#i liked the fact that he had made a real fucked up choice in a no win scenario that weighed on him so heavily

[dykedvonte]

I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

[marlenacantswim]

just finished matt smith's run as the doctor, still hot off the tails, and as is to be expected, everything that happened to him keeps making me think of nine and ten. i hadn't stopped to consider just how fresh the whole "committing genocide against my own people" thing was for nine. like the amount of High Grade Denial And Suppression he had to have been doing to be as barely functional as he was must have been publishable.

[lord-squiggletits]

Something else that makes me sympathetic to Pharma's situation is like. Idk if there's an actual term for this or if someone smarter and more academic wrote it about some real life context that actually matters.

But, so we've already established among Pharma stans that the circumstances at Delphi were blackmail/torture with no real way out that wouldn't involve Pharma being responsible for people getting killed (either killing patients for the deal or having everyone die bc he failed his end of the deal).

And I feel like while "he's still in the wrong because he killed people" is part of it, another sort of implicit part is the idea that Pharma should've been willing to take more personal risk, maybe even risk dying? I mean, Ratchet does ask "why didn't you just detonate it near the DJD" (to which Pharma responds that he did try to get Sonic and Boom to do it, but they refused) so like

Idk I feel like we do have this social notion of martyrs as a very romantic ideal, people you can praise for being so brave and strong and righteous that they ended their own lives for their cause, while you can also coo about how sad and tragic it is that dying is what it took for them to do the right thing. But at the same time I feel like in reality, having an expectation that people become martyrs is kind of a toxic social norm bc like. It's very easy to demand that others sacrifice their lives for some Ultimate Moral Good when you yourself aren't experiencing the same hardships as they are. And ultimately it is kind of fucked up to tell someone "the moral thing you should've done was risk your life/kill yourself" because asking someone to pay their life to do the right thing is no small request. And sure, the typical response would be to call them a "coward" for caring more about saving their own skin instead of doing the right thing... but again, death is a really scary thing and self-preservation is a really strong instinct, so it kind of feels like having this binary view of "you're either a Brave Hero who sacrifices your life for everyone else or a Dirty Coward who's too scared of dying to do what's right" is kind of fucked up?

I guess the best way to describe it is that if someone willingly gives up their life as a sacrifice to others, it can be a noble thing because it's a choice they made willingly, but if it becomes a Moral Standard that in order to be a Good Person you have to be unafraid of throwing your life away and if you aren't willing to die you're a Cowardly Bad Person, that's when it becomes toxic.

Idk, I guess how this ties back to Pharma is that he was never in a position where he expected to make these kinds of moral decisions/ultimatums. He's a doctor who doesn't even get into combat, his job is to heal and not to kill, he's behind the front lines in a hospital that's supposed to be a safe, neutral place for him to heal people. So in the face of suddenly having a "murder people on behalf of me, or I murder everyone you swore to protect" ultimatum thrust upon him, I understand why Pharma wasn't """"""""""brave enough"""""""""" to "do the right thing" (whatever that would've been in the case of Delphi). You could argue that maybe a frontliner soldier accepted the burden of possibly dying for their cause and they've become used to it as someone who lives that reality every single day, but I feel like for Pharma, who's a doctor and a protected non-combatant (from what we can tell), that sort of risking of his life/living with the fact his life could be snuffed out any day isn't something he would've been prepared for at all.

And for me personally, from an outsider's perspective, it strikes me as kind of unethical to go "oh well he should've just detonated the bomb himself even if it killed him" bc again, there's a difference between witnessing a moral conundrum as a bystander versus being the person living with it and being under time pressure where it's do-or-die. Just as part of my personal standards, I feel like death is such a huge consequence/burden of someone's actions (literally you are no longer alive, any potential you had left is cut short, you cease to exist on this plane) that it feels rather callous to go "Well you should've just been willing to die for your beliefs if you really cared that much!!!"

[arolesbianism]

You know, I think the reason I've never been big on the idea of Abigail not actually being Abigail is because it's just so much more fun and fucked up if it Is Abigail and it's partly because of the whole watching your twin die over and over, but it's also because holy shit does Wendy say some shit that sucks so bad to say when Abby is literally Right Next To Him. Like imagine your fucking twin constantly talking about you like you're not there, all while also being constantly held up as the only thing keeping him going, and then he pulls out the "I have nothing worth protecting" and it's just all like godddd this kid's shitty coping mechanism of being an edgelord is causing him to unintentionally be such a dick sometimes and that is so fucking delightful to me. Abby has spent god knows how long watching her twin die and treat her like a past tense and like a concept and most of the cast don't even refer to her by name and it's unclear if she can even talk to them and that's all on top of literally being a ghost who is bound to death seemingly irreversibly and all of that while shes like 12. No wonder she kills moles and rabbits for doing nothing lol

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

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

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

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

wc: 4.5k

_____________

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

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

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

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

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

spencer doesn’t buy it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i heard you, on the jet.”

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

he heard you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no.”

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

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

“should we change that?”

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

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

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

“yes.”

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

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

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

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

“please don’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh fuck,” you cry.

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

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

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but…” you pathetically respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“spence…harder.”

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

“whatever you say, princess.”

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

“fuck,” you whine.

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

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

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

you whimper, “spencer,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“me?” he says incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[whatswrongwithblue]

At a costume party Alastor is dressed as a pirate, and you're dressed as a bar wench... You find yourself drunk and fumbling desperately in a dark closet, him holding the door shut so no one walks in, while pinning your to the wall, while you work yourself up and down his cock.

💜����😈

You know me, I had to make it just a teensy bit darker and rougher than the prompt required, but I think you're gonna like it.

Summary/TW: possessive Alastor, oral (both receiving), vaginal fingering, cock riding, creampie, alcohol consumption, biting/blood play.

Trick or Tease

You had been with Alastor for a while now and while it wasn’t exactly rare that you two were intimate, you had never seen him openly stare at you like he was doing that night.

Sex with Alastor was always an event that required lots of buildup prior and sometimes it had little to do with you.

If the two of you had spent hours of quality alone time together – dancing or talking – he might make love to you in a slow, tender fashion. The kind of long, sultry love-making that made your toes curl, your heart sing, and left no room for doubt of the depth and intensity of Alastor’s affection for you.

Other times he would return to the hotel in a quiet, seething rage and you would slink off to your room, knowing he would come and find you, and take what he needed from you. Those were the times he fucked you. It was always a brutal act and he took you in such aggressive, carnal ways that there was always a touch of fear in your heart for him then. With his cock slamming into you, drawing out each of your orgasms almost against your will, he reminded you of the sheer power imbalance in your relationship. And when he came, he always bit you, filling himself with your blood as he likewise filled you with him cum; marking you and devouring you so that you knew you were his. Reminding you that you should feel lucky to be in such a position; because if you weren’t, you’d likely be dead.

But outside of your most private moments, he rarely touched you. A chased kiss to the back of your hand before he left on the errand was the only real show of affection he would perform in front of others.

So when you had come down the stairs in your costume and he continued to stare you down from across the room, you weren’t sure what to make of it. In fact, you assumed wrongly as first that he was angry at you for your choice of costume.

Your bar maid outfit was far from slutty as far as Hell’s opinion on the matter went, but it certainly had more cleavage than your day to day outfits showed. Those tits of yours were pushed up high and looking round and inviting, sure, but otherwise the outfit was fairly modest. With a long, heavy skirt, and an apron designed to look well used and authentic, you were hardly the most scantily clad member of the hotel. Even Charlie, in her bunny costume, was showing off the entire expanse of her legs and even her lower ass cheeks and Vaggie certainly looked like she had no complaints about her girlfriend’s attire.

Again, you caught Alastor’s attention and with an irritated flush, you tried pulling up the ruffles of your shirt just a little more.

You shouldn’t care what he thought. It was your body and you still had autonomy in this relationship, or so you had been led to believe. And for fuck’s sake, the vamps and flappers of his day showed off more skin a hundred years ago.

After adjusting your clothes, you looked back up at him in time to see his eyes narrow even more as he watched you over the rim of his whiskey glass.

You huffed and grabbed your drink from the bar and down half of it in one swallow.

Fuck this.

You should be enjoying yourself. This was a party, for Satan’s sake, and it was suppose to be a rare fun night in Hell. And Alastor was looking way too yummy in his pirate costume to be acting like such a bastard when all you wanted to do was enjoy the eye candy that was your lover for the evening.

Instead, you avoided him, not wanting him to sour your mood any further. So you drank and danced, usually with Charlie, but often with Cheri or Angel, and whenever it was with the latter, you ended up with another drink in your hand.

As the night went on, you almost forgot about Alastor and his stupid, angry face. But then you realized you had gotten far more intoxicated than you intended to and you stumbled your way from the dance floor, your drunken, lonely heart searching for him as your irritation with him was washed away by the booze. All you could remember were those tight pants and the eye patch that had been traded in place of his usual monocle. You wanted to run your hands through the ruffles of his shirt before ripping them off of him.

But then you couldn’t find Alastor. As much as you searched through the crowd swarming the hotel lobby, you couldn’t find those familiar red ears and little antlers. Even through your drunken haze, trepidation began to bloom in your stomach, twisting your organs into knots of anxiety.

You remembered his anger then and in a rush of regret, realized avoiding him had been the wrong course of action.

Feeling flushed with alcohol and guilt, you swept your eyes over the dance floor one last time, no longer able to absorb the happiness and light atmosphere in the room. All you could see were the mistakes you had made that night. So you left without saying goodbye to anyone, wandering down the empty hallway that would lead you to your room and hopefully some form of reconciliation.

You blinked in confusion as the hallway suddenly went dim, the lights flickering to low before going out completely. In your drunken stupor, you weren’t sure what was happening, until a pair of arms grabbed your roughly from behind.

And then you were dissolving, falling, flying, spinning . . .

You came to in a tiny dark room, illuminated by a singular, pathetic lightbulb dangling above your head, as Alastor loomed over you, pressing you against the wall.

Your head spun for a moment longer as you got your bearings. Transporting you by shadow had been a mean trick as you often got a little motion sick from it even when sober. But your breath caught in your throat, stalling your nausea, as you looking up with shaking pupils to see Alastor’s blazing red eyes boring into you.

Before you could speak, he had a clawed hand on your jaw and pushed you harder into the wall behind you.

“Did you really think teasing me all night was a good idea?”

“I’m sorry- ” you squeaked out as he lunged at you but then his mouth was at your neck. As he sucked and kissed your flesh down to your shoulder, a mix of confusion and arousal began to course through your muddled mind. “Teasing you?” you stammered. “You think I was teasing you?”

