#I have agency blah blah blah

[nick-eyre]

Having feelings is terrible I’m going to throw up

[iceyrukia]

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve internally said to myself “why are you ( a woman in her 20s) dating some dude almost a decade your senior???

Why.

Why is this shit so normalized and no one bats an eye??

Like these women aren’t children, obviously, but I think it wouldn’t kill young women to do some thought exercises and ask themselves why men always go for younger women and perhaps visualize themselves in the man’s ( that is interested in them) position where they would hypothetically date someone significantly younger, especially during such a crucial time in one’s age where they’re still figuring out how to navigate the world as young adults.

Why do men get to spend time fucking around in their twenties, decide to settle down nearing their thirties and don’t mind roping in some younger woman to have ‘his children’? Why do so many women shy away at the thought of dating a man even a couple of years their junior and even sometimes exaggeratedly ( sorry) infantilizing said men but don’t judge the older men interested in them (the younger woman) as predatory for being romantically/sexually interested in them?

And keep in mind that men are constantly on social media yapping about women ‘hitting the wall’ at age 30 ( sometimes lower at 25). It’s not a coincidence.

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[tenok]

.

[emlos]

.

[statementlou]

https://youtu.be/L3I3eWbDMNg i hate that i was loving the video until i opened the commentary section… the girl did such a good job talking about the doc literally giving me chills without even mentioning freddie (what i only realized when i opened the comments of course) and then… everyone down there completely ignoring everything that she talked basically, they really got what they wanted didn’t they 🙄🙄🙄

well you know what they say about reading the comments (not to!) but for you I went to do just that, because I was curious. First of all though, as I see it the "they" who wanted people to like the footage of Louis and Freddie include Louis, so I'm not sure it would be a bad thing if they did get what they presumably wanted (ie distracting people from continually trying to out Louis on main and creating a different narrative where he doesn't have to worry so much about that without having to go around holding random women's hands all the time).

But in fact, at least within the most passionate core of the fandom, I wouldn't say they have gotten that result, and I don't see this videos comment section as any different; it's actually a really small percentage of the comments, and the fact that they all say the same thing makes it clear to me that it's fandom people with an agenda rather than bystanders who were just randomly touched by those scenes. Nonetheless, for me, if those scenes are what communicate to bystanders in a few minutes what we know from countless hours of observation- that Louis is a tender loving sweetheart of a human being- then they've done their job narratively while also helping Louis tell the story he's decided serves him best right now, so IDK, I can't see the point in getting stressed about it. Minimum stress maximum bless babes!

[twdgs]

what is it with parents treating you like yr a convicted criminal whenever you do something kinda dumb once and then they never ever let go of it

[themyscirah]

I know I JUST changed my theme yesterday but this one is even better so like. Bleez hours ig 😈

[urbanfiltered]

being a 25yo single mother is so hard 😔

[lightseoul]

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), cussing (bkg-typical), not many warnings needed for this one chat

words. 1.3k (i had to split it so that the chapter wouldn't be a whole ass novel. also for pacing purposes :0)

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 8, part 9

Your eyes lazily trail the movement of the colleague you speak to at most twice a year as they give a presentation up front, the words they’re uttering slowly turning into a slew of blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory like in that TikTok you saw before falling into a fitted sleep the night prior.

Without you noticing, November has finally rolled around, and with it came one of the most important meetings involving Bakugou, Kirishima, and the agency’s department heads aimed at preparing the leaders for the year-end processes and reports.

The very meeting that you find yourself barely getting through at this exact moment.

Tanaka, the said colleague, seems like he’s explaining a pie graph about Dynamight, Red Riot, and their sidekicks’ stats, you think.

You shake your head in an attempt to bring your attention back to what’s in front of you, but your efforts appear to have been in vain as your mind, once again, drifts to the past, and you find yourself mulling over what Mina said two weeks ago.

It’s something that hasn’t left your mind since then, trailing behind you like a damned poltergeist who doesn’t know when to let up.

And as much as you’d hate to admit it, it’s caused considerable confusion on your part, and you don’t like how it may have inadvertently affected how you act around Bakugou, too.

You’re more fidgety, now, and you’ve since beaten your record of how fast you get flustered and stuttery around the man. Although if he’s noticed this humiliating, inexplicable change in your behavior, he isn’t showing it.

At least, not by much.

His gazes have been lingering for a beat too long whenever you stammered your response instead of doing so calmly like you usually do…

“Hey.”

You sit up in sudden attention, dizziness instantly hitting you from having been violently pulled from your reverie. You look at Bakugou, who’s staring you down from the end of the table, and scan the area around him, only to realize that everybody has apparently left, leaving the two of you alone in the conference room.

“Wha—”

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

You feel yourself flush in embarrassment. Guilty.

He shakes his head in what you think is disapproval, stacking the documents in front of him in a neat pile. You take that as a cue to follow suit, gathering your folders in front of you and hurriedly standing up to beeline out of the room.

