhaps it will be the girl you found today. Excuse me.” He pushes past the group and Bakugou sighs deeply, gesturing to the redhead.

“Follow him.” Kirishima nods, and slips into the darkness. Bakugou re enters the castle, servants scurrying out of his way, determined to see his mother in private. The throne room is filled with the usual lords and ladies, post dinner they’re dancing and drinking to tinkling music, warbling out from a drunken flute player. His mother is in the thick of them, long blond hair braided down her back, cup of wine in her right hand, eyes glassy and far off as she sits on her throne, ignoring the nobles speaking to her. She waves them away at the sight of her son.

“Katuski,” she breathes, reaching for him, “I’ve had the most horrible dream,” he nods, allowing her to hold him close as she stands, leaning heavily against his solid form, “About snakes,” she whispers, “First the wells will dry and then there will be snakes, if we cannot bring peace between our nations. We must find Amathars daughter, please, Katsuki, promise me you won’t stop looking.” He glances around, there are several fountains spitting clear cool water in just the throne room alone, but he couldn’t help but remember how dusty and dry the city had been while riding through it earlier. He nods.

“Of course.”

“And the girl, the girl from today?” She asks, “When can she be tested?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Bakugou replies. “She’s in the dungeon for tonight.” His mother shudders, taking another sip of wine. “I could get you some water?’ He offers gruffly, but she shakes her head, sitting back on the throne, nearly falling asleep immediately.

“I want to meet her.” She says absentmindedly. Bakugou nods again.

“Tomorrow.” He turns abruptly and leaves, not wanting to witness his mother passing out, drunk on her throne.

The moon is high in the night sky when the Primogen makes his way down the steps to the dungeon, moving deep within stone hallways. You’re finally completely dry and asleep against the wall, breathing softly, when the clang of your cell door opening wakes you.

“Hello, there.” Primogen Tobita greets you, and you cower, remembering the Knight’s warnings. He’s tall, about the same height as the prince, with grey hair slicked back from his face, and cool dark eyes. His facial hair is neat, trimmed into a tiny little moustache and just a bit of beard at the end of his chin. His robes are dark and billowing, completely obscuring his silhouette. “No need to be afraid.” He says smoothly. “My name is Primogen Tobita, heretic.” You avert your eyes instinctively. “I understand that you may not want to be disrespectful,” he says, “But I would prefer you look at me.” You lift your head to him, and his breath catches in his throat, your dark eyes clearly visible in the torchlight. “That,” he mutters, to himself, “Is concerning.”

“Sir?” You say quietly, picking the honorific you think is least likely to get you in trouble. You scoot away from him, pressing your back against the stone wall.

“Do you have a name?” You nod. “You have my permission to speak.” He says and you shrug.

“I do have a name.” You answer instinctively and he reaches down and slaps you hard across the face, his rings scratching your skin as stars bloom behind your eyes.

“Try again.” he says, still completely composed.

“F/n.” You choke out, now completely crumpled in the corner. “Please I-” You stop yourself, noticing how he wipes his hand after touching you, your blood on his white handkerchief.

“A follower of the sea goddess.” He mutters. “I should have known, they don’t train their women properly.”

“Do not touch her again.” A voice from behind him makes you both jump, as Kirishima strides into the cell. “You could have just struck royalty, Primogen.” He kneels next to you with a clean rag, dabbing at the blood on your cheek with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

“I’m simply wondering what kind of witchcraft she used to bewitch the prince!” Primogen Tobita stutters, his pert nose crinkling. “I’ve never seen Prince Bakugou so, distracted, in court today when I suggested she be put to death for threatening your life he was,” he pauses, dramatically resting a hand over his heart, “Beside himself. He’s clearly besotted.”

“Prince Bakugou was troubled by the violence our soldiers demonstrated against the townspeople of her small village.” Kirishima says, an edge to his voice, “He knows this kingdom owes her a debt.” There’s a brief pause as he stands facing the Primogen.

You’re struck again by how large he is, the wide span of his shoulders might at a different angle completely obscure Primogen Tobita from your view.

“Thing is, Sir Shinsou spoke with some of the soldiers, who have been regularly attending the masses you lead for the common people.” He takes a step forward, but Primogen Tobita doesn’t step back, “And they told him that you’ve been encouraging soldiers to grant heretics salvation,” he says, his voice now low and threatening, “At the end of their swords.” Primogen Tobita doesn’t miss a beat.

“Clearly, it was a metaphor.” He says, crossing his arms, “For rebirth in death, in the light of the gods.”

“Clearly,” Kirishima takes another step towards him, and this time the older man has the grace to scoot backwards an inch across the stone floor, “That metaphor cost many lives. I trust you will correct this this weekend at service.” The Primogen swallows. “Or,” Kirishima’s fist closes around the hilt of his sword. “I will correct it, for you.”

“Are you threatening me, Sir Kirishima Eijirou?” Primogen Tobita gathers his robes, performatively scandalized, but the knight just chuckles, a slow grin spreading across his handsome face.

“I am, Primogen. I thought you were educated enough to understand that without explanation.” There’s an awkward pause.

“You forget yourself, Sir Kirishima.” Tobita leans forward. “Aeds good favor, once lost, is difficult to regain.”

“I think me and my sword will do just fine.” At that the Primogen sweeps off in a huff and as soon as his back is turned Kirishima looks back at you.

“Was that smart?” You whisper. “Threatening him?”

“It would take a hundred men to take me alive, and more to kill me.” Kirishima says grimly, inspecting you. “I was gonna do this tomorrow, but I need you to understand what can happen to you if you mouth off to men like him.” You swallow, mouth pressing into a tight line.

“I’m not afraid of death.” You whisper, and he frees one of your wrists, handing you his skein of water. You drink quickly, and he helps you to your feet.

“There are things,” he says, leading you out of the cell, “Worse than death.” He offers you his arm, and you take it, your feet bare on the cool stone. He leads you deeper in the dungeon. “I’m not asking for your cooperation anymore.” He says, as you turn a corner, a note of desperation in his voice. “I’m demanding it.” He pushes open a heavy door before you can respond, and the smell of blood and smoke fills your nose. It’s a torture chamber, odd twisting metal, heavy leather whips, a wheel with leather straps on it, turning slowly over a fire. It’s unoccupied. He lets you step forward, your eyes like saucers as you inspect the space, running your hands over the metal spikes that come away with flakes of red dried blood. “I wouldn’t touch anything.” You nod, withdrawing your hands back into your body, genuine fear returning to you.