“Wearing this?” he said, leaning lower and forcing the hem of your blouse lower to expose more of the swell of your cleavage before he took a mouthful of your curves, the sharp edges of his teeth digging in enough to feel the sting. “Not speaking to me,” he said when he let go of your breast with a pop. “Dancing with others. Always keeping me in your line of sight.”

“You – you liked the costume? I thought . . . I thought you were angry?”

“Angry?” Alastor yanked the loose collar of your blouse off your shoulders and you obediently pulled your arms free of the sleeves, exposing the strapless bra beneath. “Why would I be angry at you showing off a bit of your beauty?”

He reached behind you, unhooking the back of your bra and made you watch as he burned it in his grasp before turning his attention to your breasts.

“Your only mistake dear, was not making it clear that beautiful body belonged to me,” he said as he cupped your mounds; massaging and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back to the wall behind you, arching your chest into his hands. “It is, it’s all yours.”

That heavy skirt was being lifted now as Alastor brought it higher and higher, exposing inch after inch of your thighs until he had the fabric bunched up at your hips. He bent down on his knees and you leaned your hips forward as he pressed his face into you, leaving teasing, tender kisses along the top band of your lacy underwear.

“Hold this,” he directed and you took the folded fabric of your skirt in both your hands as Alastor hooked a careful claw under your thong and pulled it down your legs. “I think a little teasing is in store for you, don’t you agree?”

You only nodded as you stepped out of your underwear and he guided one leg up onto his shoulder and felt him continue his path of kisses along the inside of your thigh and all around the outer edges of your lower lips.

Whimpering at the close contact of his lips and the heat of his breath ghosting across your moist opening, you clutched onto your skirts and ached for more.

His tongue darted out, dragging a long but feather light lick along your slit, making your hips rock as you tried to ground into him.

“So wet for me already,” he hummed and praised you with one hard suck on your clit before returning to his tongue to its torturous administrations. Slow, light, cruel strokes along your cunt that had you nearly crying out for more.

“I was thinking about you.”

“Think about me?” he asked as he slipped a single finger inside you, just past your entrance. “While dancing with others?”

His long, slender digits stroked your insides in a come hither motion, making your legs tremble in pleasure.

It wasn’t enough to let you come, just enough to keep you on the edge, begging for more, and he knew it. Alastor was going to make you work for it, make you apologize and beg for more before he let you finish.

“I came looking for you. I wanted you. I was just scared.”

“Scared?” He brought his lips back to you, swirling his tongue around your clit, giving you a small reward for your admittance of fear he clearly liked hearing about. You whined and rocked your hips into his mouth, only catching your breath enough to reply when he pulled away; only touching you with that solitary finger still inside you and stroking you along to a release it refused to give.

“You looked so angry.”

“Hmmm, your mistake,” he said and looked up at you with a mischievous smile. “Though I suppose anger and desire are cousins at times.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

He finger left you and he stood, once again towering over you.

“And how would you like to do that, darling?”

You stood on tip toe and kissed him, pulling his head down to you with one hand while the other cupped the bulge that you could now see, even in the dim light of the closet.

“How I usually apologize to you, of course,” you teased, feeling a little bolder and more relaxed now.

Those ruby eyes of his flashed brighter for a second and you got on your knees as he unzipped his trousers and pulled them down with his underwear, letting his cock bob free and guided you by the back of your head onto his considerable length.

Letting your skirts drop around you, but keeping your breasts exposed for him to enjoy, you settled in before him and parted your lips for him.

You moaned as he filled up your mouth, taking him down inch by inch until he hit the back of your throat and you pulled away, leaving a tantalizing string of saliva between your lips and his throbbing tip.

Then you licked along his sides and the venous, pulsing bottom of his length, coating every bit of him until he was wet enough for you hand to pump at his base and you could focus on sucking what you could fit into your mouth easily. Keeping your own demonic teeth at bay, you worked his cock just how you knew he liked it; alternating between taking him fast and deep, and swirling, pleasant flicks of your tongue along his tip.

You performed to the very best of your abilities, meeting his gaze the entire time with the widest, most sorrowful doe eyes you could muster, until you heard the two little words you had been waiting for him to utter.

“Good girl,” he sighed as he cupped your jaw, thrusting his cock into your mouth with an appreciative slow tenderness, allowing you to do most of the work he trusted you to do so well.

You hummed in agreement and pulled your mouth away from him, though you still slowly worked your fist along his length. “I’m your good girl. Can I have my reward now?”

“And what should that reward be?” he asked, twirling a lock of your hair around his fingers, an innocent look on his face despite the fact that you were still stroking his cock.

You kissed his tip and then several times along his length before you looked back up at him.

“Something this big and gorgeous deserves to be ridden.”

And that was how you found yourself on the floor of the supply closet, with Alastor seated beneath you, both of you still half dressed, as you rode him just like you promised, hard enough that the door behind him kept threatening to swing open until he finally wrapped a shadow tendril around the doorknob to keep it in place.

This wasn’t the sweet and gentle lovemaking you two usually shared. And it wasn’t the forceful, urgent way he took you when his inner demons needed an outlet. This was something in between; lips lingered on skin in heated but delicate caresses, full of reverence and worship for each other. Your bodies joined and met in a harsh rhythm, creating a slapping cacophony of sinful noises that filled the room and likely could be heard if anyone else made the journey down that dark and lonely hallway.

The alcohol coursed through your veins, pushed along by your undead hearts that beat together in a rapid rhythm. Each push and pull of your blood sending more intoxicating substance to your head, and your nervous system, dulling and sharpening your senses all at once. You felt every wet slide of your depths as they clenched and ached around Alastor’s cock, heard every static filled groan and whispered filthy words of praise that spilled from his lips, and yet it took an immense amount of effort for you to finally come.

You were drenched in sweat and out of breath, your breasts heaving with your struggle for air and the desperate rocking of your body into Alastor’s.

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and you could tell he was close and fighting off his own end until you met yours.

The memory of dozens of other nights, with his essence filling you up and coating you with silken warmth sang through your thoughts, spurring you on and finally bringing you to the cliff’s edge of your pleasure.

“Come for me,” you whispered and his eyes shot open at your plea. You pressed your knees into the floor as hard as you could, impaling yourself until you took him as deeply as you possibly could. “Please, Al’.”

Begging. You were properly begging, nearly in tears at how close you suddenly were, feeling yourself already lose control of the muscles in your core as they began to tighten and spasm. “Give it to me. Please.”

He pulled you down to him and bit into the fullest pulse point of your throat, and you screamed a vibrato of ecstasy as you came together. Alastor let your blood spill down your throat and breasts, watching the trickles paint your skin a vibrant red as he twitched inside you, giving you that full and claimed feeling you had been after. As his cock softened and your movements slowed to a halt, you left him nestled in you warmth as he finally began to lick along the crimson trails until you were lapped clean. The bite mark remained, inflamed and clotting, and you arched your throat for him and he kissed along its edges. You practically purred as you laced your fingers through his hair, nestling him to you as you stroked his ears and antlers in the aftermath of your bliss.

“Oh my sweet darling, that was wonderful. Just what I needed.” He sighed and hugged you to him, reduced back to the secret devoted lover you usually had in your bed.

“Will you dance with me now?” you asked, letting your voice slip into something sugary sweet.

With a snap of his fingers, you were both standing and fully dressed. You could even fill the band of your bra digging into your ribs again and the mess between your legs was gone.

Well . . . almost gone. As you stood there, you felt the slightest of trickles leak out of you and dampen your underwear. That, and there was the lingering pang of overworked inner muscles and a rather conspicuous toothy wound on your neck.

You knew all these things were purposeful. They would be a reminder throughout the rest of the night, as Alastor showed you off to the crowd of Sinners, spinning and dipping you across the dance floor, that you were completely, unabashedly, and wholly his. And that you should never, ever, try to avoid him again.

[sweetnans]

Stuck in the moment || Bakugo, K. (pt.5)

Pairing: fuckboy Bakugo/hopelessly romantic fem. reader

summary: You made a mistake, a huge mistake. You fucked the most cocky, annoying, bastard, fuckboy you knew. Bakugo Katsuki. And that fact was against all your beliefs. Now, after the rumor (truth) spread like a pandemic virus in college you'll have to live with the stormy consequences of your acts and whatever trash was brought with it.

a/c: Hey, it's me again. Here we are in a new series I plan to continue. I really hope you enjoy it. I put my favorite man in action (bakugo) being a selfish bastard that you would love eventually and I couldn't help to put another "trope" I'm a sucker for (guardian/father figure Aizawa) I'm so sorry if that bothers you. Once again, I'm sorry if I misspelled something, English is not my first language. (Not proofread yet)

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 -> Pt.6

m.list

You woke up with a headache. You barely even drink last night, but somehow, the interaction with a certain one got you all pented up that now you were struggling with a giant migraine.

Sundays were always slow. You used them to complete your homework, and then in the afternoon, you had a mandatory dinner with Aizawa and Eri in his apartment. You talked about eachothers lives and then sometimes watched a movie together. It was really nice, especially when the idea came right from Aizawa's mind in a form to create a safe and familiar space to Eri, which you were happy to comply with.

On Monday, your headache was light. It was a pulsating little tingle in your head, completely bearable.

The first class was slow. You caught yourself falling asleep multiple times, but hopefully, no one saw you.

After the party, you made your routine on speaking your head off to Jirou about what happened. You two got into the conclusion that it was a delusional event that helped out Bakugo keep his mind in peace.

It was easier to pretend that that was his intention than twirling your brain into finding out the real purpose of your interaction with him.

The sound of your stomach growling startled you out of your head. You were sitting in the sun enjoying the rays in your face when you checked the clock for the obvious. Lunch break.

You hated making the line to get lunch, so Aizawa packed you a bento with some things he found at home. He was a man in charge of a little girl, but it didn't mean that he was actually good at cooking. He had some dishes where he showed all his talent, but others, you could see little Eri gagging because of the burnt rice and steamed vegetables that looked like a pulp.

You entered the lunch zone full of big white tables and uncomfortable chairs. It's was more crowded than usual, so you had to put yourself on the tip of your toes to find Jirou and Denki.

Scanning the room, above all the heads and trying to difuse the laughs and peoples screaming from one table to another, you didn't find a trace of your friends.

"You look like a deer struck by light." Bakugo's hand was wrapped firmly in your shoulder lowering your body to the ground. "Sit with us"

That was him in real life. A silence sneaky bastard you didn't see coming.

You didn't have a choice, so you followed him through the crowd until you two made it to the table where his friends waved you happily of seeing you with them.