The last thing you need is for these glass doors to magically lock you in, too.

But you don’t even get to reach the doorway, ass barely lifted a breadth away from your cushy office chair when he speaks up.

“I overheard you in the breakroom.”

You freeze in your tracks, lifting your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Earlier this morning. You said—” he pauses, eyes shifting to your rear, “Sit back down, dumbass. Your knees are gonna kill you if you keep this up.”

You’re about to retort with a comeback when it dawns on you that the guy has a point, so you begrudgingly take a seat.

“As I said,” he shoots you a pointed look, “I overheard you saying you didn’t have plans for next week.”

“Next week?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, yeah,” you absentmindedly scratch your right cheek. “My family will be on vacation and all my close friends have plans with their relatives.”

One of his eyebrows raises in question, “And you won’t be tagging along?”

You shrug, “I don’t want to impose on my friends, and being with my family on a holiday isn’t exactly the most relaxing experience.”

Bakugou merely hums in response, seeming as if he’s pondering something in his head. Unable to sustain his gaze, you opt for looking around the room instead, suddenly finding the plain, gray ceiling wildly interesting.

A few moments pass before you decide that yes, this silence is going to kill you if you don’t get the fuck out now.

You lift yourself from your chair, “Well, I should get go—”

“Come over.”

As if you’re in a slapstick comedy, you, once again, freeze. “W-what?”

He clears his throat, “C-come over, to my parents’. For thanksgiving.”

You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before his eyes gravitate toward your rear again, only this time you plop back down before he can order you to reseat yourself.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow…”

He sighs like he’s teaching you basic ass mathematics and you’re not getting it. “The old hag has been begging me to let them meet you ever since, you know…”

The news of you two “dating” broke out. Right.

You mentally slap yourself for forgetting Bakugou had parents who would eventually also catch wind of your silly little dating scandal.

At the thought of meeting the people who raised Bakugou, your throat suddenly feels a bit too dry. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you manage to get out.

It’s one thing to go and pretend to be Bakugou’s girlfriend in front of the man’s fucking parents, it’s another to do so in this state that you’ve been in ever since that get-together with his friend group. You don’t exactly know why, but you’ve been fundamentally reconfigured since that fated night, and whatever the fuck is causing it, you’re sure won’t mix well with being in the same room as Bakugou’s parents. That, on top of having to act all lovey-dovey with their son around them.

You’re about to defend your case as to why they should just scrap the idea entirely when Bakugou responds.

“It’s either that or she visits us here in the agency.”

Your jaw drops, “Is that a threat?”

He draws his lips in a thin line, shaking his head. “It’s an ultimatum.”

“That’s more or less the same thing,” you counter.

“My mom likes to play with the shitty technicalities,” he retaliates, tone abrasive as ever.

You can only gawk at the guy as he shifts in his seat rather quite uncomfortably.

Is he seriously going along with his mom’s wishes now?

What happened to the ever-notorious Bakugou who just goes for what he wants without minding everyone else?

You study the man for a beat, weighing your options in your head. It’s obvious, which of the two is the wiser option. It’s a matter of going for where there are fewer pairs of eyes watching you and Bakugou’s every movement. But the real question is, why do you have to choose in the first place?

“I don’t understand,” you start, “Why can’t you just tell your mom that we’re not ready to do the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing yet?”

“Why don’t you be on the receiving end of her fucking nagging, hah?” he snaps, voice defensive and loud enough to make you jump.

“Okay, okay,” you immediately concede, tone placating, not willing for this to escalate into a fight. The last thing you need is for somebody in the building to overhear you, think you’re having a lovers’ quarrel or whatever the fuck they call it, and run to the media to gush all about it.

You’ve had enough media exposure to last you for a lifetime, thank you very much.

Chancing one last glance at your boss, you find him staring a hole into the pile of papers directly in front of him, a prominent scowl etched on his face.

His mom’s nagging must be weighing him down more than you thought.

As you study the visibly bothered man, you’re acutely aware of all the fight evaporating from your body, and you eventually find yourself slouching in your seat in what you reluctantly identify as defeat.

“…What’s your parents’ address?”

“Don’t bother,” he almost instantly replies. “I’ll pick you up.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make such a huge difference! have a lovely day ( ˘ ³˘)

[queen-morgana91]

Fanon: Katara does all the chores

Katara and the actual canon:

Fanon: 4566545 posts about motherly Katara aka her whole personality it seems

Katara and the actual canon:

(mind you, she acts motherly due to her TRAUMA. She's a child, not the gaangs' mother)

Fanon: Katara see Aang as a brother

Katara and the actual canon:

Fanon: Katara doesn't have feelings for Aang, she was forced to have a relationship with him

Katara and the actual canon:

Fanon: Bloodbending Katara!! ❤ ❤

Katara and the actual canon:

Fanon: Katara doesn't want a family/children/grandchildren

Katara and the actual canon:

