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

[schlatt-love-bot]

yuck! - schlatt x reader

now listening: yuck - charli xcx 0:01❍─────── 2:19 ↻ ⊲  Ⅱ  ⊳  ↺

_______________________________________

Schlatt was never fond of “love,” the idea of falling in love or being in love with another person quite literally made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t like the commitment—it upheld a standard within his mind that he felt he would never be able to reach, like he wasn’t a good enough person to be ‘boyfriend’ material. Thinking about the pressure of a relationship, needing to be a support for another person other than himself, the planning of dates, the pressure to get married…it had put his stomach in knots regularly. He did, however, crave the physical aspects of being in love, the tender touches, light kisses…especially the sex aspect of it all. That’s how he got himself wrapped up in hookup culture, needing a sexual release without the expectation of flowers and dinner afterwards.��

When he was young and made this decision, he didn’t really care who he was hooking up with, his numbers weren’t that big on YouTube quite yet, and so he wasn’t really afraid of a subscriber meeting him off Tinder or Bumble and trying to expose him for his personal life online. As his numbers grew, though, his anxiety about being exposed as a one night stand man began to go through the roof. That’s where you enter the picture. You and Schlatt met each other during a particularly boring elective class you both needed to take to get your degrees in college, being partnered for a group project where you learned you both had the same outlook on the class and had similar hobbies. Having met Schlatt during his brief college days, you knew of his commitment issues and never judged him for his one night stand escapades. Schlatt appreciated the fact that you respected him and his lifestyle choices, most people (especially his mother) never understood why he couldn’t find it in himself to settle down. You, however, understood the inner fear he felt towards love and relationships, and you got why he relied so heavily on casual flings to meet his needs and desires.

When he started making it big as a streamer and on YouTube, it just so happened to line up with a time in your life when you became single, after a two-year long relationship you thought had good prospects of being together forever. Distraught, you came to Schlatt, who told you he knew that relationships were a bad idea, and that he tried to warn you about all that before you committed to that “dickwad”. 

“See, this is what’m talking about! Relationships are so fucking stupid…now you’re sittin’ ‘ere sobbing on my couch, for what?” He said, gesturing a hand towards you before bringing his glass of whisky up to his lips, rolling his eyes as he took a sip. You were laying on his couch, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks, glaring at him as you knew he knew you came over for comfort, not judgement. 

“Jesus…shut up, dude! I get you’re not into all that stuff…but I thought we had something real. He seemed so genuine…” You croaked, throwing a pillow at Schlatt as he raised his hands to defend himself. 

“Yeah, yeah…he was a real genuine guy..especially when he was genuinely between that other chick’s legs…” he laughed, picking up the pillow to place it back beside you, as he leaned down to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You huffed, crossing your arms as you looked away from him. 

“Not. Funny.” 

“I know it’s not. It’s seriously fucked up.” He said, continuing to wipe away the tears that came, rubbing small circles through your hair in an attempt to calm you down. “I told you, you should just do what I do. There’s no pressure..” 

He left it at that, letting you ever so slowly get over your ex with his care and support. The entire time, though, you thought about what he had mentioned—to partake in his lifestyle, how there was no pressure. Soon enough, he came to you with his own proposition. 

“Listen…you don’t have to say yes. I know we’re friends, and I don’t want this to twist that all up…but…I can’t keep seeing randos on these dating apps…the last one started talkin’ to me about L’Manberg after I came on her stomach…” he said, his hand snaking around to his neck as he looked down at the floor, hearing you chuckle at his experiences. “Are you..asking me to be your hookup partner?” 

“If that’s whatcha wanna call it, toots…” 

“No strings attached, right? Just…meeting each other’s physical needs?” You asked, contemplating the idea in your mind. You would admit, you had always wondered how Schlatt was in bed, with the amount of times he had gone out and slept with someone, coming back to you with new stories of positions and other levels of spice you had never considered taking into the bedroom ever before. Not to mention, he wasn’t a bad looking guy, either. There was always a small voice in the back of your head telling you that he was attractive, and that you could change his ways. Plus…you needed your own distraction and to have your needs met while you got over your ex, so what better way than doing that with your good friend, Schlatt?

“Exactly. We still remain good friends…but when we have needs…we meet them, together.” He said, laying out an exact plan that would include rules and consent. 

“Oh, and of course. Not falling in love. Sorry, sweetcheeks, I’m not gonna be interested.” He laughed, writing down the last rule on this makeshift contract he began writing before scribbling his name at the bottom. 

“Of course…of course. Are you seriously making me sign this thing? It means nothing, legally…” You laughed, picking up the pen he slowly pushed towards you.

“Yeah, I mean it’s not gonna legally mean anything, but it’ll show us if things get…tricky…that we started things with the same intentions, right?” He had no idea why he felt the need to draft up this contract of sorts—he was firm in his belief that he would never, genuinely fall in love with someone, but there was a fear about this in the back of his mind. He had himself convinced that it would be you falling for him and ruining this whole ordeal. 

“I guess you’re right…” You said, your voice quiet as you scribbled your name on the bottom of the paper, before meeting his gaze. 

“So…when did you wanna start all this?” 

“Hmm, no moment quite like now, right, toots?” He laughed, scooting closer to you as he placed a hand on your cheek, “If that’s alright with you, of course…” 

His voice trailed off as you let out a giggle, rolling your eyes. You leaned in, kissing him on the lips, leaving him shocked that you initiated without hesitation. 

That was about 2 years ago now, and since then you and Schlatt had come nearly inseparable. The contract still stood—neither of you were to have feelings for one another, but were to support one another platonically other than in the bedroom. The only recent amendment to the contract was when Schlatt decided that the two of you should move in together, so that your hookups could be done on a more frequent basis, as it’s what he “needed.” You were already on the hunt for a new place to live, your old apartment becoming too expensive to live on your own in, so you agreed. 

As time went on, you felt yourself wanting more. Wanting the simple, quiet moments with Schlatt something more than just a fuck buddy. Wishing that when you were in the kitchen cooking dinner that Schlatt would walk by, wrap his arms around your waist, and whisper something nice in your ear. Instead, you were met with the occasional slap on the ass, and a joke about how you’d make a nice housewife, but not for him. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you find a husband, toots.” He would always joke, showing you that he knew you needed something more, something concrete and committed, but also communicating that he knew he wasn’t capable of providing you with those experiences. 

You hit a point where you couldn’t take it anymore, though, taking matters in your own hands. You knew the root of the problem was internal fear Schlatt felt, that he wasn’t a good enough person to be able to be committed to someone, and that he needed to improve himself before being able to commit to anyone. He had gotten so used to his hookup lifestyle, though, he felt no pressure to “improve himself” like he had explained to you years ago, though, and so you knew you needed to start adding that pressure on him. 

“Flowers? Who bought you those?” He said, seeing an arrangement in a vase on the kitchen counter as you were making something at the stove. 

“Oh, no one bought me those. I bought those for you.” You said, nonchalantly, putting down the spoon you were using to look over at his reaction. One of his eyebrows began to raise, as he inspected the flowers once more. 

“Respectfully, I don’t need any flowers, sweetheart, but I appreciate the sentiment. What’s with them?” You shrugged your shoulders, leaning against the stove with crossed arms. 

“No particular reason…just saw ‘em at the store and thought of you. That’s all.” You say, seeing a slight pink tint come across his cheeks. You could tell the gears in his brain were turning, he was trying to think of a logical, platonic reason for why you would do this, but he wasn’t able to come up with one. You returned your focus to the stove, your pot nearly boiling over now from being neglected. 

“Well…thanks, sweetcheeks. Guess ‘m gonna have to repay you for these later, hmm?” He growled, slapping your bottom before going into the fridge to pull out a drink, disappearing back into his office. You sighed, knowing you were going to have to try harder.

“C’mon, don’t you think it would be fun? We live by the mountains, afterall…”

“Stargazing? The fuck do I look like…your boyfriend?” He scoffed, pushing around the pasta you made on his plate, as you sighed, putting your head in your hands. 

“No! God, you’re taking it out of context,” you sighed, shaking your head, “Friends do this type of shit, too, idiot. I just thought it would be nice to get away for a weekend, away from your 17,000 different channels and business ventures, let you clear your head for a day or two before coming back to the chaos.” 

He began to think silently, leaving you hanging. He was trying to figure out your motive, slowly over the last few months he had noticed your attempts to break down his tough, outer shell, trying to get under his skin and grow closer to him. First, he thought you were trying to be a better friend, but now the line between friend and lover was getting blurred, and the more he thought about it, the sicker he began to feel. He was confused, himself, never quite feeling the way he felt about you with any other person before, none of the women he would see quite regularly made him feel this way, either. When he was around you, he felt…domestic. An urge to protect you, keep you safe, and he had no real clue as to why. The feeling in his chest as of late was so foreign, he often wondered if something was seriously wrong with him—he mentioned in passing the other day that he thought he needed to see a doctor, something about having a heart arrhythmia or something. Was it you blurring this line, or was he unconsciously blurring it himself? The idea made him sweat, and so he once again swallowed all the thoughts and tried his best to press forward. 

“Mmm, well..when you put it that way…it does sound kind of nice.” He refused to look up and make eye contact with you as he confirmed plans. You smirked to yourself, feeling as though your intentions were finally setting on him, and that soon enough you could, maybe, call him yours for real. 

“Good, cause I already booked a stay at a nice cabin, ‘bout 15 minutes from here. Go pack your bags and let’s get going!” You say, clapping your hands together excitedly, your things already packed since you were going, regardless of his decision. He began to laugh, shaking his head as he stood up, heading to his room. 

“What the fuck is up with them…” he muttered under his breath, going through his dressers to find a few t-shirts to throw in his bag. 

“Really tryna ruin a good fuckin’ thing, aren’t they…” he couldn’t help himself from feeling a bit angry. He was slowly beginning to realize that you were wanting more, you were getting yourself attached to him not only physically, but emotionally as well, and that you were trying to coax him into believing he was becoming emotionally invested in you as well. It was confusing, to say the least, because on one hand he truly felt as though he was turning a new, uncomfortable leaf—he found himself caring about you, how your day was, how you were feeling, and wanting to connect with you on a level he hadn’t ever connected with someone before, but at the same time he was so stuck in his ways that he didn’t want to think about you as anything more than friends with benefits. His confusion has now shifted to anger, anger that you were trying to get more out of this than he was willing to give, and anger at himself that he was even considering changing his ways for someone other than himself. He finally got his bag all packed, trying to think of this little get away as a break from work, rather than stressing himself out over his feelings and your own. 

He rejoined you in the living room, seeing you checking your phone, keys in hand and your own bag placed on the ground at your feet. You hadn’t noticed him standing there quite yet, rather engrossed in something you were reading on your phone. It was at that moment Schlatt realized his heartbeat was getting quicker once again, feeling butterflies beginning to stir within his stomach. 

Ugh, he thought to himself, I feel like I’m going to be sick…what the fuck is happening to me?

Almost as if you could hear his inner dialogue, you looked up from your phone, smiling at him standing there looking dumbfounded with his bag in his hands. You slid your phone in your back pocket as you picked up your own bag. 

“Ready to go? Let’s enjoy this weekend, hmm?” 

“Let’s get this show on the road…” his voice droned on, trying his best to make it seem as though he wasn’t looking forward to spending a weekend alone with you, not having to worry about anything else. 

Night began to paint the sky full of stars, as Schlatt fed the woodfire heater inside the cabin to keep you both warm overnight. You sat, wrapped loosely in a blanket on the couch watching him, a mug of hot chocolate sitting nicely in your hands. Since arriving at the cabin, you both already had a few rounds of slow fucking on almost every surface you could find available inside. It was an attempt in Schlatt’s mind to solidify that the only connect you two shared was sexual, not romantic in any way, but after the last round when you glanced up at him with a twinkle in your eye, he began to think it was game over—something in his perspective was shifting. You could tell he was working through something internally, usually after a round he would be a gentleman and help clean you up, make sure you’re comfortable before going back to whatever it was he was doing before, but after your last round, he stared you in the eyes for what felt like forever, his eyes widened before he shook his head, grumbling something about feeling disgusted, leaving you alone on the bed you had finally made your way to in the end. You sighed, running your hands through your hair, unsure of whether or not this trip away was going to work or end up in the way you were anticipating in your mind. With the way he was acting, you’d think you did something seriously sinister to him, and he wanted to get away from you forever. Getting yourself cleaned up, you now found yourself on the couch watching him from afar. 