They didn't mind your presence at all. With years of friendship with Bakugo, they have learned no to question his outbursts or his decisions. Having you around was weird in a way that he never ever had been interested in someone, and now they have started to get used to you because he always made the effort to find you and bring you with him. You thought that no one saw him going to the kitchen where you entered a minute before? His friends had eyes on their backs. They, of course, saw this coming.

"I don't know if I'm going to stick around. My friends must be somewhere here..." You said, glancing away, trying to find the yellow spiky hair of your friend. You had to thank him because his extravagant hair was going to be your salvation.

"Let them be, stop third-wheeling them. It's annoying, " he rolled his eyes and took your bento from your hands to settle it on the table.

You were almost embarrassed for his comment, but everyone were minding their own business, leaving you like a stray castaway with Bakugo.

Sighing, you took your seat beside Sero and in front of Bakugo, who was inspecting you carefully. You tried not to sink in your seat and opened your bento. Burnt rice with poorly steamed vegetables. You hated veggies.

The feeling must've shown in your face because Bakugo was fast enough to exchange his food with yours. No questions asked. He didn't have a clue of what pushed him to do that, but just for the sake of it, he needed to look nonchalant to you to keep going the game he had in mind.

"What? No, give that back. " You started to throw your arm to grab your lunch, but he effortlessly dodged it.

"Shut up, that's what friends do." he pinched one of the languid carrots and ate it without even flinching. You tried with all your heart to not gag at the sight of that.

Friends. That's right.

The fact of him addressing what happened the other night caught you by surprise. You convinced yourself that it was with the main purpose of keeping his mind at ease. It seemed like you were wrong. It seemed like he actually meant it.

The table was in silence. Bakugo's bento was unopened in front of you, and he looked at you like you were dumb or something. You glanced at his friend casually chatting about some class, Mina watching tiktoks and moving his hands with the rhythm of some trend while you felt so out of place. You missed sassy Jirou and even the nonsense spurting out of Denki's mouth.

"Are you going to eat or what?" He was losing his patience. Don't you dare make the king mad.

You opened the bento, and the scent of his food invaded your nose. It was spicy ramen, one of your favorite. The smell of the soup prickled your nose and watered your eyes. You couldn't wait to have a spoon of that in your mouth.

Bakugo observed the change in your face and felt something flourishing inside of him. Pride.

The way your cheeks regained color after sipping the soup and how you almost moaned because of the taste made his chest puff.

You looked at him with your mouth full and smiled at him with your lips sealed shining with the oil remaining in the spoon.

His heart took a leap.

"How's that?" he quirked a brow, and you rolled your eyes still smiling.

Cocky bastard, he knew he could cook. He didn't need another one praising one of his multiple abilities.

"It's good," you said, shrugging downplaying the fact that he could actually cook.

The different combination of spices melting in your mouth with the ramen left a tingling feeling in your tongue. It was a funny feeling that complemented Bakugo, crossing his arms on top of his chest and looking at you with sufficiency.

"Are you going to judge my food now? I know it's not good enough for your expectations"

Mentally, you thought that if he said something about it, you would pull the Aizawa card from your sleeve to make him look like an idiot. Who were you fooling? The man in front of you didn't know anything about shame nor sucking superior's dick. If he needed to say something, he would say it without caring about the who.

He was about to open his mouth to give you his constructive opinion about your bad excuse of lunch when the haze of mismatched eyes caught all your attention in the corner of your eyes. Todoroki.

The memory of him apologizing for Bakugo's behavior was a current thought in your brain since that night. It wasn't because of his mysterious aura or the trouble in his family that attracted you to him. It was what you could see behind those eyes, loneliness, and hell you knew about that.

His body language, always stiff and clueless, motivated you to know more about him. He needed a wire to the ground, someone to show him the things that he had lost because of his childhood. You missed a lot of things in life, too, but you were determined to pivot the destiny. You wanted the best for him, too.

"Close your mouth. You are drooling on the table," he mumbled, clearly pissed.

Bakugo snapped out of your trance. You were watching Todoroki walking in the room until he left. You needed to catch him.

"I'm sorry I'll be right back"

You left him. The man who shared, not, gave you his lunch. You left him hanging to sprint to another guy.

Your conscience didn't put any thought of if in your mind until it was too late.

"Todoroki," you grabbed him by his wrist, gaining his attention.

Even though it was out of character for you to chase a man, and before the party, you two haven't talked, there was some sort of connection you couldn't decipher. He smiled at the sight of you.

"Hey, are you okay? Your cheeks are red. " he pointed at your face with a puzzled look.

"Yeah, I was eating something steamy, and then I ran here so..." you said out of breath.

Catching him was a short sprint, but it left your lungs burning for the sudden movement.

"I-" you cleared your throat. "I'm here to apologize for the other night. He was so rude with you, apparently with no reason"

The last thing you need in your life. Apologizing to people on Bakugo's behalf.

"He told you to apologize?" He asked, knitting his brows together. You shook your head. "Then there's nothing to apologize for, at least you don't have to"

"I was really hoping to have a good night and the Cosmopolitan? It was delicious, I didn't get the chance to thank you, it was so sudden"

He scratched his neck and suddenly smirked.

"Yeah, I was hoping on catching up with you too"

If the red in your face was a statement made before, now it was permanent. You never said that, but it was like he read your mind. You were careful with your words, and even though you wanted to tell him that, you didn't have the guts.

"Maybe we should hang out, I mean...eventually?" You were a nervous wreck being so forward with your intentions.

You didn't have any romantic expectations with him, but you couldn't blame the silly romantic girl who believed in love and enjoyed corny movies inside of you for picturing a date with him.

"Yeah, are you free this friday?" He said bluntly without any pinch of shame.

You weren't expecting it to be so soon, but your mind didn't connect with your body before your head was nodding with excitement.

You exchanged your numbers to set the time of your whatever that was going to be.

You would be completely lying if you said you didn't feel nothing about it. It was a weird feeling, like excitement combined with anxiety. You came just to apologize and left with a date under your arm.

Five days were more than enough to find an outfit, a possible place, and, of course, something to do. Drinking? Bowling? Movies? The options were endless.

You were high on your cloud when you remembered where you were before that. You couldn't help but feel like floating back to the table. You wouldn't be capable to hide your smile or the redness in your cheeks. You wanted to giggle like a little girl just by the memory of what happened.

The sudden wave of euphoria disappeared in the moment you got to the table, and only Kirishima was there looking at his phone mindlessly.

The remorse was bigger than the feeling you had just a mere second ago.

"Where did he go?" You asked his friend, and he gave you a sad smile.

"He left a while ago. He murmured something under his breath and left you this," Kirishima said, grabbing his things and leaving Bakugo's bento on the table with yours on top of it. "He said something that you didn't end your meal I don't know"

Kirishima scratched the back of his neck and the waved you goodbye.

You standed there feeling like the worse person of all world while eveyone kept eating their lunch.

You needed to revert the situation.

In your afternoon classes, you didn't see him or his friends. It was weird because they were always around laughing and throwing jokes when Denki joined them.

In your last period, Jirou found you biting your nails at the end of the classroom.

"What's going on in that little head of yours?" she threw his books on top of the desk next to yours and collapsed on her seat. "Where did you go at lunchtime? Aizawa hauled you again?"

You denied with a sad face. You weren't even trying to hide your feelings that were completely mixed. You were enthusiastic because of the date, but for one reason or another, the remorse of leaving Bakugo after what he did, it was like a kick in the guts. You felt completely rachet.

"I was with Bakugo," the little you blurted was enough for Jirou to have her jaw to the floor.

"Did you two...again?" She didn't have to say the word that she was implying.

"God no." You shook your head and played with your pen. "We just sat together with his friends and then Todoroki appeared out of nothing and I ran after him, he asked me on a date and then when I came back to the table Bakugo was nowhere to be seen"

The transitions between Jirou faces were something you would tease her about it if you weren't so confused about your emotions.

"Why are you sad then? Todoroki asked you out! That's a good thing. There's no way Bakugo walking out is worth the downfall of your euphoric state"

You bended over your seat to grab his bento and yours from your backpack, and then you piled them it in front of Jirou

"What's that?" She quirked a brow separating the tupperwares. You sighed. "I can't read minds babe"

"That's mine, and that's his," you pointed them with sorrow.

"Girl, you need to be more specific," she asked, looking serious.

"He switched his lunch with mine because I didn't like mine, and then, after I chase Todoroki, he left me his because I hadn't finished yet" you grunted putting your head between your hands. "Now I have two empty containers with the remains of me being a shitty person"

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself." Jirou placed her hand on your back and rubbed it for a while. "It's just a lunch, don't let the drama overwhelme you"

"It was Aizawa burnt rice and steamed veggies," you took a peak at her between your hands.

"And he finished it???" She grabbed the bento and examined it. "Ick, gross." She gagged. That didn't make any better to your state.

"What am I going to do" you asked.

Something about Bakugo eating your lunch, knowing what it was changed Jirou's mind about him being completely worthless. It took guts to eat that, even Denki, who could eat from a dumpster, threw up after tasting the vegetables.

"I think you need to...I don't know if apologize is the right word? But maybe make it up to him, " she said, patting your head.

She was right, and even though you tried to escape that, it wasn't a lie that you thought of it before Jirou statement. You just needed the reassurance, and maybe, just maybe, a way out that's wasn't going to come soon.

The last period ended. You focused on mainting your attention to everything present mic yelled in his english class. He always left you with a headache, but this time, where your mind was divided by the class and Bakugo, you didn't end up with any head related pain.

After leaving your things in your dorm and going to the bathroom for a quick refresh, you made your way to the boys' building. The boys' building was separated from the girls' building just by a street, which was very convenient. It was like we want you to be safe and make good decisions, but also, you're old enough to have sex and get freaky.

You would think that the concept of having a roommate made it hard to have intercourse but it didn't. Well, if you were lucky enough to have a decent roommate. When Jirou wanted time alone with Denki, you were more than happy to go downtown for a quick shopping spree or to the supermarket just to give them some time. Jirou did the same for you when you solicited privacy.

Denki was kind enough to give you Bakugo's floor and room by text. He kept messaging you for the gossip, but you put your phone in silence just to ignore him. Jirou would give him the details.

The looks on the boys that were there were nothing but oblivious. They didn't mind having your or any girl around. In fact, they looked at you, no, sided eyed you, like you were just one of the numerous girls that dropped by the building.

The building was exactly the same model as yours. The stairs were located on the same spot, and the number of floors was the same as yours. You could practically suit yourself pretty well if there weren't for the smell and the tall guys that looked at you weirdly but not minding you at all.