Fanon: Katara was reduced to Aang's wife

Katara and the actual canon:

(the most boring headcanon. Yes, Katara's writing in tlok was bad, it has a LOT of flaws and many times she was forgotten (like the rest of the gaang, i have a lot to say about Sokka, Suki, Toph and yes even Aang) but when and how she was reduced to "Aang's wife"? She was never treated as the "avatar's wife" and they didn't have a single scene together in that series. Stop imagining things 🤦‍♂️)

Fanon: Katara hates to be an healer/she has no agency/her desire for vengeance in The Southern Raiders is 'letting her be who she really is'/blah blah blah

Katara and the actual canon:

Just watch properly this fucking show, i'm not gonna bother anymore

[bigskydreaming]

Every Nightwing writer of the last fifteen years: I've taken the guy famous for being regarded as one of the most competent and capable nonsuperhuman heroes of his generation, literally legendary for being one of the only ones every single other hero would not only drop everything to go help but that also pretty much every hero would love to have on speed dial to get HIS help in most any situation ever, and I've either completely isolated him and estranged him from every single member of his family and community, or I've enmeshed him so thoroughly with his family and community to the extent that literally none of the stories in his solo title would be capable of existing without their presences, they're that fundamental to the arcs and more integral to the solutions than he is himself. But why stop there?

I've ALSO taken the guy famous for personally crafting his two most iconic superhero identities, Robin and Nightwing, with the first being made so fundamental and integral to the superhero landscape by him, it became one of the most iconic legacy mantles in the DC Universe. And the second being so larger than life and associated with safety and security and meaning so much to so many people that even complete strangers can not fathom a world without Nightwing anymore and rush to fill the void any time he's not around, the figure of Nightwing is considered that ESSENTIAL. And I've stripped him of his basic sense of identity and autonomy either as a literally faceless and nameless spy or a literally masked and nameless Talon or else taken away his memories or blah blah blah in myriad other ways made it impossible for him to BE the figure who famously turned his sense of identity into not one but two separate icons forever stamped onto the superhero landscape and leaving their marks in untold ways, because what is the guy famous for his sense of identity without....his sense of identity? Just a guy!

Haha! I've done it! I've deconstructed Dick Grayson!

Me: You literally the fuck have not. That is not how deconstruction works. NONE of this is how any of that works. You sound so dumb right now. What did you accomplish, what was any of it for. What insights did it deliver, what did it reveal that was previously unknown about Dick Grayson when he was in the costume or possessed of his usual skillsets that couldn't be known until all of that was stripped away from him? How was he changed by any of these experiences or was he just reset to his default mode at the end of each one and then shoehorned into the next contortion before any actual reflection upon or development from all the preceding events was made possible? What do we know about Dick Grayson, what is new about him, what essential Dick Grayson-isms have been woven into the character due to your work, or did you simply change the set dressings over and over while repeating the same beats and intoning, Huzzah, A Dramatic Transformation Happens Before Your Very Eyes!

Every Nightwing writer of the last fifteen years: No, see, I don't think you get it. My work was transformative. I proved that if you take away Dick Grayson's friends, his superhero speed dial, his memories, his acrobatics, his name, his agency, his literal everything that makes him who he is.....he's just some guy. All those things are what define him! That's who Dick Grayson is!

Me: Right. The friends and colleagues who would all drop everything to help him or pick him as their first choice to Phone A Friend when in crisis because....he's Dick Grayson. His memories of....being Dick Grayson. The acrobatics that are synonymous with....Dick Grayson. The agency that famously lets him rebuild a sense of self and formidable will no matter how many times he's been brainwashed or mentally fucked with because at his core, below the surface of all those manipulations he remains....Dick Grayson. His literal everything that made Robin and Nightwing who and what they came to be known for....because of what he, Dick Grayson, imbued those mantles with to make them iconic in the first place. Yup. You really nailed it. At the end of the day he really is....just some guy. Your insights are just stunning. Incomparable. The stuff of legends. Gosh we'll miss your work but it'll definitely forever be remembered in the Writing Hall Of Fame for being absolutely fundamental to the characterization of.....Just Some Guy, I guess?

[delilahsturniolo]

no body, no crime

— m.s

chapter 1 . . . denial

in which. . . you and matt are private investigators, trying to figure out an unsolved murder from years ago.

warnings. . . mentions of murder, death, suicide.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first and please credit me if you are taking inspiration from my writing. happy reading! :)

(this is based off of the book series a good girls guide to murder!)

“i think he did it but I just can't prove it.”

“no, no body, no crime.”

“but I ain't letting up until the day I die.”

the cursor on your computer moved quickly as you scrolled through different articles. you were sat in your office, your eyes glued to your laptop screen. you read the headline of the article you opened, it was published in 2015.

