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flametrashira · 8 months

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Sweet Elixir

Pairing: Sub! Human Muzan and Dom! Female Reader

Summary: When your father is called out to his most disagreeable patient, Muzan Kibutsuji, you accompany him as his apprentice. You're told to expect a monster, but what you find is a bitter yet beautiful man in need of solace.

Content Guidance: NSFW. Overstimulation, face-sitting, mentions of death, creampies.

Taglist: @scaraza @fairydollsteps @i-literally-cant-with-this

"His mother named him Muzan because he is an accursed creature," your father explained to you as you made your way toward the Kibutsuji estate. "You do not have to speak to him. In fact, you can stay outside on the engawa when we arrive and I'll bear the brunt of his ire."

A tangled knot of nerves sat in your chest as autumn leaves crunched beneath your feet. The air was growing cooler in the later months, but that wasn’t the reason for the chill which ran down your spine. As your father's apprentice, you often accompanied him to his patients' homes. It wasn't unusual for the sick and wounded to lash out in frustration or pain, and you knew not to take their outbursts personally, but for your father to warn you this way… It could only mean this man– Muzan Kibutsuji – was far worse than any you had met before.

By the time you reached the mansion, anxiety had sunk in its claws and made camp beneath your rib-cage. You slipped off your shoes and tiptoed through the house, feeling like a child once more as you followed a step behind your father.

"Remember, do not speak to him unless he gives you permission," your father whispered. "And do not let him think you pity him. Nothing angers him more than pity."

"I won't."

"And try not to make too much noise."

"Okay."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait outside?"

Right– that had been an option, hadn't it? Honestly, you weren't exactly certain what was driving you on through the silent halls. Perhaps curiosity. Or perhaps the lingering air of sadness you felt compelled to try to heal. After all, what use would you be as a doctor if you ran in fear from your patients?

But the moment you laid eyes on the man you had been told to fear, your anxiety melted away like a snowflake on the tip of your tongue. Because Muzan Kibutsuji was beautiful.

"Doctor," the lord’s voice was like smoke and honey as he greeted your father with thinly-veiled contempt. He didn't acknowledge your presence at all as he sat up slowly on his futon. "You're late."

"My apologies, Lord Kibutsuji."

Muzan's tired eyes were the same reddish-brown as jasper, his hair as black as blood beneath moonlight, spilling down his back in gentle waves. His skin was alabaster, so pale it seemed he had never felt the sun's kiss.

As the young lord and your father discussed his treatment, you found yourself entirely transfixed by him, your study of medicine almost entirely forgotten for the moment. Instead your thoughts were consumed by every movement of Muzan's slender hands, the urge to run your fingers through his ebony waves, the desire to kiss his downturned mouth. But most of all, you craved to hear that dark and alluring voice crack.

"I'll fetch the equipment to begin mixing your remedy, Lord Muzan. I'll be back in just a moment," your father said, snapping you from your reverie. He gave you a reassuring look, that if you found yourself in trouble or otherwise uncomfortable, you could come and find him.

But you were far from uncomfortable.

"Good morning, my Lord," you said.

Muzan simply looked at you with a disdainful glower. "Why are you here?"

"To assist your doctor."

"Is he so inept he can't do the job himself?"

"No," you lifted your chin in defiance. "My father is a fine doctor–"

"Your father…so I'm a family project? A father-daughter bonding exercise?"

Your eyes narrowed. "No. I'm learning the skills of my father's craft."

"Ah, so you’re a scholar of failure." Muzan smirked. "I assume your father has given you information on my condition?"

"Only your disposition."

He laughed softly, the sound like distant thunder. "I'm sure he did. Tell me, do I meet expectations? Do you find me as disagreeable as I’m certain he does?"

"Actually, not at all." The corner of your mouth lifted for a moment. "I find you rather pleasant."

It was barely perceptible, but his carmine eyes widened slightly at your words. "Pleasant? I've been told I'm many things, but never that. What exactly about me is pleasant?" There was an earnestness to his tone, as if he sincerely wished to hear something positive about himself. “Come closer.”

You were more than happy to oblige the wishes of a dying man. You wanted to praise him, to let him know how beautiful he was, and make him feel something other than misery. But the moment you stepped forward and opened your mouth to speak, your father reentered the room, carrying a tray full of supplies; little bundles of herbs and bottles of ingredients, measuring equipment, and a ceramic pestle and mortar.