Once you stopped by his door, you had to take a long breath before knocking. Here you were, demolishing every plan you had about him. The main plan was ignoring him, but there you were knocking at his door, with his clean bento and some homemade cookies you found at the cafeteria. Was it enough to show that you were actually sorry?

That question pawned your soul. Were you actually sorry, or did you just wanted to forget the event and come clean with him to fully enjoy your date with Todoroki? Didn't that make you a bad person after all?

Saying sorry just to wash away your guilt and move on to the next while keeping in the tab the main plan of ignoring him?

Why did he have to be so stubborn with you? Why was it so hard to forget the fact that you had sex with him and move on with his life like he actually did with the other girls?

You were paying off some karma's debt or something. Why you? Jirou and Denki said once that it was fun to rile you up, but that was after solid three years of friendship, not two weeks after you knew each other.

The soft sound of your knuckles against the door echoed in the empty hallway. You were crossing your fingers for him not to be inside of his room, but once again, the world was against you.

He opened the door, sweating like a pig. Tiny drops of sweat gathered in the line of his hair just above his forehead. He didn't hide the anger when he saw you in front of him. The muscles in his body plastered against his black tank top made you feel like you were shrinking more and more under his stare.

"What are you doing here?" He was quick to ask with a disgusted facade.

You knew that he was rough, like in every sense of the word. He was rough when he talked. He was rough when he walked. He was rough when he trained, and he was rough in bed. You tried to forget the last part, but your intrusive thought never let that down.

Anyway, he was rough, but that day, in lunch break, you could swear that you saw a little bit of softness when he watched you eat his food, just a peak of it. Now, that was gone, and it was your fault.

"I'm here to give you your bento back." You extended the tupperware, and he accepted it with caution that his fingers didn't touch yours.

"That's it?" He looked at the container in his hands, purposely avoiding your eyes.

"No"

It was one word, but that caught his attention instantly.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry I left you today. It was so rude doing that after you were nice to me. " Hardly ever, you had to apologize for something, so you sucked at it.

You only had a grunt in return.

"And I also have some 'I'm so sorry' cookies for you." You grabbed a transparent bag and waved it in front of his face.

The way he rolled his eyes at the sight of it made you smile. He was crumbling in front of your eyes.

"Come in loser," he turned around and left the door open, expecting you to get in with him. It wasn't part of your plan, but it was the least you could do. After all, you were friends, right?

You closed the door behind you and observed your surroundings. You've been there before but it was dark and you were seeing double so it didn't count.

It was a pretty Bakugo room. A couple of band posters, a ton of books, gym equipment, and a pc gamer. Super boyish.

"You don't have a roommate?" You pointed towards one of the room's corners where should be a second bed.

He wanted to make a joke about how good you were faking dementia but he just shook his head instead.

"A dropout"

You were pacing in his room, looking at everything and touching it if it caught your attention. Bakugo was tucking his gym equipment away while you snooped every inch of his dorm.

The man was there, looking smoking hot after steamy training, but the smell in his room didn't show it.

"Do you have those electric pots where you can prepare meals here? It smells like burnt caramel, " you asked, scrunching your nose.

If someone paid Bakugo for every person who asked that before, he would be a millionaire. At first, the mere question embarrassed him a little, but now he was used to it.

"It's my sweat because of my quirk," he said with raspy voice.

The realization hit you hard. That smell was the one you remember from that night impregned in your clothes. It made sense, actually.

Bakugo found it hard to believe that you hadn't realized before. You were smart, smarter than half of the school, but he couldn't blame you. After all, you never have ever shared a class.

"So...are we going to play 10 questions or what?" You asked, suiting yourself in his gamer chair. It was really comfy with little pillows on the head that you couldn't reach and in your lower back.

"Tch, no, why?" You rolled your eyes at his answer. He was sitting in his bed doing absolutely nothing. What a lame fucker.

"How are we supposed to be friends if we know nothing about each other?" you stated, marking the obvious. "Ok, who's first"

"Like hell, I'm going to play a stupid game with you." he crossed his arms on top of his broad chest, and that little movement lifted his tank top, giving you a subtle look of his abs. You needed to remain composed for the sake of you.

"How boring! I'll start then. " You were thinking a good question and something to get on his nerves. "What's your favorite color?"

"Basic ass question, red," he snorted but followed along.

"Your turn," you urged him to keep going.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up?" He scolded you sighing and grabbing his head in his hands just to lay flat on his bed waiting for you to magically disappear.

"Because I learned how to talk, my turn"

It wasn't funny doing this without looking at his face. You found that the way his brows knitted together or the way his forehead wrinkled in exasperation was the main entertainment for you.

"How did you learn how to cook?"

You really wanted to know this, but putting a real question in between a dumb one was a power move. Well, that's what you thought.

"My dad taught me, and I continued improving my skills watching videos and practicing dishes"

You standed from your seat and walked straight to his bed. Folding a leg under your butt you sat beside him. He had his eyes closed, but the sudden sinking of his bed made him snap his eyes wide open.

The sight of you against the light of the window had him staring a little too much. You were analyzing him as well, but with another reason, you wanted to see if he was messing with you or if he actually excelled in something else than grades and training.

"My turn," he diverted your attention. "Where did you learn to ruin the fucking rice and the vegetables?"

"That's a trap. You can't copy my question!" You smacked his arm and he smirked.

"I didn't copy you" he mumbled closing his eyes again.

"You just changed a few words to make it look like it wasn't the same" you huffed and leaned against his bed pillow. "Fine, I let it slip only because I'm actually a good cooker"

"Yeah sure" he added sarcastically.

"I am" you whined. "That excuse of lunch was made by Aizawa, he's a great cooker too but that specific plate is not his strong point"

The day you told him that Aizawa was your guardian, he was impressed. He had never seen you with him before, but the fact that he packed you a lunch was a strong sign that you were close.

"Text me if Aizawa plans to give you that again," he said, opening his eyes again just to look at your reaction.

"Why?" Again, you were smart, but sometimes the kindness in humanity caught you unprepared. Mostly if the kind act was made by Bakugo himself.

"Rat poison is better than that. I'll bring you something to eat so you don't die"

The way he insinuated the most caring thing in the world, making you all flustered in your seat and then instantly went back to his obnoxious state, made you squeak internally. What was happening? Everybody knew the tales of Bakugo being a pain in the ass as a person with everyone except for his friends. It seemed you were one of them now because you were more than surprised to witnessed this change of demeanor in him.

"Your turn dumbass"

From princess to dumbass? You were making progress.

End note:

big bulky handsome Bakugo has a soft spot for reader? Of course he has. That's what the story is about. It seems that they reached a concensus for now, but how is Bakugo going to react when he finds out that reader has a date with Todoroki?? We will see...

A penny for your thoughts about this (not really but express yourself)

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[saintsenara]

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”  He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.  “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”  He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.”  Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.  “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ”  Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?”  riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

[foulphantomllama]

My Secret Desire | AESPA Winter x Male Reader

AESPA Winter x Male Reader (POV)

Y/N is an abroad student from Europe. When he realizes he has feelings for his bully, Minjeong, their love-hate relationship made them push each others limits.

I will be releasing it in chapters. If you guys like it, i will make it as long as possible. And also I can take requests! Enjoy your reading.

The Exchange Student

It was always hard for me to go to school in the mornings. There were multiple reasons but the main one was my bully. Minjeong. But everybody was calling her Winter. Because she was stone cold, rude. Her attitude has a certain charm, I’m not going to lie. I guess this was the main reason I took the bullying for so long. I may be an exchange student but, i wasn’t really the type you expect to get bullied. After all, she was literally pocket size. I even can call her efforts cute. It was like taking a beating from a two year old. But little did I know that this cat has very sharp claws.

I had classes three days a week. So does she. She was not the brightest student, but she was always on time to classes. I don’t remember a single one that she missed. I, on the other hand, was pretty good at my grades and I knew my way around nearly all of the subjects. But still, she found something to make fun of me. But mainly me being a westerner. As time passed by, I get used to her attitude towards me. At some point I was addicted to her verbal abuse. She mocks my accent, my eating habits, the way I study. Everything. This toxic relationship started to grew inside me. It was just like I had found the motivation I needed to stop thinking about the choices I made with my life. And I was still getting pretty annoyed at some things she does but, overall, I started to fell for her.

Like I said, waking up in the morning always made me think about my choices. What the fuck I was doing in Korea tho? But I always ended up looking at myself at the mirror. Although my self-esteem was at its lowest, I was surprisingly pretty egoistic. Don’t ask me how that is possible. I don’t know either. Just like one of those mornings, I come to school, grab myself a freshly brewed americano and when I was on my way to the class, I saw Minjeong coming towards me. “Hi” she said with a soft, nice voice. Something I did not heard from her before. She got me. “Hi” I said back. “Look” she started to talk. I was nervous. Why I was nervous? “I’m so sorry for all my attitude towards you.” I was shocked. Did she just.. apologized to me? “Don’t worry about it. We’re adults after all, In fact I was starting to like it.” I answered. “Ha” she smirked at me. But that smirk was too evil and too inviting. She was fucking me up. Making me stand for everything I hated before. “So, can we just talk over there?” she said to me. I accepted. We started walking together.

After a little walk, we sat at a bench looking towards our building. She took my cofee off my hand and started drinking it. “Sorry, I’m so nervous.” She said. “I was probably never should have bullied you from the start.” She looked at me. Her face was to innocent to be guilty. But she was. I knew that but still, wanted to hear the rest. “Do you need something?” I asked. “How did you knew?” she answered back. “My father says If I don’t pass my classes this year It will be over for me.” “What will be over?” I answered. “School.” She said. “He says he will remove me from the school.” She put the coffee to the side. Something was seriously off. I could feel it. But I agreed to help anyway. She was so happy when I agreed to help her. Some of it felt insanely real. Was it real?

[elitesheepi]

No, Zuko did not lead Katara down a "Dark Path" in The Southern Raiders

Watching Southern Raiders again, and it's bizarre to me that people read that episode as, "Zuko leading Katara down a dark path." Zuko just wants her forgiveness. He fucked up with her severely and to a level that's different from the others. She feels betrayed by him--she was betrayed by him. She trusted him and he all but spat that back in her face so yeah, she's mad. Is it selfish using her desire for justice, closure, maybe revenge to get her to stop being mad at him? Idk perhaps, if you read it that way.

But the way I read it, I read it as him using his resources to give her what she wants most, and that's her mother's killer. Since he was the face of the enemy, since he lost her trust, let him earn that trust back by taking her to the real face of her enemy.

It's the literal least he can do.

Then he steps back. Zuko let's Katara lead the mission, let's her defend herself against Aang and sadly Sokka too while only playing support. Zuko got a comment in there or two, but for the most part it's Katara doing all the talking.