“You want to help me?” You ask, your voice soft.

“I’m in your debt.” He says simply, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “No harm should have come to your family.” You swallow nervously.

“I would like to, avoid this.” You step back towards him. “I’ll work on um, my demeanor, I can cooperate, if it keeps me from this room.” He notices your hands trembling, and it tugs at him.

“My lady,” he says, reaching for you, pulling you into his chest and rubbing comforting circles in your back, feeling you tremble. “We will protect you, alright if you just-”

“You shouldn’t be alone with her like this.” The purple haired knight from earlier steps into the room from a side door, sending your heart into a sprint.

“I’m not-” Kirishima sputters, “Shinsou you know I wouldn’t-” He grins, waving away the protests.

“You’re trouble.” Shinsou says, inspecting you with a clinical air. His eyes match his hair, and they flick from your waist to your chest, and then back to Kirishima, without stopping at your face. “You didn’t put her with the others, did you?”

“She didn’t have a group so I locked her up alone in the overnight cell.” Kirishima says defensively. “Bakugou likes her, he wouldn’t want her to-”

“So bring her to his bed,” Shinsou interrupts him. “Or follow orders. You’re too soft on them.” You open your mouth, remember the room you're standing in, and close it. Shinsou breaks into a wide smile, “Oooh did he scare you into submission?” You don’t respond, skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool of the dungeon. “Poor little mouse,” he growls, “First time in a trap?”

“Don’t play with her.” Kirishima pushes himself in front of you, he’s got a few inches on Shinsou, and he squares his shoulders, “She’s not either of ours.”

‘That’s right.” Shinsou counters. “So I’m going to take her up to where the other women were held, rather than the comfortable overnight cell.” He rolls his neck. “Get out of my way.” Kirishima flashes his palms and steps aside, letting Shinsou take you roughly by your upper arm, leading you out of the torture chamber, back the way you came. You try biting them back but you can’t stop the words that flow from your lips,

“If that wasn’t supposed to be where I was being held, then how did that priest find me?” Both men freeze, and turn to you.

“A guard showed him where you were, right?” Kirishima says, “I had to keep my distance, so I didn’t see but,”

“No.” You confirm. “He came alone.” Shinsou laughs darkly.

“Trouble.” He half whispers, half sings. “Shall we check on her cell?” Kirishima nods, and the two men draw their swords. They walk in a defensive formation, Shinsou’s eyes narrowed, Kirishima’s jaw set. He rounds the corner before your cell and you hear the clang of metal against metal. Kirishima’s sword collides with another man’s blade, leaping behind Shinsou, hiding your face in his back. Kirishima quickly disarms the assailant, who is dressed fully in black.

“What is the meaning of this?” Primogen Tobita strolls out of your cell, “Unhand that man, the gods have chosen him for a purpose!’”

“What might that be, Primogen?” Shinsou asks casually, leaning against the stone.

“I had a dream,” he says, gesturing with his jewel encrusted hand, “Nahelenia herself came to me, and said I must speak with that woman,” he points at you, “Alone, that she had a secret to tell.”

“So you sent someone with,” Shinsou glances down at the man on the ground, clutching a dark blade, “A poisoned dagger, to speak with her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Primogen huffs. “And I’ll speak with the maiden now.” He holds out a hand, but you don’t take it. “Are you going to defy an order of the church?” He purrs, and you look up at Kirishima, asking for help, but it’s Shinsou that comes to your rescue.

“Actually, we’re here to take her to the castle. Royal Order.” His voice is a low gravel. “You may speak with her tomorrow, after the ritual.” The Primogen scowls.

“If Prince Bakugou requires company, there are a number of courtesans-”

“Actually,” Shinsou cuts him off. “It’s the Queen who asked to speak with her.” If the Primogen is surprised, he doesn’t show it, simply bowing deeply. “And if you’re lucky, I won’t tell her what you said about her son, and,” his lips curl into a sneer, “Courtesans.” He turns to you, offering you his arm. You take it, avoiding eye contact with the Primogen and his man. When you get out of the dungeon, into the night, Kirishima lets out a long breath.

“Fuck,” he says, “Holy fucking shit.”

“You're welcome.” Shinsou sheaths his sword, shaking his head at the other Knight. “One of these days you’re going to have to learn how to play politics.” He says to the redhead who looks sheepish, leading you up the stairs out of the dungeon. Shinsou walks behind you, one hand tightly enclosed around your upper arm.

“I just,” Kirishima sighs, “I get nervous, about church stuff.”

“Was that man going to kill me?” you cut in, eyes wide, and the two knights look at you.

“Almost certainly.” Shinsou says, as if it was stupid that you asked. You nod slowly, and Kirishima opens the door, letting you out into the garden. It’s so early in the morning that the sky is lightening in the east.

“Do we need to take her to the Queen?” Kirishima asks, and Shinsou snorts.

“Queen’s passed out drunk. Just get her ready for the ritual.” He stretches a little. “If the church is worried, maybe she’s the one?” Kirishima nods, looking you over again. “You sure you know who your father is?” You consider, teeth closing on your lower lip.

“Fairly sure, Sir.”

“Sir,” Shinsou cackles, repeating you. “Credit where credit is due, Kirishima, seems like you did a good job scaring the girl. Kirishima rolls his eyes.

“Give her here,” He says, and Shinsou releases you, letting you walk, bare feet in the dirt, over to Kirishima. “We’re headed there.” He points to a tower, “It’s important that you don’t speak to anyone who doesn’t speak to you, alright?” You nod emphatically, and Shinsou scrutinizes you.

“She’s gonna get herself executed in less than a week.” He turns his back on the two of you, “Try not to go down with her.” You swallow a bitter taste, your stomach growling, and let Kirishima lead you through another big pair of double doors, through what must be servants' quarters, people are just starting to wake up. He takes you up a back staircase, it’s narrow and rickety, you nearly trip over the hem of your dress a few times, but he just catches you, large hands closing around your waist and lifting your body into an upright position. You’re tired, your head is buzzing, your stomach aching but you can only assume the lack of food has been intentional. He pushes through a door, and there are squeals.

