#i don't know that he cares about his power or controlling it

[nemesyaaa]

sweet nothing || rafe x reader x sarah

summary : it's okay to want them both.

warnings : minors dni. smut. stepcest (no incest/rafe and sarah are not implied together.). oral (f&m receiving.). bisexual!reader. mean!rafe but meaner!sarah. controlling. cunt inspections. jealousy. daddy issues. manipulation. strap mentions. spit kink. i don't feel like it's a dark content but just in case. please, be aware of the warnings before reading.

author's note : /

“ Rafe is not allowed in it. ”

Sarah Cameron didn't want to share you. As the high Kook Princess that she was, she always got what she asked for. She never had to sweat or bleed to get what she wanted. So if she wanted you to be hers, you were hers.

But that meant there could only be her in your life because there was no way she was sharing her girlfriends with Rafe. She had always been the crueler of the two. It wasn't surprising since Ward had always favored her. If she acted like this, it was because she had always been allowed to. It was too hard for Ward to deny her anything. And if he couldn't be tough and firm with her, he needed to be with someone else.

And Rafe was so easily the perfect prey.

Just like you were Rafe's perfect victim when Ward was evil to him.

You were only there because his father married your mother. You were just an outsider to this degenerate family and yet you were now part of a conflict of interest between the two siblings.

in fact, it has been terribly easy for Rafe to have power over you and to abuse it. Since you suffered from a father who had never been there for you, and you refused Ward to be that father figure for you, he simply had to use your daddy issues to his advantage.

so he had always looked for the slightest fault or failure in you. he was going to find any excuses for you to cry in his arms. also, he was very controlling. you weren't sure of the outfit you wanted to wear? he knew how to compliment you. Did he hate your outfit? he also knew how to make you insecure about it. he was an expert in manipulation since he was a compulsive liar.

you weren't just his stepsister, you were his fucking forbidden fruit.

you were too perfect, too good, too clean. but he wasn't like sarah. if he wanted you, he was going to damage you and destroy you. Rafe wasn't good at taking care of people. He had a terrible view of affection. He wasn't even sure what it was.

You were so adorable that it hurt, that he wanted to make you suffer.

He knew he could never make Sarah suffer, and that he was secretly the only one suffering from this distance between the two of them. Because Sarah was meaner. People always stayed with her despite the suffering she inflicted on them. Because she was so much better than him in terms of playing the victim.

he also hated the fact that you preferred sarah more than him. why did he always have to be the one who sweats and bleeds to be appreciated while sarah just had to bat her eyelashes to get everyone under her spell ? it was unfair.

and without meaning to, he had started to categorize you like her, a simple bitch among the others. except he needed you to know it, he needed you to be treated like one to be happier. and damn, he deserved this happiness. more than you, more than sarah. more than anyone in this house.

he hated the way you stayed together like sweethearts, even though you were far from being angels.

" think sarah would appreciate seeing you like that ? being such a whore for me, think she would pay you the same respect after seeing you drooling for my dick ?"

his voice was so sharp that you gulped hard under his words.

you were on your knees, mouth stuffed deep by his cock. your corners were dripping as you gave him a sloppy head for a few minutes raw. he held your head by the hair while you gagged on him which served as an excuse for him to degrade you even more. you were so pathetic, willing to do anything to satisfy him. your mouth was working so hard that it felt like it was always meant for this, to be used and treated so dirty.

he was so hard that you could feel every inch of his dick inside your mouth. every noise you made was sucked away by the wet sound of your lips around his cock.

“you can cry all you want, maybe those tears will help you get my dick wet and nice. if you don't like me being mean to you, you should learn it before choosing this bitch over me. ”

you continued to pump him, while he forced your throat with his thrusts, his heavy hips slamming down your cheeks.

“ tongue out...such a pretty girl...” he mocked you, tear-jerking more cries from you. “better swallow what I give you. don't disappoint me twice, i can't fail you. ”

he lost his patience with you so he didn't care that he was cold, and that you took it so badly. that was all you deserved.

he had spat on your tongue, once, twice, until he saw his spit sliding down your throat, until he saw the large glob foaming around his cock, creating a web around his glistening red tip. you were so messy and dirty like a dog after a walk.

and you made him even harder when you took him this far in your mouth. he could feel you struggling and gasping for air. you were so miserable that it made him feel better to see someone even more pathetic than him for once.

“ what's up, pretty ? thought you were an angel but you're such an evil thing. ”

you tried so hard to speak back but his dick was hanging out your jaw to the point all your drool was dripping from your chin. you were such a mess, unable to talk, unable to think. he was fucking your face, tearing your lips apart with the length of his cock. he was driving his shaft so fast in your mouth that you were just good at choking on it. he wrapped a hand around your neck and smirked when he could feel your throat bulging around his dick. your tears were hot, and your cheeks soaked with spit and cries.

he spat on your face, watching his spittle drip down your cheekbones like tears before smearing it on your cheeks.

“ repeat after me. say i'm good to you. now, say it. "

oh yes, he needed to hear it. he needed to hear from you that he was good for you. he needed to hear you say that you didn’t need anyone but him. he needed to feel important to someone.

“ y-y-our good to...me...hmpf...”

your muffled words were enough to make him cum.

he had released everything in your mouth, splashing it deep down your stomach.

but it wasn't just rafe.

sarah also had this need for control over you. she started to establish her territory on you.

her brother didn't deserve to have someone like you. pretty and angelic girls were only reserved for girls.

“rafe isn’t allowed in it.”

you thought it would end there but she had opened your thighs to slip her fingers inside your folds. you were already terribly wet as if you had been hearing about her touch all evening.

but she didn't want to make you cum. no sarah cameron wanted to make sure no one made you cum before. she inspected every corner of your pussy with her fingers.

at first, she just checked the inside, before starting to pump it in and out, watching you getting wetter with her fingers working in your insides. her thrusts were fast and deep but also insanely forceful, leading you to take the heavy pace she was driving onto you. you were panting and crying like a crybaby, as you could feel every of her digits bruising your walls.

you thought Rafe was mean but Sarah was meaner.

her fingers were tearing apart your canal, literally opening you too deep and you were supposed to be quiet because all your family was sleeping. and you didn't want to be caught in that position, especially when the situation was already so shameful. you didn't want anyone to know about your secrets.

“ say it. say that you prefer me over him. ” she urged you as she was scissoring you quicker, making you squirm over her fingers.

she was supposed to be your gentle princess, the delicate sweetheart that took you on amazing day to make girlies activities, but also the kook queen that spoiled you everytime you wanted something, but also the good sister that help you dress and listen to your matters but now you were just her pathetic whimpering dirty slut.

you were the toy that she's gonna use until she was satisfied and tired of it.

“ and you better say it like you mean it. because i can be pretty good, but also, really bad. and you don't want your step sister to be mean to you ? you don't want her to be your worst nightmare ? ”

she was scaring you at this point, but he really worked. you felt a lot of things inside your body, and your mind was so fucked up. her smile was so wicked, but less than the fingers curled inside your weeping core. the way she was so cruel, calling your brain a real pussy for being so useless and making you so wet by the way she was degrading you.

“ you…you're far better, sarah. ” you moaned, but she muffled your noises with her hand by putting her fingers inside your mouth.

“ i don't want to see you with that loser anymore. let him cry, it's the only thing he's good at it. ” she paused before continuing. “ I thought you were like me…but you're just like him. i really need to change that. ”

she knelt in front of you before spitting on your pussy. she waited for the spit to make its way down to your soaked slick to slide her tongue inside your parts. you forced yourself not to scream but you felt awful.

she was just too good.

you promised rafe not to hang out with sarah anymore, but you also promised sarah the same thing. as they both played with you, you allowed yourself to betray each of them. it was their fault. they had both taught you to be selfish.

her tongue was so warm. she had barely slipped it between your folds when you were already getting wet on her mouth. as she licked you, causing the inside of you to spasm, her chin was stuck to your weeping slit.

her tongue was toying with your cunt. you were so good, a fucking heaven. she mixed her spit with the foaming wetness at your entrance. she forced you to stay still, threatening you with her eyes and controlling your body with a hand on your tummy.

she didn't forget your clit and she also played with your arched bud to the point of making it bruise. her mouth was wrapped to your pussy, latched on and licking it, collecting every stream of your pussy.

she has so much power over you.

all her thrusts were so perfect. she absolutely wanted that if someone touched you here, you would remember that it belonged to her.

she wanted you to think of her every time someone touched you, just like Rafe wanted you to only think of him if someone entered you.

except you were free. with sarah, you only thought of her. with rafe, you only thought of him. you were not a toy. you had feelings. and you weren't going to get into their stupid, competitive games.

when sarah took a strap out of her drawer, you looked at her with wide eyes. you have never gone this far before. she reassured you while you watched her put it around her waist.