EMILY JONES, 17 year old girl brutally murdered by her boyfriend on June 17th, 2015.

you scoffed in disbelief as you read this.

everyone knows the story. emily was at a party with her boyfriend justin, they got into an argument and he shot her, a few moments later killing himself.

blah blah blah, you were tired of hearing that. you don’t think that’s what happened, you refused to believe it.

and why exactly? you didn’t know. but what you did know, is that you had every desire to find out what truly happened.

everyone in the detective agency thinks you’ve gone insane. there was no way you were so intrigued by a murder that happened years ago, you wouldn’t stop digging into it.

it was just all so weird, nothing added up. the police refused to investigate further, closing the case without explanation. it was suspicious, really suspicious…

and you were going to figure out the truth. what really happened to emily and justin that night?

you bit your lip, abruptly shutting your laptop and getting up. you walked out of your office and through the headquarters, entering the office of the only person you knew could help you.

detective matthew sturniolo. one of the best investigators in the company. well, to you not really. you thought he was just like any other detective. either that, or you refused to believe he was better than you. you sighed, knocking on his door.

“don’t come in!” he grumbled from the other end. you only rolled your eyes, entering his office. he turned his head to look at you from his desk.

“didn’t i just say don’t come in?” he narrowed his eyes at you. you just chuckled sarcastically. “oops.” you shrugged, taking a seat on the chair opposite of him.

“okay so what ever happened to asking—“ matt began to speak up, you cut him off though.

“i don’t need your sarcasm right now, i need help.” you interrupted, your voice laced with a pleading tone, which matt was a little taken aback by.

“you’re asking me for help? that’s a first.” matt crossed his arms, but leaning a little closer to hear your request.

you weren’t amused by his response. you took the file you were holding and placed it down in front of him. matt’s eyes furrowed in confusion, he looked up at you, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“what’s this?” he questions.

“open it and you’ll see.” you replied, gesturing to the file. matt huffed, opening the file. his eyes widened slightly as he looked at what was inside.

“y/n, really? the emily jones case? you still won’t let this shit go?” matt scolded you, his eyes analyzing the old police reports and statements inside the file. he closed the file and pushed it back toward you.

“if you’re asking me to feed into your crazy delusions and help you solve a case that’s already been solved years ago.” matt mocked you, making air quotation marks with his hands. however, you only shook your head.

“you don’t get it, i don’t think justin killed emily, it had to have been—“

“y/n, stop! everyone knows the story. justin killed emily, and he killed himself after. his DNA was on the gun. just let it go.” matt’s voice softened at his last few words.

you grabbed the file, opening it and taking out a few of the papers. you looked up at matt.

“don’t you find it weird? how the police did absolutely nothing? they didn’t even try to investigate further, they jumped to conclusions and were so quick to close the case. emily and justin were in a happy, healthy relationship. why would he just shoot her? you don’t find that a little odd? all of the suspects have different stories, something else happened that night. and, someone out there knows.” you explained to matt, his eyes locking with yours.

“matt, i don’t care if this happened years ago. people deserve to know the truth. it’s our job, we need to re open this case.” you pleaded.

matt took a long, deep breath. “alright.” he spoke casually, your eyed widened in surprise.

“wait, what?”

“alright. i’ll help you, but on one condition.” matt leaned in closer.

“just know that this doesn’t mean i don’t absolutely despise you anymore, you better not be wasting my fucking time with this shit, okay?” matt crossed his arms, you eagerly nodded.

“i promise, pinky promise.” you held out your pinky for matt to take, he chuckled lightly and connected his pinky with yours before letting go.

“alright then, let’s do this.”

“you’re on, sturniolo.”

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here! 🤍

a/n 💌: WOOHOOO first series! what do you all think?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your husband doesn't handle change well and falls into old habits.

This is one of my birthday drabbles. Of course, little lies had a lot of votes and has earned it's own little add on. Thanks again for your input :) Enjoy.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A birthday drabble for Little Lies 

You sit up and smile as the man exits Loki’s office. He looks content but your husband looks less than as he appears in the doorway. He crosses his arms and watches the candidate leave. You’ve gone through this routine at least two dozen times this week. 

“How was it?” You ask. 

He hums flatly and stares after the man’s departure. 

“His resume was great. What’s wrong?” 

Loki pouts and looks at you. He stands straight and crosses his arms. “He’s not you.” 

“Oh, I know. I’m so talented at keeping your agenda,” you retort dryly. “You can’t keep doing this. You have to hire someone.” 

“Don’t you understand?” He strides forward and stops just on the other side of your desk. His hands drop to his hips. “You’re asking me to replace you. That’s impossible.” 

“Ha, when did you get so sentimental?” You ignore him for the email on your screen. 

“Since the day you broke your leg, actually.” 

“Shut up,” you snip without looking up. 

“Truly. As worried as I might’ve been, I do miss those crutches. You were... manageable then.” 

You shake your head. “Well, you never are, but I’m hoping you can find an assistant that can do a somewhat decent job of it.”

He huffs and slithers around the desk. He sits on the corner, crowding you. “It won’t matter. I’ll be a mess without you, darling.” 