He approached the futon like he was approaching a snarling tiger’s cage, the bottles on the tray rattling and telegraphing his trembling.

"Doctor," Muzan said suddenly, causing your father to flinch. "I need you to go into town for me. Your assistant may prepare and administer my medication."

Your father blinked in surprise. "Lord Muzan?"

"I require tea."

"T-tea?"

A small surge of guilt rose in your chest. Your poor father was being treated as an errand boy instead of a doctor. But that surge was quickly quelled by the knowledge that your father's absence would mean that you and Muzan would be alone. And he wanted it.

You gave your father a reassuring nod and a gentle smile. “All will be well. I’m quite certain I can give Lord Kibutsuji what he needs.”

A few minutes later your father was gone. Walking to the closest town would take half an hour each way, so you had plenty of time alone with the intriguing man.

“Now then,” the lord said softly as you knelt at the foot of his futon and began to prepare the medicine according to your father’s notes. Muzan’s eyes followed your every movement, sharp and curious despite his obvious fatigue. “I believe you were about to pay me a compliment.”

You smiled as you used the pestle to grind the specified herbs into a fine paste. “I was. What kind of compliment would you like? Should I draw attention to your demeanor or your looks?”

The man’s lips stretched slightly, as a faint smile graced his features. “Both.”

“Well, you’re clearly very intelligent and quick with your retorts.”

“Hm, go on.” Muzan smirked, clearly enjoying the pampering to his ego. “What else?”

“You are without doubt the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” you said, casually scraping the contents of the mortar into a mixing bowl. “And I’d very much like to fuck you.”

Muzan sat very still for a long time, simply watching you finish preparing the medicine. If not for the quickened rhythm of his breaths, you might have suspected he was completely unaffected by your comments.

“You’re very forward,” he said finally.

“Do you believe you have time for coyness?”

It was a harsh question, one which visibly affected him. Some part of him knew, just as you did, that short of divine intervention, he was doomed. He glanced down at his lap, pulling in a steadying breath. “No. I don’t.”

Pity was at best wasted on him, and at worst the gravest insult. So you didn’t offer it.

Instead, you shuffled along his futon, straddling his thighs as you held out the bowl of medicine for him to sip from. “So, would you like to be fucked?”

Striking mahogany eyes drifted up the length of your body, drinking in your curves as if your vitality was contagious. When finally they met your gaze, he leaned forward, placing his lips obediently on the rim of the bowl as you tipped it for him. He drank down the bitter remedy, his eyes never leaving yours.

When the bowl was empty he spoke. “Yes,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I want you to fuck me.”

Setting the bowl aside, you leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to his lips, relishing the way his body shivered at the sensation. His eyes closed, and his lips parted around a stuttering breath of anticipation. He was, you quickly discovered, extremely receptive to the sensation, groaning and gasping, close to losing his composure entirely from a simple suck on his bottom lip.

Oh, this would be delicious.

He kissed you back, tentative and inexperienced at first, then slowly growing in confidence as you let him know he was doing well with a quiet but heartfelt moan. Despite your lack of pity, you weren’t entirely ignorant of his sickness. You paid attention to his breathing, to the racing of his pulse as you rested your fingers on his neck, giving him respite when you felt it became too frantic.

"We're going to go slowly," you whispered against Muzan's trembling lips.

A frustrated growl sounded at the back of his throat. "Do not think you have to be gentle with me."

"I said we would go slow, I never promised to be gentle. My father won't be back for a while, and I intend to make good use of every minute we have together." You traced the outline of his lip with the tip of your index finger, making him shudder. "Is that okay?"

Muzan's throat flexed as his eyes fluttered shut. "Oh~ yes."

He was putty in your hands as you clasped his jaw between your fingers and pulled him in for another kiss. Your tongue teased his before returning your attention to his bottom lip, biting into the plump flesh to make it abundantly clear that he was yours.

"Yes~" Muzan sucked in a breath, elegant fingers twisting in the fabric of your clothes gathered at your hips.

"Tell me what you want," you purred, bowing your head to lick a long stripe up the column of his throat, feeling it flex and vibrate beneath your tongue as he groaned in pleasure.