“what do you want..."

she laughed in a sharp mocked tone. oh where you sweet girl at? “I don't want anything. it's just what you need. because you like to think about dick, i'm gonna show what's a real cock is. now, enough. turn around. i don't want to see your face anymore. ”

“you're just so mean sometimes. ” you cried softly, before you obeyed her like the good girl you were .

“oh that why your tears for? should them be for letting a pathetic man fucking you behind my back. now you want to cry this much? Fine, it's all I want to hear from you. ”

That was how you ended up between the two Cameron but you were unable to make a choice. why were you forced to?

“sarah said i look pretty in that dress.” you started.

“let me choose something better for you then. don't you want to be beautiful ? "

“I thought I was always beautiful to you.”

“you are but only so when you wear what I tell you to wear.”

you hated it when he was controlling like that but it was impossible for you to resist him which you hated even more. you wanted to please him.

“burn that shit.” he commanded you.

“you’re joking, right?”

rafe remained silent to let you know that he was serious.

one other day, he gave you a necklace with his initial, and you blinked a lot of times. “I’m not going to wear that.”

"yea, you're gonna wear that. i want people to know what's mine."

"They're going to talk, you know..."

" why? because you're my sister. we're not related. from what i've know, you've only got my cum inside you. not my blood. "

"it's not because everyone knows on the island that you're fucked up that i'm…”

now he was pissed. you had abused his patience. and what you had just said to him had just stung him and hell, he hated that feeling because he wasn't supposed to feel anything for you. you weren’t good enough to him to have the upper hand over his emotions.

he walked towards you, and you backed away, slightly frightened. you knew he was in trouble so you were afraid of what he could do to you.

“come here, sweetheart. I’m not mad.”

he lied. and you knew it, tears had started to fall down your face.

Usually, Sarah was there when Rafe wanted to go after you but this time she wasn't. you were stuck with him so he had the advantage.

"you know I wouldn't hurt you. I'm incapable of hurting you."

he lied again.

it was all lies. with him.

"liar! you lied! you hurt me everytime."

“you are the only one who lies. "

oh evil.

"i always took care of you. and you better not forget how kind and patient I've been with you because I'm tired of being the one who has to take everything in this house. sarah, my father and now you? no, it's not going to happen. "

“what?”

"last chance, sweetheart. come here.”

you rolled your eyes.

“ do that shit one more time and i'm gonna make them roll in a way you're not gonna find it funny. ”

“ you're not my father, why should i listen to you ? ”

you lift your gaze to see a smirk on his face, before he pinned you down the door and lock it behind your back, his weight was heavily pressed on your body. “ don't act like you're listening to your daddy, you're far from a good girl. ”

“ that's not what you said to me earlier in the morning…”

another day it was sarah. you were coming back from a family day where everyone was there except Rafe. you didn’t know if he hadn’t been invited or if he hadn’t wanted to come. but in any case, everyone had been there.

when you got home, you followed sarah to her room. you loved spending time with her so much. Today, you learned to surf, ate ice cream with wheezie, built sandcastles, and met her pogues crew.

you left out the detail where you saw her kiss a certain john b because it made your heart hurt.

you didn't know what sarah found in men. topper and now this john b. but could you blame her when you were doing worse behind her back?

when sarah closed the door, you blocked her against it to kiss her. you forced her mouth to open in frustration, and she kissed you too, possessively. it was like your feelings were speaking through your lips. your tongue was furiously curled against hers, and your mouth violently smacked on her.

“ i don't like to see you with him. ”

“ do i owe you something ? ” she simply replied, arms crossed over her chest. “ i ask you a question. ”

“ oh come on, you don't need to be a bitch with me. ”

“ why ? i feel like it's the only way to interact with you. ”

“ are you mad at me ? ”

“ because you're still fucking with my brother ? if you can play, i will play too. ”

“ fine, i don't care. kiss all the boys you want. but don't forget that the taste you're seeking for is somewhere else. ”

“ now, you're against me ? rafe really fucked you’. fine too, stay with that jerk but don't forget who's dick between his and mine making you cum three time raw. ”

“ god, you're so annoying. ” you exploded. “ why can't things be simple ? “

“ because we want you both and you want us both. ”

[tomriddleswhcre]

| Dark Tendrils of Obsession

warnings: MDNI, characters are 18+, manipulation, toxic relationship.

words: 3,773

Hogwarts Library was a haven for the wanderlusters. Seamless rows of bookshelves went on for ever towards the horizon, holding access to all the knowledge someone could want. Here you first experienced the pressure of his stare.

Tom Riddle sat a few tables away, his dark eyes never quite leaving you. There was a perfection about him, a crispness in his bearing, and a captivating draw in his mannerly grace. He was polite at first. Courteous, even. His smile, restrained yet charming, made you feel special in a way that was both intoxicating and unsettling.

“Reading about alchemy, are you?" His voice was soft on the ear, so velvety, beneath the skin easy to burrow.

You nodded, too startled to respond immediately. “Yes, just... curious about the theories.”

“You’re different from the others,” he said, leaning closer. “They’re shallow, concerned only with frivolous pursuits. But you—” his eyes locked onto yours—“you have depth.”

From that moment, he was always around. To help others, to study is to provide support in your studies, to sit on the nearby bench, to guide you through the dark hallways. At first, you appreciated his company. He was clever, handsome and such a complete catch, resistance felt impossible.

But then, the cracks began to show.

Tom’s love became controlling. He wouldn't let you spend time with your buddies and he would retort to you in a very calm voice, "They don't know you the way I know you," each time you tried to counter him.

If you casually mentioned a friend from another place, his smile would fade. “Why spend time with someone who’s not on your level?" he’d say.

One night, you were trapped in the library. Tom, usually calm, was acting very intense, and it made you feel uneasy.

“I’ve noticed how they look at you,” he whispered, in a low and suspenseful tone. “Do you really think they care about you? That they’ll ever truly understand who you are?”

“Tom, you’re overreacting," you said, trying to move away, but he grabbed your wrist and held you there.

"I'm the only one who understands you," he said, clutching even more tightly. “The only one who ever will.”

More and more over time Tom's orchestration of your life became oppressive. Your friends started to drift away, unsure why you were changing.

“You’re imagining things," he said one night, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I only want what’s best for you. Why can’t you see that?”

His words burrowed into your mind, planting seeds of doubt. It was a smaller world, a world of shadows, and everything seemed to revolve around Tom. He was there all the time, watching, waiting, his presence a consolation and a torment.

That evening, following another and another, argument, you ended up in the Astronomy Tower, gale blowing in your face, panting and catching your breath. His load of affection, his pathos, his fixated desire was too much to bear.

“Thinking of escaping me? Tom’s voice cut through the night like a blade.

You spun around to see him standing there, his eyes alight with something dangerous.

"Tom, I give up, I can't go on any further", you gasped, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You can’t leave me,” he said, stepping closer. “You belong to me.”

There was madness in his gaze now, a burning consuming everything in its way. Yet there. was a gentleness, a yearn for which your heart ached.

“I’m the only one who can save you," he said, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “The only one who will ever love you this much.”

In the end, you couldn’t fight him. His love was too powerful, too overwhelming. It encircled you like a vice, squeezing out and consuming until there was nothing left of the person you once were.

However, as you drew further and further into the arms of his embraces, there was a part of you asking if this is how love was supposed to knock, totally crippling, and completely inescapable.

And Tom, with his lips touching your ear, sighs the phrase that traps you. “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you away from me."

Tom's phantom touch remained, fingertips brushing against your cheek in an almost sonorous lightness, masking the fury behind those eyes.The stars above bore witness to the storm between you—a clash of your desperate need for freedom and his relentless obsession.

“You don’t have to fight this, he murmured, his voice soft now, almost hypnotic. He moved in closer, with his breath warm on the back of your neck. “I would give you the world, but you have to let me. You have to trust me.”

You trembled not with the cold but from the unyielding impact of his aura. Your body betrayed you, moving towards his grasp even as your mind cried out for separation. His hand settled to rest upon your neck and the point of his thumb made contact with the throb of your heart.

“You feel it too, don’t you? Tom’s voice dropped lower, seductive and commanding. “This connection between us... it’s undeniable.”

Before you could protest, his lips captured yours.The kiss was anything but gentle—desperate, possessive, consuming. It was as though he was trying to claim every part of you, to mark you as his in a way that no one could ever undo.

The days that unfolded after clouded days together constituted a blur of days snatched and touches not allowed. Tom’s obsession seeped into every corner of your life, his presence a constant shadow. But beneath his calculated control lay a smoldering passion that ignited every time you were alone together.

One night he caught you in an unguarded corridor, his dark eyes blazing with a passion that caused your legs to buckle.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, he admitted, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You’re in my mind, my veins... you’ve consumed me.”made your legs tremble.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, the air crackling with tension as he pressed you against the cold stone wall.