Also something important people forget is that, neither Katara nor Zuko brought up revenge, that was all Aang accusing them(meant to type her, but saying them fits more) of seeking revenge. Maybe that was her unconscious motivation, but Aang was the one who brought it to the forefront of their minds. Zuko states that this is about Justice and closure, Aang was the one who made this about revenge.

After all that back and forth is said and done, Zuko is largely quiet the rest of the episode save for like 3 lines, none of them involving him telling Katara what to do or what she should do.

Katara leads the mission, Katara makes the choice to bloodbend even when Zuko was already facing the SR general on the boat. He didn't tell her to do that, he wasn't in a pinch so she would've needed to do that, hell she didn't even have to do any of that at all considering there was still water on the ground.

These were all Katara's decisions, all Zuko did was stand by her side.

This isn't me trying to say that Katara's making bad decisions. Far from it actually, I heavily agree with Katara's decisions. This isn't even a "supporting woman's wrongs" scenario either. Katara's completely in the right in my mind.

This is a mission involving finding the man who killed her mother. Not kidnapped like Appa (comparison courtesy of Aang), not whatever the hell the comics are doing with Ursa, murdered. Kya is never coming back and it's because of Yon Ra. Little Katara had to see her mother's dead body after the act was done and has to live with the pain and guilt of it all knowing Kya died to protect her. She's traumatized, she's hurt, so she's very much justified in wanting revenge and it's disquieting how so many people make this about Zuko leading her down some dark path for saying "I want to find the man who killed my mother and took her away from me." Bryke included.

Again, Zuko stands back, adds support in the fight when needed, but ultimately is there as her backup and sources.

And yet, people see all of this as Zuko leading her down a dark path. Because he dared to stand back and not talk Katara down from wanting to merc the man who took her mother away from her. What a villain, she said sarcastically.

Realistically, why would he stop her?

If anything, the fact that Zuko was the only one in her corner for this says a lot because of everyone there, he gets it. Sokka should've gotten it too, but that's a separate point for separate post.

He too lost his mother to the Fire Nation. Whether she's dead or missing, the Fire Nation and, namely his Father to put a face to it, took his mother away from him. He lost her and he believed that she was never coming back. Katara and Zuko are the same in that regard. Something he verbally empathizes with her in the Crossroads of Destiny episode.

He knows she needs this because he's been there, is there, and very much wants to have done that. If facing the Fire Lord wasnt Aang's destiny (and this wasn't a kids show, along with other in meta perspective) it doesn't feel to far to say Zuko probably would've killed Ozai.

Revenge for his mother is a side goal, but it's out of reach as of this moment. He has no information on what happened to her or where she is, so he can't do a thing. He sees Katara, someone who badly wants to regain trust with, with a similar goal and mindset and he actually has the means of helping her. Of course he takes it, but this is her mission, not his. He just provides the information and helps her getting there. That's all, everything after the fact comes down to Katara's choices.

When the moment of revenge happens and Katara decides to not kill him, does Zuko say anything? Does he asks her "what are you doing? He's right there, get revenge!" No. He doesn't say anything. He lets her leave, stares down Yon Ra for a second and follows after her in silence. You cant apply headcannon like "maybe he tried to convince her after the fact," because that can easily be countered with the head canon of him comforting her telling her she did the right thing. Going soley off what we saw in canon, on screen, Zuko watches Katara spare him from skewering the man with ice.

He does have a shocked expression in the background but that can either be read as "wow she didn't do it," or "holy shit she probably could've killed me 10 times over." Again, nothing verbal from him, only expressions, so it's hard to say firmly what he's thinking.

I got away from my main point for a second, but I'm coming back to it to say, none of this is Zuko's doing. Zuko didn't lead Katara down any path, he didn't encourage her to enact a bloody revenge, what Katara does was all her own actions, all he did was point in the right direction. Kinda shit how by making it seem like Zuko's manipulating her, it takes away from Katara's agency in the situation. She made her decisions and no man influenced her.

The only who actively tried to was her brother and Aang into forgiving their mother's murderer for some insane reason that I still can't fathom. Maybe from doing something she'd regret, possibly, but the in canon reason we get is, "don't do it. It's a dark path, you should forgive him for your own sake. Insert the Appa comparison" I bring that up again, because Appa was kidnapped, and then found again and they were all reunited. Yet Aang compared that to Kya being murdered and left for her daughter and husband to find. There's a stark difference.

Aang's pain in that regard is understandable and dare I say more supported by the fandom and show, while Katara is pratically being told by everyone save for Zuko to sit down and forgive for some inane reason that rings hollow, feels insensitive at the absolute best and takes away her agency by turning it all on Zuko as him making her choices for her.

It's shit, and an absolute misread of what the episode showed us, something Bryke somehow missed too.

I'm gonna conclude this with a quick summary of the end of the episode. Katara doesn't forgive Yon Ra, yet spares his life because he's just pathetic. Aang's weirdly giddy telling her that he's glad she forgave Yon Ra, and Katara having to shut that shit down and tell him that no, she didn't forgive her mother's killer, she never will, and she's conflicted on letting him live. Then Katara gets a soft look and smile for the first time in a good long while in the episode as she tells Zuko that she does forgive him. We get a Zutara hug (iconic) and the episode ends on a happy-ish, bittersweet note for her. Zuko does tell Aang that he's right and violence isn't what she needed (an admittedly weird line considering seconds before she just said she doesn't know if she was too weak to kill him or too strong too, implying she probably would've gone through with killing him, but whatever) but that's when Katara is out of earshot.

Zuko didn't lead her down any dark path, he left himself be lead by her and was willing to let it happen. It being whatever Katara's decision was going to be. Good, bad, middle, whatever would have happened would have all been Katara's decision and her agency shouldn't be ignored because of a bad-take misread of a pretty clear cut episode with very little ambiguity.

[nanaminokanojo]

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking​ things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo x you/afab reader TW/CW: angst | smut/implied smut | sorta dubcon | age gaps | aged up characters | kind fluffy | mentions of alcohol/drugs | some mafia stuff | mdni Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew. 

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense? 

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything. 

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor – at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations. 

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life. 

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card. 

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life. 

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear. 

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time. 

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract. 

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore." 

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself –"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you. 

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it. 

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car. 

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go." 

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..." 

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?" 

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20231019]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies]

The Princess and The Pogue | J. M.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: Your daughter comes home from school telling you about a local OBX fairytale. It turns out it’s about you and your husband.

Listen to But Daddy I Love Him for full experience

Requested by @idontevenknowbsblog

A/N: This turned out way longer and more angsty than I had anticipated but I’m a sucker for the angst. I just can’t help it. I’m sorry this took me a million years to finish!

As I am an adult, all characters I write for are written as adults. Any minor characters will be aged up to the general range of their actor’s age.

Warnings: allusions to domestic abuse, controlling parents, forced engagement, so much fucking angst, only kinda proofread

Word Count: 3.5k

~

Your daughter’s tiny feet press against the back of your seat as you head home after picking her up from school.

“Mia, stop kicking,” You laugh, “Mommy’s trying to drive.”

“Sorry, Mommy.” Your daughter giggles. “I’m just so happy today!”

“I’m so glad you're happy, Baby.” You smile at the five year old in the rearview mirror. “What did you do at school today?”

“We got to draw all our shapes today and we sang the alphabet song a bunch of times!”

“Ooh sounds like a fun day.”

She claps excitedly. “Oh and Kylie’s older sister told us a fairytale at recess!”

“A fairytale? Very cool. What was it about?”

“Did you know a princess used to live here? A long time ago. She ran away with a pogue because her evil king father wouldn’t let them be together.”

Your eyes widen at her words, a small smile forming on your face as she tells the story that takes you back to what seems like a lifetime ago.

-

“Mom, I’m headed out,” you yelled through the foyer.

“Ok, hun.” Your mom poked her head over the stairwell. “Just don’t stay out too late. We have that business lunch with the Cameron’s tomorrow and it’s very important that you be there.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” you promise, “besides I’m just going to hang out with Sarah.”

“We just love that you and Ward Cameron’s daughter are friends. It looks so good for your father’s business for the families to be close. Especially with you set to inherit the company someday.”

With Ward Cameron being the biggest real estate developer in the Outer Banks and your dad owning the biggest construction company, the two men worked closely on most of their deals. They were also the closest thing to friends that either of the men had. The two richest men in the island made for a powerful team.

“Glad I can help you keep up appearances,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that, hun?”

“Always happy to help the family.” You gave your mother a forced smile and made your escape, slipping outside and into Sarah’s waiting car.

“Ready to go see your man?” She grins at you and you return the gesture.

“God, yes.“

-

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with JJ Maybank. Considering the very different lives the two of you led it was surprising the two of you ever even crossed paths, but that was one of the perks of being Sarah’s friend. When she fell in love with John B and got involved with the pogues she dragged you along with her.

It wasn’t like you had anything against the pogues. In fact, you had admired them from afar your whole life. Their freedom and adventures were something you envied, forever stuck in your kook bubble. You didn’t have a choice but to follow the plan your parents had created for you.

JJ, on the other hand, hated kooks with a passion. He had a hard enough time with Sarah joining the group and when she brought you in, arguably the even bigger kook princess with the even bigger kook king of a father, he vowed to himself he would never accept you. After all, you represented everything he hated, the life he always dreamed of but would never attain.

He would sneer and call you “princess”, his voice dripping with disdain, doing everything in his power to piss you off, but you didn’t mind. You loved his passion and the way he would do anything to protect the people he cared about. You ignored his insults, treating him just as well as you would anyone else.

Before he knew it, your soft words and beaming smile had softened JJ. He began to actually look forward to your presence in the group, feeling sad when you couldn’t get away from your parents to spend time with them. Then, one day the two of you were the only ones to show up to a pogue hang out. You ended up spending hours just talking and getting to know each other. The rest was history and you had been together from that day forward.

Unfortunately, you knew that your parents would never let you spend time around a pogue, let alone be in a relationship with one. So, like Sarah and John B, you and JJ had to keep your relationship hidden. Thanks to the help of the pogues, the two of you had been successfully seeing each other behind your parents’ backs for over a year.

-

“I’ll be back to pick you up at 8:00,” Sarah reminds you. She pulls up to the little cove where you and JJ liked to meet. “We only have a couple of hours tonight because of that lunch tomorrow. Don’t want our families to get suspicious.”

You nod. “Got it. I’ll see you then.” You slip out of her car. “Tell John B I said hi.”

“Will do.”

She pulls away as you make your way around the rocks hiding the entrance to your spot.