He finally was satisfied with how the fire was going, enjoying the sounds of the crackling wood in the somewhat uncomfortable silence he had created between the two of you. He turned around to see you comfortably watching him, wondering what his next move was going to be. 

“You mentioned stargazing, didn’t ya?” He said, sitting gently next to you, afraid if he came on too strong he might say something he regretted, or you would do something that would solidify the change he was terrified of. 

“Mhm, wasn’t sure if you remembered, honestly…” your voice trailed off, sounding a bit hurt from having your pride bruised back in the bedroom. Him leaving you like that filled you with doubt—maybe he didn’t want to be more than friends with benefits, afterall, and you’ve just been living in a big bubble of delusion. 

“Of course I remembered…c’mon now.” He said, standing up as he gestured a hand to you, offering to pull you up from the couch. You placed your mug to the side, reaching up to grab his hand and stand up yourself. Silently, you followed him as you both adorned your jackets back on, slipping on some boots as Schlatt reached over and grabbed the blanket you were once wrapped up in. You both walked out of the cabin in silence, finding a secluded spot a little bit away from the cabin, but in a clearing large enough that you could make out the stars and their constellations from underneath the trees. Schlatt laid the blanket down on the grass, sitting down before looking back up at you. 

“Are you gonna come down here and join me, or are you just gonna stand there, toots?” He chuckled, patting the spot next to him on the blanket. You let out a breathy laugh, sitting next to him before glancing up at the sky. Admiring the stars together, the silence quickly became comfortable, not tense as it was a few minutes ago. When Schlatt laid down on his back, he tugged at your jacket, signalling you to join him, to which you quickly obliged. Your head on his chest, you could ever so softly hear his heart beating intensely, making a smile creep up on your face. 

“What’s that one called…?”

“Hmm…maybe Ursa Major? Kinda looks like a bear…doesn’t it?” He hummed, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as his other hand continued to point out different constellations above you. You couldn’t help yourself from looking up at him, seeing how the stars reflected in his eyes caused you to fall deeper than you ever thought possible. 

“What’cha lookin’ at?” He said, confused why your gaze wasn’t directed at the stars any longer. 

“Have I ever told you just how…handsome you really are, Schlatt?” You said, seeing his eyes grow a bit wider than before. He felt a now familiar heat creep across his cheeks, as he said a silent prayer that you couldn’t tell just how rosy his cheeks have now become. 

Fuck. Not this lovey dovey shit…

[srslylini]

to be fair I also hate simple hate. Sounds dumb, is logical. Mostly hate like this isn't born out of the need to criticize what is infront of someone but because of weird views.

Disliking something is always okay, where that stops is simply using said dislike to be weird, also hope this makes sense.

Here is my stuff. I love Arcane. I literally have an entire page dedicated to it, I still have Sevika as my pfp, I very obviously do not hate it. I stand in a place of disappointment and criticism with how Christian Linke and Amanda Overton especially handled season 2. I've seen videos going full on critic on season 2 that I found incredibly weird (some dude weirded me out so bad I swear)

So. I get it. I do.

I also agree that Arcane did push said limits successfully. In season 1. Season 2 missed the mark spectacularly. Though I think act 1 of season 2 still set up a lot of things in a good way, the fact that those things just either weren't addressed, thrown away or forgotten is weird. Though again, agreed with your take on what makes storytelling hard. The thing is in storytelling there is a god. As odd as that sounds

the god is the person creating the story, meaning that what happens is actually something that can be narrated as opposed to what happens for us humans in real life.

That's why calling CaitVi abusive can sound strange to people for "the creators said it only happened once and never again". Because that's the thing, the creators can say that. It is odd and misunderstanding how abuse works, but they can say it and make it canon. And that isn't a thing that only happened in Arcane, for some reason a lot of media creators do this. Why? I don't know.

Especially cause that doesn't work irl. And I think understanding that works for the critics as well as the people praising, if that makes sense. What they did there was an odd choice that leaves criticism and praise in a limbo because "the creators said" but "abuse works this way". The creators said it didn't happen again so generally speaking it isn't abuse but it did happen and in real life there isn't a creator who can say "it'll never happen again" so creators misunderstanding and using this wrong is weird and needs to exist as a take as well.

again I think season 1 did this well, especially with the dynamic between Silco and Jinx. Silco definetly loved Jinx and saw her as a daughter, and that didn't take away from how he still wasn't a good person and not a good influence on her etc. I also think what they did with Caitlyn in act 1 of season 2 was good. Not in a sense that I think it was positive but that it made sense for her.

They just weirdly enough didn't use that set up and that's what weirds me out and makes me say season 2 is just ugh, especially compared to season 1. Had they actually had the guts to make Caitlyn and CaitVi toxic, and I'll die on this hill, we and I especially wouldn't be here in this specific discussion because it'd make a lot more sense.

also thanks for acknowledging that using "nazi" in such circumstances is maybe odd, usually I'd also have to fight people here haha. But same, I also love history and true as of today there are similarities in what happens (it is insane here in germany right now) just not in fandom like this, it's just a very hard word that gets thrown around a lot when it shouldn't (though definetly don't stop calling out actual fucking nazis. they deserve nothing else.)

"Caitlyns redemption arc isn't very good."

Maybe she doesn't have a redemption arc.

May be Arcane isn't about redemption.

May be Arcane is about flawed characters who are neither good nor bad.

May be Arcane is a show that shows us that good people can do horrible things and how our society and the people we have or don't have as support can shape that.

Good people can become horrible. Not because it is innate within them. But because of their life experiences.

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 8.9k

CHAPTER ONE:

You had been eyeing him all night. The longer the party went on, the stronger the ache between your legs became. 

You could blame it on the alcohol that was coursing through your body, or the fact that you hadn’t fucked in nearly a month since you dumped your piece of shit ex-boyfriend. 

But you knew the real reason. It had been a year since you’d seen him, and it was undeniable that Christopher Owen Sturniolo had grown into a man.

He was no longer the lanky little boy you shared your first kiss with in seventh grade or the awkward acne-ridden teenager who took your virginity sophomore year, and he most certainly wasn’t the wavy-haired senior who was irrevocably heartbroken when you got into a relationship and ghosted him. 

No, this Chris was different. 

His features had grown since you last saw him. He had sharp cheekbones, a strong and prominent jawline, and light stubble that made you crazy.

The freckles you used to tease him about but truly loved more than anything in the world were still there, scattered across his nose, but now they added to his charm rather than taking away from it.  

His thick brown hair, which he used to grow out and flaunt endlessly, was now cut shorter and only added to the maturity he seemed to be radiating. It framed his face perfectly. The brown strands were darker now and looked almost unreal next to his light blue eyes. 

He’d filled out too. The smaller frame you remembered was gone, replaced by wide shoulders and slightly toned arms.

He looked good. Too good. 

He stood across the room, laughing at something you assumed his friend had said.

You tried not to stare, you really did, but your eyes betrayed you. Every movement he made, every time he laughed, or ran his fingers through his hair, you felt your stomach tighten. 

And it wasn’t just lust– it was the past of everything unresolved coming back from the deep dark corners of your mind where you had hidden them.

Chris hadn’t acknowledged you yet— not really. Sure, you’d exchanged nonchalant hellos when you first arrived, but the conversation ended there. 

So technically he knew you were there. He was just refusing to recognize you and every feeling and emotion you would bring with you. 

So, you were just another face in a crowd, and he was the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.  

Maybe this was your karma.

Part of you was mourning the Chris you once knew. That Chris would have been glued to your side the second you walked in, his eyes lighting up like you were the only person in the room. This Chris didn’t even flinch when he saw you. His face was so incredibly straight that it made you feel like a goddamn stranger.  

You were only here because of Ava. She’d practically dragged you out of the apartment you shared that her dad bought for you two with promises that “It’ll be fun, I swear,” and “You have to be there—Matt’s expecting you.” Matt, of course, being her boyfriend, and Chris’s triplet brother. It was almost laughable. You had no desire to see Chris, no desire to stir up all the feelings you’d spent the past year pushing down. Yet, here you were.

He was standing near the kitchen now, leaning casually against the counter with a beer in his hand, talking to a girl you didn’t recognize. She was laughing at something he said, touching his arm lightly, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. A wave of something—anger, jealousy, regret—surged through you, and you tried to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else.

Ava leaned in closer, her hand lightly touching your elbow. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you lied, plastering on a smile that probably looked as thin as it felt. You glanced over at her, noting the way her cheeks still flushed whenever she talked about Matt, the way she glowed with that new relationship energy. 

Your gaze flickered back to Chris—like it had a will of its own—and you caught his profile just as he threw his head back in laughter. The sight of his throat working, the slight scruff along his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners… It was too much. You swore you could feel your stomach flip in response.

Ava followed your line of sight, sighing softly when she realized what had your attention. “You can still talk to him, you know,” she whispered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “He’s still—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. You were grateful for the pounding bass that swallowed the tension in your tone. “We said hi, and that’s all that’s needed.”

She gave you a look—equal parts sympathy and frustration—but didn’t push. You both knew there was more to this story, a history you hadn’t even begun to unpack.

You let out a breath, forcing your gaze anywhere but him. “Listen,” you said, nudging Ava gently, “go find Matt before he starts complaining you’re ignoring him.”

Ava hesitated for a second, like she wanted to say something else, but then she nodded. “I’ll be back ,” she promised, and with a smile, she slipped away into the crowd.

With her gone, you were left in the crowd of half-drunken strangers, music pulsing around you. You tried to dance a little, tried to lose yourself in the haze of alcohol and conversation, but it was nearly impossible.

He still hadn’t looked your way again—at least not that you’d noticed. But it felt like you could sense him, the same way you used to be able to tell he was approaching before you ever heard his footsteps.

You hated how your body seemed attuned to him even now, how the ache between your legs grew every time you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. He was close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw as he spoke, see the way his fingers curled and uncurled around his beer bottle.

The girl who had been talking to him drifted off, pulling someone else onto the dance floor. Chris stayed where he was, sipping his drink and scanning the crowd, a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t read from this distance.

Ava reappeared in your peripheral vision, weaving her way through the crowd with practiced ease. You watched as she sidled up to Chris, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you couldn’t make out. A flash of surprise flickered across his features, followed by something you could only describe as annoyance. Then, as if he could feel your stare all the way from across the room, his gaze snapped to yours.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t break eye contact—not even when Ava squeezed his shoulder in parting and drifted away into the crowd. Instead, he kept those intense blue eyes fixed on you as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips, took a slow sip, and set it down on the counter behind him.

You could practically feel the tension crackling in the air by the time he started moving toward you. Your heart thudded in your chest with each step he took, every cell in your body screaming for you to look away, to find someplace else to be. But your feet remained rooted to the spot, as though glued there by all the unresolved tension between you.

Finally, he stopped in front of you. Close enough that you caught the faint hint of cologne and the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that all the old memories you’d tried to bury threatened to resurface in an instant.

“Hey.” His tone was clipped, casual on the surface but laced with something sharper—like he was testing you, waiting to see if you’d crack first.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

An uncomfortable beat of silence passed. You couldn’t read the look in his eyes—there was anger there, maybe some hurt, and definitely that lingering spark of attraction that neither of you had ever truly extinguished.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, of all places.”

“Yeah, well,” you forced a shrug, fighting to keep your voice steady, “Ava’s my best friend. Matt’s her boyfriend. I got dragged along.”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. “Still letting other people call the shots for you, huh?”

The jab was subtle, but you felt the sting immediately. You square your shoulders, ignoring the faint tremor in your knees. “Acting as if I didn’t walk you like a dog all throughout high school”

He nodded slowly, as though taking in your words. “This isn’t high school anymore, clearly.” He said, looking you up and down disgustingly.

The tension between you felt almost suffocating, thick with memories of late-night phone calls, stolen kisses, and the bittersweet aftermath of what happened senior year. The way you ended things—ghosting him right when he thought your relationship might finally become something more.

“You don’t have to act like this,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it level.

He arched an eyebrow. “Act like what?”

You hesitated. “Like I’m some kind of inconvenience.”

He scoffed. “If that’s how you’re feeling, I wonder why.” He glanced away, jaw tightening. 