"Just tell me want this," he growled, lips grazing your jaw. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I...” The syllables got lodged in your throat, your thoughts struggling against the force of his stare. However, as soon as his mouth touched down your neck, teeth scratching the skin, a moan escaped before you could stop it.

“That’s what I thought,” he breathed into their ear, satisfaction dripping from every word.

It wasn’t long before his desire for control extended beyond your emotions. He wanted all of you—your body, your soul, your very essence. And when he took you to the Room of Requirement, its walls shifted to reflect his dark desires: rich, crimson drapes, flickering candlelight, and a bed that seemed to beckon you into its velvet embrace.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Tom said, his hands sliding beneath your robes, his contact sending shivers go down your spine. His lips touched yours once more, this time gentler, but just as demanding.

As his hands explored your body, his whispers became more fervent, his love both a worship and a torment. He held you as if he feared that you, might vanish, every touch an endearment, an affirmation that he owned you and you belonged to only him.

When he finally laid you down, his gaze bore into yours, an intensity there that made your heart race. “You’re mine,” he repeated, the words a dark oath. “Every part of you belongs to me.��

Tom's possessive nature kept its claws on every tactile sensation and his need for you growing darker and more insatiable. He didn’t just want your love; he wanted your submission, your surrender. And as much as you fought against him, there was a part of you that found solace in his embrace, in the way he made you feel like the center of his universe.

Nevertheless, beneath the passion there was always the shadow of his control. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a reminder that you were his—not because you chose to be, but because he had allowed it so.

And as he embraced you, his lips, forming patterns upon your body, you knew that running away was no longer a possibility. You were bound to him, entrapped in the dark, unbreakable web of his longing.

Tom’s obsession had become your prison, but you weren’t the same timid figure you once were. A faint spark, hope, somewhere down inside, a fire created out of the gray stuff of his choking adoration. You began to play his game, become drawn in by his traps, and by letting him believe he'd won.

It began with the most subtle acts of resistance disguised as acquiescence. The way your fingers gently played with the collar to adjust it for him, or when your lips graze his ear while you murmur sweet nothings to him. You learned to use his fixation as a tool, turning it into a weapon.

One night, in the hush of the Room of Requirement, you pushed a little further. The room had shifted into a lavish chamber, the dancing flame of the firelight casting shadows on the sharp features of Tom. He sat in an armchair, his posture commanding, his dark eyes watching your every move.

You stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. His eyes clouded as you climbed on his lap, straddle him.

"You think you got me, Tom," you hissed, your fingers tracing his cheek. “But maybe I’ve let you.”

His lip twitched into a smile, his arms wound around your waist. “You belong to me. You always have.”

Your hands slid down to the back of his shoulders, then his chest, fingers brushing against the faint pulse at his throat. His breath rose as your lips touched his neck, tickling and teasing just enough to elicit a groan.

“You’re intoxicating," he murmured, his voice unsteady for the first time.

You tipped the lower part of his chin upward with your fingers, brushing his lips against his. “Then let me intoxicate you.”

As he surrendered to your touch, his usual vigilance wavered. His hands closed around your waist. While his head leaned back and his eyes relaxed shut, that is when you made your move.

Your hand dropped to the wand, in the folds of your robe. Shaking slightly you raised the wand and and pushed it against his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Tom." you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of triumph and regret. His eyes flew open, confusion flashing across his face just as you murmured the incantation.

“Obliviate.”

Months Later

Freedom was bittersweet, though it was laced with an undercurrent of fear. Tom Riddle, once your captor in every sense, now passed you this morning in the corridor, an air of detached curiosity. His memory of you–the longing, the intimacy, the space—was gone.

At first, you didn’t believe it. You half expected him to lash out, to corner you and demand answers. However, days, weeks or months passed and Tom continued to be oblivious.

You began to rebuild your life. Friends returned, laughter rang true once more, and the choking weight of his presence faded. But a part of you never truly relaxed. You knew that if Tom ever remembered, his wrath would be unstoppable.

It happened one day in the library. Tom, alone, with his hands moving rapidly across the page of a book creased his forehead. A flicker of something familiar crossed his face—a spark of recognition, of understanding.

Memories came rushing back like a tidal wave, each one sharper than the last. The feel of your body against his, the fire in your eyes, the way you whispered his name—and the betrayal.

The anger boiled within him, but he did not act immediately. Instead, he watched, waited, planned.

It was late at night when he found you sneaking through the halls. Moonlight poured through the stained glass, forming a mosaic on the stone floor as you moved softly, book clutched.

"Out past curfew, are we?” His voice was hushed and ironic, the words making you stiff as a statue. You turned slowly, your heart racing as you saw him standing there, his Prefect badge glinting in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dangerous.

“I—was just returning this,” you stammered, holding up the book as if it would shield you from him.

Tom’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “Breaking the rules, are we? That’s a detention, I’m afraid.”

Before you could protest, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. His touch was firm but not painful, his grip unrelenting as he led you through the dark halls.

“Tom, I can explain,” you started, but he silenced you with a sharp look.

“Oh, you’ll explain, alright,” he said, his tone dripping with menace. “You’ll explain everything.”

He brought you to a small, hidden room—a Prefect’s storage room rarely used. The door shut with a thud, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“I remember,” he said simply, stepping closer. His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed his fury. “I remember everything.”

You took a step back, but he advanced, backing you against the wall.

“You thought you could erase me? Take what was mine and walk away unscathed?” His voice was dangerously low, his hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

“Tom, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I had no choice—”

“You had every choice,” he snapped, his other hand gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. “And you chose to betray me.”

His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice a mix of anger and something darker. “But you didn’t account for one thing: I always get what I want. Always.”

His hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leaned closer. “Do you know what I want now?”

Tom’s grip on your wrists tightened, his face mere inches from yours. His breath was warm against your skin, yet the fire in his eyes chilled you to your core.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His voice was a low growl, dangerous and laced with venom. “Erasing my memories, taking away what’s mine. Do you think that could ever stop me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t a kiss born of love or tenderness; it was fury incarnate. His mouth moved against yours with bruising force, his hands sliding to your waist, pinning you against the cold wall as though he wanted to imprint himself onto your very soul.

Your heart raced as your mind warred with your body. His touch was fire, scorching and unyielding, and yet some traitorous part of you leaned into him, matching his intensity.

Tom pulled back suddenly, leaving you gasping for air. A smirk curled his lips as he studied your dazed expression. “Pathetic,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mockery.

He stepped back, smoothing his hair as though the encounter hadn’t affected him in the slightest.

True to his word, Tom made your life a living hell. He was calculated in his cruelty, never overt enough to be caught but always precise in his attacks.

Your friends began to distance themselves, their once-warm smiles replaced by wary glances. Whispers followed you wherever you went, rumors planted by Tom’s silver tongue. Professors scolded you for assignments that mysteriously went missing, and your once-perfect quillwork was replaced by jagged, ink-stained parchment.

Every glance from him in the corridors felt like a blade to the chest. His smirk grew wider with each passing day, as if he was savoring your descent into isolation.

By the time you reached your breaking point, you felt like a shadow of yourself. That night, driven by desperation and rage, you stormed into the Prefect’s dormitory, your fists trembling at your sides.

The door slammed open, and there he was. Tom Riddle sat on his bed, shirtless, his pale skin glowing in the candlelight. A book rested in his hands, though his gaze lifted lazily to meet yours. A knowing smirk played on his lips, as if he’d been expecting you.

“Ah, here she is,” he drawled, closing the book with deliberate care. “The little rebel finally comes crawling back.”

“Stop it!” you shouted, your voice cracking. “You’ve done enough, Tom! Please—just leave me alone!”

He raised an eyebrow, setting the book aside as he leaned back against the headboard. “Leave you alone?” he echoed, mockery dripping from every word. “You didn’t seem to mind my attention before.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you dropped to your knees, the weight of everything too much to bear. “I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words trembling on your lips. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have erased your memories.”

Tom stood, his tall frame towering over you as he approached. The smirk on his face widened as he looked down at your tear-streaked face.

“Oh, you’re sorry now?” he said, his voice low and mocking. “And what, exactly, are you sorry for? For betraying me? For thinking you could escape me? Or for underestimating just how much I could destroy you?”

Your sobs grew louder, and you shook your head. “I’ll do anything,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just stop... please.”

Tom crouched in front of you, his hand gripping your chin to tilt your face up to meet his. His dark eyes burned with satisfaction, a predator reveling in the surrender of his prey.

“Anything?” he repeated, his lips curling into a cruel smile.

You nodded, your breath hitching as his thumb brushed your lower lip.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice soft but deadly. “You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have crossed me. And now you’re here, on your knees, begging me to forgive you.”

He straightened, his hand sliding into your hair. The motion was firm but not painful, his fingers tangling in your locks as he pulled your face closer to his waist.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, “if I gave you the chance... would you dare to do it again?”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as his grip tightened.

