#But it just made me feel... weird about it?

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[bbyobbyo]

seventeen as dads headcanons

content: reader is married to svt, normative(?) family structure, literally just unhinged thoughts, not proofread lol

note: was trying to write an actual fic but then got distracted sorry, dadventeen brainrot is so real

Seungcheol

Super protective “don’t touch my family” dad outwardly

All of his kids’ friends are straight up SCARED of him

But within the household he's the one sneaking ice cream when you say no, albeit guiltily

Shopping trips with him will always result in buying something for them and he is very willing to be taken advantage of

“Babe if I can’t spoil them now, they’re gonna grow up and move out before we know it!”

Tries his best to be handy around the house, but probably makes it worse, ends up calling Mingyu to come fix it

Jeonghan

DEFINITELY a “go ask your mom” dad

This man not only powerless, he doesn't even want the power, he's just here to have a good time and if you say they can't, then sorry kiddo

You can’t tell me that he doesn’t bring up becoming a family prank channel at least once a week

LOVES bragging to everyone else about his kid’s achievements, cannot shut up about them to anyone in a 5 foot radius tbh

His kids definitely talk to him about everything, which is great because he is SO nosy.

Has a list of all their best friends, enemies, and crushes at school somewhere on his notes app for future reference when they come to him for advice

Joshua

The REAL practical joke dad, admittedly made them cry a few times when they were younger and felt really bad about it

Perfect sweet husband and father in image, all of his kids know he’s actually lame af

Dominates the summer barbeques, UNDISPUTED GRILLMASTER

Super dependable, will drop everything if his family needs him and never goes back on his word

Gives surprisingly good fashion advice

Jun

Definitely walks around the neighborhood with his baby in a sling carrier strapped to his front, POINTS AT EVERYTHING OF INTEREST

When they start learning how to speak he adopts all his baby’s weird mannerisms (it started off as a cute joke but then realized he couldn’t stop)

Cries at every baby milestone until they’re like 10

Will not stop bringing up embarrassing childhood moments, especially in front of their kids’ friends/significant others

Cuts fruit for them instead of apologizing

Hoshi

Will fully ally himself with his kids

Like legit would do anything for them. ANYTHING.

I’m talking borderline go to his kid's school to beat up their hypothetical bullies himself sort of dad

The kids can always count on him to say yes if you say no

Absolutely DEVASTATED when they grow out of the tiger stuff he buys for them and become angsty teens

“What do you mean tigers aren’t cool? Do you not love your old man anymore?”

Wonwoo

Quiet doting dad

Definitely more affectionate when the kids are younger but gets into the awkward advice-giving stage when they grow up

LAME DAD JOKES GALORE, groaning is a regular activity in this household

Tries to google basic algebra every time his kids ask for help on math homework because he doesn’t want to admit he forgot everything

Chaotic af unsupervised. “Guess we’re having pizza again tonight kiddos” kinda dad because he cannot and should not cook

Jihoon

Another quiet dad, but make it savage

I feel like he would just love roasting his kids (affectionately of course)

And always overwhelmingly acts of service so his kids know they are loved

Allowance randomly appearing under their pillow, their favorite foods magically stocked in the fridge, always relenting to one last bedtime story no matter how tired he is

Would let you have final say but he makes it really clear he’s on their side and empathizes with them but its out of his hands

“Next time just don’t get caught, okay?” *winks*

Minghao

Loves loves loves just spending time with his babies

Doesn’t matter what he’s doing he just wants to be in the same room as them or cuddling and holding them

Emphasizes equality in your relationship so his kids can grow up with those values and learn to respect others

TURNS EVERYTHING INTO A LIFE LESSON OH MY GOD

Doesn’t believe in allowances but will cave and literally buy them anything they want if they ask

Would rather die than miss any important event (competition, speech, recital, talent show, graduation, etc.)

Mingyu

Absolute super dad, what can’t he do? Nonstop home improvement projects, cooks anything his kids are craving, offers to drive everyone everywhere

But also the whiniest dad ever lol constantly complains about people “ruining his system”

Absolutely FUCKS at the school bake sales, earns them twice the target fundraiser amounts because he's dilf material and knows how to get the moms to spill their pockets

Likes to have the final say, but you’re both usually on the same page in regards to discipline so his kids aren’t getting away with anything

Just the most supportive dad in the universe, the kids learn to never take him for granted

Seokmin

You already know his kids are gonna be spoiled rotten. He will be the favorite parent by default sorry I don't make the rules!!

His arms are the very definition of a safe space

Leaves all the discipline to you because he cannot keep a straight face when delivering a lecture (one time he made them cry and also ended up crying because he felt so bad)

Does so much embarrassing shit just to cheer his kids up when they have a bad day, acts surprised when they tell him he's cringe

Such a pushover that they are probably gonna make fun of him when they're older, but that's okay because they know there's no universe in which their dad will stop loving them

Seungkwan

As long as he can pick them up still, his kids are never on the ground for too long

Two words: SPORTS. DAD.

He could practically captain the cheerleading teams at their school with how many events he's been to

Knows all of his kids’ friends parents, they all get together and have coffee once a month actually

Nags nonstop and complains about everything he has to do for them, but is always diligent and does it without question

Gets so pouty when they start getting embarrassed to show affection, he WILL get his cheek kisses if it's the last thing he does!!

Vernon

Chillest dad in existence?!?

Literally as long as his kids are safe he doesn't give a single fuuuuckkk

“Sleepover? Yeah, call me when you're done and I'll pick you up.”

He WILL argue with you if he doesn't think there's a good reason to say no to them

So cute and encouraging to all their weird hobbies and phases throughout the years. “Lemme see” and “Really? Show me” are regular phrases in his vocabulary

His kids are definitely gonna inherit his legendary facial expressions afnngjdg

Chan

Super affectionate and doting, but also quite strict with them at times

“I just want the best for you, I want to see you succeed”

HAS A PHOTO OF THEM READY AT ANY TIME, lockscreen is a different shot of his kids every day and is eager to show it off even if no one asked

Not so subtly signs his kid up for dance lessons

Just the most encouraging dad ever, makes sure that they know making mistakes are a part of life and that he will always love them no matter what

[welcometomyoasis]

Paleontologist! Boyfriend Jun headcanons

Synopsis: Having a paleontologist for a boyfriend is always going to be exciting and fun, especially if his name is Wen Junhui.  Paleontologist! Junhui x gn! reader | non-idol au, fluff, established relationship | 2k words | warnings: petnames (jun bug, my little pachycephalosaurus), mention of marriage, reader is said to be very stubborn, physical touch (rubbing aloe vera after a sunburn), slight neglect of self-care, making fun of others (jokingly and with no harm intended) Note: I am obviously not a paleontologist so there might be inaccuracies in the terms.  A/n: @heavenfilm and @weird-bookworm, thank you for listening to me ramble about this hehe <3 also i’m sorry this is a little messy.

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who confessed to you in the most unique and adorable way ever by giving you a pecten fossil (scallop shell fossil). Scallop shells usually symbolise both new beginnings and love. By giving you a pecten fossil, Jun told you he hoped to both convey his feelings of love towards you, and his hope of starting a new chapter in his life with you. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who is a walking paradox when it comes to his job. He’s so serious, diligent, and passionate. He would spend hours carefully brushing off the dirt from his fossils and reconstructing the fossils. The way he handles his fossils is so endearing because he’s so gentle with them, treating them with as much care as you would give to a newborn baby. Yet, he is simultaneously the most unserious, goofball ever. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who names his fossils and plays with them like a child playing with their dolls. The T-rex he’s been reconstructing has been affectionately named Stumpy because of its short, stumpy arms. Then, there’s the Ankylosaurus named Ankle. It’s name is ironic really, because Ankle is funnily enough, missing part of its right leg. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who, as you can tell, can be a little mean when it comes to naming his fossils. But make no mistake, he’s very protective over them. Only Jun, and maybe you, are allowed to make fun of his fossils. One time, Dino made the mistake of insulting Stumpy’s little useless arms. Jun refused to speak to Dino for a week and then proceeded to call him a Tupandactylus, which was a type of Pterosaur (flying dinosaur), with a huge head crest because it was similar to Dino’s larger forehead. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who takes care of his rock fossil collection like they are his children. He brushes the dust off them, sings them lullabies, tucks them into their custom made boxes designed after their respective habitats. Sometimes, when Jeonghan is out of town, he will leave Doljjong with Jun, because he knows Jun will treat Doljjong like one of his own. Jun even likes to set up a little tea party with Doljjong and some of the other fossils, just so they can get to know one another. Honestly, as adorable as it is, Jun being in the center of like 50 rocks does make it seem like Jun is carrying out witchcraft in real life. You don’t mind though, as long as Jun cleans up after because you have a real fear you might trip over his fossils and crush them, which would mean a teary eyed, very very sad Jun. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who has affectionately given you a nickname based on a dinosaur. He loves to call you his little pachy, short for pachycephalosaurus, because the dome headed dinosaur reminded him of you for two reasons. First, pachys are very cute, just like you. Second, pachys are the dinosaurs with possibly the thickest skulls, and you too, have a thick skull. Jun often jokes that you are too stubborn for your own good. There have been multiple occasions when you followed him for a dig, only to get a horrible sunburn because you refused to listen to him and stay in the shaded tent. You insisted on being near him as he was excavating the fossil and now you’re in pain and whining about how you need him to put aloe vera on your sunburns. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who tsks at you disapprovingly when that happens because it’s not the first time you’ve stubbornly refused to stay under the protection of the tent. Still, he lovingly and very gently applies the aloe on your skin. And yes, he kisses those spots too because he believes “kiss it to make it feel better” is 100% a real thing. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who has also been given a nickname by you based on his profession. You love to call him your Jun-bug. You named him that after his love of looking for little fossilised bugs. Once for an anniversary, you gave him a bug-eyed coltraneia trilobite fossil, which had this beautifully curved shell with many line indentations. You joked with Jun, telling him the indentations reminded you of the way Jun would literally climb on top of you, spread his arms out, and drop his entire body weight on you, literally enveloping you in a very tight, warm hug. Also, the fossil’s large eye facets were definitely similar to the way Jun’s eyes would widen when he animatedly tells you about what he’s working on. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun whose favourite date night activity is to do those fossil kits meant for children. He thinks it’s really fun and nostalgic. It reminds him of the times he used to do it as a child. And it’s always fun to see you get frustrated when the fossils wouldn’t open as easily as you think. He’s a cheeky little Jun-bug and he does love to ruffle your feathers, but mostly, he likes to see you frustrated because then he can gently cup his hands over yours to help you chip away at the fossils. He also likes to sit behind you, resting his head on your shoulder as you both work on the fossil kit. The intimacy of it all brings him an immense amount of joy. Getting the fossil at the end of it is just a plus point. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun whose other favourite date activity is to spend the day at the beach with you so he can go digging for shells and fossils. You can’t help but giggle and coo at his little beach day get up. He likes to wear a bucket hat and he carries a backpack with all the tools he might need. In his hands, he holds his tiny bucket and shovel too. Best of all, he wears the prettiest smile on his face. His face always lights up with childlike glee, his eyes sparkling in excitement. He bounces on his heels when you approach the beach, rushing off ignoring your call when you yell at him to put on sunscreen. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who happily licks the popsicle you gave him while showing you all the pretty shells and rocks he found at the beach. When you ask him which one is his favourite, he hums in contemplation, before beaming at you and telling you that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen on the beach. This obviously leaves you in a giggly, flushed mess. 

𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who insists on going to the beach for the sunset on your anniversary, only for him to get down on one knee. He presents you with a little pebble ammonite fossil, shyly telling you that although a ring is more traditional for a proposal, he wanted to recreate his confession to you in a way. Plus, giving you a pebble fossil was reminiscent of the way penguins would give their mates pebbles when they were ready to mate for life. This would be a special way of symbolising the next step in your relationship, and it would symbolise building the foundation of your home.  𓇽 Paleontologist boyfriend! Jun who whoops and throws his arms around you (just like the shape of that bug eyed fossil) when you accept the pebble tearfully. Because who cares about receiving a traditional ring to mark your union? Especially when you’ve been presented with something that means so much more to you and your paleontologist boyfriend fiance.

taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies

@mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii

@scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar @brownsugarbaybee @zaggprincess2 @nonononranghaee

@hrts4hanniehae @treehouse-mouse @vcutparis @heavenfilm @bananabubble

@hyneyedfiz @abibliolife @isabellah29 @starshuas @cheolsposts

@carlesscat-thinklogic23 @jjeongddol @jespecially @gyuguys @eros-aurras

@iamawkwardandshy

[a-tragical-tale]

little light ; dysphoria

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader

TLDR: reader suffers with post-coital dysphoria after her and Spencer's first time - it's fluff, but like, emotionally i did just butcher myself for tumblr - 3969 words

Warnings: they had sex before but no smut, it is sort of depressingly written tbh, talk of bad past sexual relationships, reader has low self worth - please let me know if anything else

Notes: Second Person, no y/n because it's 2024 and I can't keep reading about Yename. He's listed as being thirty-one so we are hovering around mid-Crim-Min-Spence x

-

You are not broken.

You know this. Every Google search, WebMD article, and Reddit thread you’ve ever stalked tells you this over and over. There’s nothing wrong with you. It just happens sometimes. It’s the way it is. The brain is weird. Funny. Easily wired. So, maybe your brain made connections in the wrong places, or you hit your hardware, or were born with switches facing the opposite direction. It’s not you, it’s… it’s your brain. There’s peace in that, you tell yourself. There has to be. Everybody says it like there is.

How you handle it though – that part – is all you.

Because guys don’t typically mind when the girls they sleep with stalk off for some alone time. It gives them a hot minute to find their clothes and pack their things and plan their best excuse – I have work tomorrow, or I actually have someplace to be, or I just remembered I need to be at home for the – uh – electrician. You let them go easily enough; a lie doesn’t change the fact that they don’t want to be here with you any longer than they have to. Maybe that part is you – the reason why they leave – but… the feelings that you have aren’t your fault. Maybe you’re not cut out for casual sex, or serious sex, or any kind of intimacy at all.

But you want intimacy. You want to be known. To be felt. To be understood.

Spencer knows you.

He has known you romantically for five months, and for two years you’d known each other as friends – coworkers, people who trade glances across cluttered desks and offer coffee and restrap bulletproof vests because you didn’t do it tight enough, are you asking to get shot? – and, well, in the modern age, you guess five months is a long time to not sleep with somebody you’re dating.

And it’s not that you didn’t want to sleep with him.

He’s gorgeous. Obviously. And completely unaware of how gorgeous he is.

It’s just that things change afterward. You wonder if there’s a certain je ne sais quoi that burns up after you’re intimate like that with somebody. Is it about seeing people in a new light? Is it… that it was all they wanted anyway? You’re not sure.

So, you held off. You wanted him to see you like this. The version of you that he asked out for coffee.

But then, one night, after your first day off in two weeks, you’d spent it lazing around in pyjamas and eating snacks instead of meals and watching old reruns from television shows you hadn’t seen since you were twelve, the moment had felt right with Spencer, and you’d slept together at his apartment.

Then, you were holed up in his bathroom, fifteen minutes into a toilet-seat slouch wondering how he was going to kick you out of his home; how you were supposed to face him when your heart was in your stomach and your brain was grey and foggy.

Spencer wasn’t going to do that, surely… he’s Spencer, he’s nice, he’s… he’s too kind for his own good, and that’s what drew you in in the first place. Nobody is just that nice, right? But he is. He was.

But he’s also a guy. And you did just sleep with him. And you are you.

There’s nothing wrong with you. Reddit says so.

About five minutes into your toilet-seat slouch, you remembered this was Spencer’s first time with anybody, and you were being cruel by leaving him out there, all alone, probably wondering if he’d done something wrong and if you were trying not to lose your cool.

Ten minutes in, you feared the sound of two delicate, rhythmic knocks on the old oak door, followed by the gentle cadence of his voice as he mutters you okay?, heart pounding, brows creasing, palms sweating and rubbing against his briefs that he’d found fallen behind his chest of drawers. It never happened, but for every second that passed where it didn’t, you feared every other second where it might. You splashed your face with cold water. You smoothed your hair. You used the toilet and left it so that, in all your genius, you could flush it just a few seconds before you walked out, and you had some story built into the fake look on your face.

Fifteen minutes in, you know you have to leave. It’s getting brutal. It’s getting weird. Even Reddit would call you the asshole with Spencer lying in bed, picking at his fingernails, glancing at every micro-noise echoing from colliding dust particles and creaking floorboards as though it might offer answers to the silence emanating from the door.

You splash your face again and smooth your hair, and you scrub yourself ‘clean’, as though if you look your very best you can bury this feeling.

This horrible feeling.

The… end of the world and you don’t care… feeling.

No amount of cold water rubbed into your murky eyes can clear their heaviness, and how you can’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not sure if it’s shame. WedMb suggested shame – they said you might have pent up feelings of guilt around sex and intimacy, and maybe that’s true, you’re not sure, but like hell are you going to approach a therapist and tell them you feel sad after sex. WedMd also said trauma. You don’t think it’s trauma. Nothing’s… nothing’s happened, right? Like you can’t have trauma if nothing bad like really happened. You’re just delicate. You’re… too… old-fashioned for the modern world. You don’t casually date. You don’t hook up. You tried it. It left you empty.

So, fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds into your hiding away, you flush the toilet and wash your hands and give yourself a last once over. One of your old t-shirts hangs loosely on your frame. In the movies, in the right book, you’d have found Spencer’s and put it on instead, but you know that means you have to take it off when you get hit with the ‘I had a work call’ and it feels far more embarrassing than it needs to. Fifteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds into hiding away, you open the door, and coil your hair about your ear, and put your best profiler forward.

Smile softly, you tell yourself, shoulders back and straight, form not too stiff, and try to look at him or he’ll think you’re weird – weirder than you already are – and your body language has to be open, like you’re not hiding something.

Spencer’s eyes are on you the moment you come into view. Hair messy, brown puppy-eyes searching for something wrong, brows stitched in quizzical thought, his lips part to speak, but then he says nothing. It’s not you that says there’s something not quite right. It’s the air. Amongst the scent of old books and clean sheets, there is the rotting corpse of words left unspoken. It hides under the bed like all good monsters do, and so, you hover beside it, feet away from the shadows.

“Hi,” you call – why you say this, you’re not sure.

“Hi.” He gulps, voice all raspy, one hand coming to run through his messy curls, the other still firmly planted on the bed to keep himself upright, “Are you okay?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He’d had the question charged from minute three, and now it ached with all the moments passed. His gaze kindly scrutinised your form – perfected, you think, in the art of ‘everything is blissfully okay’ – and then searched your face, from your half-lidded eyes to swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, I am all good.” You force a smile as you peer at him, “Are you okay?”

Spencer’s taken aback by the question, though tries not to show it.

From the moment you excused yourself a little faster than he expected and hadn’t looked back, he’d been running through the ordeal, trying to work out what he’d done wrong or if he’d missed some obvious social cue. He hadn’t had much a chance to think about what this experience meant for him – losing your virginity at the ripe old age of thirty-one is… well… something to think about.

But it had happened. Eighteen-year-old Spencer would be losing his mind over this.

And with you, of all people – you with the snappy tone and expressive eyes and delicate hands and cloak of daggers worn to keep people far away from you. You, who gazes into space for far too long, watching the wavering of trees as the leaves caress the breeze, from dawn to twilight, like they’re talking to you – like they have answers. You, who, underneath all the sarcasm and avoidance, is soft and warm, and, knowing of your tenderness, understands best how to keep it safe from harm.

“I’m fine.” His tone is shy and bashful, and he peers away to his creased bedsheets and clothes strewn about the room.

He doesn’t know how to act around you – he’s waiting for you to get closer, to tell him what you’re thinking behind those furrowed brows – and, in turn, you hover, waiting for the next words that will leave him.

“Did I-,” his eyes flick back to yours for a brief moment, “did I do something wrong?”

“Huh? No, no, no…” you say a little too quietly.

“Oh… okay…” his lips flatten, “it’s just, I get this… feeling, like… like I did something wrong.”

And then the guilt drowns you. It doesn’t change those initial feelings of shame and sadness that swallowed you whole but adds another tone of blue to the already sea-swamped canvas.

How could Spencer ever do anything wrong?

You know you have to speak now; offer some cheap, shit excuse that’ll at least make him feel better. Just something not as vulnerable as, I just get really sad after sex. In essence, those words are easy enough to say. They’re a string of simple feeling. But they’re… electrified with so much more than the letters that form them.

It’s all too close.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Spence.” You rasp, “You’re such a worrier.” You force that façade again – the smug, the aloof, the all too cool for heavy emotions version of yourself that Spencer asked out for coffee – that has carried you since you were young.

“I always worry about you.” He admits in this beautiful, delicate way.

The ghost of your smile still lingers.

You keep your distance as you gather clothes from the floor, feeing the icy brush of Spencer’s gaze as you move about the room. You shake the wrinkles from his shirt and hang it on the corner of his door so it might straighten out a little, and then fold his trousers and find his socks.

“You’re stressed.” He mumbles.

“Hm?”

“You always clean when you’re stressed.” He straightens a little more then, “You – uh – you clean your environment because you think it’ll help you think better, o-or you’re compensating for the mess in your head by dealing with the mess right in front of you. The physical is easier to deal with the mental, but… you probably knew that already because you… you always clean when you’re stressed.”

You lay his trousers on the edge of the bed alongside his socks, balled together, and then clasp your hands in front of you.

“’m not stressed.” You say.

“You’re upset.”

“’m not upset.” This one comes out snappier than you mean it to – like a growl before a bite.

“You can tell me if something’s bothering you, you know,” his head slightly cocks to the side, “I… I know I’m not… I mean, you’ve obviously been with guys who know more than me-,”

“It’s not you, Spence.”

Gentle. You manage the gentleness in this one.

“But there is an it.”

Your jaw tenses and you look away.

You wonder if you should just show all your cards and let him decide for himself if he wants to deal with that. With you. There’s nothing wrong with you, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of, even if that heavy feeling tells you differently.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He says then, “I don’t know if that’s what you’re thinking, but… just in case.” he scratches the nape of his neck, “I… did you- do you… wanna go, I don’t…”

You preferred it when this happened in your apartment. At least then, you weren’t edged out. Guys leave easier.

But there’s a lot on the line.

You can’t just leave and never speak to him again – well, at least, not easily – and, at some point, you’d have to deal with this. He would coax it out of you one calm day at your desk, or you’d admit it drunk and stumbling out of a bar. That would likely be worse. What about your relationship? Do you never sleep together again? Do you do this song and dance every time? Or do you separate to run from it – from the shameless shame?

You try to be honest.

“I just…”

But honesty – vulnerability – does not come easy.

“I… sex is just… a weird subject for me.”

Spencer straightens now, hands in his lap, sitting in the mess of bedsheets and odd pillows, the tender glow of his lamp emphasising golden threads weaving his hair. His gaze is always so intense, and you do best to avoid it when it comes to matters of the heart – of the serious, emotional kind.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known, I don’t really talk about it.” you rush to say – don’t blame yourself, you’re not wrong, Spence, how could you be wrong? It’s me, or, it’s not me because Google says that this happens sometimes because of shame or trauma but I’m not ashamed of you, a-and nothing happened, I just… fuck, Spence! – but you shrug and say none of that.

“Well, I…” he blinks as he glances around the room, cheeks rouging, “I… need to know about this kind of stuff,” he says your name so gently, you could sob – he always speaks to you like he’s mid-prayer, “I… need to know if you’re okay, and what I can do to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay.”

“If you were okay, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“It’s not… it’s not really a… thing you do something about.”

A moment of quiet.

“I’m sorry, angel, I don’t really understand – can you… what kind of thing is it?”

You know he thinks something happened in your past. His gaze screams of it so loudly that you think back and wonder if being abandoned every time you showed the most intimate parts of yourself could be classified as a somewhat traumatic experience. You wonder if you cloud your skin with indifference so that it’s easier to hide your disappointment – like the leaving might hurt less if you’re already prepared, or if you’re expecting it, if you look like you don’t care.

Spencer, however, has made no move to leave just yet, and his offer for you to leave was more for your sake than his own. He is different, you guess. He’s always hummed at a different frequency to the rest of the world, like some… extraterrestrial that knew the universe better than anyone else.

His brows flick up and you realise you’ve been quiet in thought for far too long.

“I…” stop, your body yells, “nothing, nothing.” your head shakes, and you emit somewhere between a self-effacing laugh and a cry of terror at how close you’d gotten to showing your cards.

“Baby…” his voice is low and calm and all-too-patient and so much nicer than you probably deserve, “I need to know about this.”

And God, if he didn’t say it so sweet, you might’ve had the edge to snap back and tell him to leave it well enough alone.

He reaches out and his fingers gesture you to finally sit on the bed, instead of remaining planted on your bare feet, ready to run. You watch him, as though half-expecting his touch to be aggressive or painful or burning, but cave under the weight of such wide, brown eyes, searing into yours with their heaven-sent leniency and infinite understanding.

You think about leaving.

You could be alone, then, and you’d rather be alone when you feel like this – like someone could hold a gun to your head and you wouldn’t even flinch. You’d close your eyes just to make it easier for them.

And yet, as his fingers stretch outwards, you swallow the wretchedness, and you crack. Not meeting his gaze, you settle on the bed, legs still hanging off the side, in distance enough for his calloused hands to grasp your forearm and for his thumb to trace your skin in a rhythmic back-and-forth that grounds you far more than a violent grip ever could.

Some people are born temperate.

“Talk to me.” he urges.

“I don’t like talking.”

“I know you don’t,” his lips quirk at the corner, “but, your feelings, they’re safe with me. I just wanna understand you – I wanna help, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t believe you. Fuck, you don’t even believe yourself.

Instead of pointing out the lie, his smile ghosts his lips again.

“You’re so stubborn.” He murmurs in this nostalgic way, as though the stubbornness – the lying – isn’t all that bad.

“It’s why you’re obsessed with me.”

His head softly shakes.

“What’s going on in there?” his fingers trace your hairline and coil around your ear, and then his thumb grazes your cheek, and it’s all too painful with its featheriness, and your teeth grit in a bitter attempt to not let it show.

You didn’t know you could feel such light touches.

Your brows, however, aching now, reveal your thoughts all too well.

You decide to show your cards. At the end of any game, every player exhibits their hand out of  morbid curiosity.

Your gaze shifts away. Cool air prances around your feet, raring to take you anywhere else.

“I…” you stammer, “erm… sex… is…” you bite your cheek as you think, “I get sad… sometimes. ‘nd I don’t know why.”

“Okay.” he says, and for a moment, that’s all he says – just quiet acceptance of the truth.

His hand drops from your hair. Your heart’s electric beat shocks innocent parts of yourself and you struggle to keep the panic from reaching your face. Instead, his grasp returns to your forearm.

“What kind of sad?”

“Just…” you shrug, “sad… like… really sad.”

“And what are you thinking?” he asks, “When you’re sad like this, what kind of thoughts do you have?”

“Uh…”

It feels a little easier to speak now the threshold into your shadow has been crossed, but that doesn’t mean the words come any easier.

“Just… wanna be alone, I guess. Not that… not that I want to be alone, not that I want you to lea- or I would leave, I guess, it’s your place, it’s- I-I just… figure… if I’m going to be a crying mess, I’d rather do it in private.” You swallow, “I’m sorry, I’ve… I’ve never talked to anyone about this before.”

“Nobody? What about – you know – guys before me, you never had this conversation?”

You think about telling him they’d already left by this point, but instead you shake your head and hope he understands.

He does. In the delicate scrunch of his brows and wandering of his eyes to your forearm as he traces those soothing lines, you know he knows. 

“I’m…” he sucks in a breath, “not… gonna ask you to leave or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know.”

You’re on fire tonight. Every other phrase out of your mouth is littered with an attempt to pacify his mind and hide your own.

He calls your name.

“It’s… normal sometimes-,” here we go, you think, “to have complicated feelings after sex. It’s intimate. It’s vulnerable. And the chemicals released during sex can really confuse any pre-existing emotions. Right now,” his fingers return to trace the lace of your hair around your ear, “your serotonin and dopamine levels, having skyrocketed, are plummeting fast… and that, combined with any – uh – intricate feelings about sex can really mess with your mood. It’s called – uh – post-coital dysphoria,” you know this, but he’s trying to help, so you let him talk – it sounds much better coming from him than any medical research website anyway, “really, at its root, it stems from some kind of idea or feeling, like… resentment… anxiety… or if something happened-,”

“Nothing happened.” you breathe quietly.

“Okay,” he lets you have it, but you’re not sure if he believes you, “you know, physical contact and talking are actually ways to help regulate the emotional crash you receive post-intercourse.” You cringe at the use of the word, and he smirks, “So… what I’m saying is,” his thumb traces your cheek, “I love you… come back to bed… and let me take care of you.”

Your gaze is glassy as you flick about his features. His shadowy eyes. The bump on the bridge of his nose. His lips, curved into a sympathetic smile, gently perking at his cheeks.

“You don’t want to feel like this, do you, angel?” he asks.

“No.”  you whine quietly, like a shot dog.

“You deserve to be taken care of.” His brows pinch, “Just because you haven’t been doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

You realise that no number of Google searches or WedMD articles or Reddit threads could soothe that restless worry constantly stirring beneath your skin, and you probably did need the intimacy that comes from being told by somebody you love that you deserve softness. You are more than the way your body moves. You are more than the chemical crash coursing through your brain.

“Something’s wrong with me.” you say it just to say it.

“There could never be anything wrong with you.”

“People don’t typically feel like killing themselves after sex.”

It comes out much sharper than you intend, but it doesn’t stab Spencer at all.

“I don’t really… believe… in a typical or a normal. I think we’re both far from it, anyway. The brain is a strange thing.”

“The strangest.” You mumble.

There is this soft, quiet moment, as a stream of light breaks through the drawn curtains from a streetlamp outside, as Spencer’s skin runs across yours with its only purpose being to soothe your aching heart and busy mind, where you realise completely that there is no leaving or being left tonight. It scares you a little. You don’t know if you will weep when your head hits the pillow and if your cries will be charged by the inexplicable, or if you will opt for sleep and hope that your unconscious brain can unscramble the twisted tracks guiding your thoughts from one assumption to another.

Either way, you decide very much that you would probably prefer doing that someplace warm, someplace safe, someplace familiar like the crook of Spencer’s shoulder as his fingers brush your groomed hair and his lips dust kisses over your forehead.

“Can-,” you swallow the question, and look away.

“What?” he asks.

“I – uh -,” how can you ask to be held? “you’re probably right about… about how to – erm – deal with this.”

Spencer smirks.

“You think so?”

“Stop it.”

“I never hear you say I’m right-,”

“I said probably.”

“What’s the probability – seventy-thirty?”

“Spencer.” 

He challenges you back with your name and a raised brow, a soft grin crossing his sleepy face.

“Well, I’ll take any sort of win when it comes to you, my… sweet, stubborn girl.”

His offered smile is pure and genuine.

“Come back to bed.”

--

Feedback is welcome :) xx requests too

[hamzastic]

Thinking about jealous Hamzah and the way he’d try soooo hard to hide it from everyone… and maybe they don’t notice but you know him too well 💭💭💭💭

haven’t posted on this account in foreverrrrrr, came across this draft and thought i’d finish it, i miss u guys sm :( i wanna become active on here again. not proofread.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪༊*·˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

hamzah is never jealous, the only time you'd physically seen him jealous, and vice versa, was when the relationship was still fresh. he was unsure if this would last between you, and he wanted it to so bad, he'd been crushing forever and was baffled that he managed to weasel his way in.

but after years of being together, you'd both adjusted well, getting jealous and choosing to internalize it was out of character for the both of you, but sometimes the feeling still came around at certain times. usually it was you that had the issue, claiming that the girl that came up to hamzah was being way too touchy, and of course he had no idea, but nonetheless apologized.

but this time it was him getting jealous, and strangely it felt good. hamzah's lack of jealousy sometimes got to you, it made you feel like he didn't want you. but in reality, it was just because hamzah trusted you more than anything. you'd gotten into arguments about it before, but each time you were left there feeling stupid.

“did you have a good time?” you asked hamzah as you both started getting undressed and ready for bed. you’d just gotten back from your first influencer party, you both swore you’d never go to one, but agreed since you were going together.

“yeah,” was all he said. his dry response confirmed exactly what you were thinking. hamzah was jealous. you knew hamzah was jealous when he wouldn’t stop giving the guy you had made friends with weird blank stares from across the room all night long.

“that’s all you have to say?”

“i’m not sure what else you want me to say?” you could sense the attitude in his tone, he wouldn’t even look at you, meanwhile you were dying for him to look at you; worried that maybe he actually had a reason to be jealous and wasn’t just being crazy.

“maybe a little more than that.”

“i don’t really get why you care, you were busy talking with that guy all night.” hamzah made his way off the edge of the bed where he was putting on his pajama pants and walked to the bathroom that was connected to your guys’ shared room, getting ready to brush his teeth.

“what guy?” you play stupid, you know exactly who hamzah is talking about, you just wanted to wallow in this feeling for once, the feeling of hamzah being possessive of what’s his. maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but indulging once and awhile felt necessary.

“what guy?” hamzah finally looked at you, fed up with your stupid games. he felt like you were playing with him but he wasn’t sure. “the guy that was practically fucking you with his eyes. who else y/n?”

you giggle, breaking your character.

“what is funny?” hamzah stands in front of the bathroom door, his pajama pants hanging low and hair messy.

“you never get jealous.” you stood up and made your way over to hamzah, wrapped your arms around his naked chest. “it’s cute.”

“i’m not jealous.” hamzah lied, embracing you back, despite being pissed that you were messing with him. he didn’t want you to see him as insecure, but sometimes it was hard because you were just so perfect and in his mind no one deserved you, sometimes he even wondered why you thought he deserved you.

“not jealous? i could tell you were jealous the minute we walked into the party.”

“whatever,” hamzah gave you a peck on the head.