“Kirishima!” A woman with long dark hair, dressed head to toe in white, “Out, out out,”

“I’ve got the next girl, though!” He protests, “And this isn’t your room, it’s just the tower's antechamber.” You step out from behind him and find yourself engulfed in a warm hug. The woman smells like cedar and patchouli. She takes you by the shoulders, ignoring him.

“I heard you had to bathe in the knights quarters,” She shudders, “How positively dreadful.” Kirishima rolls his eyes.

“It was fine. But ah, if you could be nice to her, that would be excellent.” He says, “I’m afraid she’s only seen the worst of Yuuei so far.” The woman nods, still inspecting you.

“So, girl, singular?” She raises her eyebrows. Kirishima presses his lips together, considering.

“Yeah, you know what Momo,” His fist closes around your upper arm hard enough to bruise. “Can you do what you’re gonna do with her bound?” Momo frowns, blinking a few times. Clearly she woke up only a few minutes ago, there’s still the glassy look of dreaming in her dark eyes. You look around, taking in your surroundings while she considers. The room in the tower is light and airy, large windows allow for the shards of sunlight to paint the oak wood floors with warm golden patterns of sunrise. It seems a uniquely feminine space.

"I don't know," Momo looks troubled, "Is she dangerous?"

“I’ll be good,” you interrupt, looking up at him, “Sir.” Kirishima still looks troubled.

“They’re priestesses of Aed,” he explains, turning to you, “They’re not warriors.” He rubs his chin. “You’ll behave?” You nod emphatically and Momo’s dark arching brows knit together.

“What did she do?” She asks, and a grin blooms across Kirishima’s face, he runs his fingers through his coarse red locks.

“Oh, held me at knifepoint, among other things.”

“That’s it!” You squeak, turning around to look at him, “That’s really the only thing I’ve-”

“She’s committed verbal treason and blasphemed about every five minutes, don’t listen to her.” Kirishima says, thinking, but to your surprise, Momo giggles.

“I can understand a little treason. Prince Bakugou is,” a little smile plays on her lips, “He takes some getting used to but he’s a good man.” Kirishima winces, and Momo watches the joy drop from your face as you give a little shake of her head.

“I won’t,” your teeth close on your lower lip. “I don't think-”

“There was an unfortunate incident yesterday.” Kirishima says quietly. “Some of his soldiers burned down her village. Her father is dead.” You bite back your immediate responses, an unfortunate incident, your father wasn’t dead, he was murdered. Murdered. Killed. Taken from you. Momo's shoot open, understanding immediately.

“You’re powerless here,” she says quietly, and the change in her tone takes you by surprise. She inspects you again, your unkempt appearence, the pain she can see deep in your eyes. “You and I have that in common. You’re a smart woman.” You realize it’s one of the first times you haven’t been called a girl, despite being well past your twentieth winter. “I can’t do anything for you. You won’t be able to escape the castle by hurting me, or any of the other priestesses. You know this.” You nod. “No need to bind her.” Momo says smoothly. “Now get out. Men aren’t allowed in our tower, not that the Kingsguard doesn't flaunt our rules at every opportunity.”

Kirishima ducks back through the door way apologetically, waviing a farewell and Momo sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re powerless?” You ask, interrupting her annoyance with the Knight. She nods.

“Priestesses of Aed surrender their lives to the god of flame.” She says. “I’ve given up my entire future to be here, to serve him and the old magic of Yuuei.” You swallow. “It means I’ll never have to marry, I can refuse summons to court, I can travel, it comes with a measure of freedom. But no power, politically speaking.” You nod and she leads you further into the tower, into a room lined with fragrant cedar. There’s a tub, she turns a spigot and it starts to fill with water. “I’ll give you some oils and whatnot, you can take a bath in there,” she gestures over her shoulder, “And I’ll give you a ceremonial dress.”

“One powerless person to another, then,” you ask. “What happens after the ceremony, if I’m not royalty?” Momo looks pained.

“Right now the women are being held in the tower after we determine that they aren’t King Amathar’s daughter. I understand you spent the night in our overnight cell, it’s not um,” she opens a door, “The tower is a touch less comfortable. But not so bad!” You nod and she opens a cabinet, handing you a glass bottle. You unscrew the lid, it smells of freesia and lavender. “Clean yourself to the best of your ability and then some of the priestesses of Aed will be by to style your hair. She leaves then, closing the door behind her, you hear it lock.

You wiggle out of the dress Kirishima gave you and step into the warm water, luxuriating in it. The bath is soft and pleasant, and lying in the warm water is the most comfortable you’ve been in days. You clean yourself until the water gets tepid. Then you cover your body with your hands and knock of the door.

The rest of the preistesses, Jirou and Mina, wrap a clean linen dress around your body and work a comb through your tangled hair, styling it and braiding flowers that you recognize from the garden on the grounds into the braids. The flowers themselves smell soapy and clean and between that and the bath you imagine you must be thoroughly perfumed. The preistesses speak around you for the most part, talking about court gossip, about a few vassals who were late on their taxes, a few wives cheating on their husbands, a few mistresses, what the newest clothing trends were.

“What about you,” Mina asks cheerfully, and it takes you a second to realize that she’s speaking to you. “Did you have a sweetheart, or lover, in your village?” You clear your throat.

“I’m a widow.” You say quietly, and her kind dark eyes fill with concern. “It’s ah, it’s alright.” You say quickly. “I didn’t love him. But, I,” you sigh, “I’ve never been in love, I suppose.”

“Why did you marry him, then?” Mina chirps, and Jirou looks at her reproachfully. “What, arranged marriages aren’t common among peasants, no offense.” You swallow, flashing back to your wedding, the white dress in the drafty chapel, to the smell of ale on your husbands breath.

“It was an uncommon situation. But yes, it was pre arranged.”

“Maybe you’ll come out of this ritual engaged to Prince Bakugou!” Mina says, with a little laugh. You shudder and there’s an awkward silence. “That’s not so bad,” Mina protests and Jirou speaks for the first time.

“She’s going to end up in the tower, Mina, so if you could not-”

“What’s so bad, about the tower?” You ask, more sharply than you mean to.