“Good,” he said, his smirk widening. “Because I can promise you this—you’ll regret what you did for the rest of your life.”

Tom’s smirk deepened as he held you there, his grip firm but deliberate. The tension in the room was suffocating, his presence overwhelming. You felt his eyes boring into you, watching your every move, every tremble of your body beneath his power.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with disdain. “The once defiant little thing, so bold, so eager to stand against me. And now?” He tilted your head slightly, his fingers tightening in your hair. “You’re exactly where you belong—on your knees, apologizing like the pathetic creature you are.”

Your lips quivered as you tried to speak, to muster any kind of retort, but the words failed you.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. “Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

He pulled you back slightly, forcing you to look up at him. His expression was unreadable now, a dangerous mix of triumph and something darker, something almost tender.

“You said you’d do anything to make this right,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you can’t undo the damage you’ve caused. You can’t undo the months I lost—the nights I spent consumed by thoughts of you, not understanding why I felt so... incomplete.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice cracking.

His hand slid to your jaw, gripping it firmly as he leaned closer. “I don’t think you understand what sorry means,” he said, his breath ghosting over your lips. “But don’t worry—I’ll teach you.”

He straightened abruptly, releasing you and stepping back. His smirk returned as he crossed his arms, watching you struggle to compose yourself.

“Stand up,” he commanded.

You hesitated, your legs trembling as you pushed yourself to your feet.

“Good,” he said, his tone approving. “Now, take a good look around this room. Do you know what it represents?”

You shook your head, unsure of where he was going.

“This,” he gestured to the dark, intimate space, “is where you’ll come when you need reminding of who you belong to. Of who you owe everything to.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t think for a second that this is over,” he continued, his voice growing softer, more dangerous. “You’ve unleashed something in me, something that won’t stop until I’ve had my revenge. But I’m not in a hurry.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm, making you flinch.

“No,” he murmured, his lips inches from your ear. “I’m going to take my time. I’m going to make you regret what you did in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Tom didn’t let up. His torment became more personal, more intimate. He would appear at the most unexpected times, his voice soft and mocking as he reminded you of your place. He continued to twist the people around you, isolating you further, but now he did it with a calculated cruelty, ensuring that you felt his presence even when he wasn’t there.

And yet, there were moments where his anger seemed to waver, replaced by something almost... longing. Late at night, when he cornered you in an empty corridor or brushed against you in the library, his touch would linger, his gaze softening for the briefest of moments.

You hated yourself for noticing. Hated yourself more for the way your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness despite everything he’d done.

One night, after weeks of torment, you found yourself summoned to the same secluded room where this all began. Tom was waiting, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “Perhaps I’ve been too harsh on you. Perhaps I should offer you a chance to redeem yourself.”

You frowned, unsure of his intentions. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Prove to me that you’ve learned your lesson. That you understand what it means to be mine.”

Your heart sank as you realized what he was asking.

“And if I refuse?” you whispered.

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, you won’t refuse. Because you know what’s waiting for you if you do.”

Whew, this one took me quite a while to finish! Hope you enjoyed that manipulative mf, Tom—hehehe.

Your likes and reblogs mean the world to me—thank you so much! Love you!

devider from @cyberangel-graphics :>

[sirhamburrger]

five (m. fushiguro x gn!reader)

five seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years of you through megumi fushiguro’s eyes. wc: 1.1k || tags/cw: spoilers for end of jjk manga, reader is a first-year along with the main trio, reader was abandoned as a child and raised by utahime, megumi is bad at feelings, hurt/comfort (i mean this is jjk after all), bad pacing which i will attribute to time not being real a/n: first jjk post! late birthday oneshot sorry i wrote for tobio kageyama first >:)

five seconds is the amount of time it takes for megumi fushiguro to register that there’s a new student in the class.

no, not itadori or kugisaki, but yet another new student, a transfer from the kyoto school. you’re cheerful enough, and you seem to be pretty powerful. he can tell that much from the way you carry yourself, and the aura of cursed energy radiating from you. 

gojo introduces you to the class. megumi likes the way your name sounds.

---

five minutes is the amount of time it takes for megumi fushiguro to find that you’re actually really smart.

you’re assigned to sit beside him during lessons, much to the dismay of his other two friends. you give him a little smile, and he tries to smile back. 

gojo asks a question about the three great vengeful spirits of japan. michizane no sugawara, taira no masakado and emperor sutoku. the information comes to the forefront of his mind without him needing to really think about it too much. he opens his mouth, ready as usual to be the only one in the class who knows it -

until he hears you say the answer confidently.

the other two are stunned into silence, and so is he. you look over at their shocked faces, and offer them a bashful grin, like you're embarrassed.

---

five hours is the amount of time it takes for megumi fushiguro to realise he wants to get to know you more.

accompanied by itadori and kugisaki, he comes knocking at the door of your dorm room after school. he finds himself a little lost for words when you answer the door. you look even better out of uniform, and the comfortable clothes you wear complement your skin tone and eyes. 

mumbling something about showing you around the campus, he's glad when kugisaki diverts your attention away from him. he doesn’t miss the knowing wink she shoots him, though, and just grumbles and diverts his gaze.

---

five days is the amount of time it takes for megumi fushiguro to look forward to seeing you.

it’s only your first week at tokyo jujutsu high, and already he feels some sort of connection to you. you were abandoned as a child, raised by sorcerer and teacher utahime iori from the kyoto campus for a few years. it reminds him of how gojo took him in after his own father left, and it brings the two of you closer together.

you trade stories about your unconventional childhoods. living in the dorms, training in cursed energy control and combat from a young age, the things you’ve been through to get to where you are today. you tell him that you’re happy your experiences made you who you are, and that they’ve brought you to him.

he savours this moment more than he cares to let on.

---

five weeks is the amount of time it takes for megumi fushiguro to feel as if he’s known you forever.

you’re with him 24/7 at this point. you go on morning runs with him and itadori before you meet a sleepy kugisaki for breakfast in the common area. you have classes together. you spar with the second-years - none of you ever win, but you come pretty close sometimes. you go on missions together. 

when itadori dies, you grieve with him, but you don't cry. when kugisaki falls asleep on his bed, and when you’re about to doze off in his arms, he cups your face in his hands and holds you close, feeling your warmth, even as he holds back tears of his own.

and when itadori pops out of a box revealing he’s been alive for the past few weeks, you join megumi and kugisaki in rolling your eyes to conceal your happiness.

---

five months is the amount of time it takes for megumi fushiguro to know he wants you in his life for the rest of it.

“as long as she has unshakable character, i won’t ask for more,” he remembers saying to todo once.

and of course he’s thinking about you when he says this.

who else could it be?

---

in the end, five years is the amount of time megumi fushiguro has to wait before he finally, truly tells you how he feels.

being trapped in his own body was not so much of a nightmare, but a trance. a trance in which memories and dreams and nightmares and hopes coagulated into a single stream of thoughts. his worst fears come to life. an unlikely happy ending. the faces of those he loves most. your face seems to pop up most.

truly one of the most unique and unfortunate ways to find out he loves someone.

he spends what feels like eternity in the darkness with you. you speak to him when he cannot muster the strength to even open his mouth, soothe him when he cannot think.

the memories of you and his loved ones are what keeps him alive.

he sees you cry for the first time when he is reunited with everyone else. he’s crying too. you’ve gone through terrible things, all of you. you’ve all lost those you care about most, and megumi doesn’t know if any of you will ever be okay. whether it’ll ever be okay. but looking at you, teary eyes fixated on gojo’s parting letter to you, he gets the sense that it will.

he embraces you, and he doesn’t even have to say anything to tell you he loves you.

a year turns into two. two into three. three into four. miraculously you’re still by his side, unyielding in the face of whatever curses or calamities the world throws at you. one spring day, megumi holds your hand as you sit under the sakura trees, watching the petals drift off in the breeze. and he knows he must tell you now. 

he looks at you, your smile brighter than any light he’s ever known, and finally speaks the words he’s held for so long.

“i love you.”

you turn to him, eyes shimmering with the same certainty he feels.