"Everything," he whispered. “Gods, please, I want to feel it all.”

He submitted to you so easily, surrendering the power of his social standing with just a few kisses. There was a desperation in his eyes, and an eagerness to be led and to please. And you could tell this was new to him. He had never felt so compelled to follow orders. It excited him. His pupils were blown out as he gazed up at you.

"I'm going to show you how to make me come," you told him, standing from the futon to undress.

He watched you in fascination, his eyes drawn to your every movement; your hands working open your belt, the sway of your breasts as you freed them from your clothing, the crease in your belly as you stepped out of the garment. At that moment he was besotted.

His breaths were shallow, his pale cheeks dusted with the faintest blush. "Let me kiss you."

Turning to him with a flat, disapproving glance, your heart secretly swelled at the knowledge he desired you. "Manners."

The defiance in his eyes only lasted a heartbeat; more instinct than true feeling. Muzan was used to getting his own way, a spoiled, pampered noble lord… but he was wrapped around your little finger, and desperate to earn approval. "Please… I want to kiss you."

“Ah,” you chuckled victoriously. “You’re so obedient. Tell me, where would you like to kiss me?”

His gaze dropped between your thighs, his lips opening and closing around silent syllables.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, even though you had a strong inclination toward the reason for his hesitation. "It's too vulgar to utter– is that it?” You chuckled, approaching him and helping him remove his nightshirt. “If your tongue is too shy to even say a word, how do you ever expect to please me with it?”

Standing astride his legs, you gently pulled back the blanket to see him fully. As expected his body was as pale as his face; lean and lithe… and beautiful. His cock was hard, and already so dark at the tip you suspected the slightest touch would cause him to erupt. So instead, you dragged your thumb over his lips, relishing the way they parted around a silent plea.

“Well, my pretty lord? Can you say it for me?”

A low, wanton groan emerged from him as he gazed up at you. “Your cunt. Please… please let me taste your cunt.”

He begged so nicely, your pussy throbbed at the sound of his desperation. Oh, you could listen to him gasp and plead all day, but your own desire was just as ardent as his, and your time was limited.

But before you began you needed to know the limitations of his ailing body. "Very good. Now, how should I have you do it? Shall I stand like this, or shall I have you lie back so I can sit on that handsome, noble face?"

“Oh, fuck…” he released a shaking breath, skating his hands along the sides of your calves. “Sit… sit please… please…”

A shiver of excitement ran through your body as he lay back and took a gasping breath of anticipation. Oh, he was so far gone and you hadn’t even so much as touched him below the shoulders. That your father saw fit to warn you of this man was hilarious to you now. He was nothing but obedient, eager, and desperate for your pussy.

“Good boy,” you whispered as you got into position, kneeling on his pillow with his face between your thighs. He was damn near panting, turning his head to kiss your inner thighs as you continued speaking.“If you need me to get off you, I want you to tap my thigh four times quickly, like this.” You demonstrated for him, then had him do the same to you. “Good. Now, I’m not going to be gentle with you.”

“I don’t want you to be.” He released a deep breath. “Just let me taste you. Please.”

Without further warning you leaned forward on your hands and lowered your hips, pushing your cunt onto his eager tongue. Right away he clamped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as a hungry growl emerged from him, vibrating through your core.

Muzan ate you like a rabid beast feasting on your tender flesh. The slick heat of his ravenous tongue was almost more than you could bear. He lapped ferociously at your cunt, as though your essence was the elixir to his condition.

“Fuuuuck,” you ground out as you found your back arching from the sensation.

Gods, he was relentless, licking and sucking your clit as if his life depended on it. The man was drunk on the taste of you, groaning and slurping as you ground your pussy against his insatiable mouth. The lips you had been warned only uttered vitriol and sin, worshiped you with fervent hunger.

You pulled away, tormenting you both as he let out a desperate whimper.

“No. Come back,” his voice was tinged with anguish as you denied him. “Pleasepleaseplease. Let me make you cum.”

You took a moment to relish his pleas before sitting back down and pulling a muffled cry of relief from him. His cock wept rivers of pre-cum, his hands, sinking into the plush softness of your thighs as he resumed his licking.