Your heart clenched, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to let your emotions spill out for everyone to see. “We don’t have to do this,” you repeated softly.

He shrugged, and the movement was painfully casual. “You’re right. We don’t have to do anything.” He flicked his gaze past you, scanning the crowd like you might bore him any second. “So why are we?”

You swallowed, a soft ache in your chest. Because despite all the time and distance, you both knew there was still something here—something electric, something that made it impossible for you to pass each other by like strangers.

“Chris—”

“Look,” he cut you off, his voice lowering enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m happy to see you. And I’m not gonna pretend everything’s fine. Because it’s not.”

Your pulse hammered in your ears at his bluntness. “Okay,” you whispered. It was all you could manage.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re here,” he finally said, a slight tremor lacing his words. “And I can’t just—” He paused, jaw working as though wrestling with something unspoken. “I can’t ignore you,” he finished in a harsh exhale.

You felt your chest tighten. He was right; he’d tried ignoring you all night, and you’d tried to ignore him, and still you’d both ended up here, facing each other, every unspoken thing hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his eyes flickered to yours. “So what now?”

You swallowed, heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could hear it over the pulsing music. His question—“What now?”—hung in the air, thick with a tension that set your nerves on fire.

You wanted to say something—anything—but words felt woefully inadequate. Instead, you met his gaze, letting him see the swirl of emotions that had taken up permanent residence in your chest: guilt, anger, desire. Especially desire.

For a beat, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was so charged you could practically feel it crackle. Your body felt hypersensitive to every shift in the air, every faint brush of his scent. All you could think about was how easy it would be to close the distance, to press your body against his and say the things you’d been holding back.

But instead, you let the moment slip by.

Chris exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with a torrent of his own. “You know,” he said at last, his voice low, “this isn’t exactly how I pictured seeing you again.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but instead he just shook his head and turned away, jaw clenched. “I’m gonna get another drink,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes before he disappeared into the crowd.

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding hissed from your lungs. You stood there, your entire body humming with the tension that still vibrated in the wake of his departure. It was as if every nerve ending had been lit on fire—burning with all the words left unspoken.

Hours later, the party was winding down, though the music still thumped in the background. You’d spent most of the time dancing with other friends, forcibly ignoring the steady undercurrent of longing that tugged you toward Chris like some gravitational pull. If he noticed you looking, he never showed it, except for a few fleeting moments where your eyes met across the room, sparks flying before you both turned away again.

Eventually, Ava found you. She looked disheveled, eyes glassy and a lazy grin on her face. Matt clung to her side, equally worse for wear—his hair mussed, his speech slurred. They were hanging off each other, giggling like teenagers.

“Hey,” Ava said, her words blending together, “I—uh��we need to go home.” She hiccuped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Like, now.”

You glanced at the two of them, realizing just how hammered they were. Rolling your eyes affectionately, you hooked an arm around Ava’s waist to keep her steady. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

Getting Matt to focus was a chore, but between you and Ava’s coaxing, he finally managed to shuffle toward the exit. You kept an arm around your best friend, her head lolled onto your shoulder as she slurred something about how much she loved you.

Matt grinned drunkenly. “Y/N… you’re… you’re the best,” he mumbled, stumbling.

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get you home in one piece.”

Ava’s apartment—yours and hers, really—was close enough to walk, but considering how unsteady they both were, you worried it might be a disaster. Halfway to the door, you felt a presence behind you, a telltale warmth that made your skin prickle.

“Mind explaining where you’re taking my brother?”

Chris.

You turned, finding him standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and Matt, who was practically leaning his entire weight on your shoulder. Chris’s face was a complicated mask—some concern, a lot of annoyance, and just a hint of that ever-present tension.

Your chin lifted. “Home. With his girlfriend?” you said simply. “They’re both wrecked, so I’m taking them back to our place.”

A shadow of doubt passed over his expression. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward Matt. “I can’t leave my brother with you—” he gestured to Ava clinging to your arm, “—and that drunk fool. No offense, Ava.”

You bristled, even as a very small part of you was relieved that he cared enough to intervene. “Ava’s not that drunk. She just needs some water and a good night’s sleep, and Matt clearly needs the same.”

Chris’s gaze hardened. “Look, we can argue all night if you want, but at the end of the day, I’m not letting you carry his drunk ass home alone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Matt swayed dangerously, cutting you off. Chris moved closer in an instant, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and steadying him. Matt mumbled something incoherent, then blinked as if just recognizing Chris was there.

“Hey, kid,” Matt slurred, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Missed you… or something.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the fleeting look of concern. “You see?” he said flatly. “He needs someone who can actually hold him upright.”

You blew out a breath, too exhausted and too buzzed to keep up the argument. Fine. Let him play the hero. “Alright,” you relented. “Let’s just get them home.”

With that, the four of you spilled out into the cool night air, Matt and Ava clutching onto each other and you, while Chris hovered on the other side. The walk was short but felt endless with your two drunken companions swaying and stumbling. Chris moved in to help whenever Matt nearly toppled over.

Every time his arm brushed yours, every time your shoulders bumped, the tension between you flared to life again—like an ember bursting into flame. It was maddening how your body seemed to respond to him, no matter how much you tried to tamp it down.

Finally, you reached your apartment building. You fumbled with the keys, grateful when the door clicked open. Inside, you guided Ava to her bedroom, where she promptly collapsed onto the bed. Matt, half-lidded and swaying on his feet, followed suit, flopping down next to her without a second thought.

You stood there, watching them, heart still pounding with adrenaline—or maybe something else. You could feel Chris behind you, close enough that warmth radiated off his body. The quiet of the apartment only amplified your awareness of him, every breath and shift in his stance sending your nerves sparking.

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

The tension hovering in the narrow space was almost suffocating, so thick it felt like you could reach out and touch it. But before either of you could say another word, a sudden commotion broke the moment.

A door creaked behind you. Ava, looking pale and disoriented, stumbled out of the bedroom. She blinked blearily in the dim light. You recognized that look immediately: she was about to be sick.

“Ava,” you said in alarm, stepping forward. “Oh no—”

But it was too late. Her face contorted, and she heaved forward. Chris, seeing what was about to happen, darted sideways to avoid the inevitable spray—only to crash directly into you.

“Shit!” you yelped as he slammed your shoulder. You lost your balance, stumbling back until the sharp corner of the wall made harsh contact with your head. Pain exploded at your temple, and you winced, hissing through your teeth.

Meanwhile, poor Chris was still caught in the line of fire, a portion of Ava’s vomit hitting his arm and splattering onto his shirt. He recoiled, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

Ava wiped her mouth, tears in her eyes, and mumbled something close to an apology. “I—I’m sorry… ‘m so sorry—”

You pressed a hand to your head, anger flaring as throbbing pain pulsed behind your skull. “What the hell, Chris?” you snapped, forcing yourself to straighten. “You didn’t have to knock me over!”

He turned on you, face drawn tight with frustration and disgust from the mess on his sleeve. “You were in the way,” he ground out. “I’m not exactly going to stand there and get covered in puke—though apparently, that happened anyway.”

Your brows shot up, temper sparking. “Oh, so that makes it okay to push me? You’re a real gentleman.”

Chris’s jaw flexed. “Don’t start with me. I’m not the one who can’t hold down a drink.”

“Hey!” Ava croaked from behind him, her voice wuavering. She slumped against the wall, looking miserable. “I didn’t mean—”

“Ava,” Matt’s voice interrupted from the doorway. He appeared with bleary eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. He took in the scene—Ava hunched over, you rubbing your head, Chris spattered in vomit—and promptly turned on his brother. “Chris, why the hell are you yelling at her?”

Chris took a breath, trying to calm himself, but the frustration was evident in every line of his posture. “I’m not yelling at her,” he said through gritted teeth, yanking at the soiled fabric of his sleeve. “But maybe try not to puke on people next time!”

Matt’s face darkened, protective anger flaring up. “Dude, she’s drunk and sick. Back off.”

A tense beat of silence followed, the four of you standing in that cramped hallway, hearts pounding, heads throbbing—some from booze, others from bruises, and Chris from equal parts disgust and fury.

You rubbed the spot on your head again, wincing at the dull ache that pulsed beneath your fingers. Ava slid down the wall to sit, eyes closed, still mumbling apologies. Matt hovered beside her, steadying her as best he could.

You pressed a hand gingerly to your head, wincing at the dull throb that had settled behind your temple. Meanwhile, Ava slumped on the floor, still half-groggy and covered in the remnants of her unfortunate mishap. Matt hovered next to her, one hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.

“Let’s get you two cleaned up,” you sighed, ignoring the furious pulse of pain at your temple.

Ava groaned but let you help her to her feet. Chris stayed by the wall, still looking half-annoyed, half-disgusted, but when Matt stumbled, he automatically reached out to steady him. Despite the tension in the air, the four of you worked together to guide your drunken friends toward the bathroom.

Once inside, you managed to get Ava to rinse her mouth while Matt hovered behind her, swaying dangerously. Chris stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, that exasperated expression never leaving his face.

“Brush her teeth,” he said gruffly, nodding to the unopened toothbrush sitting on the counter.

“I know how to take care of my best friend, thanks,” you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. Your head hurt too much to spar properly.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll handle Matt.”

You and Chris maneuvered around each other in the cramped space, exchanging occasional glares whenever you nearly bumped hips. Eventually, you got Ava’s teeth brushed—despite her half-hearted protests—and Chris convinced Matt to rinse his face with cold water, muttering warnings all the while about “not throwing up on me, too.”

By the time Ava and Matt were more or less presentable, both of them looked ready to pass out on the spot. You guided Ava back to her bedroom while Chris helped Matt stumble in behind her. They collapsed onto the bed, Matt’s arm draped protectively over Ava’s waist, and within seconds, both were out like lights.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath, still nursing the throbbing pain in your skull. Chris lingered behind you, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You alright?” he asked finally, voice lower now that Matt and Ava were asleep.

Your head still pounded, but there was no ignoring the fact that Chris’s shirt was splattered with sink water and vomit stains. “I’ll live,” you muttered, pressing your fingers gingerly to your temple.

He huffed, his tone edging into that familiar snark. “You sure? Looked like you smacked your head pretty hard.”

“I wouldn’t have smacked it if you hadn’t used me as a human shield,” you shot back, though there was more weariness than heat in your voice.

Chris dragged a hand across his jaw, clearly wrestling with another sarcastic comeback. But instead of firing off a retort, he let out a frustrated groan. “This shirt is disgusting,” he grumbled, glancing down at the dark splotches. With a brusque motion, he yanked it over his head.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him bare-chested—this close, the hallway lighting throwing every muscle into relief. You tried to be discreet, but your gaze couldn’t help but linger on the defined planes of his chest, the way his shoulders had broadened since high school. You forced yourself to snap out of it, shifting your eyes quickly back to his face, hoping he hadn’t noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks.

He shot you a quick look that might have been amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “What?” he asked, almost daring you to say something.

You cleared your throat, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach. “Nothing. Let’s just… get you cleaned up.”

Without another word, you led the way to the kitchen, pressing a hand against your throbbing head as you walked. Chris followed with the soiled shirt balled in one hand.

“Sit,” he ordered once you reached the small table, his voice unusually gentle.

Too tired to bicker, you sank into a chair. Chris rummaged in the freezer and emerged with a bag of frozen peas, wrapping them in a kitchen towel. He offered it without meeting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pressing the makeshift ice pack to your temple. The cold relief was almost instantaneous, dulling the worst of the ache.

Chris turned toward the sink to rinse out the vomit-stained shirt, muscles in his back flexing as he scrubbed the fabric. You found yourself staring again, and you silently cursed the unwelcome rush of heat that flooded you from head to toe.

Trying to distract yourself, you forced your gaze elsewhere. “Let me… let me grab some dish soap,” you said, pushing yourself up. A bolt of pain in your head nearly made you stumble.

He cut you a sideways glance. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered. But the sudden movement left your head throbbing again, so you settled for just handing him the soap from the counter.

He muttered his thanks, squeezing a little onto the shirt and scrubbing at the stain. The quiet felt thick, loaded with tension that had nothing to do with the earlier chaos.

You tried to focus on the peas pressed to your temple, but your eyes kept wandering. Finally, you gave a short laugh, more at yourself than at him. “You know,” you said, “for a guy who’s half-naked in my kitchen, you’re pretty grouchy.”