“i’ve always loved you, megumi.”

five is the number of times he kisses you under the sakura trees that spring day. five is the number of students in your shared class with him, who make fun of him for being all lovey-dovey with you. five is the number of deep blue roses he leaves in a vase by your bedside every week.

and, just as straightforward as he is, five is the number of sentences in his wedding vows to you.

jjk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[anemia-rp]

Getting intimate with Kuro would be like getting intimate with a weapon. It was likely you caught a bullet and bled out. Yoko wouldn't endorse either that Naito had sex with Kuro, he definitely wouldn't care about the tiger's well-being even during rougher sex practics. And this when safe, sane and consensual was important to Yoko. But deep down he knew that those guidelines could be restricting…at least a little bit. He chuckled and slowly shook his head. "You should know by now that I mostly don't like it soft and that I like it when my partner is in pain", he approved and pursed his lips then, taking a deep breath "I've got considered different methods to deal with Kuro. But when I let him out he became overwhelming all the time and I lost control over him." As if Kuro wanted to prove that he was strong he let the eyes of Yoko's and his body glow, besides of that he flinched lightly at the touch, squaring his shoulders before he glanced over the right one back to Naito. "Being half monster and half reasonable man, yes, this would be probably the best mixture", he approved, his voice having dropped. "Maybe Kuro can just succeed because I get afraid of him. This is how you gain the biggest power over someone in general." He stroked over his own arm. "And this when we perhaps could become quite a good team, Kuro and me. If we learned to cooperate. But 'how'?"

@royalxnightmare

„You gonna be a good boy for me?“, he asked Yoko.

He tilted his head and blinked with a smile as if he had misunderstood Naito. "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you", he said then with a light sigh. "I already struggle with being a good /man/." As if they wanted to highlight his words a red glint appeared in his irides.

[astrowarr]

obsessed with your dl analysis. scar hurts himself [to hurt grian] while grian opens up because it sets the precedent, i think. it's his first decision after he discovers (or can't pretend not to know anymore but. y'know. unreliable narrator will unreliably narrate.) that FOR SURE grian is his soulmate and by going and punching the jellie it establishes their dynamic as scar keeping grian hostage in a way? or testing him? considering that he actively weaponizes it later in a soulmate torture for no apparent reason at all, it reads to me as almost punishing. again, all scar has been saying since the start of this season is that he doesn’t need a soulmate, that he doesn’t want to know who he’s bonded to, etc. and grian forces him to acknowledge the bond, keeps on insisting that they base together, that they work together, that they are together because they are soulmates. all the things that scar is averse to. explicitly. now, i don't know what would happen if grian left scar alone before that point or gave up on him after that punch, because we know that grian is incapable of giving up on scar and that universe does not exist, BUT. i think that scar genuinely wanted to be left alone there, "there" meaning the whole season. and after he didn't have that choice - because grian asked him to base together and scar is incapable of denying grian - he wants a little payback? maybe? another thought is that after all of that in scar's eyes grian goes and 'forges his own destiny' with his 'secret soulmate'. his blame can so easily intertwine itself with grian's guilt and they both need to die.

oh im obsessed with this thank you so much for some beautiful scar goodtimes insight... i was definitely also considering the payback theory you mentioned, especially when you think about the fact that prior, grian had Dropped dripstone on his head. and actually, now that I think about it, i feel so much of his behavior might be desperate attempts to attain some sense of control over his circumstances?

i totally agree that the torture was always a form of punishment. i think a big miscommunication between scarian at all points in time is that grian, as a character, holds a lot of agency. he highly prioritizes Choices, and hates relinquishing control. he can't fathom staying anywhere or doing anything he doesn't want to, so what he doesn't understand is that scar isn't like that. when it comes to grian, scar does not care.

he will do literally anything so long as grian stays by his side. like you said, he is physically incapable of denying grian. but on grian's part he cannot even consider that scar is sacrificing anything for him here, because he wouldn't do that. he doesn't think he's ruining any of scar's soulmateless plans because he just fundamentally doesn't understand the power he holds over scar. part of that misunderstanding is definitely by scar's design, who is allergic to letting anyone Know him, especially post last life

it definitely makes sense why scar would be frustrated. a lot of his problems in last life were forged by his choicelessness: his only friend turned red and was forced to cut ties with him, the boogeyman curse continued to alienate him further, it goes on. so here he is in double life, ready to start anew, but then here comes grian his soulmate, asking for his hand. grian, who just by virtue of existing enacts upon scar a specific brand of choicelessness. and now scar is coming to terms with the fact that his feelings for this force of nature of a man have bound him to powerlessness ONCE AGAIN!! FOR THE REST OF HIS LIVES!! and it places him in this gross push-pull where he doesn't want grian but he Also can't help but want him desperately .. and that's how we get his behavior throughout DL. dear God i just love him

[clarasghosts]

I haven't seen the wwdits finale yet, and based on what I've read about it (critical praise, fan complaints, and some plot points), I don't know that I ever will. one thing (but not the only) that annoys me is this insistence that "nothing ever changes", like that's somehow been the theme of the show all along. but the truth is that didn't become the theme until season four. things very much did change in seasons one through three. guillermo was always a dynamic character from the start of the series, and the discovery of his van helsing side affected members of the household and created tension, ultimately leading to growth and a changing role for him in season three (which seemed to be largely retconned in later seasons). nandor was weary of his long life, which propelled a story arc leading to him leaving the household to travel. after guillermo's arc led to them becoming the new vampiric council, nadja took to power and ambition, and looked forward to what she might be able to do as she rose in status. laszlo's discovery of colin's impending death changed how he behaved toward colin, leading him to do the unthinkable - lie to and separate from nadja in order to take care of a newly birthed baby colin.

these were massive fucking changes in the lives of the characters. season three ended on the note that nothing would be the same. nandor believed he'd been abandoned, nadja was heading to england where she would be in a greater position of power, not knowing her husband had left her at the last moment and trapped guillermo into accompanying her.

and then the start of season four deliberately ignored all of these conflicts and stakes. nadja wasn't actually mad at laszlo. nandor wasn't mad at guillermo or laszlo. baby colin was still there, but by the end of the season, that wouldn't matter either. nadja's vampire council storyline was thrown away with a quick line and brief flashback.

I get that they probably didn't have the budget for something huge abroad, but some close-up exterior shots in some of the older streets on the east coast could pass for some english town, and the rest could be interior shots. the characters could even return to new york without immediately erasing all the conflicts set up at the end of season three. the only real answer for what we ultimately got was bad writing.

I often see people complain that the show went downhill after jemaine left, and I think that's always been more in terms of humor than plot because the season three plot built directly from the season two plot (in all honesty, the humor has been fine for me personally). to me, the writing started to decline after stefani left, and the writers that remained all got hung up on their own egos.

sometimes I wonder what happened behind the scenes. why did stefani leave? she's listed as the co-writer for the season four premiere (which is the start of what I'm complaining about here), but was already no longer an executive producer (no longer had creative control) and then disappears from the writing credits altogether. and, whether related to her or not, I've wondered what led to the writers deciding that, not only would nothing really change in the household going forward, but that the audience should feel foolish for believing things would change. after the disappointment of the writers just throwing away the season three finale, the audience was willing (largely) to go with whatever happened next, embracing marwa's character. only for that to be thrown in our faces by the end of the season. then came the mystery behind guillermo's failed transformation and laszlo's experiments, only for the latter to be dropped as if it never happened.

I don't understand the critical praise for this all being so clever, when it's really just the end product of writers who can write funny scenes and good individual episodes, but largely don't seem able to write actual arcs or plots. it's not just threads never getting resolved, it's also threads never connecting. it's not clever to consistently have no larger vision of what you're writing or not be able to maintain a long and cohesive plot.

[aparticularbandit]

Of course Billy believes that Agatha can control her power.

She has to be able to.

Because if she doesn't - if she can't - after 400 years?

Then how could he ever hope to truly control his?

[n0chanxes]

Solaris did as he always had, even from those darker days before finding refuge and then a home in the forest; He listened. To words. To breaths and pauses and everything that a being did to communicate. And winds above, he couldn't keep his smile from warming as he did.

"I think it takes a very specific sort of being to be a monster, Nam" He breathed out softly, looking to the younger Caivnir who gave a small, sleepy, fox-like trill before nuzzling closer against Namu's jaw. "Being fully honest, back when I was a kid in the Earthen realm, I was forced to grow up with er....." Brows twitched together for a moment, head cocking with a little jingle and a puff of a small chuckle. "Maybe survived in spite of would be a better way to put it. They obviously weren't my real parents, but they knew of my powers-- At least the small amount I had control over at the sage of 5. And kept me for it. They kept me in fear, pain, confusion. All for their own gains. All without guilt. Without warmth. That's what a monster is, Nam."

He took a soft breath and let his head give another shake. "If you were a monster, the forest wouldn't have chosen you. I guess that's the big, easy answer, isn't it? But more importantly, you wanting to keep him here, wanting to hold him as close as you are, maybe closer? It's because you care for him. You fear him being harmed again. All while knowing full well that he's free to leave, even if his abscense may... hurt you a little, or at least cause you to worry."

One more small, soft chuckled exhale as small, white petaled flowers bloomed around the young guardian and the Caivnir. "That doesn't make you a monster, Nam. That makes you a true guardian, and a damn good one at that."

With that, The blonde carefully pushed from the wall, vines and slender branches parting as he turned towards them. "I'm going to go scout for clues about the attack for a bit while you tend to your new friend. Seems like he's keen to wake soon, and I don't want an unfamiliar face to strerss him out. Send for me if you need something, yeah?"