“I screened him. What was wrong with Peter?” You challenge, leaning back in your chair to face him. 

“Little upstart. I don’t need him flirting with my clients,” he harrumphs. 

“As if you don’t.” 

“On my honour,” he puts his hand to his chest, “I’ve changed my ways. You know it. I gave my vows.” 

“Uh huh.” You tut and check the time. “Well, who else? Jacqueline was good. She has a great CV and she’s very warm and welcoming.” 

“But I adore the way you snarl at me. It makes me...” Loki trails off and touches his belt. 

“You’re looking for an assistant,” you remind him. 

“Yes, but I will be losing my wife.” 

“That’s dramatic. It’s not like you can’t come see me. I can come back too between terms.” 

“School. You’re leaving me for school,” he mopes and shakes his head. 

“I’m trying to better myself, Lo. I don’t want to be your secretary my whole life.” 

“Personal Assistant,” he corrects. “Prized Asset.” 

“Ugh, you are so--” you put your hand up in exasperation. “This isn’t about the job. You’ll just call the temp agency, huh? So, you don’t have to pay benefits.” 

He shrugs guiltily as he examines the wall behind you. 

“What is this really about?” You insist. 

“Nothing.” 

“Tell me.” 

“I swear, I’ll miss you--” 

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll miss you too. Blah blah blah,” you flutter your fingers at him and push yourself to your feet. You go to him and he looks at you with those sparkling green eyes. You put your hands on his shoulders and he instinctively frames your hips. “What is bothering you so much?” 

He stares at you then looks down. His lips thin and he tilts his head one way then the other. His gaze flicks back up to you. A grin creases his face and he laughs, “it’s foolish. Stupid! I shouldn’t worry.” 

“Loki,” you warn. 

He sighs. He peeks over at the door and his mouth slants. “You’re going to meet a lot of young men. Like that Peter.” 

You narrow your eyes and frown. Then you smile and scoff. You grab his chin and make him look at you, “you’re worried I’m going to meet some young gun and ditch my old man?” 

“Old? I wouldn’t use that word,” he winces. 

“You really think I would run off with some young hunk? With big burly shoulders and a nice chest...” Your let your tone drift into a dreamy drone. “Oh and thick hair and stamina like no one’s business...” 

“Hey!” He pokes your side and you cackle. 

“Loki, I’m not going to do anything like that. I’ll be far too busy studying and I’m too old for all that. Those twenty-year olds don’t want me. Now, hire a replacement so I can deal with all this nonsense.” You caress his cheek and give a smile. 

“You underestimate those twenty-year old cads. I once was one and I would've pounced on you at once.” 

“Oh really. Because you’re like forty and took years.” 

“Eh, let’s not toss around numbers here.” He sniffs. “I’m just saying that you are a beautiful woman, obviously. I married you. And those young ones, well, they like the allure of an older woman.” 

“Alright, alright,” you pat his shoulder. “Let it go.” You exhale and look him in the face. He stares back at you and squeezes your hips. “I’ll miss you.” 

His cheeks dust with pink and he smirks, “I'll miss you too, darling.” 

“You better.” 

His eyes fog and slowly crawl down. You squirm as he stands, crowding you, and his hands grazes along your sides. He walks his fingertips up and down and grips your waist again. He spins you suddenly, pinning you against the desk. 

“Let me be your young gun, eh? Show you this old man’s still got it.” He purrs. 

“Lo,” you rub his chest. 

“I can’t have you running off not thinking of me and how I’d put any of them to shame.” He winks and leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “Mm, Mrs. Laufeyson, is that what you want? A sweet young thing. I’ve not lost my touch, believe me.” 

“Lo,” you put your hand over one of his. 

“I feel you trembling, darling.” 

“Not here,” you tug on his hand. 

“Anywhere.” He urges you back until you hit the desk.  

He leans in until you’re forced to brace the desk. You strain backward and he reaches around to swipe the desk clear. Your monitor and laptop teeter dangerously near the edge as the rest of your things scatter. You gasp. 

“Loki!” 

“I’ll buy new ones,” he lifts you at once and puts you on the desk. 

“You can’t--” 

“I am.” 

He puts his hand under your chin and forces your head up. His thumb rubs along your cheekbones as he marvels down at you. He exhales and tickles your nose with his. You scrunch up your face and he presses a kiss to your lips. 

You push against his chest as his tongue glides along your lips. You murmur and try to resist. You never can. His hand brushes up and down your side then hooks up to your neck. He holds your head between his hands as he invades your mouth. He consumes you as he shifts and pushes between your knees. 

You clutch his lapel and part from his lips with a gulp. “Loki--” 

“Let me remind you who you married, darling. It was no old man,” he yanks his tie free as he clings to the front of your blouse, bunching it as he keeps you snagged. He tosses the silk and draws you back to him. 

You giggle, cheeks vibrant with heat, and shake your head. “Oh, I know who I married.” 