“Hi, princess.” Your boyfriend grins at you in the orange light of the sunset, pulling you into a hug.

“JJ,” You breathe him in, soaking up the comfort he gives you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby. Four days without you is four days too much.” JJ leads you over to the blanket on the sand, sitting back so you can settle between his legs.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t get away much this week. My parents are going crazy about this lunch tomorrow.”

“Aren’t they always crazy?” JJ jokes, poking your side. You squirm a little bit, trying to escape his prodding.

“I mean, yeah. They’re just extra crazy this week.” You settle further into his chest, JJ giving up his attack in exchange for wrapping his arms securely around you. He nuzzles his head into the side of your neck. “But, it’s okay because at least we have right now.”

“How long do we have until Sarah comes back to pick you up?”

You let out a sigh. “Two hours.”

“That’s it? Damn.”

“I’m sorry, J.” You look back apologetically, but he just shakes his head.

“Hey, don’t apologize. We just have to make the most of the time we have, like usual. It won’t be like this forever.”

“Right.” You give him a small smile, turning back to face the sunset before he can see the doubt in your eyes. You hoped JJ was right, but you had no idea how things would ever change.

As expected, your time together flew by too quickly and before you knew it Sarah was back to take you home.

JJ was reluctant to let you out of his embrace. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right? After you finish up with all your kook business?”

“Of course, baby. I wouldn’t miss it.” You give him one last goodbye kiss, distracting him long enough to slip out from his arms. He pouts, but lets you go, knowing if it was your choice you would never leave.

-

You stare numbly at the wall, unable to will yourself to move from your position balled up on the bed. You aren’t sure how long you've been laying there looking at nothing. You didn’t feel anything, having cried out all your tears hours ago. A buzzing sounds from the other side of the room, your phone going off once again, but you don’t pick it up. It’s probably Sarah calling again to see if you’re okay after what happened at lunch. You’re not.

Having sat in silence for so long, you jump when you hear a rattling at your window. It takes you a minute to clamber over to the window with the lights out in your room. You hadn’t realized how dark it had become outside.

You peek out warily, trying to determine the source of the noise. “Shit.” You mumble under your breath as you realize JJ is perched in the tree closest to your room.

You unlatch the door so he can climb inside, turning away from him quickly. You’re thankful for the darkness in that moment as you scramble to make yourself look presentable, flattening your hair and wiping at your face. You pull down the sleeves of the massive sweatshirt you’re wearing, one you stole from JJ months ago, making sure you are completely covered.

“JJ, what are you doing here,” you whisper, “What if someone sees you?”

“I was worried about you. You were supposed to meet me hours ago, remember?” He sounds frustrated.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” You run your hand down your face stressed. “I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

“You forgot? Y/N, I’ve been calling and texting for hours.” JJ moves closer, but you step back. “I thought something bad had happened.”

He takes another step back. Again you back away, trying to keep him from seeing your face. Brows furrowed, JJ moves towards you again. This time you can’t move away fast enough, bumping your dresser as you try to get away.

“Woah, wait.” JJ takes your face in gentle hands. “Have you been crying?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you off that easily.

“Baby, what’s going on? Is it something I did?” The worry in his eyes brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You shake your head, willing them not to fall.

“No, no. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Something with Sarah?” You shake your head again.

“Your parents?” That stills you. “It is your parents. What is it? Did something happen at lunch?”

You don’t answer.

“Talk to me, baby. I can’t make it better if I don’t know what’s wrong.” JJ’s voice is so sincere and his touch so soft. He really thinks he’ll be able to fix whatever the problem is.

You gather your strength and gently pull away from him, not wanting to see the look in his eyes when you tell him.

“My father and Ward Cameron have decided that it is in the best interest of their respective businesses for our families to be officially joined.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

You feel like you're going to be sick, but you force the words out anyway. “I am set to be married to Rafe Cameron.” You keep your eyes on the floor, waiting for JJ’s response. He stays silent.

“I had no idea they had this planned until my parent’s announced it at lunch.”

“What do you mean you’re marrying Rafe Cameron?” He tries to keep his voice calm. But you can hear the venom behind his words anyway. “You can’t just marry Rafe.”

“I don’t have a choice, JJ. They practically signed my ownership papers over to Rafe right there.”

JJ is pacing your room now, hands constantly running through his hair. “He can’t just do that. You’re an adult, Y/N. Tell him no.”

“I can’t tell him no JJ.” He stops in front of you, the look on his face half shock half anger.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just tell me that your father is marrying you off to Rafe and not even try to fight him on it.” You turn from his intense gaze, unable to handle it any longer.

‘Y/N-” JJ reaches for your arm to turn you around and you flinch back hissing in pain. Your sleeve rides up, revealing a number of dark bruises.

“I tried talking him out of it, JJ. He made it clear saying no wasn’t an option.”

JJ seethes, body tense with anger. “He hurt you.” It’s not a question which is just as well because you have no response.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He growls.

You lay your palms flat against his chest. “No, you’re not. We can’t make this situation any worse than it already is.”

“He can’t just get away with this!” JJ’s voice rises with his anger and you shush him quickly, looking back at your door.

“Please, Y/N.” His voice cracks on your name. “Things can’t just end like this.”

The pain in his words breaks your heart. You let the tears fall freely, unable to hold back the emotion any longer.

“I’m so sorry, JJ.” He cradles your face in his hands like he did at the beginning of the night. “There’s nothing either of us can do to change this.” JJ brushes his thumbs against your cheeks, brushing at the tears. “You should go.”

“No, Y/N.” He has tears running down his face too. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“Please, JJ. You have to go before something wakes him up. I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds you here.”

JJ’s eyes flit down to your wrists, taking in the bruises once more before he nods slowly. He won’t be the reason your father hurts you again. You lips press against his slowly, both of you pouring all the love you have for each other into the kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

“I love you, too. Always.”

With those last words, he slips back out your window, closing it quietly behind him. You watch as he climbs back down the tree and crosses the property. As he finally fades out of blue, you sink down to your floor, your knees unable to hold the weight of your body as it’s wracked with sobs.

-

You don’t leave your room for days. All you can do is lay in your bed and cry, mourning the loss of the man you love and the life you had planned.

If it was up to you, you would never leave that room. Unfortunately, your parents have other plans. They parade you and Rafe all over town, making sure everyone on the island knows the two of you are “madly in love” and engaged to be married in the spring. The whole pageantry of it makes you sick.

The cherry on top of the whole ordeal is the engagement party that you parents planned for the weekend. They rented out the whole club and invited every kook on the island. You’re pretty sure it’s your own personal hell.

Sarah pins one last curl to your head. “Done. You look beautiful.”

You give her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Sarah.” You were dressed in a white sundress that your mother had bought for the party and Sarah had done your hair and makeup to perfection. The whole look was stunning, but you just feel like a trophy being shown off.

Sarah gives you a sympathetic look. “You ready for this?”

“No. But I have to be.”

It takes everything in you to keep a smile pasted on your face as Rafe takes your hand and leads you out to the throng of people. Everyone smiles and hugs you, offering their congratulations. You do your best to seem gracious and excited, but all you feel is emptiness and the faces move before you in a blur.

You make it two hours into the party before you can’t take it any longer. The panic that has been creeping up your throat all night takes hold and you have to break away. You excuse yourself from Rafe, claiming a need to run to the bathroom. He gives you a harsh look and makes you promise to hurry back, but ultimately lets you go.

You hurry away from prying eyes, not letting yourself break until you get inside. Chest heaving, you gulp down air like you’ve just run a marathon. One of your hands is pressed against your chest, the other braced against the walls to hold you up as you stumble towards the bathroom.

Before you can make it more than a few feet an arm catches you around the waist, pulling you into an alcove you had never noticed. You stumble back, trying to pull yourself together, not wanting whoever grabbed you to see your harried state.

“Hey, hey. It’s just me.”

Familiar hands rub up and down your arms, grounding you. You look up to see the blue eyes that you love so much.

“JJ,” you whisper, breaths still coming fast and hard.

“It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

JJ holds you close as you will your body to calm, feeling safe for the first time all night.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you, talk to you.”

You sigh, looking at him with sad eyes. “As happy as I am that you’re here, you have to go. If anyone sees you. My father, or Rafe-”

“What if you didn’t have to worry about them anymore?”

“JJ, we’ve been over this. I can’t break this engageme-”

“What if we just left? You and me. Right now.” His eyes bore into yours, willing you to see the possibility.

You can’t act like you haven’t had the same thought yourself, but you just didn’t see how it would be possible. “How would that work, JJ? My father controls my whole life. My money, my future, everything.”

“You don’t need anything he has to give you, Y/N.” His voice is pleading.

“JJ…”

“We can figure it out. You have a degree, I have experience. We’ll get jobs. We’ll make it work.” He reaches a hand into his pocket. “I know I can’t give you a life like this-”

“I don’t want a life like this.”

“-but I will do everything in my power to give you a good life, to make you happy.” He holds up a simple, beautiful band of silver. “Will you marry me?”

You stare up at him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Say you’ll marry me. We can leave right now. I have a plan to get us off the island. Your parents won’t know until it’s too late. Just say yes, please.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod vigorously. “I’ll marry you.”

You rip off the gaudy ring currently on your hand and JJ replaces it with the silver band. He kisses you so deeply you think you see stars.

“I love you, JJ Maybank,” you whisper when you part.

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N, so much.”

You could stay in that moment forever, but you both know you don’t have time to waste. JJ begins to pull you to a side exit, but you stop him. There’s one last thing you have to do before you leave.

You find a piece of paper, scribbling out a few quick words and titling to your father.

Have fun explaining to the Cameron’s that your daughter ran off with a pogue

Y/N Y/L/N

You set the folded paper on the center table, placing Rafe’s ring next to it.

“Ready to get off this island?”

You grab JJ’s hand. “God, yes.”

-

JJ was right, the two of you figured it out. You both found jobs on the mainland and created a happy life for yourselves. You and JJ got married a few months after you ran off and Mia came along a few years later.

You had kept in touch with the pogues of course and they let you know when your father and Ward Cameron’s businesses had come crashing down, forcing the two men off the island. They had no power anymore, so eight years later you decided to move back to your home. People had gossiped at first, but they moved on to the next big thing when they realized that neither you nor JJ cared what they had to say. You wanted to be in the place where you grew up and fell in love, and you wanted Mia to be surrounded by the friends that you called your family.

Mia was just about bouncing in her seat by the time you got home. You hurried to get her out of her carseat so she could rush inside and see her dad. Friday’s were always her favorite because JJ got off work early and was already home by the time you brought her back from school.

She pulled you along by the hand as she continued on about her fairytale. “The evil king disappeared and they lived happily ever after.”