[fraugwinska]

Since @chefskjssart's artwork that I commissioned was such a BANGER, I felt like I needed to do something to show my gratitude. So, I messaged her and gave her free choice over a little One-Shot I'd gift her. And that's how we ended up here :D Where are my little TV Sluts at? You can thank Chef - and I hope you all have fun ;>

NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content - Minors DNI - 5.7k words

"Gotta say, Val, the revenue of your movies really skyrocketed this quarter, fuck me."

Vox flipped through the quarterly reports, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face while Valentino, very pleased with himself, lounged on the chaise next to Vox's desk, smoking.

"I told you I've made a good investment." He grinned and blew out a puff of smoke. "All the horny bitches out there are eating my movies up."

"It's more than that, you're even making headway into other rings, holy shit! We've even got a foot in the Lust Ring market, which is almost impossible with that kind of competition..."

Valentino hummed approvingly.

"And the best part: I didn't have to do much." He added and let the tip of his cigarette rest against his lips, his grin widening. "My newest author is a kinky little genius."

Vox turned his attention to the papers again, his smile slowly turning into a frown as he scanned the declining sales in Voyeurscopes.

"What are you talking about? All of your authors write pretty much the same shit, what could be so special about-"

Valentino laughed and shook his head. "That one is - believe me, carino. Poor bitch has the mind of a succubus on crack but she can't get off."

Vox looked up, an eyebrow raised in skeptic questioning.

"Can't get off?"

"Can't feel anything. Can't cum for the life of her." He replied, leaning back and spreading his arms. "Numb like a fucking dead fish."

"Or maybe she just hasn't found a good dick." Vox mumbled, returning back to the reports, skimming over the numbers.

"Mh, you be the judge amorcito. Because I tried." Valentino growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Now that got Vox's full attention. The TV demon stared at his partner for a few seconds of silence, then laughed maniacally, almost falling off his chair while Val rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fucking weird little thing, she is. She can write the craziest shit, the hornier the better. Writes like a damn porn beast, but has no clue what good sex actually feels like."

Vox heaved, wiping his screen as if in tears.

"Ohoho, Christ on a Cracker Val, maybe you've been out of the business too long… are you maybe losing that golden touch?"

Valentino sneered. "Ay, and you think you would've been able to get that bitch to cum? Be my guest, I'll gladly watch you fail."

Vox grinned at the moth, his eyes dangerously teasing. The reports were long forgotten - this was too entertaining, and Vox loved to be challenged, because he loved the feeling of superiority he felt when he succeeded. And that feeling would be so much more satisfying when he'd beat his long time partner and porn prince of pride at his own expertise.

"Wanna up the ante? Make a little wager out of it?"

Valentino scoffed, then chuckled deviously. He took another drag from his long cigarette, his cerise teeth glistening with red saliva as he began to drool in anticipation.

"You know I like to play, Voxxy. Especially if the odds are so much in my favor."

Another script done.

Your best one yet, if anyone asked you. But you knew no one asked ever, so why bother?

You stood up from your desk in your private office - being Val's favorite pen pet had it's perks afterall.

You skipped the stage of employment where you'd be cramped in one of these horrible cubicles together with the other overworked, caffeinated and tired writers, typing another outdated secretary-fuck-fest-plot while the other employees complained about their last bad lay and the shitty pay.

At least you didn't have to deal with any of that. Your room was quiet and peaceful, the door able to be locked shut and the walls soundproof. No distractions, no chit chat, no loud coworkers or malfunctioning printer noises. Just the humming sound of your computer, and the whirring of the A/C Val had granted you - a luxury that most of your colleagues bitched about behind your back.

You stretched, your tired bones popping into place and you sighed. You were done for the day. Finally.

With the deadline looming over you, you had been a bit late with the last part, and the thought of being late with your work made you sick. But Val pressed for another banger (pun intended) like your last one, 'Dante's Infern-Hoe' and you didn't want to risk the benefits you were offered so temptingly by being sloppy.

But the script for 'The Devil wears Nada' sat now, freshly printed, next to your laptop, the file saved locally and in the cloud, with about an hour to spare still. You smiled, content and relieved. An hour of paid slacking off was nice, and you checked with a glance that the electric door still was set on LOCKED before you flopped down at the two-seater by the window, grabbing the remote from the small side table and turned on the TV.

A familiar voice spoke through the speakers, and you relaxed into the pillows with a small sigh, eyes closed.

As shitty as the program in Hell was, one thing it had going for it was Vox. That smooth, hypnotizing voice of the overlord that held pride's media empire in his claws was a delight to your ears, and even the mindless, overplayed commercial jingles were pleasant enough if he was the one narrating them.

For the millionth time, it seemed, your hand wandered under the hem of your pants, fingers rubbing lazily at your cunt, as you listened to him talk, advertising the latest angelic protection device that didn't do what he promised it to do.

It was insanity at this point, doing something over and over again expecting a different outcome. Every night your fingers were cold and wet with your slick and your clit bloody and raw while you felt nothing of even your most violent and feverish touches, trying for minutes to hours to experience a sensation you wrote daily about without the satisfaction of any remarkable buildup or release.

It was no use, you knew it was a fruitless attempt, just like all the others. The most you got out of your endless tries was a slight tingle one time where you were so desperate you fucked yourself with an electric rod on its highest setting, resulting in a power outage in your apartment and a big fat fine from your landlord a few days later.

Still, you craved it. Craved to one day feel at least something. After the disappointing One-Night-cannot-Stand-the-thought-of-it with your boss, the literal porn mogul you were ready to just give up. If the face of pride’s sexdrive couldn’t get you over the edge, was there any chance at all?

Valentino had been the last in a long line of desperate attempts, paartners ranging from incubi, paid whores, porn actors to even sexbots made by Asmodeus, costing you a pretty penny just for the hassle of trying to get through the return hotline to get your money back, explaining No, you don’t know how it was possible that the cock of the ‘Fuckboy 3.0 XXL’ broke into pieces after one time usage. 

You chuckled humorlessly at the memory - It was truly a pathetic time in your eternal existence, filled with you masturbating alone in bed like a sad porn star, yearning to experience sex like you wrote about in your scripts. Maybe this was hells way to punish you for your sins, your personal plan of torture - To never experience the very thing that possessed you on the daily.

The television droned on in the background, Vox advertising his latest technological developments; new features on your phone that you really could not care less about. Despite his unusual appearance, Vox was one of your absolute go-to Stand-in's for your plot protagonists. Charming, suave, depraved when called for and a dominating, thorough lover that took what he wanted, but with so much skill that his partner would cum threefold before he'd even begin to think about finishing. Cocky and yet sensual. Aftercare included. All the things your colleagues were too dumb to include, no wonder their scripts were a bust.

Yes, it was hell and therefore tastes were more... depraved than in the living world, but that didn't mean the populus secret wishes for some sort of common sexual decency was out the window, goddamn.

Your mind wandered away from your depressive ruminations, your hand never stopping its circular pattern around your swollen clit as your thoughts started to wander to its usual place, the only way that came close to what you longed for and what was the source for all of your best-selling porn scripts. Your boundless realm of fantasy.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are...'

Vox is standing in your doorway, his silhouette prominent against the bright white neon light coming from the corridor of the empty floor. His suit, neatly fitted to every curve of his slender body, is showing just how thin his waist really is, but that does not come even remotely close to describe his broad shoulders and firm, wide chest, contrasting it deliciously. His navy blue skin reflects the harsh lighting in the hallway, his screen sharp and clear, digital eyes never leaving you as he closes the door behind him, dipping the room you're in in darkness, the only source of light his brightly illuminated screen where his digital, mismatched eyes are solely fixated on you, hiding behind the long backrest of your couch.

'Found you, babydoll.' he says with that god forsaken sultry voice of his as he reaches for your throat, long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck as your breath hitches and he pulls you up from your crouched position, his long tongue running over your collarbones, the wet trails feeling as cold on your skin as his appendage feels hot. 'Now remember what I said? Ready or not...'

He presses you into a wall, his big, hard erection rubbing teasingly through the layers of fabric on your already wet core as you whimper with want. '... here I cum.'

You moan his name, the imagined feeling so painfully surreal, and you wished once more that your working fingers would elicit some sort of real, bodily response.

A cough makes you freeze in your movements. Your fantasy shatters like a mirror shot with a bullet and your eyes fly open, expecting to see maybe a dumb segment of a rerun of 'Vox2Nite'. Instead, you see the actual, real TV demon overlord, standing live and in color just a few strides away with an expression that was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and slight annoyance.

"I'd ask if I am interrupting, but it seems you already had me on your mind, huh, doll?"

Realizing that you weren't - in fact - hallucinating, you immediately whipped your hand out from under your panties, sitting up, flustered like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. How did he get in? Did you forget to lock the door? No. Did he unlock it?! You must have missed his opening and closing of the door over the voice in your fantasy. The same voice that is now echoing in reality. Oh what a shameful ending for a perfectly good fantasy orgasm.

"Um... shit, sorry, Mr. Vox, sir. I was just, you know..." you scrambled, getting nervous under the actual gaze of him as he folded his arms, waiting for you to end that sentence with a pitiful smirk. Jesus Christ, those arms are slender and muscular…

"Thinking! Just thinking, making script... scenarios..."

"Uh-Huh. And how is that coming along?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by the display before him as he took a few steps towards you.

"Oh, uh, haha, I didn't really... finish..."

He stopped directly in front of you, shutting you up with a low chuckle and his hand around your wrist, the one attached to the hand that had been in between your folds just literal seconds ago, lifting them up to look at the still shimmering wet residue on your fingers with a sneer.

"Mhm. Yeah, I've heard you have some problems with that."

Now that was embarrassing as it was alarming, and you ripped your hand out of his grip. Or better, you tried to do so anyway. It was a pointless exercise, his hand had an iron-tight grasp around your wrist as he pulled you up with one swift motion, so fast you stumbled into him, face to chest, breath caught in your throat as you were made suddenly aware how huge he really was compared to you.

"W-wow, my kinda pathetic reputation precedes me it seems. That's..." just great is what you wanted to say, but all words failed you when he lifted the hand in his grasp to his face, his thick, long tongue slithering out of his mouth just to wrap itself around your digits, lapping up the sticky residue of your arousal, watching you as your pupils widen and you squirm in his grip, mortified and turned on at the same time.

"Eh. Not as pathetic as my business partner's failure to provide something he's built his reputation on, sweetheart. Unusually smart of him to get you under contract before you shout it from the rooftops." He hummed as he tasted you, sucking in the pads of your finger hungrily and without hesitation, and all you could think of, frozen stiff like a deer in headlights, was: What the fuck is happening?

"But Val never had the kind of mindset I have... I don't do failure... or better said: I always finish what I start." His low rasp vibrated in the air around him, echoing in your head, and the heat his voice had brought to your skin left your mind racing. You asked yourself panicking if you had written too many dumb porn plots or if he was really implicating what you thought he was implicating.

"So, whaddaya say, doll..." His breath tickled your cheek as he leaned in closer, pulling you flush against him, a soft grunt of content as his hard dick pressed into your soft belly, his mouth right next to your ear, one of his hands running teasingly down your sides as he licked your ear shell. "...care to see if I can end your unlucky streak?"

'Fuck, yeah.' You thought, and almost moaned out loud as you let your head fall back to make room for his waiting mouth, when suddenly you stopped in your tracks. His hands were already groping over you greedily, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your breasts as he looked down on you, surprised to see your conflicted face.

"W...Wait. What's in it... for you?"

"Mh, you're clever. That's a new one." Vox laughed, his hand running up to the side of your face to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles on the corner of your lip. "Me and Val made a little bet, you see, and well... Let's just say: I want this to work out just as much as you do, since my success depends on yours."

"Oh.." So Val was talking about you, that bastard. He had you sign an NDA when he hired you, given that you had been unwilling to make a soul contract with him, but you guessed that that had been naively one-sided. Asshole.

Vox stroked your bottom lip, parting them before you opened them slightly on your own accord, his dark blue tongue languidly tracing the edges, waiting for your decision, coaxing you to decide in his favor. And even though you were kind of pissed at Valentino for running around telling people about your... situation - you couldn't deny it was tempting, turning fantasy into reality. And what was another overlord trying to do the impossible? Worst case - he'd try and fail, just as all the others did before, like the stupid moth pimp. At least you'd have some leverage for maybe another good deal for your silence on it. And in the highly unlikely best case…

With your decision made, you flicked your own tongue against his, humming at the unfamiliar taste and the sizzling static electricity on your tongue. Vox grinned, his sharp teeth pressing onto your lips, nipping at the sensitive flesh and growling with approval when your lips parted.

"Ohoho, baby, this is gonna be fun."

Vox ran his claws through your hair, loosening your already messy bun until your hair fell free with his playful pulls as he explored your mouth, deepening the kiss with every lick, until he could push his whole tongue into your mouth, moaning and grabbing the back of your head tightly as you let him fill you without the slightest hint of protest, fighting a desperate losing battle for air.

"Fuck, don't you need to... breathe?" you whispered after he finally pulled back, a wet trail connecting his tongue to yours, grinning down on you while your lungs burned for oxygen.

"Perks of being state of the art, sweetheart." he watched your swollen, drool covered lips - parted to catch your breath - for a few seconds longer before he inquisitively tilted his head. "Did you feel any of that?"

You contemplated lying, but figured honesty would probably be the best in this situation, shaking your head and giving him your most pitiful attempt at an apologetic smile, already bracing yourself for him to give up or get mad. "My lips tingle a little."

"Mh." He huffed as he pushed you back into the two-seater, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thump, and unceremoniously pulled on your very not-sexy-at-all sweatpants and slightly-more-sexy-but-not-quite panties until they slipped over your legs.

"How about this then?" He pressed his knee in between your legs to nudge them apart. "Can you feel any of this?" He spread your already wet slit open to run a cold claw over your hole, softly dipping first one, then two and lastly three of his fingers inside to stretch you further open and push it back in, repeating the movement slowly while keeping his eye contact trained on your face.

You hummed non-commitally, closing your eyes and pressing yourself into the cushions, trying to feel for any sensation that should come with every slow drag of his digits pumping inside of you, and not finding any of it was so fucking frustrating. You felt like you were not only disappointing yourself, but him, as stupid as that sounded. But with every added finger and still a lack of response, you saw the progression of frustrations in his face that you knew all too well - eyebrows furrowed, irritated twitches of the corners of his lips that turned into a snarl with the third added digit. You frowned, sighing and bit your lip - nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and fucking nothing again, just another wet hole, the clenching of your walls a habit and reflex only, no pleasure whatsoever.

"It's no fucking use..." you whined, pressing your hands to your face in frustration and fear of looking back into his eyes, "I can't feel anything at a-aaAAH...!"

Your back arched at this strange jolt running down your spine, forcing you to grind down on his hand as a strong electric current buzzed from his claw tips right through your cunt, curling in your stomach in a hot wave of wanton need and knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the flash of victorious satisfaction on his screen before his face turned fuzzy as you began to tear up.

"There's some reaction. There we go, sweetheart." He cooed and curled his fingers in that deliciously sinful way again, making your breath catch in your throat. For the first time since you can remember, you FELT. You dropped your hands from your flushed, hot face onto the plush of the couch, fingers desperately digging into the fabric, and stared at Vox with wide eyes. He winked, nudging his head to his buried fingers, and with a shattering gasp you could see neon blue bolts of electric sparks traveling down his slender arm, crackling around the soft flesh inside of your pussy that had never felt so sensitive.

"How are y-aaaa.... aaa-AAah...." he silenced any questions you might have had or possible retort with another shock wave traveling through his hand as he dragged his fingers in and out in an agonizingly slow pace, it had your ears ringing with white noise and your eyes water with unknown, strange pleasure.

You were shaking, and though it should have frightened you a lot more than it did to be electrocuted while doing something that could be considered borderline treason to Valentino (And it still had your cunt dripping on a whim), but there was nothing left for you to think of other than the sharp shocks making every nerve inside of you buzz, your thighs already trembling in anticipation of the possibility of an unknown, but oh-so-wanted climax. Yet it was somehow still out of your reach, out of your range of senses.

"I feel like we are getting closer, babydoll." The TV demon chuckled darkly, his voice over amplified, the electrical buzz reverberating loudly in the soundless room. "How 'bout we kick it up a notch, huh?"

He pulled out his fingers in a quick, cruel movement, making your pussy clench around nothing as you already mourned the feeling. Before you had the time to voice your loss however, he had your thighs already in his hands, pushing them back to almost fold you in half and spread them apart as wide as he could get them without hurting you. With a smirk he stuck out his tongue, inhumanely long, thick on its base and pointed at the end - and let his electric energy visibly spark around it. Holy Shit.

The moment his head dipped down and his appendage swiped through your puffed, red folds, you could feel your insides buzz in sync to his delighted moan. He began eating you out feverously and obscenely, not holding anything back, just like you wrote your most popular protagonists to do - NO, this was so much better than anything you've ever written or fantasized about, his tongue twisting in patterns that felt like nothing you've ever even came close to imagine before. It was like he powered your whole nervous system, overriding every strand of nerve with his own electricity, amplifying any touch, any lick and any suction that would normally not even register a thousand-fold.