He snorted softly, still working on the shirt. “Guess you bring out the best in me.”

A spark of irritation lanced through you, though it was tempered by the undeniable awareness of just how good he looked—tanned skin, toned arms, the faint spattering of freckles you remembered from years before. “You’re not exactly a delight either,” you shot back, pressing the ice pack firmly against your head.

He finished rinsing and wringing out his shirt, then turned off the faucet. Water dripped across his arms, sliding down the lines of his muscles. You forced yourself to keep your eyes level with his, ignoring the tilt in your stomach.

After a moment, Chris set the damp shirt aside and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyed you for a second, then jerked his chin at the peas you clutched. “How’s the head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints,” you smirked and his eyes widened at your innuendo.

You laughed at his reaction but actually answered the question this time. “It’s a little bit better, though.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair, obviously uncertain where to go from here. “Look,” he said, voice quieter now, “about earlier. I wasn’t trying to push you. I just—”

“Didn’t want to get puked on,” you finished for him. “Yeah, I got that memo.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I’m sorry if I knocked you over.”

You held his gaze, a wry smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “You’re forgiven. Now, are we done acting like idiots, or do we want to keep this up all night?”

A muscle flickered in his jaw, and for a second you thought he’d snap back with another sarcastic remark. But he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah,” he said softly. “I’m good.”

An awkward beat passed, the both of you taking stock of what remained. Matt and Ava were unconscious in the next room, you had a knot forming on your head, and Chris was half-naked in your kitchen, still dripping water.

“Well,” you said, pushing your chair back, “I guess we should try to sleep. Unless you want to stay up and make sure no one else hurls on you.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ll take my chances on the couch.”

He grabbed a spare towel off the counter and scrubbed at the stray droplets on his arms. You couldn’t help a quick glance at the way the movement flexed his shoulders, and you hoped your expression didn’t betray how flustered you felt.

“Night, then,” you managed, your voice a little tight.

Chris nodded, stepping around you to head for the living room. “Night.”

You stood there for a moment, the makeshift ice pack pressed to your head, watching him go. As he disappeared around the corner—shirt still in hand—you exhaled slowly, muscles taut from all the pent-up tension of the night.

The morning light drifted through the blinds, prickling against your eyelids as you stirred awake. The dull ache in your temple reminded you exactly why you’d gone to bed last night with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your head. You blinked, slowly registering the muffled sounds coming from the living room.

You pushed the blankets aside and slipped out of bed, wincing at the minor throb that still pulsed behind your temple. Padding into the hallway, you paused at the sight of Chris sprawled on your couch, arms folded over his chest. He looked about as comfortable as one could be when sleeping on a lumpy couch in someone else’s apartment.

He stirred at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes cracked open—still heavy with sleep but alert enough to narrow in on you as you stepped closer.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

Your first instinct was to snap at him—some half-baked comment about overstaying his welcome. But before you could open your mouth, he cut you off, lifting a hand as if to ward off your tirade.

“Before you bitch me out,” he said, “I’m waiting for Matt to wake up so I can take him home.”

A quick wave of annoyance flared in your chest, but you only sighed. He had a point—Matt was definitely in no state to hop on an Uber last night, and Chris wasn’t the type to leave his brother behind. Instead of biting back, you nodded reluctantly.

“Fine,” you muttered. “At least you didn’t run off in the middle of the night.”

He shot you a look, somewhere between exasperated and amused, but said nothing. A fragile ceasefire, at best.

Just then, you heard a low groan from the hallway. Ava appeared, bleary-eyed and leaning heavily against the wall as if the sheer act of walking was a Herculean effort. Her hair was a mess, and she looked about as hungover as a person could be.

“Ow, my head,” she mumbled. “Did anyone catch the license plate of the truck that ran me the fuck over?”

You grimaced sympathetically. “Welcome to the consequences of your own actions.”

Ava rubbed her temples, squinting as she glanced around the living room. Her eyes fell on Chris, who was watching her with a mild, unreadable expression. She blinked once, twice, then turned to you, face twisted in confusion.

“Um… why is Chris here? Did you guys… fuck?”

Your jaw dropped. Chris actually closed his eyes like he was silently wishing himself elsewhere. After a beat of stunned silence, he cleared his throat. “Where is Matt?”

Ava shot him a mischievous smile despite her pallor. “Oh, you know,” she drawled, her tone teasing, “he’s probably hiding in my room because you two were up all night going at it.”

You and Chris both spluttered in protest. “Ava!” you snapped, cheeks heating. “We did not—”

She raised an eyebrow, wiggling it suggestively, but then cringed as her headache reeled her back in. “Ow. Okay, sorry. Too loud.”

“And too wrong,” Chris added flatly. “The only ‘going at it’ last night was you puking all over me.”

Ava’s eyes went wide, suddenly looking mortified. “Wait, what?”

You let out a half-amused snort, remembering the chaos. “You really don’t remember? You staggered into the hallway and threw up on Chris, then he tried to dodge and slammed me against the wall.”

Chris nodded, eyes flicking pointedly to your temple. “Which gave her that nice bump on her head.”

Ava cringed again, glancing at you with genuine guilt. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I… I blacked out.” She turned to Chris, noticing the faint dried stain still on his forearm. “Oh my God,” she repeated, horror-struck. “Did I really—?”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, a shower and about twenty gallons of soap later, I’m mostly fine.”

Ava buried her face in her hands. “This is humiliating.” But then, despite her headache, she cracked a small laugh. “I guess that explains why you’re in the living room, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, as the absurdity of the whole situation sank in. Chris let out a resigned chuckle, shaking his head.

“Believe me, I’d have been long gone if I didn’t have to cart Matt’s drunk ass out of here in a bit,” Chris said.

“I can’t believe I slept through all that,” Ava muttered. “Did I at least apologize?”

“Yes,” you said dryly, “though I’m not sure how coherent it was.”

“Enough to rub vomit in my hair again,” Chris grumbled good-naturedly.

Ava groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh. I’m never drinking like that again.”

Chris smirked. “I’m holding you to that.”

A wry grin tugged at your own lips. After all the tension and drama last night, there was a strange relief in being able to stand here and laugh about it—like all of you were finally exhaling.

“How about I make some coffee?” you offered, tossing a glance at Ava’s pale face. “I think we could all use a little caffeine.”

“Oh, God, yes,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

Chris nodded in agreement. “Sure. Then I can drag Matt home to sleep this off somewhere that’s not your couch.”

The faintest hint of warmth stirred in your chest at the idea of him staying just a little bit longer—even if it was just for coffee. But you pushed that down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, leading the way to the kitchen. Behind you, Chris and Ava followed, still chuckling under their breath at the mess they’d all endured last night.

As you flicked on the coffee maker, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once Matt woke up, once Chris left, once this bizarre morning after turned into actual daylight. But for now, at least, you had peace—and, surprisingly enough, even a laugh or two to share.

You settle around the small kitchen table with Chris and Ava, nursing your cup of coffee. The early sunlight streaming through the window does little to mask the awkwardness lingering from the night before. Ava, sporting a messy bun and still looking a bit drained, leans an elbow on the table and eyes Chris over the rim of her mug.

“So,” she drawls, voice scratchy with sleep but brimming with sass, “get comfortable, Chris. I’m gonna go wake Matt up, and it’s gonna be a while.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You and Y/N can, I don’t know, get cozy and touch tips while Matt takes me to pound town again.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. Chris’s face goes through about three different shades of horror before settling on exasperated. “First off,” he mutters, setting down his mug a little too hard, “I really don’t need to know the specifics of my brother’s sex life.”

Ava just laughs, utterly unapologetic. “Suit yourself,” she shrugs, sliding off the chair. “But don’t blame me if you two get bored. Find something to do, or each other to do—whatever.”

“Ava, seriously,” you groan, pressing your palms to your eyes. “At least use protection, okay?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Mom,” she shoots back sarcastically. “You’re so thoughtful.” Then she winks at Chris for good measure. “Think of me fondly while I’m gone.”

With that, she downed the rest of her coffee, set her mug in the sink, and strutted upstairs to Matt’s room, shutting the door with a pointed click behind her.

An awkward hush settles over the kitchen. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, fiddling with the handle of your mug. Chris avoids your gaze at first, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you say finally, deadpan, “that was subtle of her.”

He huffs a half-laugh, glancing up at the ceiling like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Yeah, subtle as a car crash.”

You both fall silent. Then, from above, a soft thud—followed by the unmistakable sounds of Ava and Matt… reacquainting themselves with each other.

“Oh, God,” you mutter under your breath, cheeks heating. You rub your temples, trying to will the noise away, but it only grows louder.

Chris grimaces, then tries to play it off with a roll of his eyes. “Guess they didn’t waste any time.”

You make a face, sipping your coffee in hopes the caffeine will distract you. “They’re in for round two, apparently.”

A moment passes, filled with an increasingly steady rhythm of moans that filter down the stairs. You and Chris exchange a glance—equal parts discomfort and wry amusement at the sheer absurdity of it.

He breaks the tension by arching an eyebrow. “Reminds me of some of our high school experiences.” There’s a dryness to his tone—like he’s testing how far he can push you.

You sputter, nearly spilling your coffee. “Wow. That’s a throwback.”

A half-smile ghosts across his lips. “Well, she’s not moaning as loud as you did back then.”

Heat flares in your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment, and, annoyingly, part amusement. “Excuse you?”

He shrugs, crossing his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Just saying, I’ve got a good memory.”

Your eyes narrow as you set your mug aside. “No one asked you to remember. And I’m pretty sure I was never that loud.”

Chris smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You can keep telling yourself that.”

“Ugh.” You glare at him, ignoring the slight flutter in your stomach that you really wish wasn’t there. “And here I thought we’d have a civil morning.”

“I’m plenty civil.” He lifts his coffee cup, giving a mock toast. “You’re the one who let your best friend invite me to loiter in your living room.”

“As if you had no choice in the matter?” you counter, eyebrows shooting up. “You could’ve left at any time—”

“Except for the part where my brother was drunk off his ass and still is, apparently.” He nods toward the ceiling, where Matt and Ava’s very enthusiastic “recovery” session continues.

You roll your eyes, even as a small twinge of guilt twists in your gut. “Fine. You win that one.”

He sets his cup down, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Better,” you admit grudgingly, resisting the urge to rub the lingering bump. “Still a little sore. You’re lucky I don’t sue you for damages.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, good luck explaining that to a judge: ‘Your honor, he dodged puke, and I paid the price.’”

The corners of your mouth quirk up despite yourself. “I’ll have to come up with something a little more dramatic.”

His gaze lingers on you, a hint of that familiar tension creeping into the air between you. For a second, neither of you speak. The echo of moans from upstairs fills the silence, but you try to tune it out, focusing on Chris’s expression. It’s a mix of exasperation and something you can’t quite pin down.

Eventually, he clears his throat, looking away. “Anyway. As soon as they’re done, I’m taking Matt home.”

“Fair enough,” you say, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his lingering stare. “I’m just glad he’s not making an even bigger mess down here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

You share a moment of uneasy quiet, sipping at your drinks and trying to pretend the floor isn’t practically vibrating with Ava and Matt’s activities. Each moan or thump from upstairs seems to underscore the unresolved tension between you and Chris—like the universe is mocking you both.

You collapse onto the couch, remote in hand, while Chris drops heavily onto the opposite end. Neither of you seems particularly eager to be in the kitchen, where the sound of Ava and Matt’s increasingly enthusiastic activities upstairs is even more obvious. Even here, though, you can still catch the muffled rhythms and gasps emanating through the ceiling.

“Want to put something on?” you offer, brandishing the remote as a distraction.

Chris shrugs. “Sure. Maybe it’ll drown them out.”

You flip through streaming services, settling on some mindless show you’ve both seen before—something you can half-watch, half-ignore. Anything to keep the awkward silence at bay.

Except the background noise doesn’t stop. Ava’s voice floats downstairs in a series of moans, clearly not worried about volume control. You feel your face heat, trying hard not to picture what’s happening up there, but it’s impossible to completely shut it out.

Chris catches the faint color in your cheeks and smirks. “You okay?”

You shoot him a glare. “Fine.”

He snorts, eyes flicking toward the ceiling with a knowing tilt of his head. “I guess some people really enjoy their mornings.”

“Can we not analyze it, please?” you mutter, turning up the volume on the TV.