“It’s just crowded.” Jirou says quickly. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. And,” She looks at Mina, “We’re not supposed to talk to the women at all.” Mina sighs.

“I’m bored, though, this is boring.”

“Can I ask,” you try to capitalize on this silence, “Can I ask how women become preistesses in Yuuei?”

“Women in Yuuei can’t refuse an engagement.” Jirou explains. “But we can choose the church over marriage.” She adjusts a flower in your hair. “It wouldn’t be an option for you, regardless of the outcome of the ritual, because you arent a citizen.” You nod, and

Jirou helps you into a deep red dress, that dips between your breasts. When you see yourself, in the ceremonial gown, in a crown of red roses and white gardenias, in front of the first mirror you’ve ever seen, you hardly recognize yourself. You bare only a passing resemblance to the girl whos face looked back at you from her pail of well water just a scant few days ago. There’s a soft knock at the doors.

“Oi.” They hear, and scramble get up, “Lemme talk to her.”

“Prince Bakugou,” Momo cries loudly, striding in from another room at the sound of the Prince’s irate voice, “Men aren’t supposed-”

“Really?” He cuts her off, raising his voice. “When my mother dies, I’ll be king. You don’t say no to me.” She blanches, and unlocks the door. He pushes it open and then does a double take. There’s something about the life of the flowers in your hair that matches the expression on your face, his heart beats in a strange new rhythm. “Get out.” He says and the women scatter, darting deeper into the set of rooms. “Kirishima told me an attempt was made on your life.” You shrug.

“Yes, sir.” It’s a pity he’s an oaf, you decide, because Prince Bakugou Katsuki is decidedly handsome, cutting a sharp silhouette, an elegant profile. A pity, that he was cruel, a pity, then, that he was stupid. You eye the sword at his hip, wishing you could drive it into his ribs. “I came to see,” he looks frustrated, dressed in simple clean clothes, hair parted to one side. “I came to make sure you were alright.”

“You feel badly for me.” You move towards him, slowly, trying not to ruin the complex hairstyle and perfectly laid gown. The prince rubs his eyes, the sun is directly behind you in the window, it hurts to look at you too long.

“I feel responsible for you.” He says, shading his red brown eyes with his hand, blinking the the brilliance of the sun. You sigh deeply.

“You know, in the books, Princes have honor.” Your mouth sets in a hard line. “They’re chivalrous, they care for their people.” He looks away. “What are you doing, for the people of your country, out there?” He shrugs, brows knitting together.

“I’m doing what I can. The fuck is it to you?” Annoyance colors his response. You shrug.

“I’d like to know what kind of man I’m at the mercy of,” you say softly. He reaches for you and you instinctively flinch just before his hand brushes your jaw. He traces the outline of a bruise from where you’d been shoved onto the ground the day before.

“I'm not the kind of man who hits a woman unless he's really gotta. I don't do that shit cause I'm angry, or for fun. Don't flinch away from me, and I won't give you a reason to be afraid of me.” He orders and you do your best, trembling under his touch, remembering that his men had said he was descended from a god. “Kiri really scared the shit outta ya, huh?” He rumbles and you turn your head to meet his gaze, realizing how close his face is to yours. He takes the end of your chin, tipping your face up towards his.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper.

“I can’t tell you anything about today.” He holds your gaze.

"What about after?" You breathe, and in the golden light of the early morning you are so breathtakingly beautiful that all words fly from his mind, he opens his mouth to respond and no words come out.

“Excuse me,” It’s Momo, peeking her head back in, saving him. “You have to take her down in a few minutes, and so help me Aed, Prince Bakugou if you’ve undone our careful work-”

“Calm down,” The prince rolls his eyes. “She’s fine”

“I’m, um, I'm sorry,” you chirp, and both of them look at you, “Wait I’m, I apologize, what do I call you? Not sir?” He smirks.

“Your highness, your grace, your majesty,” he shrugs, “Pick. My full title’s pretty long, you’ll hear it when we get down there.” You take his hand and he impulsively pulls you into his body. Standing like that, pressed up against him, it’s a reminder of how physically intimidating he is. You can feel the muscles on his chest through his shirt, and you get the sense that once he’s wrapped a thick, tanned arm around your waist that you wouldn’t possess the strength to free yourself. He crushes a few of the flowers in your hair with his rough movements and Momo scowls.

“Enough manhandling her.” Momo says, shooing him away.

“No,” He turns to Momo angrily, “I'll do what I want with her, she belongs to me-”

“I belong to you?” You retort instinctually, “You think you’re entitled to my body, because your men murdered my family-” You stop yourself, realizing that everyone is staring at you, that Momo looks terrified, that Bakugou looks aghast. “Y-your grace.” You finish, looking down at your hands as he releases you.

“I told you,” and the pain cuts through his bravado, tipping the tone of his pitch higher, “I feel fuckin' awful,” he takes a shuddering breath clearly steadying himself. “It wasn’t on my orders, but it was on my watch so I, I'm sorry.” He mutters. “I won’t be able to make it up to you.” There’s a pause. “Momo stop shakin' like that, I’m not gonna cut ‘er fuckin’ head off in front of ya.” She lets out a long breath and he watches your bravery dissolve into fear.

“Sorry, I,” you bow your head. “I’m sorry, your grace, I just, it’s been difficult, and I'm sorry.” The tears that you’ve been fighting for days prick at your eyes and you wipe them away, “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I'm just alone now, and I'm afraid.” You lift your eyes to him, the last word comes out like more of a whispered plea than an apology. “You can, you can have whatever you want, obviously,” you babble, “You’re royalty, you can take-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, scowling and speaking sharply, in a timbre you recognize as a direct order.

“You gotta keep your mouth shut or it’ll get you killed. I'm bein' patient because I owe ya one. But anyone else at this castle woulda seen you whipped for talkin' to them like that, and bein' common.” You bow your head and he softens. “We’ll head down if uh,” Momo hands you a handkerchief and you dab at your eyes.

“Thanks.” He offers you his hand for a second time and you take it. This time he gives you your space, letting the gown drag behind you as you both walk down the stairs from the priestesses tower into the main body of the castle. There’s a few minutes of silence.