There was no skill to his ministrations; only feral determination. He lay the flat of his tongue over your clit and dragged it back and forth, the only sounds in that silent house his smothered groans, your gasping breaths, and the lewd wet sounds of his tongue on your cunt.

It was too much. And it was perfect.

He tore you apart at the seams, sending you careening into your orgasm. You choked out a cry as powerful throbs of near unbearable pleasure rocked though your body and you ground your pussy against his eager mouth.

When your pleasure subsided you shuffled down to straddle Muzan’s stomach, his erection pressed against your ass as you gazed down at his blushing face. Gods, the man was in a stupor as you dragged your thumb once more over his lips, spreading the gloss of your essence over them. The light caught them so prettily as he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes.

“That was lovely,” you told him as he closed his eyes and whimpered with need. “You did very well for me, Muzan.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly as his cock twitched behind you. His eyes were glazed over, his breaths coming in shallow pants. This man was born to a high status but his soul and his cock craved submission. “Please fuck me now. I need to cum.”

A shock of pleasure ran through your body as he parted his lips, licking the tip of your thumb, savoring every drop of your nectar. “Mm… shall I ride you?”

“Yes, Gods yes, that’s what I want. I want– I need your wet cunt on my cock.”

A grin pulled at the corners of your mouth as the vulgarity slipped from his lips as naturally as breath. Arousal made him far bolder. You could happily tease him all day, delay his release until his pleas echoed around the house, but time was pressing on and you needed to know the feeling of his cock in you just as desperately as he needed your cunt.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you told him. “But I will take an herbal tea which should prevent–”

“I don’t care,” Muzan interrupted, his brattish, noble demeanor emerging slightly. “Get yourself pregnant if you want. Use me to make yourself a little heir to the Kibutsuji wealth and ensure your fortune when I’m dead. I’ll even write a letter confirming it’s mine. I don’t care. I have no fucking love for my family. I just want to feel your pretty cunt around my cock.”

Even submitting to you like this, he was wicked at heart. Then again, perhaps so were you.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you lifted your hips and aligned yourself with him, letting the fat head of his cock press against your entrance. Muzan’s lips parted around a shivering breath as his eyes widened in anticipation.

You paused. “Let me hear you ask nicely. One more time.”

“Oh, Gods, why do you insist on tormenting me?"

You cocked an eyebrow at his little rebellion. "I could deny your release, Muzan. I could keep you on the edge until the moment my father walks in here–"

"Please, I'm sorry. Just… please fuck me. I want to feel it. I want to know…”

“Good boy. You beg so sweetly.”

“Only for this,” he groaned through his teeth. “Only for you.”

Lowering your hips, you took him, watching the muscles in his cheeks tense and pulse as he fought to keep his composure. But he was breaking just from the sensation of you, his face reddening as he put his head back and moaned. “Ohh fuck fuck fuuuck you feel so fucking good.”

Your breath caught in your chest as his cock filled you, the stretch causing a slight sting which eased as you rocked on top of him.

“Slow…” he pleaded.

Perhaps he was worried he would cum too quickly, or perhaps he worried his heart couldn’t take much more, but you did as he asked, riding him slowly. The languid undulation of your hips drew the most broken, desperate sounds from him. He gasped and groaned, drowning in bliss as you bowed your head and licked the stiffened buds of his nipples.

“Yes thank you thank you~" he whispered, though you suspected his gratitude was not aimed at you but to the gods themselves.

His hands never left your body. He fought the urge to close his eyes, keeping them on you as though he needed to flood every sense with you. Touch-starved and ravenous for pleasure, he savored every second, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as his seed flooded your cunt.

His voice, which was once so commanding and bewitching, broke as he begged once more. "Don't stop. Please. Not yet. Not yet."

Leaning forward to cage his head with your arms, you kissed him, swallowing his moans as you rode him into overstimulation. He was in ruin, squeezing his eyes shut, blushing scarlet, his fingers digging into your back as you kept up the slow, unending rhythm.

The sinews in his neck bulged as he strained and squirmed. His thighs twitched and shook as his feet sought purchase on the futon. "I-it's too much."

"Should I stop?"

He shook his head, even as his cock softened inside you. "No… don't stop."

He clung to you then, hiding his face against your shoulder, the tears on his lashes cool against your burning skin.