For a few minutes, the two of you watch the show in a tense silence, interrupted only by the occasionally awkward clearing of throats. On the screen, the characters are bantering, their dialogue a hollow cover for the more intimate soundscape filtering down from upstairs.

Eventually, Chris shifts, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as though suppressing a grin. “Kinda like old times, huh?”

You glance at him warily. “Old times… meaning what exactly?” even though you knew exactly what he was reffering to.

He lifts a shoulder. “High school. All that sneaking around we did.” He nods at the ceiling again with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Not that we ever woke the whole house up—but you sure knew how to make noise back then.”

A spike of heat floods your cheeks. “Oh, shut up. I told you I wasn’t that loud.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I distinctly remember having to clamp a hand over your mouth one time, so your parents wouldn’t figure out I was in your bedroom.”

Your crotch thrums at the memory, even as you roll your eyes. “You’re making that up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nope. That was, like… sophomore year?”

“Junior,” you correct quietly, the mental images flashing unbidden behind your eyes—late-night kisses, stolen touches, the muffled giggles when the floor creaked.

Chris spreads his hands, as though he’s proved his point. “See, you do remember.”

You hate the surge of warmth pooling in your stomach, especially with the unmistakable moans from upstairs fueling the tension. Your gaze flicks to him, noticing the way he’s tugging at the collar of his still-bare torso as if he’s feeling the heat, too.

Desperate to reclaim some composure, you turn back to the TV and raise the volume a couple more notches. The show’s bright laughter and goofy dialogue bounce off the living room walls. It helps—just a little—until there’s a particularly loud thud from above, followed by Ava’s not-so-subtle cry of Matt’s name.

You cringe, flicking Chris a sideways glance. His eyebrows are raised, and the corner of his mouth twitches with restrained amusement. “They’re really going for it, huh?”

“Stop it,” you hiss, trying to ignore the thudding of your own heart.

He chuckles, low and mocking. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re blushing. Maybe it’s bringing back memories for you, too?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because the best soundtrack for nostalgia is my best friend hooking up with your brother.”

His gaze slides over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the lines of your legs tucked up on the couch. “Pretty sure I’m remembering a different soundtrack…”

A fresh wave of tension courses through you, courtesy of those teasing words and the faint recollection of your younger selves entwined in the dark. You can’t help the jittery sensation in your stomach—part annoyance, part undeniable attraction.

“That was forever ago,” you say, voice a little tight.

“Was it, though?” he counters, his voice dropping just enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You scowl, holding his gaze even though your pulse hammers. “Yes, Chris. It was.”

From upstairs, Ava’s delighted shriek rattles through the ceiling. You stifle a groan, covering your face with one hand. “Oh my God, I am never letting her live this down.”

Chris laughs, and it’s surprisingly genuine. “She’ll do the same to you if the roles were reversed.”

“Probably,” you admit.

You try to refocus on the TV show, but all you can hear is Matt and Ava’s muffled moans, and all you can feel is Chris’s eyes tracking you from the other side of the couch. The air feels charged, like a static storm on the verge of sparking, and you can’t decide if you hate it or crave it.

Finally, you shoot him a sharp look, hoping to douse the tension. “Got something to say?”

He smirks. “No, not really. Just reminded that you and I used to have this effect on each other… and it was never quiet.”

Your cheeks burn, and you set your jaw, refusing to let him rile you up any further. “Keep it up, and I’ll crank the TV so loud the neighbors call the cops.”

“And here I was, thinking we could just talk about the old days,” he drawls, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his bare skin shifting with the motion. “But hey, if the thought of me dicking you down is too much for you to control yourself right now, then I get it.

You open your mouth to retort—except your heart is pounding and your mind can’t help flipping through flashes of those stolen nights in high school. The way his hands felt on you, the desperate hushes whenever there was a risk of being caught, the rush of young desire you never quite forgot.

Upstairs, Ava lets out another moan that makes you cringe and press the remote’s volume button a few more times. “God, they better wrap this up soon.”

Chris arches an eyebrow, smirk widening. “Jealous?”

Your eyes snap to his. “Of them?”

He lifts a shoulder, carefully casual. ‘You tell me.”

A beat passes, and you can’t help flicking a glance at his bare torso—at the taut muscles that were far less defined back in high school, the confident air that certainly wasn’t there as a lanky teenager. You snap your eyes back to the TV, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

He chuckles, and it’s a low, lazy sound that does nothing to steady your heart rate. You pretend you’re enthralled by the sitcom characters on the screen, hoping the next few minutes pass quickly—or that Ava and Matt finally decide they’ve had enough.

But as you stare at the screen, you find your mind wandering, remembering the feel of his lips on yours, that electric rush you once craved. And judging by the heavy silence from Chris’s side of the couch, he’s remembering, too.

You and Chris remain on opposite ends of the couch, the TV blaring in a desperate attempt to drown out Ava and Matt’s enthusiastic finale. Finally, the unmistakable moans and muffled thuds from upstairs taper off. A few minutes later, you hear shuffling footsteps on the stairs.

Ava appears in the living room doorway, hair even more disheveled than before, cheeks flushed. She looks from you to Chris, who’s still shirtless, arms crossed as he lounges in an almost-too-casual pose. Something in her gaze flickers—mischief, curiosity—and you realize she’s not missing a single detail.

“All right,” she says, stretching her arms over her head like she’s been in a yoga class instead of a bedroom romp. “We’re done. For now.” Then she eyes you and Chris. “So, did you two fuck while we were busy, or…?”

Your face heats instantly. “No!” you blurt out, a little too fast. “Of course not.”

Chris just huffs a low laugh, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “No,” he echoes, nonchalantly. But he doesn’t deny the tension that’s been crackling between you both all morning.

Ava narrows her eyes, scanning the room. “Mmm-hmm, sure,” she says with a knowing drawl. She lets her gaze settle on Chris for a moment, then glances back to you. Though she doesn’t say anything outright, it’s like she’s clocked something beneath the waistband of his sweats—and is doing her best not to cackle.

Before you can overthink her silent observation, Matt stumbles down the stairs behind her, hair sticking up in every possible direction. He looks like he barely has the energy to walk straight.

Chris pushes up from the couch—maybe a little too abruptly, as if trying to hide any…obvious issues. “C’mon, man,” he mutters, grabbing Matt by the arm with more force than necessary. “Time to get you home.”

Matt, still half-asleep, doesn’t protest. He just mumbles something incoherent, kisses Ava goodbye,  and lets Chris steer him toward the door. Ava steps aside, watching them go, biting back a grin.

“Uh, thanks for the hospitality, I guess,” Chris calls over his shoulder, still wearing that faint smirk. He glances at you once, eyes lingering a beat longer than normal before he hauls Matt outside.

The door clicks shut. Silence falls—blessedly free of moaning and snark. You exhale, slumping back against the couch cushion. All the tension of the morning seems to settle in your shoulders, and you rub the knot at the back of your neck.

Then Ava whips around, hands on her hips, eyes dancing with amusement. “Holy shit, girl,” she hisses, scurrying over to flop down beside you. “Did you see the giant hard-on Chris had?”

You choke on air, cheeks flaming. “Ava!”

She throws her head back, laughing despite her obvious hangover. “I’m serious! Dude was packing some serious heat under those sweatpants. And you’re telling me you two didn’t get busy?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “We did not—no! Absolutely not,” you insist, shaking your head. “And can we not talk about…that?”

Ava props an elbow on the back of the couch, eyeing you like she sees right through your protest. “So you’re telling me he was just sitting here, sporting a massive boner, and nothing happened?” She snorts. “He’s still into you, obviously.”

You swallow hard, memories of the heated banter and near-constant tension flashing through your mind. “It’s not like that,” you try again, but the argument sounds weak even to your own ears. “He’s just waiting for Matt—well, was waiting—to get home safe.”

“Right,” she says, drawing the word out. Then she pats your leg in mock sympathy, still clearly amused. “You know you’re free to live your life, right? Even if it includes hooking up with your old…whatever the fuck he was.”

You set your jaw, refusing to meet her gleeful gaze. “He’s annoying. We bicker. That’s it.”

Ava shrugs, standing up to stretch again. “Annoying plus bickering can sometimes equal good, angry sex. Just saying.”

You toss a couch pillow at her, sending her into another wave of laughter. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

She catches the pillow and smirks. “And you’re in denial, babe.” Then she lifts her hands in surrender. “But hey, my job here is done. I’m all freshened up, physically satisfied, and apparently, I missed quite a show down here, too.”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you bury your face in your hands. “I cannot deal with this conversation before lunch.”

Ava laughs again, patting your shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you think about Chris’s, um, situation in peace.”

With that, she saunters off to the kitchen, presumably for more coffee—or to nurse her hangover with some Advil. You remain on the couch, heart still beating a tad too fast, unable to stop yourself from recalling the way Chris smirked when Ava asked if you’d hooked up.

Because maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as opposed to the idea as you claimed to be. And if Ava’s not wrong about the whole “obvious interest” thing, then the next time you see him, it might be a whole new kind of mess.

tags: @mattsobvimyfav

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[hunterofartemis7]

Adopted by the gods AU pt.15

Anticlea: *holding an ice pack that Hera gave her to her cheek*

Laertes: *sitting by his wife rubbing her back*

Zeus: I deeply apologize for the way my daughter acted today. She is never like this. I assure you, she will be punished for thi-

Laertes: thank you lord Zeus, but that won’t be necessary.

Apollo: your wife got slapped in the face twice by one of the eldest goddesses on Olympus and you don’t want her punished? Bro you need better priorities.

Laertes: I at the very least want her to apologize for..that and for us to figure what ACTUALLY happened that night. I don’t believe Lady Athena just took him and made up this story of us abandoning our son. Something had to have gotten lost in translation the night she found him.

Aphrodite: found her! *dragging Athena in by her arm*

Athena:🙄

Hera: *crosses her arms* Athena. Do you have something to say?

Athena: I’m only here to find out what really happened my son.

Aphrodite: *elbows her in the ribs*

Athena: ow!

Hermes: *flies in* okay! Got the spell from Hecate!

Anticlea: what does that do?

Hermes: this will show us what really happened, from both your perspective.

Zeus: and when this is over, you will apologize to the queen first the way you acted

Athena: *rolls her eyes* when it shows my son was abandoned, those people will stay the fuck away from my kids.

Hera: and when it doesn’t, you will return both boys back to their home kingdoms.

Athena: THE FUCK I WILL!!

Hermes:….okay! Let’s get this show on the road! *throws the vial on the ground and blue mist surrounds them, showing a vision from the day Odysseus was taken*

*The vision shows baby Odysseus being taken from his crib in the middle of the night by some random man. Laertes sends the guards out to chase the men and they follows him to the waterfall, where he throws the baby off the edge. It then shows Athena catching baby Odysseus and hiding behind a tree when the guards look over the edge for. It shows the guards leaving and Athena taking the baby back to Olympus. She flies to the palace where the captain tells the king and queen that their son has died and his body wasn’t found. What Athena heard made it sound like the king and queen planned to kill Odysseus, but in reality they were just in shocked that their newborn son was dead. She had flown off before she could hear the queen break down in tears*

*the vision ends, and all the gods look between Athena and Anticlea*

Hermes:…….so at least we know this was a huge misunderstanding *laughs nervously*…this is awkward.

Anticlea: I told you I never abandoned my own son.

Athena: he’s not your son

Anticlea: are you still going to be like that!? You just saw with your own eyes what really happened—

Athena: and that doesn’t change the fact that neither you or your husband actually looked for him, and I’ve been the one raising him for the past 11 years! You might have given birth to him but he is my son!

Anticlea: need I remind you that you were the one who hid him when he fell!?

Athena: he would’ve died if I hadn’t!

Zeus: BOTH OF YOU ENOUGH!!!!

Anticlea and Athena: *shut up*

Zeus; where is the boy? He needs to know the truth

Odysseus: *comes out from under the table with Diomedes* right here grandfather, and I heard everything.

Zeus: well that saves me some work.

Athena: Odysseus…

Odysseus:….*runs up and hugs her*

Diomedes: *follows and hugs her too*

Athena; *drops to her knees and hugs them both close*

Hera: Odysseus, since you heard what really happened, it seems you have a choice to make.

Odysseus: *let’s go from the hug* what do you mean?

Athena: yeah what do you mean?