“And you will keep it in mind with those young lads.”  

He pinches a button, tediously undoing it with a single hand. He snarls and withdraws briefly to tear open his shirts. Buttons scatter as he snarls and steps up once more. He cradles your head in his hands and enshrines you in another fervent kiss, this one has you breathless. 

You put your hands on your chest, feeling the way his muscle tenses with need. He shudders as you drag your touch down to his stomach and the firm muscle clenches. He growls into you and bends you until your back is against the desk. He pins you there as he runs his hand down the length of your figure. 

He hooks his thumb beneath the hem of your dress and pushes the skirt up. You wriggle and feel blindly along his belt. He twitches as you latch onto his buckle. He hums and parts from your mouth, gasping against your cheek. 

His belt clinks open at your blind tugging and you pick open his fly. He growls and nips your ear lobe, laying a trail of kisses across your jaw and down your neck. He pants slacken and you push them down with his briefs. He springs free and wiggles his hips so his belt slides lower. 

He pulls your rear over the edge and flutters his fingers along your thigh. You curl your other leg around him as he tickles the front of your panties. He presses your clit through the thin fabric. You draw his mouth back to yours hungrily.  

Your tongues meet in a flurry of need and dread. You need each other right then and dread the separation to come. You’ve been outrunning that fact. That distance will not be easy, even so much as you’ve longed for it. 

He rubs you through your panties until he can feel you seeping through. He traces the trim of the lingerie and peels them away from your cunt. The satin bunches against your thigh as he flips your skirt up and moves closer. 

You know each other by touch. He finds you without hesitation. He slides into you in a single lunge and you drone in delight. Your turn your head as his wet lips smear over your cheek. He groans as your walls squeeze him. 

“Darling,” he drawls. 

You puff and arch your back, hooking your legs so that your heels press into the back of his thighs. You tilt your hips, goading him on as he takes his long, patient strokes. That pace he keeps when he means to torture. 

You snarl and grab his chin. You force his head up, “I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me like an old man.” 

His eyes flicker and his lips curve into a devious smirk. He slams his hips against you and you cry out. Your nails dig into his jaw and you laugh through your teeth. He does it again, jolting the desk with you, and you quiver around him. 

“Oh, yes,” you grit. “You can do it, old man.” 

“Old. Man.” He chuffs out and rams into your again. 

You chuckle only to be met with another blunt rut. Your voice fizzles to a squeal.  

He traces along the top of your dress and drags the sleeve down your shoulder. He follows the cut of the bodice and uncovers your bra beneath. He quickly pulls the strap down and flips the cup inside out. He fondles you at once.  

His hips pump into you, harder and harder. His thumb flicks over your nipple, swirling around to tease. He hunches and dips down to take the bud between his teeth. He snarls and bucks faster. You hug him between your thighs and wrap an around his head. 

His other hand snakes down between your bodies. He pushes against your clit, the motion of his pelvis moving his fingers against you. The friction melds into the pressure inside. Your eyes roll back as you cling to his shoulder, your other hand on his lower back, beckoning him deeper. 

His harried grunts punctuate your soft moans, the slap of flesh and constant clink of his buckle adding to the twisted melody of your fucking. You roll your hips up into his. Just a little more. 

Your thighs shake and the swell in your core threatens to boil over. Your voice begins to crest and suddenly, he stops. You groan and clamp onto his side. You try to pull him down as he lifts himself. He keeps only his tip inside of you.  

Your eyes snap open as he flings his tussled hair back and looks you in the face. Your brows furrow. 

“Old man?” He challenges. 

“Lo...” you breathe, “please.” 

“No, no, that is what you said. So, allow me to prove you wrong.” He snickers and nips at your lower lip. “I can keep up, can you?” 

He dips into you slowly and you whine. Your head lolls and your lashes flutter. You bare your teeth at him and hiss. “I hate you.” 

“How can you hate this, darling?” He rears back and thrusts again. “Mm, I feel the way you’re clinging to me.” 

“Just--” You flare your nose and turn your head straight. “Do it. Old man.” 

His irises spark and he snaps his hips. You yipe and he twirls his fingertips against your clit. You shudder at the sensation. 

“Oh ho, darling, do you want to cum?” 

“Loki--” 

“Tell me you want to cum.” 

“Lo--” 

“Beg me.” He commands and pulls his fingers away. The coolness left in the shadow of his touch makes you squirm. “I did vow to serve you, darling, but I cannot if you do not say what you want.” 

Frustration, desperation, call it what you will. You whimper and reach for his hand. You guide it back to your clit and growl, “make me cum.” 

It’s his turn to shiver. He twists his hand away from yours to grab your fingers and pushes them to your bud. You gasp as he uses them to rub you instead. As he does, his hips fall into tempo. 

He fucks you so the desk scrapes the floor and his thighs hits the sharp edge. He raises himself as he spreads a hand across your stomach and watches himself delves into you, over and over. He guides your fingers in a frantic rhythm and the tension clusters beneath your own touch. 