With that, a nod, a wave, and a warm smile, The Sage exited the small home, leaves and twigs concealing the space once again. And not a handful of minutes later a soft grumble of a sound left Hymnis, the shifter curling closer against the other once more. The only difference now though? Instead of a small grimace, a soft smile sat on rosy lips.

With every passing moment, every soft word and every little trill from the Caivnir in his arms, Namu was finding it harder and harder not to just bundle him up and clutch him to his chest for the rest of time. He cared deeply for the forest and all of it's inhabitants, but he'd not quite felt this level of devotion and fierce protectiveness for someone who didn't typically reside in his domain.

Namu was kind, made every effort to be as understanding as he could be to moost plights and situations, but he was also hard when he needed to be. He was also cautious, knew how to put his foot down, to keep that hard, necessary border between fae and human worlds... but it had been so very, very long since he'd felt so hopelessly lost about a situation.

If little Hymnis was as rare and as hunted as Solaris said, Namu would do anything to keep him safe but it was all still so... new. Guilt, a creature he had never come across before, light fae so brazen they would hunt the creature in protected land...

"I told him he could leave whenever he likes. That he's safe here but he's welcome to go on his way but... I almost want to take it back. I would never take anybody's freedom in such a way, but oh how... how much I want to. Does that make me a healer, Solaris? Or just another monster?"

His eyes drifted from Hymnis up to Solaris now, eyes heavy with everything but seeking out... approval, maybe? Because while Namu wasn't young in many species' standards, he was still young in the way of forest guardians. Most forests in the area had the same guardian's that they'd always had. His forest? It had seen it's fair share of blood shed. Had seen harshness and pain, that pushed Namu, barely more than a child at the time, into the role. Perhaps that was why he was so lost now.

[reneesbooks]

snippet saturday

still not a thing but this is my blog and i make the rules and i'm THINKING about birdie and fabin. i swear i'll get back to jack and arthur in a second just let me scream about birdie and fabin for a minute

Emilia tucks her wings against her back, settling in the grass next to Birdie. “When do you think we’ll have to return to Morbhard?”

Birdie stares out over the fields, her pulse quickening. Emilia senses that she’s asked a question that Birdie doesn’t want to answer. Birdie lets out a long breath. “I’m not sure.”

A lie, but Emilia doesn’t question it.

Birdie glances at the sky. “The sun will go down soon. I should make preparations. It’s the full silver moon tonight.”

Emilia shrinks into her human form and sets her hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “I can make the tea if you’d like.”

Birdie smiles. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

Emilia returns to the cottage and puts the kettle on the fire, digging her toe into the floor as she mixes the herbs. As much as she trusts them, as much as they’ve all grown closer over the weeks and months at the cottage, Birdie is still hiding things.

The kettle finally starts to whistle and Emilia pours a cup of tea. She heads back out to the garden. Birdie is standing next to Fabin, clearly just arrived from the forest, smiling up at him as he complains that the deer are getting better at hiding. Her laughter dies abruptly as the silver moon’s light hits her, her preparations forgotten in the grass a few steps away.

Fabin backs away as Birdie’s silver light explodes outward, a pulse of magic flattening the grass in a circle around her. Her tripled voice shrieks, her hair lifting off her shoulders. The entire whites of her eyes burn silver.

Blood starts to run from her nose. Fabin shrinks and tries to step closer, shouting her name. Emilia grabs a washcloth and grips it tightly behind her back, the fabric straining as she twists it nervously.

Birdie’s eyes begin to bleed as well, silver light pulsing from her. Fabin grits his teeth and takes three more shaking steps through the waves to reach Birdie. He grabs her shoulders and Emilia hears him shout her name.

Blood is streaming from her eyes and ears now, the third recitation barely begun. Fabin winces as silver magic lashes out at him, cuts opening on his cheeks. He keeps hold of Birdie, shaking her shoulders, trying to wake her up.

The silver light fades and Birdie’s eyes roll back. She collapses and Fabin catches her, lowering her slowly to the grass.

“Shit.” Jack and Arthur freeze in the doorway of the cottage. “Is she okay?”

“Does she fucking look okay?” Fabin growls, glaring at them. He snatches Birdie’s handkerchief from where she’d left it in the grass and starts to gently wipe the blood from her face. Emilia picks up the cup of tea again and moves cautiously. Birdie’s eyelids are fluttering, though she is limp in Fabin’s arms.

“The tea for her throat,” Emilia says quietly, when Fabin looks up at her with another growl. “I’ll look at those cuts.”

“I’m fine.” He holds the teacup to Birdie’s lips and Emilia flinches at the audibly painful gulps. “Birdie, can you hear me?”

Her silver eyes flick up to his face before fluttering closed again. She tucks her face into his chest.

Fabin leans down to murmur something to her that Emilia doesn’t hear. He presses his cheek to the side of Birdie’s head and Emilia stifles a gasp, averting her eyes.

Fabin stands with Birdie in his arms. “She needs to rest,” he says, not looking at any of them. He winces as he adjust his hold on her and Emilia wonders what other damage Birdie’s backlash did.

He says nothing else as he carries her into the house. Emilia bites her lip as Jack and Arthur turn to her with wide eyes. “I’ll make some more tea.”

[thevagueambition]

my relationship to naruto is that i read the manga as a kid but grew out of enjoying it before it finished so I have very fond memories of several of the early arcs but i absolutely did not finish shippuden nor did i ever remember what was going on when i was reading the chapters of shippuden I did read

SasuNaru is very much one of those "I like it in theory but i've never read a version of it I enjoyed" ships for me (Drarry is this for me, as well)

[prince-sytry]

Damn was he enjoying that little confused and almost frightened look on Andrealphus' face when he noticed he wasn't in control of his emotions as he imagined. It was even more entertaining given that the other had just scolded him for being not careful enough for just perking his ears. He was pretty satisfied with himself. Maybe that little demonstration of what that little pinch of unapologetic honesty, even without using any of his magic, had managed to stir up inside that pretty bird would make him change his mind about dismissing the nature of his powers. For now, he wouldn't try tearing at that door of the closet the other tried so desperately to hide in. No need to cause a scene and make enemies among fellow royals. "Yeah yeah... you're not the first and you won't be the last one to tell me to shut it." he grinned again "But I'm sure you'll get used to it and just start rolling your eyes at me. Most do~" And he knew that more often than not that annoyance was just expressed because he was right, they knew he was, but didn't want to admit it. "Soooo~ I don't know what floats your boat, but... road trips along the beaches of Envy... Parties in Gluttony.. a visit to Ozzies.. Shopping.. Sex?" he listed a few things that popped into his mind "Or judging by how fucking tense you seemed every time I was allowed to lay my eyes on that beautiful silhouette of yours.. You know what really does wonders? Driving up a hill and just screaming into the void."

Andrealphus could practically feel his tail feathers twitching behind him as he remained sat, stiff and still as a statue, as he attempted to quell the storm that was raging inside of him. As though noticing the frost for the first time, the turquoise glare disappeared into a startled, wide-eyed, look. The peacock pulled his fingers from the table as though he had been burnt — it was unbecoming of a royal to lose their cool so publicly. It was almost as though he could hear his mothers voice chastising him for being so pathetic and weak. She had always told him: the moment you lost your cool, you lost. Andrealphus rested his hands in his lap, clenching them into fists as he steeled himself.

“Come now, Sitri, you’re not an imbecile and neither am I,” he bit back icily, “so please, spare me, you know perfectly well where your insult lay,” The bold man had suggested that he was attracted to his brother-in-law, of all things! Not only was that scandalous on account of him being married to his fucking sister — it was preposterous because they were both men! and all of that was to not even mention the inclusion of that wretched imp in his accusations. Andrealphus did not find the act of Stolas laying with a lower class peasant enticing! It was wrong. An offence to their kind. Did he secretly wish that someone would give him the freaky, orgasmically mind-numbing, fucking that apparently that big-dicked imp had been giving Stolas? Fuck no. Of course not. That was ridiculous — and frankly, offensive.

“Apology accepted,” he huffed out dismissively with a wave of one of his hands, “perhaps, in future, it would be wise to keep your thoughts inside your head?” he offered the advice as though he were actually attempting to be helpful and not simply haughty. Andrealphus didn’t dignify his later words about Stolas with a response, instead choosing to take a mildly hostile looking sip of his peppermint tea.

The peacock folded his arms tightly across his chest as he levelled a blank look towards Sitri. “Letting off steam…?” he repeated the words as though they were foreign to him, “Tell me, Sitri, precisely how do you propose I do that?” In truth, he was no stranger to down-time. A pleasant night bitching and doing face masks with his sister or perhaps indulging in a movie night of shitty rom-coms wasn’t unheard of, but he was interested to see what the cat considered a good time.