Threading his long, black hair through your fingers, you cooed softly as he whimpered into the crook of your neck. "You're taking it so well. You're so beautiful when you're fucked out like this. So good for me."

You rocked together, panting breaths heating the air between you as Muzan gorged himself on pleasure. Slender fingers slid down to your backside, digging into the fat of your ass and clinging to you with all he had. His cock grew hard again. His gasps turned to growls.

"Gods, I can't take anymore."

You slowed down.

His hands darted to your hips. "Don't stop, damn you. Don't stop."

Muzan Kibutsuji, that sick and wretched man, whose life consisted of agony and disappointment found precious moments of pleasure and normalcy in your embrace, and once he had tasted that bliss he wouldn't surrender it. The ecstasy you gave him would not cure his ailments, but it was an elixir which temporarily sweetened the bitterness in his heart.

Grazing your teeth over his collarbone, you whispered, "Can you take it if I go a little faster?"

"I– yes. I want to feel you cum on my cock," he whispered. "Do what you need to do."

Sitting upright, you took his hand and led it to your clit, guiding his strokes. His lips fell apart in reverent surprise as your cunt pulsed and tightened around his cock, preparing for release. And you knew he only pleasured you like this so that he could feel it. He used your body for his own enjoyment, submitted to you to please himself, watched you fall apart on his cock because he enjoyed the sight of it. And yet, as your pleasure reached its zenith and you came undone, you simply didn't care.

Muzan was seconds behind you, hissing through his teeth as he filled you again.

"Enough, enough," he cried, tapping your thighs four times to signal he was truly done.

You lay down beside him staring at the ceiling as your breaths returned to a normal pace.

After a moment, Muzan rolled onto his side, then shifted to lay his head upon your breast as he let his weakened heart settle. He didn't hold you. He simply lay there in your embrace as you languidly stroked your fingers up and down his back, tracing the ridge of his spine.

Silence shrouded you for a long time before Muzan broke the silence. "Will you come again next week?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes." He sighed. "Though we will have to come up with a better excuse than tea to get your father out of the house. He may be an idiot but even he may start to suspect your methods aren't exactly by the book."

Later, as you walked from the Kibutsuji residence, your father fussed over you, apologizing profusely for leaving you alone with the wretched lord.

"It won't happen again, I promise."

"It's alright, father," you assured him. "He really wasn't all that bad. In fact, next week–"

"Next week won't be a problem. You'll have your own patient to attend to. I'll come here alone," your father smiled, expecting you to be relieved.

Truth be told, you were a little disappointed.

Your father continued, "Besides, while at the tea shop, I heard about a rare medicinal plant. One I'm going to try with Lord Kibutsuji next week. The lady at the shop called it 'the blue spider lily."

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Read part 2: Bitter Poison

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onesidedradiostatic · 2 months

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aromantic alastor headcanons for aro-week (with some ace in there as well, because I think for alastor those things are so entwined, it's hard to separate them):

tried going out with girls a couple of times when he was alive, to make his mother happy, but always found a way to extricate himself from the attachment. this ties into his learning how to have complete control over any situation he's in

I wonder as well about whether or not he "passed" as white, or whether his community knew that he was creole, and how that affected his dating opportunities, and his paranoia, his need to be in control, basically his constant hyper-vigilance

got a lot of fanmail for his radio host work, women (and men, but more furtively) loooved his voice. this was acceptable, because (apart from some of the weirder ones) he could use this as a metric for how accepted he was in society, as well as how well he was passing -- both in terms of race and orientation, but also youknow, as someone who is definitely not clockable as a serial killer

although of course we know he also enjoyed company. he'd go out drinking and dancing a lot. was mimzy a bit in love with him? I just like the idea that people kept being incredibly taken with his charm and his politeness and his poise, because he does have all those traits. whether he notices...? (no). I mention this point not so much as headcanon, I just like that alastor as aroace and repulsed on both of those points, was never a shut-in about it. he's always been very lively (ha) and outgoing, and clearly likes being in the company of others... but maybe that last point has gotten to be a little difficult during his time in hell, due to having to be so careful about showing any kind of emotional "weakness." speaking of...