“Why did you let me on your horse?” You ask, the curiosity burning away at you. He doesn't look at you. “You could have thrown me on the wagon with the things you,” you stop yourself from saying stole, “Acquired.” He lets out a heavy breath.

“I didn’t want any of the soldiers to touch you. I needed to make it clear that you were mine. Or they would have taken you when I wasn’t around.”

"Taken me?" You start, and that gets his attention, the honest surprise in your voice.

"You uh," He takes in your face, reading the genuine surprise. "You ever get out of that village before this?" You shake your head.

"Not often. But I, I'm always shocked by the cruelty humanity is capable of. No matter how many times the fates try and teach me, I never learn." He nods at this, understanding.

"Well, I had ta let 'em know you were mine."

“I’m yours?” You repeat, voice echoing down an empty hallway. The castle is nearly deserted but for a few servants. You can hear what sounds like a large gathering of people ahead of you. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I decided when you held a knife up to my best friend's throat.” He clears his throat. “So when the ritual today is over, you’ll be mine. The other women in the tower will stumble their way back to what’s left of their villages when we find the descendent of Amathar, which we will eventually or my mother will die and I can abandon this useless crusade. But s’not like you have a home to go back to.” He watches pain well in your eyes and kicks himself.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “It hurts, to think about, having nowhere,” the pitch of your voice rises, “Nowhere to go back to.” You stop walking, and lean against the stone wall, closing your eyes. It’s cool against your back.

“No I,” he searches for words, for a phrase, some kind of incantation meant to soothe, but he doesn’t have access to such things, it’s an unwieldy weapon he’s not trained in yet, heavy in clumsy hands. Instead he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. One of his large hands rests on your waist, rubbing a comforting pattern. He can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin. “It won’t be too bad, bein’ here.” He says in his low rasp, and it might be his imagination but you seem to soften at his touch.

“What’s gonna happen when I go in there, your grace?” He starts to lead you down the hallway again and you follow. He looks away from you before speaking again. 

“When nothin’ happens, they’ll be some kinda uproar, they’ll take ya to the tower with the others, and I’ll come getcha.” He glances at your trembling hands. “What, marauders in your village no problem, but a little fake ass magic bullshit and you're scared?”

“I was willing to die,” you explain, “To free the others from you, but for myself, now I think I’d like to live, if that’s an option.” He chuckles, catching you as you stumble on the hem of your gown.

“Well don’t try anything that stupid here and you just might live to see winter.” He pulls you through a door into a large main passageway in the castle. The hallway has vaulted ceilings and it’s lit by torches. There are detailed tapestries hanging on the wall, and it must be well ventilated, because you can smell the sweet summer air, the fresh cut grass of the lawn. Your feet are still bare against against the sweet hay scattered on the grey stone. Bakugou’s footsteps echo here, his sword hanging at his hip. He puts one hand on a heavy wooden door, carved with the insignia of his house, a knight carrying a torch. “Don’t say anything.” He growls and you nod. In one fluid movement he opens the door. You jump a mile when trumpets blare, and someone calls loudly.

“Crown Prince Bakugou Katsuki, born under the shattered star, Son of Queen Mitsuki, The Unkneeling, The Great Phoenix, The Dragon Knight, The Lightbringer, your lips twitch as you fight off a smirk at the sheer length of his titles, and he squeezes your hand, a warning. “And F/n L/n, from the village of Damona.” There are chuckles, but you barely hear them. The throne room is huge, arching ceilings hundreds of feet in the air, candles burning, flickering gold and yellow off of the grey stone and the jewels of the gathered courtiers, making every shadow in the room dance. 

The throne itself is carved from the mountain's stone, glittering cool grey. The queen is the spitting image of her son, blonde hair threatening to burst loose from her long braid, in a deep red dress, adorned with gold and silver. The crown on her head is heavy and gleaming, with fiery rubies that catch the low light of the flames. The kingdom of Yuuei’s house symbols were everywhere, the knight is on banners and hangings, embroidered onto dresses, woven into the carpet that serves as a pathway to an altar at the center of the great hall. It’s nubby on your bare feet. You can read their house words on a banner over her perch. House Bakugou, From The Ashes, we rise.

please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.

[cyborgsmanifesto]

dealing with the worst case scenario

your condom breaks

you feel a lump on your breast

your friends are ignoring you

you’re stranded on an island 

you got rejected by a crush

you get into a car accident

you got stung by a bee/wasp

you got fired from your job

you’re in an earthquake

your tattoo gets infected

your house is on fire

you’re lost in the woods

you get arrested abroad

you get robbed

your partner cheated on you

you’re on a ship that’s sinking

you fall into ice

you’re stuck in an elevator

you hit a deer with your car

you have food poisoning

your pet passed away

you fall off of a horse

you or your friend has alcohol poisoning

you have toxic shock syndrome

your house has a gas leak

[4velitta4]

I feel like this could be useful in my future

[astrologypixies-deactivated2016]

REBLOG THIS. I CANNOT STRESS HOW IMPORTANT THIS GUIDES ARE, BOOST THIS SHIT

[sciencescribbler]

THIS IS SUCH A USEFUL LIST OMFG

[brennenscolby]

Hide and Seek. 2

•warnings + content: breeding kink, impregnation, implied baby trapping, fingering, edging, dacryphilia, creampie, groping, voyeurism, breast fetishism, cunnilingus, masturbation, breathplay, voice kink, bulge, dirty talk, edging, hickies and bruises, thigh kink, MINORS DON'T INTERACT. 18+.

Suggested tracks: John Blaze - Timbaland ft Aaliyah + Missy Elliot

Twenty eight - The Weeknd [slowed]

Love lockdown - Kanye West

•summary: geto never gets to have any fun outside of work. He decided to change that the second he met a pretty little thing like you… he never anticipated on getting so attracted.

•pairings: gang leader! + stalker!geto suguru x shy!chubby!reader.

•genre: mentions of blood/gore, guns, weapons, violence, yandere tendencies, dubcon, sugar baby themes, dub-con, stalker tendencies, body-worship, praise, obsession/infatuation, possessive!geto, smut/bdsm, sub!reader, Dom!geto, roleplay, CNC, consensual sex, pussydrunk!geto, aftercare, sweet!geto after rough!Geto, simp!geto, deranged tendencies, missionary sex.