[clowndensation]

x do u understand my vision.

[skrunksthatwunk]

not rascal's deadbeat owner coming around when im not home and telling my roommate she's taking him for a week (our break is 4 weeks or so, implying he's gonna be back here even though That's Her Cat Not Ours) and then just picking up the new toys i bought for him and taking them with her without even asking. hey. hi. those are mine

[trans-leek-cookie]

Hm I'm not putting this in yhe main tags bc. Yeah but I'm blocking ppl who call the step mother hot

[ceilidhtransing]

The discussions around whether or not to vote for Kamala keep being dominated by very loud voices shouting that anyone who advocates for her “just doesn't care about Palestine!” and “is willing to overlook genocide!” and “has no moral backbone at all!” And while some of these voices will be bots, trolls, psyops - we know that this happens; we know that trying to persuade progressives to split the vote or not vote at all is a strategy employed by hostile actors - of course many of them won't be. But what this rhetoric does is continually force the “you should vote for her” crowd onto the back foot of having to go to great lengths writing entire essays justifying their choice, while the “don't vote/vote third party” crowd is basically never asked to justify their choice. It frames voting for Kamala as a deeply morally compromised position that requires extensive justification while framing not voting or voting third party as the neutral and morally clean stance.

So here's another way of looking at it. How much are you willing to accept in order to feel like you're not compromising your morals on one issue?

Are you willing to accept the 24% rise in maternal deaths - and 39% increase for Black women - that is expected under a federal abortion ban, according to the Centre for American Progress? Those percentages represent real people who are alive now who would die if the folks behind Project 2025 get their way with reproductive healthcare.

Are you willing to accept the massive acceleration of climate change that would result from the scrapping of all climate legislation? We don't have time to fuck around with the environment. A gutting of climate policy and a prioritisation of fossil fuel profits, which is explicitly promised by Trump, would set the entire world back years - years that we don't have.

Are you willing to accept the classification of transgender visibility as inherently “pornographic” and thus the removal of trans people from public life? Are you willing to accept the total elimination of legal routes for gender-affirming care? The people behind the Trump campaign want to drive queer and trans people back underground, back into the closet, back into “criminality”. This will kill people. And it's maddening that caring about this gets called “prioritising white gays over brown people abroad” as if it's not BIPOC queer and trans Americans who will suffer the most from legislative queer- and transphobia, as they always do.

Are you willing to accept the domestic deployment of the military to crack down on protests and enforce racist immigration policy? I'm sure it's going to be very easy to convince huge numbers of normal people to turn up to protests and get involved in political organising when doing so may well involve facing down an army deployed by a hardcore authoritarian operating under the precedent that nothing he does as president can ever be illegal.

Are you willing to accept a president who openly talks about wanting to be a dictator, plans on massively expanding presidential powers, dehumanises his political enemies and wants the DOJ to “go after them”, and assures his supporters they won't have to vote again? If you can't see the danger of this staring you right in the face, I don't know what to tell you. Allowing a wannabe dictator to take control of the most powerful country on earth would be absolutely disastrous for the entire world.

Are you willing to accept an enormous uptick in fascism and far-right authoritarianism worldwide? The far right in America has huge influence over an entire international network of “anti-globalists”, hardcore anti-immigrant xenophobes, transphobic extremists, and straight-up fascists. Success in America aids and emboldens these people everywhere.

Are you willing to accept an enormous number of preventable deaths if America faces a crisis in the next four years: a public health emergency, a natural disaster, an ecological catastrophe? We all saw how Trump handled Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. We all saw how Trump handled Covid-19. He fanned the flames of disaster with a constant flow of medical misinformation and an unspeakably dangerous undermining of public health experts. It's estimated that 40% of US pandemic deaths could have been avoided if the death rates had corresponded to those in other high-income countries. That amounts to nearly half a million people. One study from January 2021 estimated between around 4,200 and 12,200 preventable deaths attributable purely to Trump's statements about masks. We're highly unlikely to face another global pandemic in the next few years but who knows what crises are coming down the pipeline?

Are you willing to accept the attempted deportation of millions - millions - of undocumented people? This is “rounding people up and throwing them into camps where no one ever hears from them again” territory. That's a blueprint for genocide right there and it's a core tenet of both Trump's personal policy and Project 2025. And of course they wouldn't be going after white people. They most likely wouldn't even restrict their tyranny to people who are actually undocumented. Anyone racially othered as an “immigrant” would be at risk from this.

Are you willing to accept not just the continuation of the current situation in Palestine, but the absolute annihilation of Gaza and the obliteration of any hope for imminent peace? There is no way that Trump and the people behind him would not be catastrophically worse for Gaza than Kamala or even Biden. Only recently he was telling donors behind closed doors that he wanted to “set the [Palestinian] movement back 25 or 30 years” and that “any student that protests, I throw them out of the country”. This is not a man who can be pushed in a direction more conducive to peace and justice. This is a man who listens to his wealthy donors, his Christian nationalist Republican allies, and himself.

Are you willing to accept a much heightened risk of nuclear war? Obviously this is hardly a Trump policy promise. But I can't think of a single president since the Cold War who is more likely to deploy nuclear weapons, given how casually he talks about wanting to use them and how erratic and unstable he can be in his dealings with foreign leaders. To quote Foreign Policy only this year, “Trump told a crowd in January that one of the reasons he needed immunity was so that he couldn’t be indicted for using nuclear weapons on a city.” That's reassuring. I'm not even in the US and I remember four years of constant background low-level terror that Trump would take offence at something some foreign leader said or think that he needs to personally intervene in some military situation to “sort it out” and decide to launch the entire world into nuclear war. No one sane on earth wants the most powerful person on the planet to be as trigger-happy and careless with human life as he is, especially if he's running the White House like a dictator with no one ever telling him no. But depending on what Americans do in November, he may well be inflicted again on all of us, and I guess we'll all just have to hope that he doesn't do the worst thing imaginable.

“But I don't want those things! Stop accusing me of supporting things I don't support!” Yes, of course you don't want those things. None of us does. No one's saying that you actively support them. No one's accusing you of wanting Black women to die from ectopic pregnancies or of wanting to throw Hispanic people in immigrant detention centres or of wanting trans people to be outlawed (unlike, I must point out, the extremely emotive and personal accusations that get thrown around about “wanting Palestinian children to die” if you encourage people to vote for Kamala).

But if you're advocating against voting for Kamala, you are clearly willing to accept them as possible consequences of your actions. That is the deal you're making. If a terrible thing happening is the clear and easily foreseeable outcome of your action (or in the case of not voting, inaction), in a way that could have been prevented by taking a different and just as easy action, you are partly responsible for that consequence. (And no, it's not “a fear campaign” to warn people about things he's said, things he wants to do, and plans drawn up by his close allies. This is not “oooh the Democrats are trying to bully you into voting for them by making him out to be really bad so you'll feel scared and vote for Kamala!” He is really bad, in obvious and documented and irrefutable ways.)

And if you believe that “both parties are the same on Gaza” (which, you know, they really aren't, but let's just pretend that they are) then presumably you accept that the horrors being committed there will continue, in the immediate term anyway, regardless of who wins the presidency. Because there really isn't some third option that will appear and do everything we want. It's going to be one of those two. And we can talk all day about wanting a better system or how unfair it is that every presidential election only ever has two viable candidates and how small the Overton window is and all that but hell, we are less than eighty days out from the election; none of that is going to get fixed between now and November. Electoral reform is a long-term (but important!) goal, not something that can be effected in the span of a couple of months by telling people online to vote third party. There is no “instant ceasefire and peace negotiation” button that we're callously overlooking by encouraging people to vote for Kamala. (My god, if there was, we would all be pressing it.)

If we're suggesting people vote for her, it's not that we “are willing to overlook genocide” or “don't care about sacrificing brown people abroad” or whatever. Nothing is being “overlooked” here. It's that we're simply not willing to accept everything else in this post and more on top of continued atrocities in Gaza. We're not willing to take Trump and his godawful far-right authoritarian agenda as an acceptable consequence of feeling like we have the moral high ground on Palestine. I cannot stress enough that if Kamala doesn't win, we - we all, in the whole world - get Trump. Are you willing to accept that?