You spasm and cry out, legs locked around his as you trap him inside you. 

“Oh, yes, make me cum, Loki, make me--” you descend into a stream of gibberish as you contort on the desk. You bite your knuckles to silence yourself, heaving wildly as your lungs burn and your skin tingles. 

“Um...” a knock sounds at the door and Loki halts mid-thrust. You share a startled look then slowly glance over at the open door. Shit. The last interviewee, Peter, stands dumbfounded as he peers in from the hall. “I, uh, forgot my phone in your office.” 

“Well,” Loki clears his throat and looks down at you with a sinister gleam. “Go and get it. Can’t you see I’m busy?” 

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #5594:

So many times I'll see a character being praised for being a "strong independent woman" yet there's just something kind of off about it that I hadn't been able to place.

Something i saw a video essayist point out, which is something i'd picked up on but haven't really been able to articulate for myself until they'd put it into words for me, is the idea of "empowered female characters" that are designed for (cishet) male audiences versus female audiences. Basically, when a female character designed for a male audience has no love interest, it's because 1) she's supposed to be seen as "available" or 2) they're supposed to see her as a daughter or little sister, hence she has to be chaste because the idea of her having any sort of sexual agency or desire is disturbing to them. It's not "respect" they have for her as much as a sort of patriarchal protectiveness. Or they might end up in a half-hearted relationship with a woman because "girl on girl hot" or because it's "less intimidating" than her ending up with a man. They can't put themselves in a woman's shoes enough to relate to one who actually likes men.

It's not about a "woman-controlled narrative" or "not needing a man" it's about women's desires being boring and unimportant to men. And I think of that a lot.

Usually when there's one character in a franchise who men love to hate on but then claim they're not sexist because there's this other female character in the franchise that they do like, this is usually the difference.

(and yes, not all men blah blah blah.)

[annievrse]

die for you

dazai x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: you and dazai sort out your little dispute. w/c: 1.4k c/w: mention of suicide, swearing, arguing, angst a/n: posting from the deep dark depths of hell (aka class). i literally have no idea what possessed me to write this - i was given orders in the dead of night.....

Sighing loudly, you glance at Dazai from your desk, your head resting on your folded arms.

“If you want something, you gotta use your words,” he says without looking up from his paperwork. You scowl at him, suspicious of why he’s so focused on something he despises.

Turning your head toward Atsushi’s desk, where the teenager is deep in concentration, his forehead creased and eyes squinting at his laptop screen, you call his name.

“‘Sushi,” you whisper, summoning him over.

Desperate for a distraction, Atsushi responds immediately, rolling his chair over to your desk. His knees bump into yours, and you roll back a little.

“What’s up?” he asks, toying with his tie. The suddenness of lasers on the back of your head makes you snicker.

Closing your eyes, you sigh again. “I’m so tired.”

Atsushi’s eyes widen, concern glazing over his expression. “Oh! Why? Did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“Something like that,” you mumble.

“Huh,” Atsushi contemplates, looking around the office. “I can see if Kunikida still has his blankets in the storeroom. Do you wanna nap?”

“No," Shaking your head, the corners of your lips turn upwards. "All I want is for someone to apologise."

The volume of your voice pushes Atsushi into speechlessness, his eyes darting behind you momentarily. "This sounds domestic..."

You wave your hand in dismissal, scoffing.

"Have you eaten?" you ask, peering at the clock. "Wanna get lunch?"

Atsushi shakes his head but awkwardly throws his thumb over his shoulder. "I should finish this. Kunikida will kill me if I don't."

You nod solemnly, watching your colleague roll back behind his desk. Rubbing your eye, you reluctantly turn your attention back to the man at the table 6 paces away.

He's ignoring you, even though it's his fault. You contemplate asking Dazai to get food with you, but you're mad. So, you roll your eyes and stand, reaching down the grab your bag strap.

"Okay, bye."

The office is silent as you leave, Kenji the only one returning your bid farewell.

Stomping down the stairs because the elevator doesn't allow you to express your frustration, you imitate Dazai's voice as you descend. "Oh, how was I meant to know? Blah, blah, blah-"

But your frown deepens as you exit the stairs on the level of the cafe. "Chuuya."

The redhead straightens at the sound of his name and spins around. "What do you want?" His eyes narrow at the sight of you.

You tilt your head, eyes lifting to the ceiling. "You're in my building. Shouldn't I be the one asking you?"

Rolling his eyes so far back you swear he can see his brain, Chuuya huffs and crosses his arms. "Boss put me in charge of watching the Agency for the day," he sighs, looking you up and down. "So far, it's boring and agitating."

"Yeah, well," you shrug, stepping up to the cafe counter. "That's what happens when you're unbelievably paranoid."

You can feel the heat radiating off Chuuya when you turn back to him after ordering. "Got a problem?"

"Where is he?"

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. "Dazai is none of your business, and he's none of mine either."