JJ scooped Mia up as the two of you entered the house, making the little girl squeal in delight.

“Daddy!”

“Who lived happily ever after, Mia-mine?” She giggled as he burrowed his face in her little belly.

“The princess and the pogue!”

JJ’s eyes met yours over Mia, giving you an intrigued look.

“Kylie’s older sister told her a fairytale at lunch about a couple that used to live on the island.” You tell him with a knowing grin.

“A fairytale? That’s awesome, baby.” JJ lowers Mia back down to her feet. “Hey, why don’t you go wash up and Mommy and I will make you a snack.”

“Okay, Daddy!” The little girl runs off happily.

You make your way to the kitchen, JJ coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “So the princess and the pogue, huh?” He smirks as you turn to face him.

“Who knew we’d become an OBX fairytale?” You reply.

“It makes sense. It doesn’t get much more ‘happily ever after’ than this. Right, princess?”

You give him a gentle kiss. “Right, pogue.”

~

Writing Masterlist

[mostly-marvel-musings]

hi :) could you write jealous!logan + “I bet they can’t fuck you like I can.”, please?? 👀

Forbidden fruit

Pairing: Logan x Female Reader

Warning: 18+ smut, bit of angst, hints of a toxic relationship.

🍁🍂 Kinktober 2024 🍂🍁

.

How were you ending up here time and time again? Despite knowing the repercussions, despite knowing how morally incorrect it was. While your brain screamed and cursed, it was your heart that pulled you, lured you back into Logan’s arms.

While guilt ate away your consciousness, his blazing kisses and lingering stares made it easier for you to slip. Slip into a world where you weren’t in a confined relationship that dictated your life, one where you weren’t plastering on a fake smile and being paraded on someone’s arm like some show dog.

No.

When you were in your bubble, you laughed, really laughed, you were free to be your most authentic self, free to let your emotions govern your body. It was in this bubble that you were truly alive.

Because you were with him.

While Logan’s kisses had a tendency to make you question reality, his grounding presence and iron grip upon your body brought you right back. While the orgasms he so effectively pulled out of you allowed you to float away, the incessant ticking of a nearby clock brought with it the sad reality that was your life.

So every now and then you allowed yourself to dream. To escape that reality.

Never one to talk much, Logan wouldn’t question, not your choices, not your decisions. He believed in cherishing you, cherishing every last minute you’d give him. Though it killed him. Knowing you’d never truly be his.

That rarely stopped him from giving you little reminders though.

“Is this how you scream when you’re with him?” He would growl, with a possessive arm holding you down as you reached your crescendo with his fingers stretching out your slick channel. The answer, as you both knew, was no.

The person you were with could never satisfy you sexually or emotionally. The truth was he never cared enough to know the real you, know your body, never paid attention.

A stark contrast to your secret lover. With Logan, it felt like he was pleasuring every cell in your body, he knew you better than you could ever know yourself. He had seduced your soul.

Despite knowing you’d probably never be his, he would carry you in his arms like you were the only thing that mattered, make love to you like it would be the last time, hold you against him as if you were his lifeline.

“I bet he can’t fuck you like I can..” that gruff whisper against your ear brought you back from your train of thoughts as you felt your arms being pinned above your head.

The hint of jealousy in his tone wasn’t for the fact that you’d go back home and sleep with another man, Logan knew he had you spoilt for the rest; it was because he could never be a part of your life, not in the way you both wanted. That he would never get to call you his because life had dealt you a bad hand.

It was not like he couldn’t remove that obstacle from your life, he would hardly break a sweat doing it, but for you and only for you, he didn’t.

You whimpered under his touch, your body answering his question for you when words failed. Logan wasn’t happy at your mere nod, not today, he needed to hear you say it.

“Words, baby. Let me hear you say it.” He spoke against your skin, smirking to himself he saw goose flesh littered across your warm skin.

“He could never fuck me like you, Logan. Nobody could.” You whispered, opening your eyes to meet his gaze, finding a heady mix of love and longing in those eyes.

Sliding inside your tight heat in one swift motion, Logan let out a grunt, letting you adjust to his size. He swallowed your needy cries as he began moving, a kiss that felt significantly different. It was possessive, like he craved all of you, it was selfishly desirous.

“You should be mine, Y/N. All mine. He would never love you like I do..”

It was the first time in a rare moment of vulnerability that Logan had allowed himself to say the things he’d been feeling out loud. But he didn’t wait for your answer, he didn’t need it. Because he knew you felt the same too. And in that moment, he went back to letting your bodies do all the talking.

Y’all know I love my dramatic titles, lol.

[impala-dreamer]

Go On and Beg

A Supernatural Story

~Dean Winchester has got quite a mouth on him, and he knows just what do to drive you insane...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

3,033 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Dean's Slutty Lips, Oral, Multiple Orgasms, Smutty Smutty Smut. | Originally posted to Patreon July 2023

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

It just wasn’t fair. He had been teasing you all day with those plump, sexy lips, driving you nearly insane.

For some reason, he needed to steal a lollipop from the bank during witness questioning, sneaking a red sucker into his sports coat pocket while you were talking to the bank manager. He sucked that thing for a good half hour while driving around town, his left elbow on the window, his hand casually on the steering wheel. His eyes were only half on the road, the rest of the time checking on you, watching how your gaze was drawn to his mouth every time he made a sucking sound, and he did it so quite often. When he finally found the paper stick inside, he crunched down on the sugar and you were thankful that the ordeal was over. There was only so much you could do to hide the fact that you were squirming in the passenger’s seat.

At lunch, the bastard asked the waitress for a straw, which he rarely did. “Real men don’t use straws”, he’d often tease, but this was a different kind of teasing. He was listening while you rambled on over theories of the case, but his ultimate attention was trying to grab yours. So many times, he reached for the straw with his tongue, letting the wide muscle sneak out of his mouth and toy with the plastic tube, rolling it around a bit until you had no choice but to acknowledge the movements. Your body ached at the sight, thinking of that tongue flickering against your pussy instead of the pop-filled straw.

During a meeting with Mr. Pennacker, one of the victim’s teachers, Dean decided that trying to blow bubbles with his non-bubblegum gum was a grand idea. He slipped the white minty mess onto the tip of his tongue, pushing it between his teeth and puckering his lips. There was little hope for you then, as he cracked a tiny bubble between his teeth and smirked your way. Your panties were soaked and you wondered if the hose you wore would hold it all in.

While working that evening in the motel room, he seemed to think that chewing on his pen was a great idea, sliding the thing in and out of his mouth and puckering his lips tight around the tip. It was mesmerizing and utterly delicious the way he made love to the pen and your nipples craved the same attention, your clit throbbed in anticipation.

When he tapped the pen on his bottom teeth, you shifted in your seat, unable to take it any longer.

The chair legs scraped hard over the floor, the wood nearly fell tipped over when you sprang from your seat and lunged at him.

“Whoa!” The pen fell from his hand as he held them both up, offering a surrender that you wouldn’t allow. “What’s goin’ on?”

Furious and aroused, you grabbed a fistfull of his collar and tugged, forcing him to sit up straight and meet your gaze.

Dean smirked. “You seem pissed.”

“Oh, not pissed,” you assured him, stepping back to drag him to his feet. “Horny. Very… very fucking hot right now. And it’s all your fault.”

He stumbled forward as you stepped backwards, his shirt still clutched in your hand.

“Is that so?” Green eyes swept down your body and he reached for your hips. “And I wonder what could have made you so… turned on…”

Yanking his face down to your level, you snapped your teeth. “Don’t act like you haven’t been screwing with me all day, mister. I know your games.”

He licked his lips ridiculously slowly and your eyes dropped to them, fascinated, entranced, desperate. The fire in your soul died down and everything melted. Your hold on him eased and Dean snuck his fingers into the hem of your skirt. He knew he had you, knew what you needed, what you were dying for.

“You do, huh?”

Another swipe of tongue, a flash of teeth.

“Please…” You didn’t mean to say it, but sometimes your brain just let things slip out. Sometimes, he had control of you and that was just fine by you. “Dean…”

Pushing up on your toes, you tried to kiss him but he turned at the last second, kissing your cheek instead. You groaned and tried to move, but he had you caught between his giant hands, your face locked where he wanted. He kissed his way down your jaw and dipped his lips against your pulse, making your knees give out and your head flood with pleasure.

“Fuck!”

“Still mad?” he asked, lips pulling on your throat.

“Never…”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you up and against him as he pulled your blouse to the side and sucked a mark on your shoulder. Your hands slid between your bodies, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, desperate to shed the Fed outfits and feel his burning skin against yours.

“Please-”

He laughed at your whisper and growled against your ear. “You want me?”

Your nod was insufficient and he locked his thick fingers behind your neck, jerking your face up to his.

“Say it.”

His tone washed over you and your pussy clenched at the emptiness. “I want you, Dean,” you breathed, still stuck staring at his impossibly juicy lips. “Want you so bad. Please.”

There was a rush of air, and a tumble of limbs. He tore at your clothes, stripping you down with rough fingertips and soothing kisses until you were bare but for the horrible panty hose and thin panties beneath. The elastic dug into your stomach and you moved to tear it away, but Dean grabbed your hands and shook his head.

“No. Keep them on.” His jaw twitched and his eyes fell down to the gusset between your thighs. “I like them.”

You groaned. “Really? They suck.”

His right hand slid down, fingers teased at the nude shimmer on your thigh. “Keep them on.”

You nodded absently and he fit his palm between your legs, rubbing upwards with a firm but infuriating push. It just wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair.

“Please, Dean…” You grabbed at his shoulders, spread your legs to encourage him. “Need you so bad.”

With an evil grin, he stepped away, turning his back on you.

“But-”

Dean cleared his throat and pointed to the bed. “Lie down.”

Pouting, you did as he said, resting your head on the pillow and watching as he undressed. He took his time, but made no show of it for you, gently placing his suit pieces on the back of a chair while yours lay in a pile on the floor.

Waiting was horrible. Every inch of skin he uncovered made your pulse quicken. Each flex of back muscle had you leaking a little more. You squirmed over the blanket and bit your lip hard, waiting as patiently as you could.

Finally, he was finished and he turned back to you, naked and beautiful, tanned and perfectly delicious. Your eyes fell down his body and when you saw his cock, long and half hard, curved towards his left leg, your jaw dropped and your mouth flooded with drool.

“Oh, you’re too much fun,” he joked, laughing gently at you. “Doesn’t take much to get you all worked up, does it?”

You laughed at yourself and rolled your eyes. “I guess not.”