And one more point to address: I've seen too many people act frighteningly flippant and naïve about terrible things Trump or his campaign want to do, with the idea that people will simply be able to prevent all these bad things by “organising” and “protesting” and “collective action”. “I'm not willing to accept these things; that's why I'll fight them tooth and nail every day of their administration” - OK but if you're not even willing to cast a vote then I have doubts about your ability to form “the Resistance”, which by the way would have to involve cooperation with people of lots of progressive political stripes in order to have the manpower to be effective, and if you're so committed to political purity that you view temporarily lending your support to Kamala at the ballot box as an untenable betrayal of everything you stand for then forgive me for also doubting your ability to productively cooperate with allies on the ground with whom you don't 100% agree. Plus, if the Trump campaign gets its way, American progressives would be kept so busy trying to put out about twenty different fires at once that you'd be able to accomplish very little. Maybe you get them to soften their stance on trans healthcare but oh shit, the climate policies are still in place. But more importantly, how many people do you think will protest for abortion rights if doing so means staring down a gun? Or organise to protect their neighbours from deportation if doing so means being thrown in prison yourself? And OK, maybe you're sure that you will, but history has shown us time and time again that most people won't. Most people aren't willing to face that kind of personal risk. And a tiny number of lefties willing to risk incarceration or death to protect undocumented people or trans people or whatever other groups are targeted is sadly not enough to prevent the horrors from happening. That is small fry compared to the full might of a determined state. Of course if the worst happens and Trump wins then you should do what you can to mitigate the harm; I'm not saying you shouldn't. But really the time to act is now. You have an opportunity right here to mitigate the harm and it's called “not letting him get elected”. Act now to prevent that kind of horrific authoritarian situation from developing in the first place; don't sit this one out under the naïve belief that “we'll be able to stop it if it happens”. You won't.

[s0dium]

THAT'S A RED FLAG BABY

JJK MEN AND RED FLAGS

A/n: Yessirrrr MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Synopsis: Jujutsu men and their red flag in a relationship or generally and how it shows through when they fuck

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Yuuta Okkatsu, Sukuna Ryomen, Choso

Warnings: Emotional abuse, narcissism, controlling behavior, dub-con, semi-public sex, spitting, fingering, rough sex, male masturbation, degrading, praise, teasing

~

Gojo Satoru- Narcissist  

Since he was a kid, Gojo has been praised and called many things

The honored one, the strongest, gifted and so on

But what people don't see is behind those beautiful sapphire eyes, is a goddamn narcissist through and through

He thinks, no he knows that he is the best, best at everything

This includes what goes on in bed.

And its not only that, the white-haired fox only cares about himself too in the sheets, abusing his unnatural stamina and using you like a cock sleeve for his own taste

At least he can be nice about it sometimes

Gojo is relentless. Its almost like your his personal cock sleeve, his dick shaping your insides and abusing your cervix despite your choked sobs and whines for him to stop, to simply slow down. He holds the back of your head with his hand, allowing you to look down at the way you two are connected; how he retracts his hips until his tip barely pokes out, admiring the slick coating his shaft before slamming back into you again.

"Ahhh~ P-please Satoru please...."

Gojo rolls his eyes and scoffs. Why were the people that surrounded him always so weak? Even you. It's a good thing you feel like heaven he could almost forgive you.

Tears stream down your face. Every time the tip of his dick rams against your cervix a powerful feeling mixed with pain and pleasure that surges through your body making you tremble and shake. You're losing your mind. Everything is so good, and, God, you can't ignore how handsome Gojo looks right now. His white hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and the muscles of his toned abdomen are flexing and unflexing. He is gorgeous, and, boy, he knows it. Even the way your pussy squeezes and spasms around his dick sends more bolts of electric pleasure to dance through your skim.

"Shhhh, just take it 'kay? You're doing so good for me baby." Gojo coos.

Geto Suguru -Controlling

It starts off small, a comment here and there on your choice of friends, a small criticism on where you were going to spend the evening because wouldn't you have much more fun spending it with him?

Then he's starting to pick out outfits for you. Modest but pretty ones for outside but short skimpy clothes for when you're only with him. It even gets to the point where he is controlling your finances, making you only use his credit card, and its not about the money, you can use as much as you want for all he cares. It's about the control, you being helplessly reliant on him.

And Geto has such an easy time getting away with his controlling tendencies, showering you in praises and sweet nothings about how he just wants to protect you. And the way his violet eyes gleam at you, you almost always believe him.

Don't for a second think that he's insecure because it's far from it. The raven-haired man just wants to have you all to himself, he just wants to protect you from the cruel cruel world out there.

"Didn't I tell you to ask me first if you are going to wear an outfit like that?" Geto whispers in your ear but you can barely focus on his words. The curl of his fingers inside you is just too numbing; the way it hits, prods, and massages a spot deep inside your walls that you can only dream about reaching on your own. Geto's fingers are so thick too, almost filling you up as deliciously as his dick does. Almost. "Mmm- I- I, I didn't-" You gasp for air and try to bury your face into your hands. He currently has you against a wall of some bathroom stall but that fact seemed all but lost to you right now. The pleasure was building in your core and fast. Your legs were starting to shake and a numbing electric feeling had taken course throughout your body. You didn't have to open your eyes to know that Geto was smirking.

Suddenly, Goto curls his fingers in a way that deeply presses your g-spot and the dam of pleasure that had built inside you breaks. Your jaw goes slack and your whole body trembles with electricity.

"Didn't expect for you to crack so easily" he chuckles against your ear, and you collapse into his chest. Yuta Okkatsu- Too obsessed

You would think this is a good thing right? You could never love someone too much, but it was different with Yuuta

Sure you had a crush on him, sure you touched yourself to him plenty of times (which Yuuta knew of very well) so the feelings weren't all that unreciprocated

But theres a line, there's a line that Yuta always seems to cross

From taking pictures of you to texting you constantly, christ you even found your panties in his drawer, yuta love was overwhelming.

Yuuta knows that he should wake you up, but he cant bring himself too right now. You just look so beautiful, so perfect under the soft glow of the night sky. Also, he just feels so good right now, Yuuta can barely think so much as speak. "Mmmm-mmm" he whimpers against the pillow, slowly grinding his clothed erection against your bare leg. How would you react if you knew your boyfriend was humping you while you sleep? Would you push him away? No no you're too kind for that, you would probably help him, probably pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings until he finished. Yes, if he knew for a fact that you'd help him when you wake up, what's stopping you from helping you now? Careful not to wake you up, he picks up your hand. It's so small compared to his but wraps so well around his throbbing member. He glides your thumb across his red tip to collect the precum before slowly sliding your hand up and down. The pleasure is immediate. It makes him bury his face into your neck to to press sloppy, wet, hot, and bitten kisses along your skin.

Sukuna Ryomen- Sadist

Where to start with Sukuna. Sukuna is the red flag.

Actually, even that is a complete understatement. Sukuna is straight-up cruel, rather he is a sadist through and through.

Manipulation, degrading, humiliation....although he wouldn't physically abuse you, with emotional abuse he won't hesitate.

You expect compassion, sympathy, and kindness from him? Fat chance. It is hard to see Sukuna being in any relationship at all.

Sukuna certainly doesn't love you, but he sure does love the sex though

Like any good sadist, his sexual pleasure derives from your physical or emotional suffering.

"Aw look at you, fucked you dumb did I?" Sukuna chuckles. A tattooed hand snakes between to your cunt, lightly rubbing your clit before delivering a sharp slap to the nerve.

Your eyes widen and your hips instantly buck up, unintentionally sending his dick deeper into you. The position he has you in is brutal. Both of your legs are thrown over Sukuna's shoulders and pressed against your chest, effectively folding you in half. "Open ya mouth" He orders, but you are too lost in the pleasure that is blooming in your stomach, the pleasure that is making your cunt flutter and squeeze desperately around his fat cock. "I said open." Sukuna delivers a particularly harsh thrust before stilling inside you; keeping the tip of his dick smushed against your cervix. The sudden movement snaps you out of your haze and you obediently widen your mouth letting your tongue hang out. Sukuna lets a glob of spit fall from his lips onto your awaiting tongue. You don't need to be told to swallow, you do so on habit, giving him a soft smile as you do so.

"Fuck, ya so perfect, such a good girl."

Choso- Jealous 

Choso is the type of man who keeps to himself. The type of man to blend in a group or fade into the background.

But that doesn't mean he notices things. In fact, he notices things a bit too well.

Was that your coworker who touched your shoulder? You say that he is just a friend but who should a friend be able to touch you so easily?

He won't hesitate to bring up what he notices either, he says he's not accusing you of anything, that he trusts you, but he totally is.

He hates it when people get to close to his brothers so it posits that he loathes it when it comes to his lover.

How did you get here? How did an argument turn into this?

You want to scream, you want to thrash and tell Choso that he's got it all wrong, that you didn't mean to see your guy friend when you went out to have lunch. It was just a harmless bump-in that turned into a long conversation. Thats it. But the feeling of Choso's dick filling you up, his harsh thrusts and the fucking delicious friction of the drag, Jesus, it's just- it's just so good your mind that your mind is a white sheet.

You are on all fours but you don't know how much longer you can keep the position up. Not with the way he's ramming your pussy from behind.

“You are mine," he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal is brutal. "Mine," he swears, and he pulls you up so your back is pressed against him and you are upright. Choso doesn’t slow his movement though, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing up and down from the harshness of it all.

“You wanna cum? Good, cum."