Chuuya physically jerks, his eyes popping out of his head. "What?"

Again, you shrug one shoulder and make your way towards a booth, sliding into it. To your dismay, Chuuya slips into the opposite side.

"Yes?"

He shakes his head. "You and Dazai-"

"Are in an argument right now," You rest your chin on your palm. "So what he does is none of my concern."

"Please," Chuuya scoffs. "That guy is weirdly obsessed with you, and you know it, has been since I met the bastard."

You don't reply, thanking the waitress when she sets your cup and saucer on the table.

Meeting his eye, your shoulders drop. "What are you? A couples counsellor?"

Chuuya taps his foot relentlessly on the floor, and the sound drives you to kick his shin. "Fuck off!"

"Why are you talking to me?" You ask, sipping your drink, eyeing him suspiciously. "If you want me to fix your hat again, sorry, I'm out of business."

Chuuya's lips press into a white slash, and you stop yourself from laughing.

"Chuuya!"

The familiar voice has you frozen. Chuuya's scowl deepens, and he stands, attention entirely off you.

"Dazai."

You don't dare look at the man standing at the end of the table, whose eyes are concentrated on you. "Whatcha doing here, slug?"

Chuuya replies, but you don't hear him. Dazai's gaze remains on you, blocking out his ex-partner's babble.

"That's so great," He exclaims to Chuuya. "Come with me," Dazai says, reaching his hand out to you. You inhale sharply and take his palm.

Chuuya shakes his head in perplexity, glowering. "You two are weird, you know that?"

Stepping out into the street, you squint your eyes against the glare of the sun. Dropping his hand, you stalk down the street.

Dazai makes no complaint and follows you, taking a few steps too many and bumping into you. Turning to face him, you glare.

Dazai sighs, his hair tickling your forehead as he looks down at you.

You lean back dramatically. "Why're you so close?"

Dazai's expression remains the same, his frown causing the crease between his brows to deepen. "This is a normal distance for us, bella."

Huffing, you reach to smooth out the groove, rubbing your thumb over his forehead. "You'll get wrinkles."

"We need to talk."

Dropping your arm, you feel your throat close and shake your head. You train your eyes on the fraying bandages on his neck, biting your lip in concentration as you try to remember if you picked up any at the grocery store yesterday. "You need to replace your bandages."

Dazai says your name sternly, running his hand over his face.

You glare up at him. "Well, talk then!"

Screwing his eyes shut, Dazai looks at the ground. "I can't!"

"Argh!" You take a step back, frustrated.

"My problem," you start. "Is that I can't do anything without you interfering."

Dazai's jaw is clenched when he looks at you.

"I'm a part of this agency for a reason, Dazai. If I can't go on missions, then what am I good for?"

"I don't want to see you hurt!" He yells, his voice echoing down the street. Your frown lessens but remains.

"Okay!" You counter. "And what of me then? Do I not get any say in what happens to you?"

"I deserve whatever comes for me, you know that."

You push your fingers into your closed eyes, hoping the tears will stay away. "4 years..."

Dazai says nothing, allowing you to continue.

"4 years since we left, 4 years since Odasaku died, and you still feel like you don't deserve anything good."

At his shaky inhale, you peer up at him. Dazai swallows thickly.

"God, Dazai," you cry. "When will you accept that I won't leave you because of who you are? What you did in the past doesn't matter to me! Hell, look what I did when we were tied to the mafia."

He sighs. "You're an angel-"

Laughing bitterly, you pin your stare on him. "You wanna say that to the girl who tortured thousands of people? Who gets a little trigger-happy and has to be knocked out to stop because she can't, for the life of her, allow anything bad to happen to you?"

Tears spill down your cheeks as you rant, hiccups cutting off your words. "I would die for you, Osamu."

With red eyes, Dazai looks down at you. He chews his bottom lip until it bleeds, and you wipe away the red trickle with your thumb.

Dazai brings his hand to your cheek. "I would die for you, too."

"I know you would. I don't doubt your love for me. All I'm asking," you whisper. "Is that you let me do things for the Agency, no matter the risk."

Dazai sighs softly, his breath fanning your mouth. "I can try, but there's no promise that I won't be right next to you every time."

"Dazai-"

"You can't stop me from tagging along," He smirks. "We're partners, remember?"

You roll your eyes. "Kunikida is your partner."

Dazai grabs your wrist to check the time on your watch. "As of an hour ago, he's Atsushi's partner."

Your jaw drops, and your hand freezes at his waist. "Really? You're my partner?"

"I can't let you die all on your own, can I?" Dazai chuckles deeply, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you against him, shoving his face into your neck. "It's my dream to carry out double suicide, remember?"

You shake your head, giggling, and pull him closer. "You're a menace."

"Anything to keep you safe," He whispers.

You pull your face back to look at him. "Now, you're gonna have me at your side telling you not to do stupid shit."

Dazai smiles. "And I will for the rest of my life."

"In life and death, my love."