One • Two Three

•wc: 3.8k

Geto didn’t anticipate his dreams to come crashing down so suddenly. A trip to America for a promotional gala demanded he’d abandon the comfort of his Tokyo penthouse for five days the most, with the first day, being directly after he saw you. Life’s uncontrollable urge to interrupt might’ve slowed down his process to pursue, but he simply found himself replaying the feverish daze from the night before as a constant reminder throughout his grueling day.

Business went good as usual, -with the exception of occasional beheadings-. Acts of violence were never premeditated, but he couldn’t possibly let dealers who’ve cheated him off the hook so easily, could he? A statement had to be made. A twinkle of dependency forced him to realize his rage at work was only a catalyst from missing you. Over the harsh moments of disdain and responsibility, while work appeased his ambitions, he was more than fervid to return and greet you.

However, walking up to your door unannounced would surely arouse suspicion, which is exactly why he made his best friend, Satoru, collect as much intel on you as he possibly could. The exact moment he shared his vision with his closest companion, Satoru’s maniacal expression mirrored his own.

While the ordinary person would express disgust and put an end to his outrageous requests and endeavors, Geto knew Satoru could care less. Besides, best friends are supposed to support each other, right?

Ranging from apartment number, occupation, and your own name, he was able to indulge in the fruits of his labor. He decided to discard your name, in hopes of getting it out of you—only if you’d provide him with the chance to a date. He figured it’d be more intimate if you at least met each other on a first-name basis. On top of that, there was one thing his efforts couldn’t devise, and that was your personality. Over despair and anguish, he hopelessly romanticized the idea of someone as angelic as you falling for a deranged lunatic like him. For the first time in a long time, Geto found himself wanting to offer everything he possibly could, in order for you to be his.

As he did practically every time he came home, he arrived in the wee hours of the morning, breakfast already prepared by his housemaid before she departed from her shift. The air wafted with the familiar imprint of his cologne, linked with the intimate scent of his wine. While he looked okay on the outside, hysterical turmoil twisted within. He itched to hear the timbre of your voice and even more so, see your chubby cheeks turn up into a pretty smile at the sight of him. Red flags approached from every corner of his morality, alarming him that he might’ve rushed himself a little quickly, but he couldn’t care less. Not when his heart chimed at the thought of watching you through a window like a sex-deprived freak. You aroused him in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe, the gloss on your puckered lips was forever driving him to the brink of insanity, just as much as his temptation to certify a romantic companionship at the likes of you.

And while his hands twitched uncannily, he focused on the task at hand, the strain of distance finally active. He weakly grabbed at the tiny bun pinning his bangs away from his face before tugging and letting his raven hair gracefully fall down. The daily task was to keep it pinned up, only to appear more menacing to his subordinates. Besides, if he were in the midst of executing a dealer, it wouldn’t look so pretty if his hair got caught in the process, would it?

Heaving out a yawn, he went about his night routine, tugging an oversized white shirt over his head paired with a set of black sweatpants, which dangled dangerously low on his slender hips. The monotone colors of his wardrobe blended into his solemn mood, which he could only wish would be changed with any indication of you. He made his way over to his couch, plopping down in its usual place, prepared to see your angelic face in the midst of the darkness. For minutes, his eyes lingered aimlessly, looking at every single window within your apartment, until they landed on the glow of your bathroom light.

He froze, nervously anticipating the sight of your soft nude body before watching you depart from the bathroom and walk to your couch. He let out a breath, disappointed at the fact that he wouldn’t get to see your luscious curves in all their glory but nevertheless, he was glad you were within his sight. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t come home in slight fear of the fact that you’d be asleep. Surely you owed him at least a small grace of your presence after he’d been gone for so long.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, you situated your body in a comfy position, before grabbing your remote control and shutting the TV off. He wasn’t sure what you were watching, but it couldn’t have been that good if you turned the flat screen off as soon as you came from the bathroom. The situation regarding your TV didn’t even last a minute in Geto’s mind when he noticed the way your pajama shorts once again pooled at the top of your chubby thighs, and your crop top clung tightly to your braless chest.

Was it possible you knew he was watching from the start? You never visibly looked at him nor made any indication that he’d been spotted. But by the way, you strutted around your apartment in peekaboo shorts and tight bra-less crop tops, surely you had to be up to something. He blinked away from your body, letting his dazed eyes adjust to the text message glimmering on his phone. He rolled his eyes, seeing as it was Satoru asking if he could purchase sweets for the next business meeting. After the numerous times he’s agreed, couldn’t he take a hint? He chuckled lowly before grabbing the phone, texting a quick, “go ahead”, before glancing back up at you.

The second he did though, the device tumbled out of his grasp, falling on the luxuriously carpeted floor below him. He didn’t even register the corner of the phone smacking against his foot. His mouth slightly gaped, tongue piercing rolling across his soft palate as he watched you lift your arms and gradually pull your crop top off your torso. Little by little you revealed, for his eyes only, the bottoms of your plump tits, followed by the chub of your cute soft belly before fully flashing the beauty of your perky areolas. He sucked in a breath, feeling as his pants grew tight at the sight of your majestic chest. It pained him to be able to see your gorgeous body, but not be within reach to worship it as he yearned to.

Your hands flew to your pajama shorts, gently tugging them down your slender legs before allowing them to plop on the ground followed by your slick-covered panties. He felt his heart skip a beat, eyes shimmering dark with lust as he grew witness to the erotic acts you performed. Had it not been for his own will, he would’ve never blinked, and he refused the urge to several times. He wanted to embed the sight of your divine physique in his memory. Geto discovered the extreme urge to have you underneath him begging for his cock exceeded its limits as he yearned to imprint himself inside of you. Your legs dropped on either side of you, one dangling off the couch while you sensually arched your back, a hand coming up to pinch and pull at your bouncing left breast as your other skimmed the soaked hole of your little cunt before skillfully rubbing circles on the cute little pearl.

He went into a frenzy, audibly moaning with exasperation. He could only think of you as a naive little slut, having yourself on full display directly in front of his penthouse window, without a care in the world. If only you realized the grave mistake you made for allowing his darkened eyes to drink in your vulnerable frame. He still wondered if you knew he was present, but he couldn’t give a damn about the answer now, not when his thick cock was rock hard at the sight of your ministrations.