"O-Oh my g... F-fffuuuuhhh-ck.. meeee..." you moaned in confusion and amazement, your legs shaking helplessly on either side of Vox's rectangle head as he fucked his tongue into you, switching between the deep, long, thorough thrusts and fast, small, teasing flicks into the wet heat of your cunt, coating his screen in a shining mix of your natural juices and his blue neon saliva. He sucked at the protruding of your swollen bundle of nerves, your sensitive clit twitching under his attention - it was maddeningly unreal. You felt like a complete, utter sham - if this was sex, you've never written it anywhere correctly.

"I'm working on that, sweetheart."

Vox smirked against your pulsing core, humming with satisfaction at your wet, gaping slit begging for him to push back in and fill you up again, making you ache for his tongue deeper and deeper, forcing every shred of sense you had to leave your mind as you bucked into his grip in desperation, chasing another intense jolt he held just out of your reach as he laughed deviously at your hungry reaction to his teasing antics.

You didn't care how pathetic you looked, how undignified or desperate you sounded. This was nothing short of fucking fantastic, this all new, unknown sensation that you deemed impossible to ever experience and an real, tangible orgasm so close you could almost grab it. You felt a violent greed, you needed more of this, more more more, you needed to cum and you knew exactly that only Vox was able to do it - but you needed him inside of you, pushing you into oversensitivity, no matter what was required to get you over the edge. Fuck all dignity, that ship had sailed the moment your back hit the couch.

You shook your head vigorously, choking down sobs of grateful pleasure that racked your body with every curl of his tongue inside of you and a guttural moan, high pitched and broken.

"P-Please... ah, Pl..please..." you panted and Vox felt for your thighs to hold you steady. His claws sank in with such force into the soft meat of your legs he drew blood. "F... Fu..Fuck me.. please." you stammered and he smirked, a look of pure joy in his digital eyes as he stared you down.

"Oh, I will, baby." He smiled against your core, curling the tip of his tongue around your clit with just the right amount of pressure that your entire vision went blank with a broken cry and the strongest wave of static he'd managed to work you up to so far. "Don't worry about that, I'm not nearly done with you."

He fucked his long, slippery tongue back into your quivering pussy, his thumb taking the place on the sensitive bundle of nerves where his pointy tip had been and you cried out again as he found that one spot you've always read (and written) about. You had questioned it's actual existence, believing it to be one of those wishful myths girls dreamt and you by proxy wrote about - Until Vox and his fucking talented mouth and miraculous tongue brushed right up against it with expert accuracy. It made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth open to cry out as your back arched like a bow string.

"Yeah, there? F-Fuuuck..." The overlord growled, watching your blissful face twist with a new kind of overwhelming pleasure. "You gonna cum for me baby? Come on, let go, good girl..."

You knew the reader-pleasing phrase by heart. You used it a hundred times and fantasized about it even more - It shouldn't have that effect on you, but yet it was that comment of his, spoken in a raspy low rumble directly into your cunt that finally pushed you over the edge, leaving you panting helplessly and cumming.

Hard. Harder than you've ever dreamed about. Every nerve ending on overdrive, every hair standing on edge - it felt like getting struck by lightning, the static electricity sizzling through your blood vessels like a thunderstorm as he was still thrusting that goddamn magic tongue into your spasming hole through the clamping of your muscles, taking you through it with small, measured licks to keep you on the edge a little longer, whines and hiccups mixed with breathless laughs leaving your raw throat as you slowly returned to reality.

This was it, what you've always longed for, you realized after your vision came back to you, staring down at the smug looking TV demon who was still settled between your legs, his glowing screen painted with the remains of your climax. You managed to give him an exhausted smile, blowing a stray strand of wild hair from your face with a quick puff before dropping your head back in the pillow, absolutely spent. Vox pressed a toothy kiss on your thigh and pushed himself back to his feet.

"You've got quite the gushy orgasm, doll, damn..." he wiped a thick blotch of your arousal from the corner of his screen, the neon blue stained fingertip disappearing in his mouth as he hummed appreciatively and licked it away. Then he looked over you, slumped lazily on the sofa, your face flushed, your hair all tangled and the exposed pieces of skin covered with a shiny layer of sweat.

"Shit, sweetheart, you look goddamn good when you're all messed up like that..." He eyed you intently and leaned down, his heavy frame caging you in underneath him, one hand trailing a line from your still heaving chest, between your breasts and up to your throat.

"T-That was.. wow. Just... wow." Clearly illiterate and 50 IQ-points dumber post-orgasm, you cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. While you were a little disappointed that you still hadn't really fucked, he did what he promised to do. Got you off - and how. You were grateful.

Sad that it was over, maybe even sadder that the chances of a repetition were likely zero - Vox was a goddamn overlord, and who were you other than a nobody with a hard-to-please cunt?- but grateful nonetheless. And you felt the need to let him know that.

"I don't know how to than... w-what are you doing?"

You sat yourself up on the elbows with a dumbfounded expression as Vox began to undress himself, his jacket, bow tie and undershirt discarded within seconds onto the ground and he practically pounced you as he began to undo the belt of his slacks, trapping you in between his legs and under the very prominent hard-on he sported.

"What, you really thought that was it? Make you cum once, win my bet and ding-dong-ditch like a fucking amateur?" Vox laughed as he pulled his massive length out of his pants - Words were your bread and butter but they would ever fail you to describe the gloriousness that was his cock.

Almost as thick as your underarm, smooth and almost shiny, glowing with built-in LED lights along the underside of his shaft and practically weeping with precum. He knelt down on the sofa, taking your hand to run it over its full length, smearing the sticky residue along your fingers, his almost bioluminescent cum dripping thick and slowly from the angry swollen tip. "Fuck no, sweetheart. In case you forgot, let me remind you..."

He leaned down to your ear, a violent electric bold jolting from his cock through your hand right into your overwhelmed, disbelieving brain as he guided you to line him up with your still throbbing entrance.

"I always finish what I start."

Vox had never been in a better mood.

His phone - finally surviving for more than just a few days, since his win against Valentino prevented the moth pimp from smashing it, even in one of his many temper tantrums - buzzed again. A notification of another upload into the cloud. He smirked when he saw the name of the user.

The whole conversation after he fucked Val's writing savant into Limbo and back had been a fucking blast for Vox - he reveled in the morbid joy of cashing in his stake while teasing Val that he'd have to wait another eternity for the chance to make Vox star in a double length porn with him - a fantasy of the moth Vox has been always against. Not to mention that Vox had accomplished what Valentino with all his 'mighty dicks and porn mastery'-aura couldn't. Which (rightfully) sent him into his biggest hissy fit yet, so enraged that, in lieu of Vox's phone to throw against the wall, he threw his newest Robo-Assistant Kitty out the window.

Although Vox had been certain he wouldn't lose the little bet against his partner, he still felt a little relief that his ass wasn't on the next new load of crappy porn DVDs. Granted, that would've surely caused sales to skyrocket - but with his revived and improved little star author that was more than just unnecessary.

Val's fears that a good dicking with a Happy End would sort of break the little writers 'Sex-Spell' and her scripts turn into shite like the rest of Val's useless crew produced proved to be the exact opposite. Ever since Vox made her cum - on his fingers, mouth and cock for multiple times that fateful night - her scripts improved even more, resulting in stellar sales reports, a major spike in cashflow and a personal inquiry letter for a meeting from Asmodeus himself (which Vox contemplated to frame and hang over his fucking bed like a medal of honor).

And since Valentino, in his hurt pride and childish, stubborn pettiness refused to speak or fuck with him, Vox had no qualms of paying his little writer a few more visits. Every time he found impish joy in finding new ways to make her cum, and after one shag-date where he actually stayed long enough for an after-sex-cigarette and some smalltalk, he discovered that she wasn't just a kinky, but also an interesting bitch with great taste in whiskey and a crude sense of humor that was just up his alley.

"I'm curious doll." Vox said as he took another drag from the cigarette before he handed her the bud, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her onto his bare chest as he lounged on the new, bigger sofa he got for her office (more space and much more versatility) "What the fuck did you do to end up in hell? You don't seem like the ax-murder type."

She chuckled mischievously. "I was a pretty popular crime author back upstairs. I hit a pretty bad writer's block, and decided to get in some field work to inspire me for more creative ways of murder. No axes, but I did have a fable for knives." She grinned, inhaling the thick smoke as he laughed and the way her tits pressed into his skin had him almost hard again. "You know what's the most ironic part?" She asked, putting the bud out in the ashtray on her side table and glanced back over her naked shoulder to him, a devious glint in her eyes. "I got the electric chair for that." That woke his cock fully up again, and he couldn't help but take her for another round.

His assistant babbled something about his schedule, but Vox didn't listen. Instead, he planned on visiting her office again, maybe he'd even stay after and order sushi for two, who knew? The media Overlord smiled smugly as he opened the database and looked over the newest script you had uploaded to the cloud. It was when he read the title that he burst into ringing laughter.

'Electrocutie - One Big Cock Shock'

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[furiousgoldfish]

When people hear stories about abuse, they often get fascinated and interested in the abuser, and the 'mystery' behind their behaviour. They'll want to analyze what happened to this person to make them act in such twisted and sadistic ways, and they want to find the past event or past abuse that would 'explain it all'. Abusers will also, very happily recount the past abuse whenever it's time to explain away their behaviour, so nobody could hold them accountable, because after all, they had had it rough! Of course they're now abusive, it's only natural.

Fascination with explaining away abuser's behaviour often leaves victim's situation forgotten and ignored. Victims are supposed to just 'get over it', not be so sensitive, and be careful to not turn into abusers themselves, because after all, being abused means you become an abuser, according to the abuser. Except it doesn't, and victims often don't end up abusing anyone else, especially not in the horrific ways they themselves have been abused. So we're having two opposing stories: one is told by the abuser, and it's easy, simple, explains everything away, and it says, abuse causes future abusers, I am the proof, I was abused and now I am like this. Victim's story goes: I was abused, and now I struggle to function, I have cptsd, I have flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, anxiety, eating disorder. I struggle with suicidal feelings and wishing I didn't exist. I feel like I'm not important at all in this world and like I have no community, no family, no home. Failure of everyone to help me while I was being abused caused me to feel like an outcast from society, someone who isn't a part of it, who doesn't matter. I would never do this to another person, I feel like a part of me was torn away into pieces and I struggle to put myself back together.

Now that story is complex, it implicates the society in failing to stop the abuse and making the victim's life worse, it showcases the actual consequences of abuse, which are not 'becoming evil', but feeling ultimately traumatized and damaged, struggling to find joy and happiness in life in the aftermath. Society doesn't want to hear that; it makes abuse into a problem that should collectively be dealt with, rather than pushing it all onto individuals who find themselves trapped in it and suffering. It's much easier to pretend that abuse just makes someone abusive, and for people who are abusive, we need to feel sorry for, because they were 'made to be like this', and for those abused, we just need to shame them and control them so they don't become abusive themselves.

There are abusers who have lived privileged lives, there are abusers who have been spoiled and rewarded for their acts of abuse. Most abusers don't show the symptoms of trauma nearly as bad as the victims of abuse do, they're most often just having the symptoms of 'I lash out my anger on those who cannot defend themselves' and 'everyone needs to feel sorry for me because I am having the roughest time on the planet'. Weird how the victims almost never develop these two symptoms! Victims will go and compare their situation to everyone who has it worse, and will struggle to express or direct anger at anything. 

So what is the actual source of abuse, if not past trauma? There's no study or statistics that can tell us that for sure, and abusers are careful to maintain their story and are not interested in being studied past what makes people feel bad for them. I would guess that it's a mix of entitlement, being in a position of power over someone vulnerable, never having to develop empathy or compassion, being rewarded continuously for acts of abuse, and social influence (admiring other abusers and wanting the power they have). A lot of social structures support and enable abuse of those who are at the very bottom of it, with very few protections against it. A lot of people believe it's their right to abuse someone if they have the power over that person, and gain power specifically for that cause. Abusers will have children and believe this is their property and they can do whatever they please with it, abuse being a part of it.

If we don't know where abuse comes from, how do we combat it? I don't believe in feeling sorry for the abusers or giving them endless attention, chances, excuses and rationalizations; instead I believe we should stand firm on the fact that abuse is inexcusable, and will have consequences, regardless of how it came into their behaviour. If abuse always had consequences, regardless of the history of the abuser, they would know they can't get away with it, that they can't later make everyone feel sorry for them and go on with their sob stories. Abuse would get them punished, not sympathized with.

I also believe the abuser's point of view should be decentralized; it should be victims who get to speak. It's easy for the abuser to show themselves in the positive light, minimizing the abuse, insisting the victim provoked or wanted it, that it wasn't that bad and it was done with 'best intentions'. But if we listened to victims, we would quickly understand that anyone who can do this to another person is monstrous, and should not be extended any sympathy. Abusers don't extend their sympathy to the victims when they abuse, so why should they expect to get it? Society should take abuse more seriously and put defenses into place, so abusers are not as easily able to put it behind closed doors. Resources for recognizing abuse, especially child abuse and intimate abuse, should be taught, spread and shared in society, so nobody would be able to convince another that suffering abuse is normal, or justified.

One of the biggest barriers to escaping abuse is victim confessing what's been happening to a trusted family member or a friend, and then this family member or a friend shaming and blaming them for it, instead of offering help and protection. It takes a lot of courage to even say something out loud, knowing the abuser would punish them for it, and then to be punished externally for speaking out, it's devastating. If abuse was taken seriously, and victims understood to be fault-free, but singled out, isolated and hurt in a way that nobody should be, and it was understood it's a societal responsibility to protect them against this, it would be easier to speak out, and get support. It often takes a society to help someone get free, because abusers are hell-bent on abusing once they start to, the victims need multiple barriers before abusers could get anywhere near them.

And why shouldn't we want that? If we know there are people in society such as children, young people, people without regular income, poor people, disabled people, compassionate people, marginalized people, people who struggle to recognize and flag down predators, shouldn't we want to make sure they're protected? That nothing bad happens to them, and they're free to live their lives safe from those who would do them continuous harm and make them want to die? We want our young, old, kind, vulnerable, sensitive, disabled, poor, compassionate and marginalized people safe and happy. There's no reason to throw them under the bus and leave them to suffer abuse.

[missmielyhoran]

Oreos and Pickles (Sad Ending)

in which you spent 2 years with Harry and a grocery store trip makes you realize it was all secondary...

[Warning- Just pure angst, fluff if you like close your eyes ig, pregnancy cravings, complicated feelings and a very awful grocery store trip, alcohol, drunk driving, Harry]

Masterlist // Part 1

*****

A single moment can change many things.

But not the feelings you have for someone and a simple grocery store trip made him realize that.

He loved the way dress flowed when you walked and how it showed just the tiniest bump only he could notice cause that's all he wanted to do.

But he hated how his hands weren't in his and how far you were walking. At the same time, a part of him was itching to run back in and talk to her, ask her how she was doing, how her work was going, and everything he could think of.

Was it wrong? Very much, but he doesn't know what to do.

He opened the door to the passenger seat, and you slid inside, saying a small thank you. He walked around and slid into the driver's side. When he looked up, he saw something he never wanted.

There she was, crying in the driver's seat of her directly in front of him. Their eyes met, and god, he shouldn't want to run to comfort her, especially with his pregnant girlfriend sitting just beside him.

"I'm going to Amelia's." Your voice brought him out of trance as he turned to look at you.

You were so different from her not only feature wise but also emotionally while she was this emotionally sensitive person. You, on the other hand, would not shed a tear even in the saddest of situations. He couldn't even think of a time he saw you cry.

"Niall and her are out of town I think" He replied.

He saw your face scrunch up in annoyance, "Just drop me off at Cam's house" you said, turning your face away from him with pure anger.

"Stress is bad for baby" He said, reaching for your bump but then retrieving back as you were very much not like that right now.

"Yeah I fucking bet" You muttered under your breath.

Harry just drove to your sister's house in silence. He was in a hurry but in a hurry for what? he didn't know, or maybe he did, but it was just not time his heart had accepted it.

As they reached the house, he saw your sister out collecting her mail. She waved at both of them, but when she saw your face, her smile fell, and so did her hand.

You got out of the car without so much so of a bye or when you will return, and Harry didn't know why he didn't care, you were mother of his child shouldn't he?

He drove off the curb and started driving towards his house. His mind was jumbled all with the thoughts. It was weird to just see her face he tried so hard not to even think about her. He threw out her pictures, her gifts, every piece of her existence, and yet she came back somehow.

He felt guilty and betrayed, betrayed by his own conscious and heart.

He took out a bottle of whiskey as soon as he got into the house. He drank half the bottle in one go feeling the burn in his throat and his eyes watering.

Heaving his threw the rest filled bottle on the floor, scattering the pieces of glass all around. He looked around, and his life looked like a mess. The living room was filled with boxes, your new clothes, and baby stuff he kept buying impulsively. All somehow felt like a mess.

The mess that looked like home in the morning.

In anger, he took his car keys and made a beeline to his car. He didn't care about the glass, the boxes, or the fact he was very much drunk.

He got into the car and started driving to the place he knew like his hand.

He drove and drove till the familiar white house building came into the view. His hands were shaking, and his body was shaking, to be honest, but he knew he had to do this.