Hera: the boy knows he’s the real heir of Ithaca, and that he wasn’t abandoned as you previously said. So it seems he has a choice; stay with you till he turns 18, or go with his birth parents now.

Athena: over my dead body is he going with them!

Hera: you don’t get a say Athena.

Athena: he is still underaged and I’m still his mother! There is no choice to be made here!

Apollo: wouldn’t Anticlea have a say in this since she’s his birth mother?

Athena: stay out of this!

Apollo: yes ma’am!🫡

Athena: and no she doesn’t because she didn’t raise him!

Laertes: lord Zeus, if I may. I don’t want to lose our son again after just learning that he is in fact alive, but I don’t want him taken away from the woman who’s raised him either. Isn’t there some kinda of compromise we can come to?

Odysseus: how about we forget this whole thing and I stay with my mom and brother?

Hera: the boy needs to learn how to be king Athena.

Athena: I can teach him that. Besides he has 7 more years before he can even become king!

Artemis: than just do that. Both boy stay with Athena till their 18, and in that time she will teach them how to be kings.

Laertes: or at the very least until they need to become kings

Artemis: what he said.

Hera: I suppose that could work. Athena? Could you comply with this?

Athena: *sighs* if I must.

Odysseus: what!? Mama I don’t want to leave you!

Diomedes: me either!

Aphrodite: you won’t be leaving her immediately, just when you become adults. By then you’ll be sick of her and want to leave anyway

Athena: hey!

Odysseus: *clings to her leg* never!

Diomedes: *clings as well* yeah! We’re never leaving mother!

Zeus: you both will when it is time for you to become kings. End of discussion.

Anticlea: wait, does this mean I still won’t get to see my son for another 7 years?

Zeus: well—

Athena: that’s exactly what that means

Hera: Athena!

Athena: I’m not going to make Odysseus go somewhere he doesn’t want to!

Zeus:..*sighs* if the boy wants to visit his birth than he shall, but he cannot be forced.

Athena: *mumbles* thank the gods.

Odysseus: *buried his face Athena’s side* yay

Diomedes: *does the same*

Athena: *holds them close*

Hera: now I believe there’s still the matter of an apology that you owe Anticlea for slapping her.

Athena: *rolls her eyes* I’m sorry I hit you, after you called me a bitch in my own home😑

Zeus: just go

Athena: *takes her kids hands and leaves*

[thrifted-flannel]

stuilly oneshot

basic summary: the “close friends” watch Carrie and Billy borrows a sweater, with a bonus of some HEAVILY implied autistic Billy Loomis

disclaimer: im not that experienced of a fanfic writer, so expect some mistakes. also the majority of it is just Billy thinking about Stu, in other words useless gay pinning. sorry if that’s not your thing

————

it was sometime early September and it was cold out. A strange thing for California, possibly a crime, Billy Loomis in particular was upset about this. he didn’t own any long sleeved shirts or anything like that, the thought of it tightly wrapped around his arm, suffocating him, was enough to make him want to murder someone. so he didn’t own anything that would make him feel that way. the disgusting sense of being confined and trapped in his own clothes. it was in juxtaposition to his best friend, who wore sweaters all the time. even in the summer months like some sort of depraved maniac.

“Billy! Billy! Billy!!” a voice shook him from his thoughts, Stu Machers voice. against Billy’s better judgement he decided to spend the afternoon with him. just a few hours. 3:30 to 5:30 so he could be back home before his dad was, but then Stu started talking. Well at that point there was no stopping him, then Stu had Carrie on VHS, one of Billy’s favourite movies. so he stayed a bit longer.

he started to think. about whatever really, but that mostly consisted of Stu. he hadn’t realized how long he’d actually just been sitting there, in silence. doing and saying nothing, that is until his idiot of a friend started to laugh, “you haven’t talked in a damn bit. thought you got possessed and died or something like that.” it was a terrible joke and made no sense, but Billy couldn’t help but find it endearing. “like a Stephen King novel.” Billy said, his tone detached, displaying no real emotion. So how was it that Stu knew how he was feeling? “exactly man!” he nudged Billy’s shoulder playfully with a breathy laugh, a sound almost akin to one a hyena would make. He always had a stupid laugh. Billy shifted around slightly, his legs had started to go numb and he felt pins and needles, the sheets and duvet of Stu’s bed moving slightly with him. of course the rich bastard had a TV in his bedroom. he redirected his focus to the film, the iconic pigs blood scene, it was the only part of the movie that Stu ever really liked. he had a thing for anything guts and gore, he wasn’t to big on an actual plot, something that drove their other friend Randy to insanity. It always amused Billy how strongly he would react to Stu’s preference in horror, claiming it made “a mockery of the genre” and “it’s not even real cinema!”. it gave Billy an excuse to talk about the subtle nuances in the film, the behind the scenes facts, casting choices, and anything else he could think of without Randy saying how he already knew that, or Sidney just not wanting to talk about “that sort of thing” at all. confusing how his own girlfriend didn’t always grasp how important this was to Billy, but where she failed Stu fucking excelled. it always made Billy happy how his counterpart would just listen to whatever he wanted to talk about. he’d engage in the conversation in all the right ways, he’d ask the right follow up questions and make the right connections, even though he was a dumbass who would constantly make a fool of himself, his social skills were almost impressive. they were far better than Billy’s, but that ain’t saying much. he was aloof by nature.

Billy looked over his shoulder to Stu’s alarm clock. 7:56. maybe he should get going. Billy leaned over to his friend, who was still engrossed in the movie, “im gonna get going now. it’s late out.” he said, lightly hitting Stu on his shoulder to grab his attention “hm? whaaatt? you can’t stay the night?” Stu groaned, it was funny how much his friend hated when he would leave, in a pathetic kind of sense. “yeah no. i have to get going.” he swung his legs over the edge of Stu’s bed before standing up, almost like he was preparing himself. Stu on the other hand let his head fall onto his pillow as he pouted. “why can’t you just stay here? it’s cold out anyway.” shit. it was cold out, Billy in a moment of just thinking about Stu and his company, forgot to plan ahead and bring something to keep him warm. He ran his hand over his shoulder, it was what? a half hour walk between their houses? Stu frowned slightly, picking himself up a bit and leaning forward on his elbows. “what’s wrong?”

Billy looked back at him with an almost dumbfounded expression, “nothings wrong i just don’t have a jacket to wear.” Stu sprung to life, literally out of nowhere, and ran up towards his dresser where his TV sat. he started to rummage through it, throwing the occasional item over his shoulder until he presented his friend with a blue flannel. “wear this.” he stated bluntly, it wasn’t even a question. not, “here Billy, you can wear this if you want.” but instead it was more of a fact. like something Billy wasn’t able to reject or fight against. “blue isn’t my colour anyway. more your thing i think.” Stu firmly placed the flannel in Billy’s hands, urging him to try it on. “hm. yeah okay you fucking queer” Billy snorted. he always found it funny how much Stu cared about his appearance, like some sort of pansy. But still, he tried on the shirt. it was nice too, warm and a little soft. loose as well, it didn’t make Billy feel like clawing his skin off from any form of restriction. it was really nice. Stu smiled warmly at his friend, which wasn’t uncommon for him to be smiling, this one seemed a bit different though. like he was happy for a reason outside of having a good day. he looked dumb. like an idiot, but fuck he was probably Billy’s favourite idiot.

————

hope you enjoyed that. might not be the best best but it was really fun to make! i love my domestic serial killers

[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.”

[yougavememyopia]

Continuation of this. A bit suggestive at the end.

Loser yandere was on his knees, begging for forgiveness. He got ahead of himself. Sucking your fingers like a perverted freak. He looked up at you with glassy eyes, pouting just slightly. He didn't mind your pity. In fact, he wanted it. The worst he made himself look, the more you let things pass.

You sighed, ultimately having no choice but to forgive him. He looked so sad, so lonely. Like a stray puppy begging for attention. Why wouldn't you spare his feelings? He had no real friends. It made sense that he didn't know how to act properly.

Except he did. He was just manipulating you, saying the right things to make you cave and hang out with him. He would speak with a certain depressed tone that would melt your heart, and when you agreed, he would become extremely happy. Cheering and overreacting. A great excuse to excitedly hug you. Throw his arms around your shoulders and get lost in your scent.

He was strangely smart. Using both negative and positive reinforcement. Getting you to say yes to avoid making him sad, and making you feel content by his contagious smile. All part of his plan that'll eventually end with you two happily engaged.

Even if that strategy didn't work, he'd just whine and beg. He knew you couldn't take it. You would glare at him, and he'd feel a strange sensation through his body. Sometimes, he wondered how being hit by you would feel like. Or maybe with your hand wrapped around his throat.

Given how much he bothered you, it was a miracle you were still friends with him. It wasn't all that bad. You somehow had fun hanging around with him, laughing at his silly jokes. He'd take you to so many places. Always making sure you were enjoying your time so you'd come back for more!

When you weren't in public, he'd get clingy. It was obvious he was touch-starved and a big attention seeker. He wanted to have you touch him, get close to him, and pay attention to him. Only him.

"I can't get this stupid button undone... Can you help me take this shirt off? Come onnn, it's way too hot in this room..."

"Look how good I smell. Come on, sniff my neck. It's a new thing I bought. It smells like your favorite!"

"I'm so hungry, and my hands are all tired. Ughh.. Can you feed me a snack? I'll open my mouth wide for you. Aaah~"

He'd still bug you about the kiss. Not ever talking about the incident afterwards. Those few months of reinforcement should've made you softer to him. He should've been able to get you to agree. But you stayed determined to deny him.

"I want a kiss already... Why can't you, my bestest friend, show me how it feels~? All of these movies have one. I'm being reminded of how much of a loser I am every single day." He grumpily said to himself as you both watched a weird horror movie. The scared couple on the screen made out to relieve their stress... or something. It was a strange movie he (purposely) picked.

"Can't you fucking understand?! It'll change this whole relationship. I told you that a million times." You crossed your arms, darting your gaze from the movie to him.

He sighed. You sighed. Then you exchanged a look. "Alright. Fine. You're not gonna stop asking, are you? Just promise me you won't act all awkward after it."

He lit up, nodding eagerly. "Really?! Oh, wow! Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You're the best! Seriously. A life saver~"

"Shut it." You groaned, watching the last bits of the movie with the characters escaping.

"Yes, ma'am. You got it." He climbed on your lap. That made you stiff a bit, looking at him with a confused look. He set his legs on your sides, his arms wrapping around your neck. "How is this gonna work? Can you please do it very slowly?"

"Eh...? Okay. Whenever you're ready." You wrapped your arm around his waist, not knowing what else to do with them. He hummed happily. His face came closer to you, and somehow, you felt nervous. You shrugged it off, letting him kiss you at his own pace.

"Here I go..." he whispered, his nose rubbing against yours.

He pressed a small peck on your lips as if to test out how it feels. Before you could correct him, he kissed you again. This time longer and harder. You squeaked at the suddenness, forced to lean back against the couch as he began to lick your lips, asking for entry.

You reluctantly opened your mouth, and he wasted no time. Pushing his tongue inside your mouth. Lapping at anything he could find. Your tongue brushed against each other, eliciting a moan from him. His hand held the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. Shifting a bit on your lap, whimpering against your lips.

He kept licking your tongue, sucking on it. He moaned again when you finally returned the kiss. His movements were clumsy, making it easier for you to take control. After a minute, he pulled away, panting as he buried his face into your neck. He seemed embarrassed, and so you hugged his waist tighter.

He moaned against your neck. "Ah.. that felt so nice. Mmh, shit..."

"Yeah... you got a little ahead of yourself, y'know. It was supposed to be a simple kiss. I never said tongue was allowed." You pointed out. Rolling your eyes, because you knew he didn't care.

"You never said it wasn't." He sat up to look you, tilting his head innocently. "I would've listened to you if you said it."

"No, you wouldn't have." You mumbled.

"You also didn't say I can't go for another one~!" He leaned in again and captured your lips in another kiss. You protested, hands gripping his shoulders now to push him away. He whined, sucking your lips as if that would change your mind. "But, please, just one more. I still haven't learned the proper technique yet."

You were beginning to understand that he had a different reason for overstepping boundaries. The way he kissed you, the way he tried to savor your taste, the way his pressed his body against yourself. It was like he was trying to devour you. Trying to be one with you.