Before you could blink, he was on the bed, crawling over you like a lion, hands and knees digging into the old mattress. The springs creaked and your muscles tensed. His lips puckered and your mind slipped away.

Dean hovered over you for a long second that seemed like forever, toying with you, enjoying the pathetic look on your face.

“Please…”

He shifted and brought a knee up to part your legs and you gasped at the pressure against your needy clit.

“Dean…”

He dipped his chin to lick at your lips, but refused a kiss, pulling back when you reached up for him.

Water welled in your eyes and annoyance rang in your voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He clicked his tongue and cocked his head to the side, enjoying everything about you. “Doing what?”

You groaned and pressed your fingertips up against his chest, batted your lashes up at him. “You’re being so mean to me.”

His nose grazed over yours, his breath danced across your thirty lips. “How?”

“Teasing me so bad when you know I need it.”

Dean smiled and dropped down, crushing you with his weight and setting his mouth by your ear. His confession was a whisper that sent shivers through you.

“I just love to hear you beg.”

It wasn’t fair. It was all too much. You pushed your body up, arching against him, breasts, hips, lips, every bit of you calling out to every inch of him.

“Please, Dean. Please don’t do this to me. I need you.”

The need in your tone made him growl gently and he nipped at your ear before pushing up onto his arms. “There it is,” he praised, finally giving you a proper kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, wrapped your hands around his head, scraped into his scalp, pulling him, begging him with your entire being.

He was gone too soon, but he kept his lips upon you, sliding down your body with wet, suckling kisses that drove you wild. He nibbled on your shoulder, sucked hard on each nipple, plucked a bruise onto your belly.

Every touch was like a spark of bliss, every press of his beautiful lips drawing you deeper into his game. He moved up and down, back and forth across you, kissing you everywhere but where you needed it the most.

Covered in him, you whined, thrust your hips against his chest, begging once more.

“Need it so bad, Dean. Please. Please!”

He looked up at you, green eyes bright and happy. “What do you need?” he asked, eyes on yours while he dropped a kiss to the soft flesh of your stomach.

“You…”

He pulled up and shook his head. “Be. More. Specific.”

You squirmed, unable to ask for it. It was too strange to say it out loud, you were too shy to ever ask.

Dean saw the nerves twist on your face and he helped you out a bit, slinking down and spreading your legs with his broad shoulders. “Go on, Y/N… Ask me. Beg me. Say it.”

Pushing up on your shoulders, you looked down at him, hoping the pain on your face would be enough. “Dean… I- please? Please do it…”

Again, he shook his head. “Not until you say it. You have to beg me for it.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

Dean opened his mouth and pressed it against your covered pussy, breathing out a mass of hot air that penetrated the thin fabric and ignited a fire so strong that a cry caught in the back of your throat.

“Dean!”

He pressed his tongue flat against the nylon and drew his face upwards. “Say it.”

“I- I can’t-”

“You can.” He gnawed on the fabric lightly and your hips jerked. “Say. It.”

He moved his lips again and pressed his index finger against your padded slit, pushing in just enough to make your brain sizzle.

You snapped, finally breaking and begging with all you had. “Fuck! Please eat my pussy, Dean. Please! I need your mouth on me so bad. Fuck!”

Dean lifted his head and smirked. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

A desperate whimper answered him and he took pity.

Two hands on your thighs, Dean ripped the shining hose from your body, splitting it wide open. The tear echoed through your head and you melted into the pillow, rocked your hips, clawed at the sheets.

“Please!”

A second rip tugged your panties away and your cunt glistened, wet and needy, ready for him.

Dean hummed happily at the sight and flicked the very tip of his tongue over your flesh.

“God! Fuck! Please, please lick my pussy, Dean!”

Hands on your hips, he pushed his way into you, spreading your sodden lips with his stubbled cheeks. The sting was worth it and you cried out blissfully as his tongue dove into your throbbing cunt.

“Yes! Jesus, fuck!”

Dean chuckled into you, and the vibrations made your eyes roll. His tongue slicked up to your clit and he pressed two long fingers deep inside.

“You taste so good,” he praised, lips staying just above your clit. “So fucking good, baby.”

Bucking your hips, you drove yourself into his mouth, done with waiting, done with begging. He got what he wanted, now it was your turn.

He pumped his hand, flicked his tongue, pulsed his lips, tugged, bit, slobbered all over you. Your head filled with mushy pleasure and you rubbed your tits, pinched your nipples, rolled your body into him. You humped his face, loving the hard bump of his nose against your flesh and the thought of coating him in your juices.

Dean hummed as he worked, getting himself off while he got you off. When he felt your body clench down, he picked up his pace, fucking deep into you until he felt the snap, the rush of warmth run down his wrist.

“So good, baby,” he praised, but kept his fingers where they were, stroking that sweet spot inside. “One more…”

The orgasm rolled over you and you dropped a hand to his head, trying to push him away. He shook his head, this time with his plump lips against your clit and you screamed out, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth.

“Fuck! Please!”

“Gonna make you cum until you can’t think straight,” he warned, voice like a raspy song. He added a third finger and you pushed down onto his hand, unconsciously taking him in deeper. “Such a needy thing…”

“Yeah.” You tugged on his ear, wiggled your hips, wanting his mouth again. “So needy. Need your mouth, Dean. Need it.”

He licked the sheen from his lips and locked eyes with you. They never left even as he sank down and took a bite of your inner thigh. They stayed with you as he kissed the crease of your leg, licked a long stroke up your clit, set his lips around your clit. He kept his gaze on your face until your eyes rolled back and you fell down against the pillow, wrecked with pleasure, thrumming with another orgasm.

“So good, baby… So good…”

Still, he wouldn’t take his fingers away.

It wasn’t fair. It was too much.

“I can’t!”

“You can.”

Dean sealed his lips around your raw clit and sucked hard, swirled his tongue, flicked it like a metronome until he felt you break again. When your juices hit his elbow, he finally relaxed, pulling his fingers from your cunt and taking a breath.

Moaning, you squirmed on the bed, needing to close your legs and curl up, hide in the blanket for a moment to come down, but Dean wouldn’t let you rest.

He knelt between your legs and grabbed your hips, tugging you down and up. Your ass rested on his thighs and you gasped as he drew his thumb through your slick.

“No, Dean, I can’t-”

His teeth snagged on the corner of his mouth and his eyes went dark. “Oh, you can.” He rubbed on your clit lightly, dragging the need back through you. “You can come as many times as I want. I told you. Gonna make you nice and stupid.”

The aching tightness appeared again and Dean picked up his pace. His gaze was focused on your face, the way you struggled to hold your breath, keep back a scream. He pressed a little harder and saw the spark behind your eyes as the pleasure snapped again.

“Fuck!”

“Knew you could do it,” he whispered, leaving your clit to wrap his right hand around his cock. He stroked himself to fullness and tapped the head on your pussy, slapping gently.

“Dean!” Your eyes went fuzzy, your mouth fell slack.

“You want this?” he asked, rutting his hips and driving the shaft through your folds, teasing mercilessly.

“I do,” you whimpered, “please-”

“You know what you have to do,” he growled. “Go on and beg.”

Dean grit his teeth and nudged the very tip of his cock at your entrance. You could feel his heartbeat through his cock and your bodies pulsed together, both stuck on the very edge of madness.

He thrust his hips just a tiny bit and your thoughts emptied like he had turned on a faucet.

“Fuck me, Dean! Fuck my pussy, please! Need your cock so fucking bad, please fuck me. Please!”

A sneering smile tugged on his swollen lips and Dean gave in, sinking into your cunt with one fluid push.

Your body trembled and he shifted, setting your ass down on the bed and crawling forward to fuck you deep and hard.

The bed rocked.

The blanket rumpled.

Your scream nearly woke the neighbor.

He couldn’t move once he came, hunching over you with a stupid, empty look on his freckled face. His mouth hung open, his vision was blurred. He panted, shoulders moving fast as his heart raced in his chest.

“Holy fuck.” He was wasted and sated and somehow managed to pull out before he collapsed, leaving a slick stain between your thighs. “That was- incredible…” He drew a big hand down his face, wiping off your wetness, waking himself up.

A heavy, sleepy sigh passed through you and you rolled toward him, curling your arms beneath your head. “That- you got a good- that mouth is- fucking wowwy.”

He laughed sweetly and turned, curling in to face you. “Hey, it worked. I fucked you stupid.”

It was too funny, but he was right. It wasn’t fair. It was too perfect.

“Yeah, well…” You slapped a hand onto his cheek and smiled. “Anytime you wanna do it again, you just lemme know.”

Dean turned his face and kissed your palm. “All you have to do is ask…”

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[tossawary]

I think one of the keys to non-canon and rarepair relationships for me in fanfiction is that you have to respect the relationships that are already there. Not like in a "you have to do the canon relationships and then break them up first" way, because you can definitely make it so that the canon relationship in question never happened OR was never romantic or sexual if you want. But in a basic characterization issue kind of way.

For example, when I wrote a Shang Qinghua / Yue Qingyuan fic, I was looking at the ways to make that work given the Qijiu and Moshang situations. And I ended up making it so that Qijiu either never had or never fully developed any romantic or sexual feelings in this AU, but they're still inseparable as friends / brothers / platonic soulmates of a kind. You CAN'T write a Yue Qingyuan who doesn't care about Shen Jiu. It's just not on the table in terms of characterization.

(I mean, you could, I suppose, but then it's a case of, "Who the fuck even is this guy anymore? You undid his whole backstory and now he's a completely different person." I do think you can write interesting AU stories focused on character development in which Yue Qingyuan learns to move on after post-canon or in which perhaps Shen Jiu's treatment of Luo Binghe becomes an actual breaking point for their relationship, but even if things somehow get REAL BAD between him and Shen Jiu, I don't really think Yue Qingyuan will ever be able to stop caring completely.)

Likewise, I made it so that Moshang never fell into the master-servant situationship, and ended up as cooperative enemies / distant allies of sorts. But Shang Qinghua still thinks Mobei-Jun is sexy. That's his ideal guy! Airplane Bro still being a little weird about his favorite character is not really negotiable to me, even if he's in love with someone else. He has eyes! He can still look at other men disrespectfully! He just doesn't act on his attraction.

Like, you can totally just sidestep any romantic / sexual feelings and make it so they never existed, in order to pursue your pairing of choice. But you cannot easily deny, in my opinion, the basic fact of a character caring on a basic level about someone important to them. I think it gives weird "you're only allowed to care about your romantic partner / no friends allowed" vibes to just completely cut off all other relationships. There's not a hard line between "love-triangle-fixing polyamory" and "completely isolated from even friendships because maintaining friendships with exes is cheating somehow monogamy" as options here.