He put his car in the park and walked to the porch, knocking on her door like he used to, and he felt like that again, like he was again where he was a few years ago.

Then similar eyes opened the gate, a very smaller version of eyes he fell in love with.

"How many times I have told you to not open the gate until I say so!" She came running from behind and stood freeze looking at him as was he.

He looked between the child and her and couldn't comprehend what it was.

"Harry, what are you-" She asked, leaving the words hanging in the air, but she also knew what he was here for.

"I wanted to talk to you" He said hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

They walked through her house to her backyard, where she shut the glass door so no one could listen in to their conversation.

"Who was-" He left the question hanging in the air, confused as the woman who left him for not wanting a family was here playing house with someone else.

"That's my daughter, Cassie" She said with a soft smile, "She was a surprise totally not expecting, thought it was flu or something turns out I was pregnant" She said with a chuckle.

"So you left me when I asked you to marry me and start a family, and now here you are, playing house, huh?" Harry said angirly, "I cried, begged you to stay, and you left saying I deserved someone who could give me what I wanted! You could've given me what I wanted. You have what I wanted. You just didn't want to!" He said, slamming his fist on the picnic table.

"Calm your voice Harry my daughter is playing inside, and I don't want her to get scared or know what is going on here" She said strictly. Harry sighed and slid down back in his chair.

"I could've never given you what you wanted. A white-picked fence was not something I dreamed of, nor would I ever. Her father and I got divorced just in 6 months of marriage cause I couldn't do it" She said, "A marriage, a child and a career, I couldn't do it all at once, he understood that so we just co-parent now" She explained, "You wanted a wife Harry and you deserved one, and if so long into our relationship I couldn't agree to it then it was a waste of our time, we had different goals of relationship and at some point, we had to go onto our separate paths."

He stood there listening, feeling baffled on how she could just break his heart all over again without making him hate her.

"But you crying in the store, we can still have everything" He said, feeling tears breaming in his eyes.

"Harry what-no!" She yelled, "Oh my god" She panicked.

"Harry, I was crying cause I was happy. Yes, a lot of feelings came over me seeing you all of a sudden, but the main thing I felt was happiness. Happiness that finally you had everything you wanted, a beautiful girlfriend, a child on the way, and the way she looked at you- she is utterly in love with you" She explained softly, her eyes were filled with concern and contentment.

It was pathetic honestly how he realized what he had done. He had everything in the palm of his hand, and he threw it away on his own.

"It's not too late Harry go get her" She said softly, feeling his pain even after years of separation.

But it just might have been.

Cause as he was walking to his car practicing how he will kneel and ask for your forgiveness. The ring he had for you will be given to you today no matter what he will fix no matter what, but then he got a call from your sister.

You were in the hospital.

Turns out stress was bad for the baby.

So he got into the car with tear filled eyes to drive to the hospital he saw the oreos and pickles they bought sitting in the back seat but they were of no use.

Just like his apology, just like his pain, his realization, his love, the unmade crib sitting in the living room or the half painted nursery nothing was of use.

All cause of his stupidness and impulsiveness.

He lost everything chasing his past while having everything in present.

Now, all he has is regret.

*****

I hope you like this it's kind of rusty I know but I will try to post more from now.

Please Like, Comment and Reblog it helps a lot.

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @grapejuicebluesrry @gxbiqs @gem1712

Love you guys a lot♡ please tell me how you liked it here♡

[barbiiecams]

doubts

drew starkey x younger!reader (like 19/20 sorry not sorry 😭), reader calls drew “papa” *not in a weird way*, smut, in love w the age gap concept cus of @native2princess ! <3

you watched yet another video on the internet of drew down at disney world without you, but with his friend group that all had a few years on you.

he would send pictures of everything that was cute or that reminded him of you, and you really did appreciate it. but it still didn’t swallow the lingering feeling in your gut.

you weren’t even invited. it was obvious why since you couldn’t even buy a drink legally, let alone not even close with half of them, but for some reason it still hurt and had you questioning things even further about everything.

you swore that you guys were drifting apart.

not only did that make you sad, but it also left you scared and questioning everything.

the only thing that made you wonder why you two were drifting like you thought you were was because of the age gap.

was he getting tired of you? was the age gap starting to become a burden? were you just too immature?

and let’s not even get started on how drew acted around his female friends — that were once again a lot older.

all you could do was just cry. it was a dumb reason to cry about, but you don’t wanna lose drew yet you really think you are. he was your first and you hoped he’d be your last, but who knows where you two may end up?

seeing how he acted with his friends currently was already ruining you. now you found yourself down a rabbit hole of searching through old videos of him before you were even dating.

it was crazy, of course you were aware of that. but it did nothing but further increase your worries seeing how he would act around these girls. all older than you and all more outgoing.

so now here you were, stalking your own boyfriend while you sat in your bed, silent tears streaming down your face.

currently, drew was now in paris for the fashion show. he wanted you to come, but it would be too difficult for you. plus school had just ended and both of you knew that you were planning to spend more time with your family this summer.

regardless of that, this feeling was awful. you’ve had old puppy-love heart breaks during highschool with guys you dated just to say you were in a relationship, but this is real. a real committed relationship you’re in with a guy a little over 10 years older than you.

he’s so mature. so are you, but not entirely. you still had a lot more to experience and learn, and he was always so patient.

but maybe now that patience was wearing thin.

you sniffle one more time before closing out all your apps and throwing your phone on the nightstand next to you. wanting to sleep it off and praying you’d wake up feeling better, your insides just were not letting that happen. not to mention you couldn’t fall asleep without at least getting a goodnight text from him.

laying down was no use. as soon as you tried to lay your head down on the pillow and just relax, the overthinking just continued to grow. there was no escape from these thoughts and it was just eating you straight alive.

you huff while turning over, switching sides and seeing if that would help. spoiler: it didn’t.

all you could do now is groan while sitting up. a certain thought ran through your mind that you really didn’t want to go through with, but did you have a choice? you already felt as if the end of things are near, so why let him break your heart (even though you’d be expecting it) when you can just do it the hard part first?

with a sigh, you reached over to grab your phone and open drew’s contact. everything was making you sick. you just stared at the screen, skimming over the conversation you had earlier.

it was the usual. ‘hows your day’, ‘i miss you’, ‘this reminded me of us’, all the cute stuff.

but it just didn’t hit the same. that feeling of him leaving you because of your age wasn’t going anywhere, and it was making you feel insecure on extreme ends

your fingers started typing. there were no real thoughts, just your pure raw emotions. you hit backspace a couple of times, you sat there and thought about the next few words you were going to say, but eventually you got it all put together it pained you type, but it pained you even more contemplating on whether or not you should send it.

‘hey drew. i’ve been missing you a lot recently and i know it’s weird and you’re going to question why i sent this after you read it, but im sorry. i really do feel like you’re leaving me soon and it’s taking a toll on me badly. i don’t want this to end but i can tell that it is and i just know + feel like we’re drifting apart. i feel like it’s because of my age so i really do understand and respect that. we can talk more once you get back because i hate to do this over text but i can’t just bottle my feelings anymore. goodnight 🩷’

a few more seconds of contemplation, you hit send and stared at the screen. you didn’t know how he would respond so you should’ve been shutting off your phone and running away.

but you didn’t. you stared at the screen and waited until he read it.

thankfully, it didn’t take him any longer than three minutes to open your message, and soon after, the dots were bubbling.

drew himself was lost. confused wasn’t even the word for the long paragraph you just sent him. he even started triple texting you.

‘???’

‘what are you talking about baby?’

‘i’m so lost’

you sighed reading his texts. he didn’t get it, realistically you shouldn’t have expected him to. it was out of the blue, and little to your knowledge, he didn’t think for a second anything was wrong between you too.

when you didn’t answer him as soon as you read it, he went back to typing.

‘answer me’

‘i’m really confused and worried. it’d be nice if you stopped leaving me on read’

‘call me now’

you didn’t even have a chance to start typing because you had an incoming call with drew’s name on it. you didn’t wanna pick up, but you knew you had to because if the roles were reversed, oh you’d definitely be throwing a fit.

swallowing quickly, you hit the green answer button to drew’s facetime call but moved your face out of the camera.

he’s walking, most likely back to his hotel with furrowed eyebrows and an expression that you think showed… annoyance?

drew’s the first one to speak up, “y/n, what the hell are you talking about?” he says sounding very confused and very upset as well.

“i feel like we’re drifting apart apart i don’t know.” you replied. your voice isn’t even a third as stern as his. it’s not stern at all nor convincing.

“where is that coming from? what are you talking about it’s our ages?” he questions you again.

you really hoped a fan wouldn’t come up to him. not because it would interrupt the call, but because they would be walking up on him pissed off and getting a taste of his very apparent bad mood.

you sighed, “it’s just how i feel. maybe i’m not mature enough for this.”

his face scrunches with confusion even further. he then looks down to his screen to see the ceiling you were showing.

“why do you all of a sudden feel this way? you are mature. if you weren’t, this relationship wouldn’t be a thing in the first place.”

this was something else you wanted to avoid; him being mad at you. you hated making him upset and now that you were already upset, and he was just getting annoyed with you, it wasn’t helping and it made you feel worse.

“show me your face baby. you know i don’t like talking to walls.” he says once you don’t respond to his actual voice this time.

reluctantly, you put your face in the screen. sitting up and cuddling onto your bed sheets.

“y/n, nothing is wrong. we aren’t drifting apart at all so i don’t know why you feel otherwise. we’re okay and you know this, baby. stop overthinking.” he reassures you.

before you could finally respond with anything else, you heard a few girls calling his name from the other side of his phone. good luck to them!

“i’ll call you back. we’re not done talking.” he says, then swiftly hangs up.

you wanted to puke. you hated being in any type of conflict with people, let alone being in one with drew.

a headache was starting to form, and it forced you to lay back down and sleep. you kept your phone right next to you on your bed, just in case drew woke you up by ringing your phone again.

—

you weren’t sure when the previous night you fell asleep, but you didn’t wake up until 12 the next day. and that was due to your doorbell ringing multiple times at once.

you whined at the fact you had to leave your warm bed, but you slowly made your way down your apartment’s stairs, rubbing your eyes and forcing yourself to wake up.

opening the door ready to curse out whoever had the nerve to wake you up at this hour, it was drew standing at the door with flowers in one hand and his stuff in the other.

now this is what really woke you up.

“how are you here…?” you questioned.

he exhales, “soon as we hung up yesterday i checked out and booked a flight here. we really need to talk in person.

you step to the side to let him in, then he shuts the door behind him and hands you the flowers.

both of you take a seat at the table. “i need you to fully explain what you’re feeling. that paragraph honestly made no sense and as soon as i read the whole thing i knew i had to get down here.” he says.

you press your lips together before speaking. “i’m sorry.”

he makes a face of puzzlement and also motions for you to keep going.

“maybe im not mature enough for this, drew. i don’t know.”

“what makes you think that? what happened or what did i do that has you questioning everything?” he asks, reaching out for your hand.

you sniffle before continuing, “i just feel like im holding you back. you’re buying drinks, going to clubs and hanging out with your friends who are all around your age and im still in school. it’s not working-”

he cuts you off before you can finish that. “those aren’t reasons, baby. it is working. do you feel left out or something?”

“no it’s just,”

there’s a pause before he says something again, “just what? i don’t understand what’s got you so in your head.

“i don’t know how to explain it. i just think you’re drifting from me because of where we’re at in life and i hate it.” the words finally form, and you can feel a little bit of weight being lifted off your chest now that you’ve got it out.

his expression now shows a face of understanding, then he’s standing up and swiftly making his way over to you, lifting you up before securing your legs around him.

you let out a squeal at the action. when he was balanced, he made his way upstairs to your room with you in his arms.

stepping into your decorated room, he throws you down on the bed then hovers over you. “i’m gonna prove to you that you deserve this relationship.”

his lips make their way to your jaw, leaving little lovebites on them, then down to your neck and chest.

your hands fly to his buzzed head. you let out soft sighs at his lips being on your body, a feeling you loved the most.

his hands travel to your pajama shorts then dipped into the waistband of your panties. as hes taking them both off at the same time, he distracts you by now placing his lips on yours, slowly making out with you.

now your hands are taking action, working to get is shirt off to see his toned body once again. when it’s off, one hand is still on his head while the other goes down to his abs, feeling on him.

now he’s starting to get quick, fumbling with his belt and pants, ready to do you into the mattress.

sooner than later, both of your clothes are off and in random sports throughout the room.

his middle and ring finger are inside you, stretching your out as you moan and grind into his hand.

drew’s cock is laying there on your stomach, practically reaching your ribs. this was just another reminder of how deep he really goes when fucking you.

you could barely keep your eyes on him while his fingers worked you. “that feel good?”

you moan out a “yea.” you definitely couldn’t let him go. the way he could make you fall apart with just his fingers is crazy as it is.

“i bet, baby. already so wet. you know what you want huh?” he coos.

this makes you nod. “want your cock, please.” you reach your hand down to where it rested on you, but he moves your hand away.

“i know you do. but i need this pussy stretched and ready for me.” he responds

“i can take it! promise! just give it to me,” you whine.

drew gives in at your begging. he removes his fingers from inside you before sticking them in your mouth.

he grabs his cock before lining it up with your entrance. he slowly pushes in, making you whimper around his fingers. it hurt a little bit, but the pleasure overrode the pain.

“shhh,” he hushes you, putting his cock in all the way and forcing you to take all that he gave you.

you continued to let out sounds because of the pleasure he was giving you. drew was letting out groans of content himself.

“feels so good, baby. so fucking good.” he throws his head back.

his words did nothing but turn you on more. your eyes squeeze shut before you guide his hand out of your mouth and onto your throat, signaling what you want from him.

he smirks before moving his other hand to your throat, choking you slightly but enough that you can still breathe.

“yea you like when i go hard on you, right baby? this pussy just loves when i go rough on her, doesn’t she?” he teases.

“mhm!” you squeak, loving the feeling of just taking all of him so deep and so rough.

he makes your legs cross completely around him before leaning down into your neck.

this was your favorite position. you being on your back, him groaning in your hear and putting hickeys on your neck, it was so much at once and you loved it real bad.

his lips are right next to your ear. “i’m not going anywhere, yeah?”

he lets out another sound before continuing, “you’re not leaving me either. neither of us are going anywhere.

your breath catches in your throat when he says this. maybe this was all you needed. some reassurance, and a good pounding to go with it.

he sits up before pulling out to turn you around. now that you’re flat on your stomach, he slides right back in with a hand on your lower back right before your butt and the other pushing your head down into the pillows.

you screamed out when he started thrusting all over again. it hurt so good, you just wanted to do this forever him.

you tried to move away slightly because he was just going ham on your poor hole. but all it took was you reaching one hand up, gripping the sheets and trying to pull away before he yanked your head back by your hair. he then brought your back up to his chest and held you by your throat.

“stop running, baby.” he growls into your ear.

“it’s so deep tho, papa.” your eyes squeeze shut as your mouth hangs open.

he kisses right below your ear, “you’re fine.”

that bubbly feeling started to form again. you were about to cum, and somehow drew could always tell too.

“know you’re gonna cum, mama. hold that shit.” he tells you as he pushes you back into the sheets.

right now that request just didn’t seem possible. “i can’t!”

he gives your right cheek a firm slap. “you can and you will. don’t make me say it again.”

you guys stay in this position for a while. him just hitting it from the back deep and all you needed to do was lay there and take it like a good girl.

his good girl.

suddenly, he flips you back over, then lays down himself setting you on top. now he’s got his feet planted on the bed, thrusting up into you.

at this angle, you guys can see the belly bulge happening from how deep his cock was. just proving how big he really is again.

“see that baby? that’s me. all up in those guts.” he says to you.

you throw your head back, but he cups the back of your head to bring you down into him, chest to chest.

“y’the only one who gets fucked like this. y’know that? only one who deserves it too,” his arms wrap around your waist now. “only fucking one.”

his lips are practically on your ear as he says this. you’re only able to nod, but he wants to hear your voice.

“tell me you understand that baby, say it.” his thrusts slow down, but there still deep, and he’s angling it to make sure he’s hitting that good spot.

“i…”

another slap hits on to your cheek. “say it, princess.”

“yes! i understand!” you finally moan out.

“yes who, baby?”

“yes papa!” your voice is weak now.

he smirks at your submission and continues to fuck you hard. more than just a few thrusts later, he’s letting out a lot more groans than what he already was.

“shit baby… y’gonna make me cum soon. you gonna let me put it in you, hm?”

“drew…”

his hips are starting to stutter. “know you’re ready to cum too. been holding it in like papa told you too, good girl. fuckk.”

his arms are really really squeezing around your waist, keeping you still so you can’t try and move from his brutal thrusts.

“cum with me baby girl. got a big load for you.” he moans.

“don’t knock me up.” as good as the moment felt right now, you were dead serious about that.

he chuckles, “i won’t baby. know you wanna feel that cum all in your stomach tho.”

you moan one last time before finally cumming around him. you couldn’t hold it back anymore, no matter how much he told you to wait for him.

but your own orgasm sent his off. he felt you come undone around him, and two seconds later you felt his hot sperm fill you up.

drew’s arms moved from around your waist to seriously gripping your hips down, not letting you waist a drop of what he had to give you.

moans and deep breaths were coming from the both of you. that was the most intense sex you guys had for a while, not to mention the first time he’s actually came inside you.

when he finally came down from his high, he slowly pulled out of you and just let you rest on his chest.