post-death became a more extreme version of himself -- that is, a man on a mission to be in control and create emotional distance between himself and others through the power of voice, rather than having to faff about pretending emotional connections where there were none. very suited for hell because of his precarious political lived reality whilst alive, and because hell is built on who has power and who doesn't. these are rituals he understands better than the strange romantic ones during life

the smile as mask and unhealthy coping mechanism -- wonder if when he was alive people swooned over his having a lovely smile (as well as its being useful to placate and to disorient people who had more violent intentions, and in both cases potentially to lure in victims). so the smile likewise became the most extreme version of itself. the smile in essence as the signifier of someone who doesn't fit into any boxes and needs to hide that fact, both by being mixed race and aroace, but then the smile itself becomes something that effectively owns him, because he literally cannot let it drop, ever (honestly if alastor ever stops smiling, it'll be the biggest gasp moment on this show)

all that being said, surprising connections do occur: rosie, I think, sees through him from the beginning, and she's so disarming (ha, disarming... cannibal joke) that she never feels like a threat + they're both cannibals, so there's a relaxed kinship there and maybe she reminds him of the parts of home he (secretly) misses a bit

I wonder how rosie figured out that alastor wasn't into dating. I think at first she might have thought he was gay, but then quite quickly seen that that's not it, he doesn't even like men much, and she feels like she's been around the block enough to piece together peoples' natures from one of a million other people she's known, so way before she knows the terminology, she knows, and crucially, she never judges or tries to force the point

I wonder how vox and alastor met -- whether vox was able to gain power on his own and this attracted alastor's attention, or if alastor saw something of himself (that turned out to be surface level) in vox, that is, they both wear smiles as masks, they're both presenters, their mediums may be different, but their aims feel similar. perhaps alastor was comfortable enough in hell at this point -- probably in a way he never was whilst alive -- that he was feeling magnanimous towards what must have felt a bit like an upstart. and most importantly, the constraints of alloromantic ideas are a comfortable 20 years in the past by now, alastor can barely remember that this was ever anything that was expected of him, or that others' could possibly feel about him

cue vox falling head over heels, the way people so often did while he was alive, and he... does not notice at all (barely a headcanon). I kind of feel like I don't have much to say on these two, because this blog is already a treasure trove of vox and alastor hcs!

I think rosie is the only one who knows alastor is aroace, although... maybe husk? not in so many words, but he knows alastor isn't interested in those things. nifty Does Not Notice Nor Care (in a good way). charlie i will forever think will at some point do a deep-dive on modern queer lingo and get everyone flags (this is practically word of god canon considering that older piece of art you shared). vox definitely doesn't know. val....... sort of kinda knows but in an evil way. vaggie does not care, but she'd be chill about it. mimzy... I don't think knows, mainly because she never cared to think about his behaviours, as someone who's quite self-centered on what alastor is to her. jeez, who am i missing... angel, does not know, head empty

speaking of angel, I think if he ever found out, especially with where he's at in his journey rn, would be very unhappy in some way about having stepped over his boundaries so often so casually at the beginning. dunno how he'd act about it, but i like the idea of vigilantly (and crudely, and bluntly) supportive angel if they ever manage to get alastor out on the town. more on the ace side of things but i can see him going: "do not try to fuck this guy! this guy is unfuckable!"

(i like hypersexual and deeply romantic angel + sex and romance repulsed alastor as unlikely friendship in my head. opposites finding common ground type stuff is always good)

at the end of the day, alastor living and dying in an amatonormative world and having to orient himself within that by building walls that persist/worsen after his death because of the culture of hell being predicated on who controls whom, veeeeery slowly discovering that he can be vulnerable on his own terms without people demanding things from him that he cannot give (smthinsmthin the hotel gang as the opposite of vox in that sense -- not only that sense, but also that)

also something about imagining his mother hoping he'd find a nice girl and settle down (in the way parents often do, because that's the metric of happiness right.....) and how he never could give her what she wanted, and maybe feels some very locked away guilt about that, which he thinks he'll never be able to deal with because his mother is in heaven, but perhaps in this story she'll get to see what he's built with the people at the hotel and that's really all she wanted for him in the end

OH MY GOD ANON THIS IS ALL SO GOOD?? THANK YOU SO MUCH HAHAHA. happy aro week everyone!! (x2)

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