He moaned loudly when he pulled away. His body was shaking a bit, his eyes dilating. Something pressed against your stomach. You didn't need to look down to see what it was. "Um... Oops?"

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet - Self-Aware!Zayne

You fell asleep to the sound of Zaynes rapid typing as usual. Don’t worry though he’ll see you in the morning. pt. 1 here

Self-Aware!Zayne who is so in love with you that he can tell you’re getting sleepy just by the way you’re breathing changes. “If you’re tired you can rest I'll be here” “I’m not asleep” “You will be soon I'll see you in the morning just get some rest” You smiled at the thought of actually waking up next to him “Can you imagine” a deep yawn escaped you “actually waking up next to me?” Self-Aware!Zayne who knew you’d already drifted off to sleep when he said “I won’t have to imagine soon” he finished out his paper work while listening to your soft snores which were like music to his ears

That night you dreamt of snow covered fields stretching far into the distance. You looked down to see yourself in just the t-shirt you went to bed in “Am I lucid dreaming?” suddenly the wind picked up and snow began to whip past your face burning your cheeks and bare legs with the stinging cold as it went by. “It's …. so … cold” you thought to yourself as you looked around trying to see anything in the distance. If you’re dreaming why did this feel so real?

Just then you saw it, a small house off in the distance. You had no choice you were going to freeze to death if you stayed out here any longer. You started running towards the house, but no matter how many steps you took it was as if you weren’t moving from the spot you were standing in.

Your feet were swept from underneath you as you fell face first into the icy snow. You tried to stand, but the snow seemed to hold onto you. You yanked at the phantom hands holding you down. Panic soon set in as your fighting attempts were seemingly in vain “HELP! PLEASE! ANYONE!” the snow muffled your final scream as your entire body was covered in heaps of snow.

You awoke with a sharp gasp and your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest. Once your heart rate finally went back to normal you looked around and noticed this …… wasn’t your room. You’re so disoriented after that dream that you really hope this isn’t one of those dreams where you woke up in another dream. “Fuck where’s my phone?”

“It’s back in your world” You froze mid search as fear set-in at the mere fact you weren’t alone. You slowly turned your head in the direction of the very familiar voice. It was him. Zayne stood in the doorway holding a mug in his hand. You stared at him wide eyed and confused “Im dreaming I have to be dreaming” You slapped the absolute shit out of yourself and fell back on the bed screaming in pain and you realized you were in fact awake.

“Are you okay?” Zayne rushed to you grabbing your face to inspect your self-inflicted wound “Why on earth would you do that?”

“HOW ARE YOU HERE!?” You screamed in his face. Oh hell you’re starting to hyperventilate “This isn’t real this isn't real I was….in my room how could I…..” Your voice trailed off as you passed out in Zayne’s arms. He stared down at you with a smile on his face. “I told you I would see you in the morning” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and held you until you woke up.

Hours later….

Once Zayne got you to calm down enough to sit and have a conversation he explained how you are indeed in his world now.

Y/N: So you mean to tell me by you speaking to me we made all of this real?!

You waved your hand around to emphasize the fact that you are currently sitting in the living room of a fucking game. Everything looks so real it almost felt like you really were in another world and not just a developed game.

Zayne: I'm not sure exactly how it works but yes together we both made my world as real as yours Y/N: I can’t stay here forever Zayne I have a life back in my world my friends and family will be worried sick Zayne: You can come and go here whenever you please Y/N: How exactly am I supposed to do that? Zayne: With my evol … I can transport you to and from your world that’s how I got you here Y/N: In that frozen deserted waste-land!? I thought I died! Zayne: Im sorry my love but that’s the only way it works until we can figure out something else

You froze at hearing him call you his love. Your heart was racing just from those two simple words. You tried to speak, but no words were coming out. Zayne seemed to notice that he had you speechless and he took this moment to pull you closer and hook a finger under your chin. “Don’t hate me I’ve been waiting so long to do this” He pressed the softest lingering kiss on your lips and you couldn’t help the way you melted into him. “You feel so real” You whispered against his lips.

“I am real” You stared deep into those endless green eyes. You dreamed of looking into these eyes and here you were. You caressed his cheek then gently pushed him back by his chest. You needed some kind of distance so you could process what was going on. "We're not done talking"

"I figured you would have more questions" He said as he draped an arm over the couch behind you. "Ask me anything"

[neostellarjpg]

inner mono-dialogue

the more time i spend being davepeta with you the more i realize almost every single problem in my life was caused by my obsession with being this unfeeling cool dude

but youre cool already

like in the way that actually matters

youre chill and friendly and just nice and thats all there is to it

youre shamelessly yourself even if everybody around you is a jackass and gives you shit for it

youre similar to jade and john in that way

i really envied that about them

but its different actually being at the control panel and feeling where that earnesty comes from

it makes me wanna match your energy and keep that pawsitivity ball rolling even if it ends up being weird or cringe or whatever

fuck man do you know how exhausting it is building yourself social hoops to leap through all the time and when you trip up even once its suddenly the end of the world

what kinda dumbass does that its like dealing with life in hard mode for no reward

fuck that noise

i like your way better

Nepeta's heart burns and shines inside you.

:33 < thank you :))

:33 < but you know

:33 < i dont think doing things your way is unrewarding

:33 < its like

:33 < a shield!

Dave scrunches up with discomfort.

X33 < i dont mean that in an insulting way!

:33 < the fact is that shields are just purractical sometimes

:33 < it doesnt make you cowardly to hide behind one

:33 < in the same way that it isnt cowardly for a predator to hide in the bushes when stalking prey

:33 < its just a way to make sure you dont get hurt!

:33 < purrsonally i found shields too cumbersome

X33 < im a hunter after all!

:33 < and i guess maybe the same goes for my personality

:33 < its not really that im purrticularly brave for being myself

:33 < i just didnt have a say in the matter in the furst place!

:33 < honestly if i had a choice i would have loved to be more like you dave

:33 < you can befriend people almost effortlessly

:33 < and its beclaws youre also just a nice person

Dave recoils in surprise, but Nepeta passionately pushes forward.

:33 < fur real! i f33l it inside you! theres a really strong sense of empathy there

:33 < its just like mine! just smarter, and a bit more analytical

:33 < whenever we encounter someone mew, its like i f33l you lock onto them, and you gather so many insights into their purrsonality without even trying

:33 < and you can use that to bond with others without giving every part of you away

:33 < which unfortunately

:(( < i never really knew how to do

Nepeta sours with unpleasant feelings. Your brows scrunch together with both pain and sympathy.

Nepeta has a big and complex heart. She tried her best to keep it from spilling over, but it always did in the end. And it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing when your friends dismissed your hobbies or focused in on your strange quirks. It was embarrassing when they revealed they knew about your crush on Karkat that you'd worked so hard to hide. And it hurt whenever he would say mean things about you. He and anyone else.

But you always puffed out your chest and sucked it up. You stuck to your guns no matter what. Because it was fun! The things you liked, the people you liked, were fun, and they made you feel good. Why couldn't anyone else see that? And why did it seem like they never gave a single thought to who you were?

You curl in on yourself. Your chest hurts. You suddenly really miss Equius.

And you miss Rose. You miss Jade. You miss John and Karkat and Aradia and Tavros and Terezi and all the others. You miss all the people you can go outside and see whenever you wish, and you miss all the people that you have no hope of ever seeing again. You feel the choral echo of all the times you've ever felt this need for comfort, this thrumming pain searing hot inside you, like hunger wracking your stomach.

You clench your teeth. You remember being on your bed, curled in blankets, not having eaten a proper meal in days. You remember holding your stomach and sneaking to the kitchen, turning your shoulder at every step to look fearfully behind you, only for your fingers to falter hopelessly on the handle of the refrigerator, knowing there was nothing for you inside.

You shake with anger. You know that feeling. The feeling of being chased by something much bigger than you, a hulking silhouette of menacing strength following your scent through the thicket. You'd clutched a beast carcass to your chest, barely breathing as you stalked clumsily through the trees, performance wavering from exhaustion and hunger.

You'd almost died. You'd almost died often. And then after escaping death so many times, it one day claimed you. Casually. Unflinchingly. And the world beat on without you, leaving you stunned by your own insignificance. You'd looked out onto every preceding moment of your life, wondering if there was anything to truly be proud of in the face of your friends accomplishing all these fantastical things. You'd felt lonely before, but after that, you were truly walled off from every single person you knew.

And now, despite everything, you're alive again. Twofold, together with someone.

A warmth coats the ache inside your body. The two parts of you swirl together, feeling and tasting each other, trying to understand themselves.

It feels like a hug.

[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.

[yunjardi]

STRICTLY BUSINESS [18+]

[JAKE SIM DRABBLE]

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/pairing: boss!jake x fem!assistant/

/content warnings: smut [18+ mdni], semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral [m receiving], dirty talk, spanking, making out/kissing, nail marks, pls lmk if i missed anything!!!/

/wc: 1,296

/author's note: i know i said this would be more of a drabble, but i got a little carried away lol. i'm super glad to be back after over a year <3 thank you to those who have been here and also those who are just stopping by :) ily <3

p.s. this is not proofread at all oops

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you found yourself wondering how you managed to get yourself into this position.

that said 'position' being on your knees between jake's legs as he sat back in his office chair.

you didn't think that this was something that actually happened in real life, fucking your boss that is. it seemed so unreal until a few short months ago when you were hired to be jake's personal assistant- something that would ultimately lead to you keeping a dirty little secret.

jake is smooth talker, so you assumed that he spoke in a flirty manner to everyone. that was until the two of you began building a closer relationship which was natural due to the nature of your job, but you didn't think that it would go this far, you didn't think that you two would end up being this close.

flirting turned into dates (that jake referred to as simply 'treating my assistant for being so great at her job'), dates turned into late nights together, late nights together turned into sleepovers, and those sleepovers soon became a regular occurrence. i mean, waking up and already being by your boss's side first thing in the morning makes your job a whole lot easier, right?

right.

whatever way you tried to dance around it doesn't (and won't) change the fact that you are, indeed, banging your boss.

"just like that," jake breathed out as you let his tip hit the back of your throat, "such a good girl."

a constant string of praises, moans, and curses fell from jake's pretty lips as you mercilessly teased him with your tongue, unable to stop yourself from getting wet in the process.

jake smirked and raised an eyebrow as he noticed one of your hands gently slipping into your panties. he watched as you pleased yourself whilst simultaneously pleasing him which was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

"is my princess getting riled up?" jake cooed as he looked down at you, being sure to focus on the way you touched yourself. you couldn't help but look away as your face began to heat up at the sudden confrontation, but jake was quick to tilt your head up so that you had no choice but to look him in his pretty eyes.

"so cute," jake chuckled sexily as he brushed your hair away from your face, "now, be a good girl and sit on my desk, yeah?" naturally, you followed his orders (mostly out of habit at this point) and sat yourself up on his desk, ready to fulfill his every request.

he looked gorgeous standing before you, his hair slightly messy from having run his hands through it and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. it was impossible for anyone in their right mind to not be attracted to him in some way, shape, or form.

jake gently leaned in, giving you a tender kiss on the lips before moving down to you neck. his hands wandered from your lower back down to your thighs as he continued to kiss all over you, causing your breath to hitch. he made sure to hike up your already short skirt as the gap between your bodies became slimmer and slimmer.

you instinctively brought your hands up to further unbutton his shirt, wanting to see the entirety of his toned body. jake followed suit, beginning to slide the thin strap of your top down your shoulder before fully discarding your shirt somewhere in his office, leaving you in the lacy bra jake had gotten you as a gift for 'being such a great assistant.'

it drove him crazy to see you wearing the pretty bra he bought just for you, and it made him crave you even more desperately.

he couldn't resist you any longer.

he pulled you into a passionate kiss before teasing your entrance with his tip, causing a little gasp to get caught in your throat at the sudden rush. once again, he tilted your face upward, making sure to meet your gaze before slowly inching his throbbing tip into you. you gripped tightly onto his forearm as his cock went deeper and deeper inside you, your walls squeezing every inch of his length.

"jake-" you moaned out as you loosened your grip on his forearms, your hands now holding onto his as he slowly began to move his hips. your eyes rolled back as you let a string of moans leave your lips, his thick tip hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his strokes.