“thank you,” you quietly speak up.

he doesn’t respond, but he smiles and kisses your forehead.

minutes after just sitting in silence, he sits up against your headboard and takes your face into your hands.

“baby, when i say youre what i want i mean it. if you weren’t mature enough for me, i wouldn’t still be here.” he says. you don’t actually answer, you want him to keep going.

“i love you so much, sweetheart. nothing about that is going to change and nothing can make it change. i don’t know what you saw or if i did something, but im sorry. okay?”

you nod with a smile. “okay.”

he smiles back at you then pressed his lips against yours, giving you a nice firm kiss. which slowly turned into a makeout.

you guys pull away just to catch your breath, “we gotta get you packed up, sweetheart.”

“for what?” you ask.

“i’m taking you back to paris with me.”

[miley1442111]

realistic reactions- r. cameron

--------------------

--------------------

a/n: this takes place in a au where the stuff that happens in the show doesn't happen :)

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader, jj maybank x reader (dw, not for long)

(use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

summary: something pushes feelings up to the surface for rafe, yet yours remain unchanged.

warnings: mentions of drugs and drug use and drinking, fighting, cursing, rafe is a dick, rafe's mental health, reader is going through it, mentions of a blowjob, etc.

not entirely proofread

--------------------

The next time Rafe saw you, it was in his kitchen. So casually. His kitchen. Talking with Wheezie and Sarah. 

“Morning sleepyhead,” Wheezie chuckled. “It’s 5pm, by the way.”

Rafe just scoffed and flipped her his middle finger and she sighed, rejoining your conversation. Rafe listened in, of course. What else did you expect him to do? You were sitting in his kitchen.

“What about Jj?” Sarah smirked. “He’s totally into you.”

Fuck no. Fuck no. 

Jj Maybank had been trying to get your attention since Pre-k, and Rafe didn’t like that. He didn’t like it then, and he didn’t like it now. You were not going out with Jj. 

“I guess… but he’s like two years younger than me, and he smokes,” you sighed. 

“So what? I swear to god if you asked him to stop he would. He’s fucking obsessed with you,” she laughed. 

“No way,” you laughed. “Anyways, I wouldn’t want to make him stop something he enjoys just because I don’t like it. That’s not fair.”

That sinking feeling he’d felt all day, the one that made him stay in his room far past his waking up at 11am, made its way to his throat. He was exactly what you didn’t want. He was a prime example of what you didn’t want. You wanted a sweet, normal, good guy. Rafe was an uncontrollable, angry, bad person. He had no chance. 

The words fell from his mouth before he even knew what he was saying. “Jj is an asshole,” he scoffed.

“Rafe, did we invite you into this conversation?” Sarah sassed. “And, Jj is our friend, just because you like to uphold the shitty Kook-Pogue rivalry bullshit, doesn’t mean we have to.”

“Fuck off Sarah, I’m trying to warn Bun. He sleeps with anyone,” he turned to you and watched as your face turned from neutral to offended.

“Who says I didn’t just want to sleep with him?” You questioned and Rafe blood started to boil. 

“Exactly!” Sarah exclaimed. “You can’t tell her what she can and can’t do.”

“Bun, I know you, you don’t want to date a guy like that-“

“No, Rafe, you don’t know me. You’d know me if you ever responded to me. You’d also know that I hate being called Bunny now, so please stop,” despite your cutting tone, Rafe couldn’t help but smile at your politeness. 

But what you’d said. He knew it would come up, he knew you’d ask him why, and to be honest, he didn’t have an answer for you. Some part of him just thought it was hopeless. Even as a 14 year old boy, he knew he wasn’t for you, he knew he wouldn’t be enough for you. He couldn’t be what you deserved. 

“Fine,” he smiled sarcastically, shaking the protein shake he’d been making. “See you later, Bunny.”

He heard you scoff as he walked off. 

--------------------

“Asshole,” Sarah scoffed. 

“He’s not that bad,” Wheezie defended. 

“He’s not, that’s true,” you agreed, trying to save Rafe and Wheezie’s relationship. Sarah and Rafe were done. You and Rafe were done. Wheezie could still have a good relationship with Rafe. Be cared about by Rafe, like you once were, and if your childhood memories weren’t just romanticised versions of the truth, being cared about by Rafe Cameron was something you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“How can you say that?” Sarah gasped. “After what he did to you?”

“What did he do to you?” Wheezie asked, concern filing her young eyes. 

“Sarah, that’s an exaggeration and you know it,” you sighed. 

“Really? He stopped talking to you entirely, and then told everyone on this island that you stopped texting him back and convinced everyone else to do the same,” she listed. 

You shrugged. “Yeah, he was a dick when he was 15, so what?”

“You cannot just be okay with it all, I’d be pissed!” Sarah argued. 

“I’m over it, and I’m over him!” You say finally. You’re over it all, over Rafe. 

Sarah finally lets up her arguing, and your girl's day goes back to normal. Then you got two very distracting texts.

RC: I’m sorry Bunny. 

JM: You coming over 2night?

And if you’d seen the way those texts were sent, you’d be laughing, very hard. 

--------------------

RC: I’m sorry Bunny.

“What the fuck do I say?”

“Just text her!” Kelce shouted from across the gym as Rafe stared down at his phone. “Say sorry!”

“Like that’ll cut it?” He hurled back. “I’m the world’s biggest asshole to her-”

“And everyone else,” Topper added and Rafe scowled. 

“Thanks, fuckhead,” he groaned. “OK Kelce,” Rafe sighed. Kelce was the only one of them with a long-term girlfriend. “What do I say, verbatim?” 

“How about, ‘sorry Bun’, it’s simple. It’s sweet. And it’ll mean you can come spot me now,” Kelce smirked and Rafe sighed typing it out, and handing it to Topper to send. 

“You’re really getting me to send it? What are you, twelve?” Topper chuckled. Kelce laughed along while Rafe contemplated letting the bar fall on his friend’s chest, but eventually decided against it. 

That was the problem, Rafe felt uncontrolled with you. Venturing into uncharted territories as his feelings, the ones he’d sworn he’d buried years ago, raised to the surface, and punched him in the face. All at once. 

You were beautiful, Rafe knew that, anyone who saw you knew that. But what they didn't see was the little girl who Rafe ran to every time. the girl who was there for him, the girl who defended him, the girl who he loved.

Rafe's stomach lurched

Woah. Love? Shit, he was in deep.

--------------------

JM: You coming over 2night?

“What the fuck do I say?” Jj screeched as Pope and John B laughed at him. “That isn’t helping things!”

“Just text her you pussy!” John B laughed so hard he fell off his seat. 

“Pope,” Jj looked to his smartest friend. 

“Ok, ok, give me your phone,” Pope nodded and Jj handed it over, no question. Jj paced the kitchen as Pope typed out a message onto his phone, a thousand thoughts running through his head, almost all of them about you. God, you’d come back and you were even better than he’d remembered. More fun, more carefree, more beautiful. Jj knew he wasn’t the only one who noticed either, Rafe had his eyes on you and he knew it. Jj would have to act fats before Rafe pulled you back into his orbit of asshole-ness. At least, that’s what Jj called it. He knew if he wanted you, he'd have to act fast, and this was part one of his plan. You could never call Jj Maybank unplanned, because he always had something up his sleeve. 

“Ok, how about,” Pope started and Jj’s heart dropped when his fake British accent came out. “My fair maiden, would you like to accompany me to-”

Jj snatched the phone out of his hands before he could finish, and both the boys were back in their uncontrollable fits of laughter. “Fuck you guys,” he mumbled, leaving the house, favouring to sit by the water instead. He took a deep breath and typed it out, spending about 10 minutes deliberating on whether to send it now, or just run for the hills and never speak to you again. Eventually, he sent it.

He anxiously awaited your reply. 

--------------------

You: Sorry J, I have dinner with the Cameron’s 2night. Tomorrow? xxx

3 x’s had to mean something good, right? Like not ‘I’m in love with you, please marry me’ but not ‘you’re disgusting, I’m actively giving Rafe a blowjob fuck off, I love him’.

--------------------

RC: I’m sorry Bunny.

Read at 4:12pm

Fuck. He wasn’t just in the doghouse, he was on another fucking continent, and he had no choice but to fucking crawl his way back, and he had to act fast, especially if Jj Maybank was after you.

Dinner was going to be interesting. 

--------------------

obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

taglist: (comment to be added :))

@hockeybabe87 @maybankslover @anightlikethisss @linaaaaa654 @ijustwanttoreadlols @ihe4rttwd @sunny1616 @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafeecameronsbitch @drewswifeeee @lovegeorgia

[cripplecharacters]

Sorry if this has already been asked before but as a general statement do you feel like the trope of having mobility aids doubling up as weapons in a fantasy story is ok? I’m disabled myself so I have a lot of disabled characters in my story so there’s a wide variety of mobility aids. Since a lot of characters fight in the story because of the genre I was thinking of making mobility aids weapons (cane as a magic staff or like prosthetics with built in powers etc) but I’m not sure if it falls into the category of ‘character is disabled but it’s actually their superpower!!!’ because I want to avoid that trope at all costs. Hope this makes sense to you since communication isn’t a strong point of mine. Love your blog btw:)

Hi! I'm glad you enjoy the blog:-D

I really feel like it depends. It can be done well and respectfully, but in my experience it usually isn't.

If you're a mobility aid user writing about the aids that you're using, you can do whatever you want! For my deeper thoughts that are too long:

The main issue that I have with the "magic aids as weapons" is that often it feels like the author doesn't actually like the aid because it's "too boring" and thus wants to "improve" it by making a cane into a wizard staff that shoots fireballs or whatever. But I don't feel like that's a good way to go about it at all. Mobility aids are cool in itself! They allow use to be more mobile! Why do they need to be made into something else?

The something else part is also what bothers me a lot around magic aids, aids as weapons, all that. Like the old "replacing a wheelchair with an animal" thing. Why not have a wheelchair? Why not a walking cane instead of a staff, you know? It sometimes feels like the author tries to distance whatever they're writing about from disabled people and our actual experiences because they're "too boring to fit their fantasy story". Like it could be done effectively, but it usually really isn't.

To finally get to the combat part of the question, it again depends (...sorry). If the character with a cane has to fight using it, then I do find it weird, I guess. "Doing cool explosive stuff" shouldn't be a requirement for a disabled character to be included, especially because a lot of disabled people can't do the things that writers want them to do! Sometimes we are weak and unsteady and fragile. Fighting isn't for everyone, and I feel like that's where some of the annoying fantasy tropes appear.

"Hm, my blind character can't fight because they're blind.. oh they have a superpower that lets them 'see'! solved!"

"Hmm, I don't know how to include a wheelchair user… I'll give them a Magic Mecha Exoskeleton, now they can fight!"

"Hm, real life prosthetics seem inconvenient. I'll just make them Magical so they're just like meat limbs but with a gun!"

...and all these kinds of "solutions" that make one wonder if the author even wants to have an actually disabled character. It's not even that the disability is a superpower, it's more that it's non-existent. Sometimes the better solution is to have us in other roles and not make us do things that our disabilities prevent us from doing, which fighting can fall under.

If the above isn't what's going on, then I think it comes down to how the whole thing is even supposed to work. Are the in-universe rules for magic centered around the idea that the Body makes magic? In this case, it could be interesting to have a character who uses a mobility aid and considers it a part of their body to be able to use it in a magical way. Because a lot of people do consider their cane or wheelchair an extension of them, so it could be actually interesting to see it validated by the magic system. But if it's like, "anything could be used" and then every character with a mobility aid ends up using their aid for that, that's... somewhat weird. It does feel like reducing the character to their disability if abled character 1 has a spell book, abled character 2 has a magic necklace, but the disabled character has their disability aid as their magic weapon. To use the example that you did, if the character's prosthetic is the only way they can use magic, I do think that's weird, because like. why… it's both reductive and "disability as a superpower". But if they can use magic through, let's say, both of their legs, and one of them happens to be a prosthetic, then I think that's cool.

I also believe that it depends on what kind of weapon you are talking about at the end of the day - in real life, mobility aids are already treated as potential weapons. I'm under the impression that no one would assume that a walking cane could cast a spell, but people do very much think of a cane as a potential tool to fight with, of a prosthetic as a potential bomb, of a wheelchair as a potential way to smuggle something illegal. I have very much seen and heard of situations where a disabled person wasn't allowed to enter somewhere because their aid was seen as a threat - you don't want to make more people think that this is a reasonable conclusion to come to. If you want to go for it without doing any kind of retrospect on that, I would keep it as a fantasy thing.

I hope this helps! Apologies for the answer length.

mod Sasza

[blackopals-world]

The Incident

Trey:(walking with Yuu through the Onsen garden) I know its a sensitive topic but what exactly happened? You know, the accident.

Onsen!Yuu: You're overstepping. But I suppose I can trust you enough.

-----

Riddle: Was I bad? I mean, I know it was bad but-

Maid!Yuu: Hush, I get it. I'll tell you. Well-

-----

Onsen!Yuu: I was about to turn 14. The age officially where you could take a customer. I was still a kamuro but I was older. I had to begin my transition to courtesan. Everything was changing.

-----

Maid!Yuu: Sis was always worried about her appearance back then. She started wearing darker reds and blues. She never let me touch anything. She would redress me all the time.

-----

Onsen!Yuu: They tried to wear my clothes all the time despite them never fitting. Pastels suited them so much better.

-----

Maid!Yuu: She was always so overprotective even before... the incident.

Riddle: Are you sure you're ready to talk about it?

-----

Onsen!Yuu: As I prepared to graduate from my training I began meeting with men who could become my first clients. They weren't rude or impolite but they made me feel weird.

Trey: Of course they did! You were 13.

Onsen!Yuu: Trey! I didn't have a choice!(sigh) Sorry just...you would get it. Neither did I at the time. 14 was the age to get married there. So naturally that extended to other services. Even then there were men who didn't want to buy girl so young. But there were just as many who would.

-----

Maid!Yuu: There was a man that came to see Sis almost every day. He seemed to want to buy her once her contract was up. But the owner wouldn't let him. Even when she was busy with other visitors wanting to meet her he'd sit with me and have tea. He was very kind to me and offered gifts to me if I put in a good word for him.

-----

Onsen!Yuu: Negotiations fell through when a doctor came to check me. It was an open secret what my gender was but I couldn't be bought out since I was born male. I couldn't be taken home as a wife. But I could still see customers. But I was worried about the future.

-----

Maid!Yuu: I wasn't particularly interested in becoming a courtesan, I liked being a kamuro. I cleaned, ran errands, and played games with the guests. But I knew that I wasn't going to get q choice.

-----

Onsen!Yuu: A new offer came. A man who visited all the time. He offered to buy me and my younger sibling. I contemplated letting it happen, after all, we'd never have to serve customers. But I wasn't stupid, I know what happens to you when you are bought. You belong to them.

-----

Maid!Yuu: That man suddenly stopped visiting and Sis said that we were getting sent away. I was really scared.

-----

Onsen!Yuu: During one of our formal meetings he got drunk and he and his retainers tried to assault my party. I ripped my dress and...the guards came and stopped them. The man was kicked out of the Red Lantern district. I thought that was the end but I wanted to end my contract. Of course, they wouldn't let me since my notoriety was going up.

-----

Maid!Yuu: Sis, made me pack everything but the day before we were to leave the man came back at night. I thought that we where running away to live with him. He talked about it all the time back them. He was going to be my brother. But he snuck into my room and tried to grab me. I yelled and-

-----

Onsen!Yuu: I heard screaming and I ran. I found him trying to assault Yuu and calling them by my name. I panicked and threw a vase at him. Everything was in chaos after that.

-----

Maid!Yuu: Even if it wasn't our fault we were locked away.

-----

Onsen!Yuu:During the investigation, the Matron found out that I planned to escape. Naturally, we had to be punished. We were locked in an annex until they could sell us so they wouldn't lose money if we escaped.

-----

Maid!Yuu: Everything blurred together after that. I just remember smelling smoke and Sister screaming. I couldn't breathe and my leg was caught under a broken beam. I was scared-no terrified. Sis was calling for me and I...my leg...did you know that if a animal gets caught in a trap long enough they will chew their own limbs off.

Riddle: Oh god...

-----

Onsen!Yuu: That man came back. He set fire to the annex. I managed to find a way out and tried to go back to get Yuu. The fire wasn't too strong yet but he and his group grabbed me...then...then...kami they!

Trey: Shh, it's okay. You don't have to say it.

-----

Maid!Yuu: The irony was that being forced to crawl out saved me from the smoke filling my lungs. I passed out once I made it out. They took us to a clinic. When I say Sis again I didn't even recognize her. She was covered in bandages and her face was black and blue. Her hair was cut her body was...these red marks everywhere. She wasn't the same after that. She used to be so warm but she was just cold. I couldn't even touch her. She was so afraid of everyone, if a man even looked at her she'd cry.