He grunted, lacking the patience to hold himself together before hastily pulling his sweatpants down his slender hips, and revealing his well-endowed cock. Upon finding himself incredibly sprung, he accommodates himself on his cushion, eager to tickle the throbbing head of his dick with supple swipes from his thumb. Spurts of pre-cum spilled over the sides, trickling down to the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock the longer he stared. The head of his cock flared in a light shade of pink, beads of pre-cum pouring out from the slit inconsolably.

His brow came down in a furrow, scrutinizing the way his digits melted into one to hug his weeping dick. He desperately gave himself a slight tug with his large hand, before sharply pumping his hips into his strong fist as he looked back at your squirming form. Your head lulled to the side, chest rising rapidly while your cheeks grew pink and lips glossy from the pleasure you rode to the hilt. He could only imagine what you sounded like in person, sweet, beautiful moans bouncing across the apartment walls.

Your collarbones sparkled with perspiration underneath the moonlight with such grandness, drops of sweat running over your swollen, sensitive buds. He bit his lip harshly, sure to leave a bruise for tomorrow. The sight of your body was already a blessing as is, but Geto wanted nothing more than to have his way with your cute little cunt. Black eyes appeared crestfallen, but his heart thumped with such painstaking eagerness. His bangs grew soaked with sweat, fanning his forehead as his cock twitched in his hand. He quickened his pace, pumping himself rather aggressively. While he desperately wanted the pleasure to never simmer down, he knew it’d end the moment you reached your higher self with your moistened fingers. He continued squirming in the luxury of his couch, strings of pre-cum sticking to the base of his hand, arousing even more sticky puddles as his fist came down to smack against his heavy, full balls. He wanted to hear you, feel your warm skin press against his, and even more so, devour you entirely.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you tirelessly pumped two glistening fingers into your dripping cunt, drool seeping over the side of your mouth as your thighs trembled to stay open. Slick had collected on your chubby inner thighs, which, made Geto feral. The agonizing urge of his orgasm strummed the hardening of his abdomen, growing more apparent when he pictured you melting below him from his touch. He watched you intently as you arched your back, your pretty face scrunched in ecstasy as you came, one of your hands coming down to clutch your thick thigh as your rode out your orgasm. He followed shortly after you came, the image of your pretty fucked out face being the last thing in his perverted mind before white engulfed his vision.

“F-fuck”, he groaned huskily, his body growing stiff for an extended second as he pumped his load onto the shimmering definition of his abs. His mind stood in suspended limbo with each drop of semen splashing on his shuddering skin. Geto spent the next few minutes recovering from one of the most explosive orgasms he’d ever had, before sparing you one last glance, only to see your cute form curled up beneath your couch blanket. His vision, hazy with post clarity, foolishly presented a mirage of dazzling light radiating from your heavenly state. He smirked to himself, grabbing a few tissues to clean up his mess. If you had this much of an effect on making him pussy drunk, he could only imagine what it’d be like if you were to ever welcome him between your legs.

Geto later spent the next few days constantly pacing around, formulating solutions on how he could approach you and introduce himself without coming off as distrustful. He looked towards his strengths, seeing as a majority of women found him attractive and he was pretty confident in starting conversations, but he still couldn’t help feeling unsure of himself. Would such a stunning woman like you even want him? Looks couldn’t even begin to shed a layer of light to reveal his flawed persona. Especially the hidden perverted tendencies from within, which only made his balls throb with cum at such dangerous lengths.

He spent the next few days wondering how he could possibly get your attention until finally, spawning an outcome out of pure coincidence. He yawned, tying his freshly washed hair into a soft bun before playing with the stray bang from the corner of his cheek. It was a slow morning this day, the birds chirping outside, singing a familiar song, while the sun sparkled in through the windows, highlighting Geto’s broad chest and chiseled muscles. He grabbed a cup of coffee before trailing over to his couch, curious as to what you’d be doing today. His thoughts suddenly shattered when he heard a piercing scream, trailing from the direction adjacent to him. His eyes narrowed, hard with contemplation and terrorization only dealers were to witness. He gradually slipped a hand beneath his coffee table to clutch a mechanized gun before looking up and locking eyes on your stamping figure.

“Get it off!”, you screamed, attempting to tug the rather large insect off your cropped tee. Nimble fingers trembled with dread and flaring panic as you tried your best, a fleeting sense of relief looming over your head the longer you took. Geto visibly relaxed relieved he was no longer a target but strained at the fact that you clearly were. Intrusive thoughts left him scatterbrained, still pondering over how syrupy your voice would sound if his services were providing you with such a cry.

His weapon of demise was long forgotten as he stood, ready to chase his opened opportunity. He jogged to his front door, slipping his slides on before running downstairs in nothing but sweatpants. Anxiety crinkled over his back and he was scared he wouldn’t make it to you in time due to the missed escalation of time from the elevator shaft taking such difficulty to reach below. Once doing so, he could only pray his luck didn’t run out as he made his way over to your apartment complex, a firm finger desperately stammering over your floor number before he made his way to your door. A wisp of panic flicked him on the forehead as he knocked, the seconds directly after embedding suspense. He was surprised when the door swung open shortly, revealing your determined eyes and fluttering lashes.