-----

Onsen!Yuu: I don't remember what happened after that. I spent months recovering. We were kicked out of the brothel for good. I didn't care. But Yuu had lost their leg. They did even know how to get around on their own. They looked so sad, so miserable. When the doctors came and tried to pick them up I wanted to scream. They'd panic and try to keep anyone from touching their leg. I didn't know what would happen. Their disability would mean certain death, they couldn't work anymore and we had no home to go back to anymore. I could have tried selling myself but with my body now they'd never pay for me. But I had to do it. It was all my fault. If I hadn't entertained that man then this would have never happened. The incident was my fault. They only wanted me, I should've just died in the fire alone.

Trey: You know that's not true! If you died then there would be no one to protect your family. You are a good sister and they still need you.

Onsen!Yuu: Trey....shut up....

-----

Maid!Yuu: An old couple came and offered us a place to live. It was a small onsen in a corner just outside the Lantern district. All we needed to do was help out. Grandma and Grandpa saved us. I'm eternally grateful to them.

Riddle: (kisses their cheek) You are so brave, my love. And so kind.

Maid!Yuu:(kisses him back) Thank you, my rose. It lead me to meet you, so I know that I don't regret a thing.

-----

Onsen!Yuu: O-baasan and O-jiisan took pity on us and I have worked hard to prove that their charity was not wasted. I will make an onsen so famous that tourists will come just to visit it the world over.

Trey:(hugs her.)

Onsen!Yuu: (not moving) Don't touch me. You smell like musk.

Trey: Then pull away.

Onsen!Yuu: (still not moving) Why should I? You grabbed me.

Trey: Then we might be stuck.

(So why does Onsen!Yuu hate men? They have every reason to.)

[innerwriterwonderland]

My girl only breaks her favorite toys ☆

Avox!Coryo x Reader

Summary: Just as you're about to give up on finding Coriolanus Snow, your school nemesis, he falls right in your lap, in quite the condition.

Warnings: Canon level violence, threats, non sexual choking, attempted drowning, mention of bruises, cuts and other injuries, mentions of masturbation, the reader exhibits predatory behaviors, mentions of past bullying, homophobia and prostitution (pls feel free to tell me if i missed anything).

Author's note: this is a based on this small headcanon i made some time ago, but it can be read alone. It isn't meant to be a series, but i'm thinking of a part 2 in the future.

Word count: 2843 words.

It was your 18th birthday. A weird thing if you were asked. You got the prize, a way to University, all the honors of top student, despite not being picked as a mentor for the games, and still it didn't sit right with you. All these things were never yours, at least you never thought they would be.

They were Coriolanus Snow propriety. He set his claim on it all a long time ago, maybe even before he was conscious of it. But weirdly, the Snow heir had vanished into thin air after the 10th Hunger Games. Disappeared from the Capital's streets completely. No one knew where he went, or why he went, or even when exactly he left.

All that was said was that one day Coriolanus was celebrating his tributee's victory, and then the next one, he just couldn't be found anywhere. And the strangest thing was the lack of cover up story. How no one bothered masquerading his absence.

But, alas, here you were. Exhausted from the longest, fanciest, loudest party your parents could throw. Feet sore from the high heels you wore all night, and head buzzing from all the noise. It was nice how happy they were for you, but sadly, you felt too lost in your party to enjoy it.

There was one more gift according to your parents, waiting in your room. "To end the night on a high note!" your mother said, "It must be expensive!" you replied. Your mother had certainly acquired a taste for Capital opulence, and so had you. The heels, and clothes, and jewels in your bedroom accounted for that.

The double doors opened silently, and you went through in a mess stumbling feet, and energetic laughter. You might also be a bit tipsy, too much champagne for a night.

Then your body turned cold and rigid, eyes wild like you'd seen a ghost. Well, maybe you did.

Coriolanus Snow stood not a meter away from you, with sunken cheeks, and dirty platinum curls, and eyes too blue to be real. And, strangest of all, in a rose Avox tunic, looking sick and beaten.

Most certainly this was some illusion, you were hallucinating!

Coriolanus Snow, who – despite not having a coin to his name – walked through the Academy halls like he owned the place, and everyone inside it, was standing in front of your very eyes in a servant's clothing. Not any servant, an Avox, a criminal without his tongue, forced to do labor to atone for his crimes.

You were clearly losing your marbles! That's the only logical conclusion.

Yet, a gargled sound came out of the Coriolanus shaped thing in your bedroom, and it's eyes were the very blue you couldn't erase from your mind. It was him! By some heavenly miracle, of whatever this was, that was him.

"Snow?" You whispered almost scared as you reach your hand to him. Months of gathering whatever littlest information you could find on him, of using every last favor you had to look for clues on where the hell he was – just for Coriolanus to fall right into your lap.

He shrinks away from you, one step after another as you get closer. Now you could smell the foul scent that glued itsetf to him, disgust!

His back hit you vanity as your hand connects itself to his swollen cheek. Had they hit him before bringing him here? You doubted the Snow heir would come quietly to serve you, what he called "a district whore". Well, not like he had any choice now. A mean smile painted your lips at that.

"Snow, dear" You purred, getting closer to him, something he clearly didn't enjoy. "Looks like you were roughed up!" Sharp manicured nail traced the purple bruise close to his eye, and you watched as his eyebrows drew in on pain. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you now!"

It was twisted, what you felt for him. You couldn't hate him more, yet he was your longer lasting obsession. Maybe it was some underdog complex, as a born district girl, envying the Capital pure breed boy might be natural. But in your opinion it was more than that.

Coriolanus had chosen to haunt your life for as long as you've known him, no mercy to spare after letting the Plinth boy walk free of judgment it seemed. His insults and acid jokes echoing behind your back anywhere you went.

But now he seemed so weak, and fragile.

Snow had always been a bit short for his age, too skinny, pale and underdeveloped, but all the boys in his generation were. But he had a regal posture to compensate, as graceful as a lynx, Snow was quite easy on the eye, if you were honest. Attractive, but intimidating, in equal parts.

Your nails graze the recent cut on his forehead as you brushed his curls away from it.

"Poor, poor Snow" Soft as feathers, your hands trailed down his temple, and came down to hold his face between your palms "Let's get you bathed, huh? Wash all this dirt away?" You talked to him like a child, condescending.

With his wrist tightly enveloped by your hand, you pulled him into your bathroom. A spacious and luxurious room, with a delicate porcelain tub in the middle. "Undress" You ordered, with a stern voice Snow had never heard, before leaving him there and going to change yourself.

Snow thought for a moment after undressing that he should thank you for giving him such privacy, but only lasted 'till you came back into the room. In a short baby pink slip dress and a silk robe on top, hands working on tying up a bow to close it. Your eyes ran over his body, taking notice of the many bruises.

"They really hurted you, didn't they?" You asked, putting your hair up with a claw clip, and opening the faucet to fill the tub "But the real question should be why? What did you do to deserve this, huh?" Snow fumed at that, knowing he could not answer "Cat got your tongue? Oh, no, the peacekeepers did!" Your laughter echoed in the ample space.

Once the tub was full, you mentioned for him to get in and he obeyed. Just that simple act of submission made your skin tiggle. The Snow you knew would rather die than follow your command, he couldn't even handle to be beneath you in anything. Once, at the Academy he had choked and threatened you after you got a grade higher than his.

You never forgot the feeling of his cold fingers on your skin, his blue eyes looking right into yours, his breath fanning over your face. You went back to that moment many, many times, late at night, when you were alone and needy. As said before, your feelings around him were never so simple.

Snow sinked down slowly into the warm waters, humiliated to be following your commands. How ironic that he's pride was to blame for this. If he hadn't cheated for Lucy Gray to win, he wouldn't be at your mercy, if you had any. His eyes burned you as you knelt down beside the tub and began to bathe him.

Smiling up at him, all sickly sweetness, you brought the sponge up to rub his back "You know, I used to watch you, back at the Academy. So smart and bright, always around those rich, influential friends of yours. Always leaving me behind, look where that got you" The faux pity in your voice made his skin crawl, the rough sponge brushing against his bruises making him wince in discomfort "But it's okay, I'll take care of you now, as long as you obey me."

Your hands let go of the sponge to grab the shampoo and scrub it into his dirty platinum curls. Fingers trailing down to hold his shoulders, so he couldn't move away, as you nuzzled into his neck.

"Your skin's still soft, smells like lavender" You whispered into his neck, then pulled away to look into his baby blue eyes "I know you prefer roses, but all I have right now are my own products. We'll buy you some rose scented ones soon. You will smell like a girl, Snow!" You couldn't help but giggle girlishly at your own teasing.

Snow stiffen under your hold, as the insinuation sank in. Oh, how hated you. And the feel of your warm breath on his neck, and your hand moving down his body, across his chest, towards his stomach, and your soft voice as your said:

"You know I like those, right? Girls. 'Course you do! Used to tease me about it. Call me dyke. Say I ogle at the girls in the changing rooms." You sank your nails into his bruised skin, scratching bright red lines across his blue and purple belly. Despite the pain, he couldn't say he regretted the words now, if he could, he would do it all again. "But I like boys too, Snow, I'll prove you that in time." The smile showed him now was all teeth.

Snow's blood ran cold at the threat in your words. He wanted to curse you. Tell you what a disgusting whore you were, but his lack of vocal chords stopped him. Only a grunted sound of protest left his plump lips. He'd never been touched like that, all his romantic experience resumed to the quick kiss Lucy Gray gave him before the games.

As horror took over him, your hand went back to his shoulders. "Underwater, go, need to rinse your hair." Before he could even process the words you pushed him into the water, holding him down for the pleasure of watching him squirm.

His eyes went wide as he sank. Hands gripping the edges of the tub to try to pull himself back up. His mouth opened and you watched as the water filled and he grew panicked with his lack of breath, as air in his chest was being sucked away in the water, frantically trying to push your hands away. You wait until he begins to lose his energy to bring him up, with a hand on his throat and the other on his forehead.

"Shh, shh, calm down" You said in a soothing tone. Keeping him pressed to your chest as he coughed out water, breath heavy and labored as the panic slowly went away. Fucking psycho, Snow thought you were. "You're okay, just let me wash your hair." You brushed the damped curl away from his forehead before letting go get the conditioner to finish washing him.

Disregarding the horror of his situation, it almost felt nice to have your soft hand run through his hair to apply the other products. He barely had anyone take care of him these days. It made him miss Tigris, she always cared for him, despite all her own pains.

"Okay, go down again" You lightly patted him, but that was enough to bring the fear back, and Snow tense as he waited for another drowning.

But it never came, so he went down, quickly, coming back soon before you tried to suffocate him again. The smirk in your face made him want to choke you.

You stood up after that, telling him to finish his bath as you went to grab him a change of clothes. Snow almost felt grateful as you left. He washed his body and grabbed one of the soft white towels of the rack to dry himself, pleased with it's texture against his bruised skin. Looking in one of the many mirrors, he found himself unrecognizable, thin and frail like a ghost. A twisted reflection of who he used to be.

"Still so pretty" He heard your breathy voice before he saw through the mirror.

You had a piled of male clothing in your hands - a white formal shirt, a pair of crimson pants and some underwear - that you extended to him. "Here. These are my boyfriend's, not sure if they'll fit, but try it."

With a small nod he took the clothes from you and began changing. Uncomfortable with how you stared at him, eyes trailing his body as he got dressed. The clothes' fit was barely good, the pants' legs were too short, and so were the cuffs of the shirt. This was just another way of humiliating him, as if he wasn't degraded enough already.

You thought it was good enough. "That's enough for now, I'll buy you some more fitted ones in the future."

Snow kept his eyes downcasted as he left the bathroom behind you. The new clothes felt nicer on his skin, expensive and softer, and he felt clean for the first time in a while. Yet, Snow never felt more dirty and loathsome. Even the size of clothes seemed to mock him. Dean Highbottom was right, snow was falling, and now he felt like he'd hitted rock bottom.

But you? You have never been happier! Snow was all yours, and he was broken down enough to follow your every word. Enough to be your own little toy to play with however you wanted. You couldn't help but appreciate his new state. Delicate little thing was he, ghastly almost. Yet those blue eyes and blond hair could never be anything but beautiful.

"Think I'll ask for some cake to celebrate! It's my birthday, you know?" You looked at him with too bright a smile and sparkling eyes, that wided as you heard his stomach groan "You hungry, Snow?" Even with his hunger you played.

What pitiful excuse of a life Snow had now. You toyed with his needs, but made sure he was always dolled up before. He only nodded before you called the maid to bring you something from the party buffet.

"You're used to it, aren't you? The hunger" You mused quietly watching as he sat down on the floor, head bowed "Heard your cousin used to sell her body to feed you, so you must be used to going hungry longer than most." He contemplated ripping your neck to shreds at that.

How dare you insult Tigris like that, even if it was true. You found out about that when you were searching for him. It seemed the Snow's had quite a few secrets since the war ended. He only hummed in response, not even looking at you.

"The Snow household was left in shambles after your disappearance, you know?" You prod hoping for a reaction from him "Your cousin, Tigris, became a stylist for the next hunger games - they are trying to follow your legacy of creating a show it seems - but cutted all her connection to the Snow name. And that old woman in your house, no one has seen her since, the penthouse is completely abandoned." You let the poison drip from your tongues and analyzed how his jaw clenched "It's for sale now. Maybe I'll buy it for you."

You knelt down beside him and took his face in your hands "But you don't have to worry about any of it anymore! Now, you have me to take care of you." As soon as you finished talking his hand wrapped around your throat.

Snow pushed you down on the ground, choking you as his weight caged you. You had to concentrate to not moan. His baby blue eyes now burned with pure unfiltered hatred, just as you remembered. Slender fingers gripping tightly, knuckles white. You hoped it would leave a mark.

Your hands held onto his wrists. He wouldn't kill you, Snow didn't have it in him to be a murderer. Or at least, that's what you thought.

Snow, on the other hand, was ready to end this here. To end your spoiled bratty ass and his humiliation. He sank his fingers into your flesh and watched you turn purple. Disgusted by the glint in your eyes and the smirk in your lips. Your lack of fight was weird, but he blamed it on you trusting the security of your home.

Vision blurred from the lack of oxygen, you forced a laughter out of your swollen lips, but no words came out thanks to his grip. You let go of his hands, wondering if Snow really thought he could kill you in own house. Poor foolish Snow. Your hands pushed at his waist to get his body off the top of yours. And when you failed you sank your nails into his bruises.

He winces in pain and falters his hold on your neck, letting you get away from under him. Bending over coughing. "Oh, that was fun!" You giggled between heaving breaths "That was really fun!"

The look of shock in his face was priceless. You prayed for more chances of seeing it again. Little did Snow know the game he had just got into with you. It would be so fun to break and build him up, again and again and again. Snow was now your new favorite toy to break.

[divine-misfortune]

ughgjguhh I just think that forced intox and free use kinks with quintessence

It's been too long since I was freaky about quintessence, and even longer since I was weird about Swiss being a freak. So. I got carried away. Like. 3k worth of carried away.

Swiss and Phantom found a better use for Mountain.

Contains: Irresponsible uses of quintessence, intox play, dubious consent, objectification, under discussed kink, rimming, free use, coercion

Divider by @wrathofrats

Read below the cut or on ao3

In hindsight, Mountain should have been suspicious when Swiss approached him with a joint and a smile far too welcoming. He knew that now. Well, some part of him finally understood Swiss’ intentions but the thought did not make its way to him in his hazy state. It was nothing more than a thought drifting aimlessly off into the far corners of his skull. Crowded against the furthest edges of his brain to make room for the sweet tinged smoke Swiss continued to feed him. Lost to the swirling crimson fog behind his eyes.

Propped up by Swiss and Swiss alone, he was nothing short of boneless. Laying between his legs, back to chest. He was barely managing to hold his own head up, occasionally tipping back against the multi ghoul’s shoulder instead. The joint Swiss held close to his lips had not strayed far, even when he wasn’t actively taking a drag, he was still breathing it in. Mountain was a few puffs past floating into orbit but he just kept taking it every time Swiss offered it. It wasn’t even a conscious decision anymore, an automatic response at this point. 

There had been work to be done, flowerbeds needing weeding and shelves needing dusting but he truly couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, all because Swiss wouldn’t let him get that far. Any forming idea was overshadowed by him, by the weed, batted away to somewhere irrelevant. It was a purposefully carved out vacancy. Swiss had left him a blank slate by design. Emptied only to be filled with something he deemed more favorable. 

Swiss’ unoccupied hand laid on his bare belly, having idly wriggled his fingers under the hem of his shirt. He was toying with the dark hair leading beneath his belt, but the one by his mouth was what he was trying to focus on. 

Even before he’d fully exhaled his last lungful, Swiss was bringing the joint back for another drag with a low hum of encouragement when Mountain hesitated to wrap his lips around it. He’d truly lost track of how much he had smoked. How much Swiss had made him smoke. It didn’t feel like much, or that they had been sat in his bed like this for very long, but he felt further gone than he had any right to.

How was Swiss so cool and collected? Mountain couldn't remember if the multi ghoul had taken a drag himself yet. 

His expression twitched away from blissful nothingness towards an attempt at confusion as he tried to focus long enough to turn his nose up at the offer. Even tried to sit up on his own. 