“Hey, I’m sorry for the commotion but everything’s completely under contr-oh,” you stopped, taking in the sight of the raven-haired man with ragged breaths staring back at you. Lack of shame had your eyes drooping down to his muscular, tatted chest and low, sagging sweatpants. The perspiration over his body forced black strands of hair to stick pristinely to his forehead. Your eyes grew with interest when they flitted over the pinball piercing on his left eyebrow which directly coordinated with the color of his plug earrings. Suguru, way more discreetly than you, did the same, drinking in the sight of your front crop tee and matching sweatpants. The buttons of your shirt desperately presented themselves to him, the cleavage of your breasts doing no such justice as they appeared divine and inviting,

“H-hello”, you stuttered out, voice quivering with an uncertainty that Geto was directly aware of, leading him to associate it with insecurity. Was he staring too long? Upon locking eyes with you, he felt his heart skip a beat, and he grew rather bashful as well, a slight ounce of confidence slipping over him due to reaching the paradise of which you represented. It drove him a little dizzy if he had to admit it,

“Hey. I live in the apartment across from you. Is everything okay? I heard you screaming so I thought I’d make myself over here and help… but I think I’m a little too late”, he gave a pointed look towards your midsection, the cloth slightly mangled over your soft belly. His eyes lingered a little longer on your belly button, finding the small unveil appealing. He avoided whimsical appearances by offering a soft smile that concealed the way his brain short-circuited at the visual of your plump breasts. Recognition dawned on your face, making you giggle,

“Yeah… everything’s okay now. I got the insect just in time”, you beamed, the sound of your sonorous voice, presenting various erotic scenarios in his head, all of which revolved around what your honeyed moans would sound like. Your words went in through one ear and out the other as you cutely overexplained. All the while of your rambling, Geto fast-tracked your futures together, a very explicit image of a product you’d welcome in the world, untamed. You’d look so pretty with his baby. You also looked so adorable flustered by his sudden intrusion. He smirked inwardly, finding enough confidence to conduct a sense of cockiness out of him. It appeared you found him just as attractive as he found you if not, more. He swallowed, looking back at you with dark eyes, shielding them with curiosity to prevent the greed and obsession from spilling over, “Thanks for your concern. If you don’t mind me asking, What’s your name?”

He gave you a charming smile, acting as though nothing out the ordinary occurred,

“I’m Geto Suguru. You can just call me Suguru!” He extended his hand in a gentlemanly matter. His ongoing situation internally had him in a state of shock, the wheels in his brain barely registering what he was saying. The tips of his ears donned a shade of rosy pink, closely matching the color of your cheeks.

“It’s nice to meet you Suguru. I’m (y/n)! Thanks for stopping by, I’m more than happy to make a new friend.”, his strong hand clasped around yours, forcing Geto to fight against the shiver which came with it. Your skin felt soft and warm, the pleasant scent of your apartment wafting around him only to make his head spin the longer you stood there with him. His lips curled up in a grin, eyes shaping into tiny moon crescents,

“In that case, feel free to look for me whenever you’re in need.”, he chuckled softly. You blushed. He watched as your hand trembled, the other coming down to fiddle with the tingling digits. You lowered your face to look away from his own, which he recognized as hesitation. An inkling in his mind reminded him to keep his deviant details to himself, and instead showcase the side of him that his close friends were familiar with. He took the slight diversion as a lead way to his own, a sly smirk making its way over his sharp features,

“That’s very kind of you. If a bug incident like that happens again, I’ll make sure to find ya. Is it okay if I get your number?” you glanced back up at him, glistening doe eyes hypnotically trancing him to stare,

“Absolutely.”,

You gradually relaxed throughout your entire ordeal, allowing him to witness the considerate side of your witty banter, as well as the sweet praises you offered to ease him up in your habitation. Because of how sugary your personality came off to him, he was convinced you were purposely tugging him into some sort of seduction, a hypnotic act committed by a temptress of which you greatly played the role of. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slight strains of negativity pouring out as his lips drew downwards in a slight frown. The fact that he had to leave and get ready for the day weighed him down greatly, but just as he was to step away, your soft palm patted his arm, granting a wake-up call that greatly rang at full volume,

“I hope you have a great day, Suguru. I’ll make sure to catch up with you”, you winked cutely, the glee on your face radiating such contagious sunshine. Upon shutting the door, Suguru found himself standing there for an extended second, contemplating whether he should over-excite the acts that he’d just been witness to, or play it off. He chose the latter. Giving you some time to warm up to him would greatly bring in benefits. He could wait just a little longer to be with you, but he definitely couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to touch himself with your servitude in mind. Just as he stepped away from your front door, he smiled cynically, sticking his trembling hands in his pockets. With every step he took towards his home, he overexcited the erotic thought of pumping sweet loads of cum from his stiff cock at the likes of your heaving chest.

Though once again—he was stuck having to hibernate his plans. The next few days consisted of having minuscule transactions worked out with Satoru, in part of an additional operation that would amount to massive money gains. And while cash rain down over his face every hour of his exceedingly long days, he wanted something more. He found himself letting down his guard to welcome his selfishness and sickly cravings. The festivities presented by green printed papers could buy everything, but it wouldn’t buy you. Suguru wanted what the blessings of your sweet being had to offer. The idea of having you beneath him made his heart skip a beat—but he believed you’d engulf his entire soul in more ways than one. With one of those ways being, perhaps a family. He swiped the notion away in the blink of an eye, finding it rather exhausting to expect such a grand outcome, especially with the dirtied path his life had gone down. But, it wouldn’t hurt him to try would it? Wifing up a pretty little thing like you, coming home to spend every waking second basking in your presence, and every darkening hour pumping you full of his seed until you bared a few kids for him. He chuckled unnervingly at the thought of having a beautiful wife swollen with his child. You were the perfect candidate. He just needed to convince your dulcet self that he could be everything you’ve ever wanted.

Taglist!: @lucyrocks86 @honeycomb-biscuits

[koobiie]

reasons why i wish corazon was still around: 1. so law can scream whenever he wants 2. PIGGYBACK RIDES

[angs-fanart-deactivated20230603]

"Big Boobs"

Headcanon: Edward found Marco lost out there and he hasn't stopped following him since then.

I really wish they had met in a silly way but i know oda doesn't write happy backstory.

Just to recover from the last sad headcanon.

.

Posted Mar 16, 2022.

(My commissions are open. DM me if u want some.)

[eiazr]

What about Kid’s? What’s the size of his honkers, Mr. Oda 😫

[izu]

them on th e mind. 

also this by itself

[izu]

can’t even take a bath normally. i hate g*y ppl  so i heard we liked zoro in this thread. :-) 

[yukishirostar]

110cm-Bust Roronoa Zoro

[feriowind]

many doggo yams

[tuesdayinthedas]

POV youre Chopper

[hyoudov]

one piece characters + childhood

[lennvision]

if one piece characters had instagram → pt. 2 cr.

[soulfullofstarx-deactivated2025]

BEPO

[deadbutnostink]

*slowly gothifies your zoro*

[hyoudov]

one piece characters + childhood