“Hey, hey…Where do you think you’re going, sunflower?” Swiss murmured close to his ear, breath warm and sugar coated. Not exactly chastising him, but the words sapped the will to move. He hadn’t gotten far in sitting up, but his whole body sagged. “We haven’t even finished this bad boy yet, gotta help me.” 

"Swiss," he mumbled, more so slurred. "S'too much." 

“Too much? But you’ve barely had any.” The fingers petting through his happy trail stilled just long enough for something warm to flood him from the core outward. Swiss itched to turn his face upwards. Watch his hint of red bleed through the copper in his eyes but there would be time for it later. “You can smoke a little more, just do it for me, honeysuckle.”  

Lips parting despite his better judgment, Mountain's eyes drooped. Heavy. Everything felt so heavy. 

Swiss pressed his lips to his temple as he took another slow inhale of smoke, cooing praise that didn't quite register. He tried to blink but found his eyelids stubbornly refusing to budge, barely able to crack them open for one last glimpse of the room.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent just floating, existing alone in some far off atmosphere. It felt like decades, like he should have opened his eyes and found his body aged and layered in dust. He stirred slightly, without the express purpose of trying to fight his way out of it, just to remember if his limbs were still there and functional. Mountain heard a giggle when he weakly tried to gather the sheets in his hands, followed by a soft shushing noise from behind him. 

His expression twisted and soft hands cradled his cheeks, lifting his face and turning it side to side as if examining him.

“Oh you really got him fucked up, didn’t you?” Phantom mused, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his temples. Slow easy circles that Mountain could almost see traced behind his eyelids. 

“Wasn’t hard, he’s easy.” Swiss chuckled, perching his chin on his shoulder. “Takes to quintessence like a fish to water, the weed was just to help him remember how to forget s’all.”

”Did a good job of emptying him out.”

“Gifted you a blank canvas, buggy. Perfect subject for practice.”

Phantom made a soft, thoughtful sound. He reached out to twist a wavy strand of hair around a nimble finger before tucking it behind one of Mountain’s floppy ears. It twitched in response. Mountain chuffed and Phantom giggled. He stroked over the soft fur with his thumb up until the earth ghoul was helpless to sink further into Swiss. Melting for him already. 

Mountain felt the beginnings of a purr kicking up, a low rusty sound that the two mutually cooed over. 

He dragged a knuckle along the sharp cut of his cheek and Mountain’s eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly. Not nearly enough motion to classify it as ‘opening his eyes’. Phantom traced over every carefully crafted detail of his face; the crooked curve of his nose, the faint but permanent dips of his dimples, the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. It was the first time Phantom had gotten to unapologetically admire the earth ghoul like this. 

Another giggle, breathier. A warm puff of air close to his face before Phantom stole a quick kiss. Chaste, innocent, over before Mountain’s sluggish brain could comprehend it. 

“You’re cute like this…” Phantom whispered, shifting further onto the bed. “Don’t know how Aether helped himself, I’d have wanted to keep you like this all the time.” 

Swiping the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, Phantom made Mountain semi aware of the drool collecting at the corner of his parted lips. If he could think to move his limbs, he would have hastily wiped his mouth on the back of his hand while spinning some lie - ‘I would never”. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Nothing. 

The tip pressed just past his lips. Some quiet, insistent urge pulled at him. An ingrained response to suck. It was the only reason Mountain could move, to chase that carefully crafted desire Aether had trained into him. He took the rest of Phantom’s digit fully into his mouth, laving his tongue over the underside. 

Phantom’s breath caught in his throat and Swiss made a curious noise.

”…Did you?” Phantom breathed, moving again. He was straddling his lap now.

”Wasn’t me” Swiss responded with a genuine innocence. “Think Aeth left a few surprises in there.” 

“Fuck,” he shuddered and tipped Mountain’s head up. “I want to see those eyes, big guy. Open.” 

The fight was still there. Mountain struggled quite clearly, and neither did anything to make it easier. No little zip of magic to rid that impossibly heavy feeling. They both seemed to silently revel in watching his eyes flutter uselessly while still suckling on Phantom’s thumb. When he finally managed to open them, they were practically just the whites. Phantom hooked his finger behind his teeth and held him by the chin, loosely shaking Mountain’s head back and forth. 

”Gotta look at him, clover. Let him see.”

A whine bubbled up in Mountain’s throat, his glassy stare tried to find him. The weed had left his eyes reddened, but Swiss had left his iris’ crimson. His influence was only slight, truly just a few drops of poison in the water, but a stoned Mountain was a pliable Mountain, quintessence aside. It was already almost easing off, copper specks found within the red.

Phantom trilled, pleased at the sight. 

“You want more, don’t you Mounty?” He hummed, returning to petting over the flat of Mountain’s tongue. “Want to go deeper, huh?”

“Hu - ‘lease.” 

“Even knows his manners when he’s been made stupid.” Swiss chuckled, nuzzling sweetly against his shoulder. His stubble was scratchy but Mountain couldn’t say he minded. 

Phantom leaned down, a content kitten curl smile on his lips as he got level with Mountain. Eye to eye. “Wanna watch you drop.” He whispered, the beginnings of his particularly tingly brand of quintessence began to seep in. Like there was static in his veins instead of syrup. More fuzzy than empty. 

Slow lapping waves up the stretch of his body, lulling him further into the waters of oblivion. Mountain felt it draw him forth like the call of a siren. He waded, deeper, further, as far as Phantom coaxed him to go before he found himself abruptly ripped under the surface. Suspended in pleasant nothingness. Floating safely away from his body. 

All that struggle for nothing, his eyes simply rolled back into his skull like they belonged there. 

“That’s it, look at you bug, look how good you’re getting. Easier every time, huh?”

”Mhm!” He was beaming, tail thumping against the mattress behind him. 

“Now, did you do what I told you to?”

“Yes sir.” Phantom nodded, catching his lip between his teeth as his eyes wandered down to Mountain’s lap where he was already tented in his jeans. “He’s um…Real big, isn’t he?”

”Real big, but you’re gonna take him just fine. Nice and slow, just like I told you, right baby?”

”Yes sir,” Phantom repeated, a bit quieter this time. Bashful.

“I want to see, c’mon stardust, show me how pretty it is.”

The little ghoul swallowed with an audible gulp, getting to his feet only to fumble with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. Swiss laughed, endeared by his shaky hands, and reached out to simply tug the knot loose with one little motion. Phantom wriggled his way out of his pants and shed his shirt much faster before crawling back onto the bed. It was his turn for a brief glint of hesitation, kneeling naked on the bed under the ravenous eyes of the multi ghoul. Lavender creeping into the tips of his ears and down his collarbones. 

He returned to straddle Mountain, facing away this time. Phantom bowed his head first then dipped his upper body down, back arched, tail thrown over his hip. Presenting himself mere inches from Mountain’s face. The scent of arousal alone could have made his eyes cross, but Swiss dragged him down from outer space to admire the sight before him, and Mountain was quite obviously drooling this time around. 

Faded bruises marked the expanse of the trembling thighs bracketing him, driven by anxiety or anticipation he didn’t know. His little cock was chubby where it hung, shiny and purple at the tip. It throbbed at nothing. Gave a little jump without any stimulation. But it was that blue little gem that sent Mountain’s own cock crying for attention and Swiss growling deep in his chest. The base of the plug sat pretty between his cheeks, a mix of lube and his own slick managing to drip from it down the seam of his balls. 

The muscles on his back flexed and he visibly clenched around the plug when Swiss reached out and grabbed a handful of his ass. He dimpled that soft supple skin, pressing into the more muddied and fresh marks, like he’d bruised him by simply groping. 

”Sweet fucking hells…”He grabbed a fistful of Mountain’s hair and pushed him forwards, “taste him, I know you want to, even if you haven’t realized it yet.” 

A little tug on his locks and Mountain’s mouth fell open completely, tongue lolling out. Swiss pulled him through the motion, hissing when Phantom mewled pitifully at the flat of his tongue against the underside of his sack. The earth ghoul’s tongue was wide and flat and hot as it slid up his balls, over his taint, and between his cheeks. Phantom was squirming, bowing further, silently begging for more.

”Take it out. Make it wink for him.”

Phantom’s body shook more noticeably when he reached back, face pressed into the sheets as he hooked his fingers around the base of the plug and began to pull it out. He sounded positively wounded at the widest point, sagging into the mattress when it finally popped out. His hole gaped, clenching around nothing. Needing to be filled. More slick dribbled out of him. 

“Did…Did I do it right?” Phantom mumbled into the mattress, wiggling his hips like Swiss might not know what he was referring to.

”Did such a good job, doll.” He gave Phantom’s ass another good squeeze and a little parting tap that was hard enough to make Phantom yip. “Let's get him out of these jeans, give you your reward.” 

The little ghoul’s limbs might as well have been made of jelly with how clumsily he rearranged himself. Phantom was as graceful as a newborn foal. He looked to be on the brink of ruin as he tugged at Mountain’s belt, pushed past it when he finally freed him from the confines of his zipper. Those violet eyes went wide holding him in his hands. Cock flushed and sticky, he throbbed downright painfully in his grip. His world was spinning, stable only where Phantom held him.

“Shit…It’s, is it gonna fit?” 

“It’ll fit.” Swiss assured, cupping his cheek. He pet over the flush warming his face. “He’s gonna make you bulge, gonna be able to see how he fills you, but you’re going to make it fit, aren’t you? Gonna make it fit for me?”

Looking down, Phantom once again chewed at his lip and swiped over his slit, smearing a growing bead of pre over the head. Nervous. 

“Don’t worry lovebug, take your time. Not like he’s going anywhere.”

He sat up on his knees, practically shoving his chest into Mountain’s slack face. Not present enough to enjoy it. Swiss, however, was. He pinched at one of the pebbled buds on his chest and Phantom shuddered, staying perfectly in place until Swiss had decided he’d had his fun. Only once he’d managed to make Phantom start dripping in Mountain’s lap did he decide to let him continue. 

Any confidence he might have had was instantly squashed when Phantom guided the blunt head of his cock to his hole. Even before he tried to sink down onto it, he could feel how big it was. His slick and lube suddenly didn’t feel like enough and his brows drew together with concern but Mountain felt Swiss nod behind him. Gripping the earth ghoul’s shoulder with white knuckles, he pressed the tip inside and his mouth fell open in a silent cry. The only sound he managed was a feeble whimper high in his throat. 

Swiss sucked in air between his teeth, cursing softly against the shell of Mountain’s ear. 

Slowly the clouds occupying his head thinned and the heat of lust was no longer a distant sensation. Mountain felt sweat beading at his brow in an instant. It was like being wrapped in towels fresh from the dryer, soft warm and fuzzy. He groaned. Phantom was tight, snug wrapped around the first few inches of his cock. He was practically pulling him in. 

His muted senses returned and hit him like a freight train. Delicious agony in how his cock pulsed in the clutch of his sweet, unbroken body. Mountain felt a semblance of a thought slip through the cracks, he wanted for the first time since Swiss sparked up and set his plan into motion. 

He wanted, and he wanted bad.

Moving was a Herculean task. His body was pure molasses, but he managed a low, angry growl as he took Phantom by the waist. Nearly encircled in his hands. The little ghoul squeaked in surprise but just about wailed when Mountain abruptly dragged him down a few inches. The cry punched out of him was nothing short of devestated. His claws bit into the earth ghoul’s shoulder and somehow, by the will of some malicious creature, Phantom clenched around him. So tight it was almost painful. He nearly doubled in on himself, that snarl growing louder. The proper part of his brain remained off, tucked far away, he was reduced to a base instinct for a moment.

Once again Swiss cursed. Louder and surprised. His hand flew to Mountain’s throat and Mountain was hit with another purposeful wave of heaviness. Forcing him back under almost violently. Mountain once again went limp with the saddest little warble, hands sliding uselessly off of Phantom’s hips and back onto the bed. 

“Phantom” Swiss hissed, fingers flexing dangerously against Mountain’s slowing pulse. Hardly worried about him acting out further, he was effectively tamed. He was leaning over the earth ghoul’s shoulder, eyes narrowed and fixed on a breathless, shaken little quint. Just a deer in headlights. “Didn’t I warn you to pay attention?”

“I - I was…”

”Told you to focus, but you get him inside and you just go too cockdumb to remember.” He sneered, bringing Mountain back against his shoulder. His voice just barely softened. “Big guy thinks with his dick, not his brain, when he’s like this…Keep him docile or he’s gonna take what he wants from you, and you won’t be able to stop him when he gets his paws on you.” 

Shame and embarrassment aside, the threat of what could happen made Phantom’s cock visibly kick. 

“Remember your magic, bug. I won’t be stopping him again if you slip up. Gotta be careful” Swiss settled in place again, petting Mountain’s cheek till that dopey smile returned. “He’ll fuck you stupider than he is now, and it’ll be your own damn fault.” 

[teojira]

[Sweetheart] [Noa x reader drabble]

Summary: Noa comes to you and asks what a specific nickname means, one that he found in a book

Word count: 850+

Warnings: Noa having feelings for reader and he's once again fighting for his life.

A/N: this SUCKS but it's been in my notes app for far too long and it's almost 1k words that I cannot scrap, this is a weak piece but nonetheless, I hope someone enjoys it!

Noa has been introduced to the term "sweetheart" when digging through some of Raka's stash of books the orangutan had left behind. The Ape had decided to take a trip back to where he first met him to see if there has been more to learn from his late companion. And to this surprise, there was.

Many more books that Raka has deemed fit to be left behind. It was a good thing in hindsight, Noa figured. He could ask you about the words and their meaning, for you to teach him how to read it and comprehend.

The first book he has popped open seemed to be a picture book with very few words, like the one he has seen at the human base.

There were two echoes dancing around one another, seemingingly lost in one another's gaze from what the Eagle clan leader could tell.

'You are my sweetheart.' The script said, interesting. Tucking it into his woven bag, Noa mounted his horse to head back home.

"Echo." Noa murmured, walking slowly from behind you.

You looked peaceful, the orange glow from the fire lighting up your features as you rested, a bowl of berries sat on top of your thighs.

"Welcome home, Noa." The smile you sent him was enough to make the ape trip over nothing. It was embarrassing. It made him feel like a child all over again.

After correcting himself, he eased himself down to your level, crouching to meet you.

"Need your help." Signing with one hand, moving to grab the book from the sling it was fastened in.

Your body subconsciously leans into his space, something you were usually mindful about. But he has been gone for a few days, leaving by himself along with Eagle sun and his horse.

"Why can't I come?" Huffing, you're staring at the back of Noa's head, trying your best to not let the anxiety of him leaving overtake you.

"Too far, might be dangerous." Noa shook his head, moving to strap his spear onto the horse's saddle. He knew if he turned around and looked at you, he'd cave and bring you with.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn. He can't take you, he can't.

The warm hand on his back is enough to make a shudder, his shoulders tense as your small hand ever so gently pats at the fur there.

"...be safe." Your voice sounds small, and only then does he turn to you, taking you in.

"I will."

It was weird being without him, you've grown so used to him being by your side.

You managed just fine despite what your brain would have you believe. You had taken on helping with the eagles in Noa's stead. Feeding, watering, making sure they come to roost at night and securing them.

It did little to keep your mind off of Noa, though. Just making you miss the chimp all the more.

If He had any issue with you in his personal space, it wasn't apparent, letting you cozy up to him.

Leaning a bit further, you peer at what's in his hands.

"Oh! You found a book?"

He hums at you, delicately cracking the small book open, careful with its worn pages to flip to the end where he found the weird name.

"What does-" He points a finger down at the word. "Sweet heart. Mean?"

"It's just an expression, a nickname." Picking up a berry to toss it in your mouth, chewing softly as you watch Noa compute your words.

"...nick..name?" He stutters over the word, raising an eye bridge.

"It's way to call your loved ones a special name. Sweetheart is one of them."

'Do you like it, being called that?' He signs, turning his body to you, taking in just how pretty you look in the fading sunlight, his eyes trained on your lips.

"Well, no one's ever called me any before, so I don't know."

You seem embarrassed, your body immediately going into defensive mode as you curl up.

Noa can change that, he thinks.

You don't think anything of that conversation after a few days past, figuring it was just another one of Noa's questioning about humans.

It isn't until you're grooming the horses, scrubbing at their coat, and ensuring that they're clean that it gets brought up again.

"Sweetheart!" A loud voice all too familiar calls out, making you jump out of your skin and drop the brush in your hands.

Whirling around, you see that it's the Eagle Clan leader himself, making his way towards you with a smile on his lips, his bright eyes trained on yours and he has a extra carrier around his shoulder, no doubt for you.

"Noa?" You're trying your best to fight off the blush that rushes to your cheeks, but it's useless. Hopefully, he thinks it's due to the heat that you're flustered, god willing.

This begins Noa's continuous use of the term. It replaces him calling your name at this point.

Sweetheart this, sweetheart that, for anything you do together, he makes sure to slip it in, loving how you react to it, that you immediately answer to him.

Anaya once tries to call you the nickname, knowing full well that Noa is flirting with you the best way he has learned how but gets shut down instantaneously, Noa playfully putting him in a headlock, huffing as he shakes his best friend.

"My Echo. Mine. Not. Yours."