"your cunt is so tiny and small, yet you take me so well," jake smirked as he brought one of his hands down to your clit, beginning to gently rub circles around it as you struggled to keep your legs apart.

your moans became increasingly desperate as jake began to pick up his pace, his hands now gripping at your thighs as he pounded your sweet spot. you could only manage to let out little whines and begs for him to not stop as you felt yourself leaning closer and closer to your climax.

jake promptly picked you up from his desk and sat you down on his lap, guiding his length back inside you as to not waste any precious time that he could be spending fucking you.

the two of you moaned in sync as you sunk back down onto his cock, his tip immediately poking at your spot once again.

after he fully bottomed out, you wasted no time grinding your hips against his, still desperate to reach your high.

jake let his head fall back in pleasure as he left harsh spanks on your ass and thighs. "my good girl," jake moaned deeply into your ear as he left kisses on your neck, "you're all mine, yeah?" you barely managed to nod your head through the extreme pleasure. "mhm, all yours," you moaned breathlessly as he fucked his cock into you from underneath you.

a familiar burning sensation bubbled in your core as jake took control again, being rougher with you than he was before. all you could do was moan uncontrollably about how good he felt being this deep inside you.

"feels good, yeah?" jake teased as you snaked your hands around his shoulders, leaving your nail marks on his skin, "you haven't managed to let go of me since i put my dick inside you." he chuckled as he let caressed all over your body. you pouted at his teasing, but that only prompted him to grab your face and kiss you before pounding into your pussy again.

you could barely warn jake before you inevitably came all over his hard cock. all you could do was let out pathetic moans and hold onto him as you reached your high which jake found oh-so cute.

"you did so good for me, princess," jake praised you as he gently rubbed your clit, his cock still buried deep inside you, "i won't last much longer either." he sighed breathily, flashing his pretty smile before giving you a few more strokes. soon enough, jake finished alongside you, his deep groans penetrating your ears as he let his seed leak into you.

the two of you sat catching your breaths for a bit before jake helped you get cleaned up. you ruffled his hair as he turned to hand you his suit jacket. jake draped his suit jacket across your shoulders, adoring the way you looked wearing his clothes before the two of you exited his office.

a co-worker of jake's stopped to say hello and commented on how lively he seemed today.

jake couldn't stop the cheeky grin from forming on his face.

"well, what can i say? i've got a really great assistant to keep me company."

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a/n: thankyouthankyouthankyou for reading <3 i've truly missed writing and you all so much ! i'll be back with another one soon my loves <3

main taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @leeis @jaeyunologyy @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @leeheeheeseung (send an ask to be added + if you have asked to be on my permanent taglist and don't see your username, pls message me bc i removed blogs that were unable to be tagged!)

©yunjardi on tumblr

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

The Emperor’s Angel

Emperor Geta x General Acacius’ Daughter!Reader

warnings: I don’t know jack shit about the Roman Empire, so we’re just going to pretend that I do 💀 Let’s pretend for the sake of this fic that all the children in Rome are on a lovely little field trip for the day 💀 18+ only! Minors DNI! This fic isn’t for you! possessive!Emperor Geta, Geta uses a pet name (Angel) for Reader instead of her real name, death threats, unprotected p in v smut, rough sex, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, creampie, profanity, etc

summary: After your father’s attempt to hand you off to a gladiator to marry just to get out of fighting him to the death, your true lover, Emperor Geta, decides it’s best to show your father and all of Rome who your heart and body truly belongs to. Him.

Anxiety and rage coursed through your veins as you slipped away from the rowdy Colosseum to escape the ordeal that your father, the General of the Roman army, had gotten you into.

He was challenged by Lucius, son of Lucilla, to fight him in the Colosseum to the death, but instead of agreeing and battling him like a real warrior, he offered you up instead. Not to fight in his place, no, but to give you up to marry Lucius as some sort of bullshit peace offering, and much to your dismay, Lucius agreed to the offer.

There was only one problem with that, you belonged to Emperor Geta.

You and the Emperor had been seeing each other behind your father’s back for several months now, quite close to nearing the one year mark, and with how possessive he was of you, you just knew there was no way in Hell he was letting you go to Lucius of all people.

You had seen the rage in your lover’s gaze when he stared at your father in disbelief, Emperor Geta shocked that your father cared more about his own life rather than his precious daughter. Emperor Caracalla had glanced over at you with a weary look in his eyes, knowing this wasn’t going to end well for both Lucius and your dad considering his brother’s short temper and sadistic tendencies.

That’s when you had fled from the Colosseum and headed towards your chambers in the palace, not wanting to stick around and witness what events would unfold after Lucius agreed to marry you, nor wanting to face your father after he handed you over to someone you despised. There was absolutely no way you were marrying that man, especially since your heart wholeheartedly belonged to Emperor Geta in all his sadistic glory.

Little did you know, he was in hot pursuit of you after screaming in your father’s face that you belonged to him and that no one was to take his precious angel away from him. He demanded your father accept Lucius’ original challenge or he would have him put to death either way.

You barely made it to your chambers before a firm grasp on your upper arm was spinning you around in a flash. Your gaze met the fuming orbs of your lover, his pupils completely overtaken by the rage he felt towards your father and his inconsiderate act of defiance.

“And where do you think you’re running off to, Angel? You’re going to miss such an entertaining battle between your disgrace of a father and that useless peasant Lucius.” His grin was sickening and you’d be fibbing if you denied the fact that it had your cunt flooding with arousal.

“I couldn’t stand to look at my father any longer after he pulled that stunt.” You scoffed, your hands resting on the breastplate of Geta’s gold plated armor. “Who the fuck does he think he is? What makes him think I would want to marry Lucius of all people? If only he knew my heart belongs to you, my perfect Emperor.”

“Oh he does now, my love. Everyone does. I had no choice but to reveal our long kept secret because there was absolutely no way I was giving you away to that peasant. You’re mine, Angel, and no one will ever take you away from me.” Geta’s arms wrapped firmly around your waist now, pressing your hips flush against him as he gazed down at you.

“I’m yours, Geta.” You promised, bringing one of your hands up from where it rested on his chest plate and reaching to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing along his cheekbone before you were leaning up to kiss him deeply.

Geta immediately kissed you harder, more possessively, one arm wrapping tighter around you while his other hand moved to grasp at your ass through your royal robe and gown. “How about we show all of Rome who the fuck you belong to.” He rasped into the space between your mouths, pulling a low moan from your throat as he gave your ass a squeeze. “We’ll force your father to watch as I desecrate his poor daughter’s precious little cunt.”

You whimpered at that, knowing that meant Geta was going to ruthlessly fuck you with zero remorse. Not that you minded, you absolutely loved it when he fucked you as though you were nothing but a fuck toy. You knew that he loved you and cared about you, you were truly the only other thing in this world aside from power that meant anything to him, sometimes he just couldn’t help but to take his sadistic tendencies out on you. It’s a good thing you were able to handle it.

“Please,” you whispered against his lips, your tongue tracing along his bottom one. “I want them all to see that I’m yours and yours alone.”

“That’s my good Angel.” Geta gave your ass a smack before he was lifting you up to carry you into his own chambers, making sure the doors were secured before making his way onto his balcony where he set you back down. The balcony overlooked the entire Colosseum, so it was the perfect place to fuck you for all to see without anyone getting a glimpse of your goods. They were for his eyes only. “Take off your fucking garments.”

You moaned at his demand, immediately removing every single article of clothing that adorned your breathtaking body and tossing them to the ground without a care of whether they got dirty or not. Geta removed his white and gold embellished robe before laying it across the edge of the balcony rail, wanting to make sure you had some sort of padding while he bent you over it to fuck you.

Next to go was his gold-plated armor, carelessly tossing it atop your pile of clothes before he was working at freeing his aching cock from beneath his tunic. “Bend over the railing, Angel.” He commanded, giving his thick veiny cock a few strokes while he positioned himself behind where you obediently bent over for him, his cock twitching in his grasp over the fact that you were completely bare naked compared to him.

“EYES UP HERE, ROME!” Geta bellowed out towards the Colosseum crowd, all eyes suddenly shifting towards where the two of you were present on his expansive balcony. “YOU’RE ALL TO WATCH AS I CLAIM MY FUTURE BRIDE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU! ANYONE WHO DOESN’T FOLLOW THAT ORDER WILL BE PUT TO DEATH BY MY ROYAL GUARDS!”

Your father’s blood was boiling seeing you in such a vulnerable position, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it because Geta wouldn’t hesitate to have him killed. He thought that maybe Geta forced you to be with him and put into this situation, but little did your father know, you wanted this and were in on the whole thing.

“Hold tight, Angel.” Geta murmured in your ear, waiting until your hands were gripping around the stone rail of his balcony before forcing his cock inside you in one hard thrust forward, punching the breath right out of you. “YOU SEE, ROME, THIS WOMAN IS MINE. SHE’S BEEN MINE FOR NEARLY A YEAR AND NO ONE IS GOING TO TAKE HER FROM ME!”

You screamed out as his pace started out with zero remorse just as you anticipated, your head thrown back and eyes rolled towards the back of your skull while you took every harsh nudge of his cock against your sweet spots. Tears sprang from your eyes when he tightly fisted his fingers through your hair and forced your head back so he could gaze upon your features as he fucked you, a twisted grin stretching across his lips.

“OH, IF ONLY YOU COULD SEE HOW BREATHTAKING HER FACE LOOKS WHILE SHE TAKES MY COCK, GENERAL ACACIUS! CAN YOU HEAR HOW SHE SCREAMS FOR ME? ONLY FOR ME?” Geta sneered as his gaze flicked towards your father, staring directly at him while he abused your cunt just the way you liked it. His grip on your hip was bruising while the one in your hair continued pulling tears from your eyes, knowing by your pleasured noises and the occasional clench around his cock that you were enjoying the pain.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moaned lewdly as you gave another clench around him, a guttural moan erupting from Geta’s throat in response.

“Not until I breed you, Angel, until you’re so full of my cum that you’re destined to give me an heir.” Geta rasped into your ear as he continued pounding away inside your soaked cunt, his cock and balls drenched from how much you were dripping for him. He grinned when his mention of breeding you made you clench even tighter around him, his hand releasing your hair so he could clasp it around your throat. “You like the sound of that, huh?”

“Breed me! I’ll give you all the heirs you want! I’ll be your good little Empress!” You squealed as you gazed back at him through heavily lidded eyes, hiking one of your legs up onto the balcony railing so that he had a better angle. You screamed even louder as the new angle had his cock slamming against your cervix with every forward thrust, knowing there was no way you were going to be able to last for much longer. “Breed me! Breed me! Please, my love, breed me!”

“Gods!” Geta roared as he used both hands to get an extra bruising grip on your waist while pounding away inside you, tossing his head back when he felt his knot snap and spilling thick, sticky loads of his cum into your womb.

He didn’t let up on his thrusts, not stopping until he came two more times before finally letting you cum for him, your orgasm so overpowering from how much he’d edged you before his fingers finally gave your touch starved bundle of nerves what they needed, that he had to wrap his arms around you to prevent you from falling when your one knee keeping you upright buckled beneath you.

He held you in his arms after he’d pulled out of you until you finally came down from your high, dropping your leg down from where you had propped it on the railing so you could spin around to grab his face and pull him into a starved kiss, not paying any mind to the thousands of eyes still watching the two of you. “I love you, Geta. You really want to make me your wife?”

“Angel, I wanted to make you my wife the moment I first laid eyes on you. You have no idea how ecstatic I was when I realized you want me just as much as I want you.” His own hands reached to cup your face, his thumbs gentle as they brushed against your cheeks, contrast to how he just fucked you in front of the entirety of Rome. “I love you, my sweet Angel, and I’ll love you until my dying breath.”

You kissed him again, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed yourself against him. “Take me inside your chambers to breed me some more? And leave the balcony doors open so everyone can hear as you fuck their future Empress some more.”

“That’s my girl.” Geta groaned, lifting you up to carry you back inside and lay you down onto his bed where he fucked several more loads of his cum inside you, this time letting you cum right along with him.

All of Rome now knew that General Acacius’ daughter was off limits, which you were quite thankful for because you hated the unwanted attention from other men throughout the Roman Empire. None of them compared to Emperor Geta, you preferred his level of sadist over any other personality trait in the world. He may have been one evil man, but he had a soft spot for you and you only and that itself made being with him worth it.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 🩷

Fic tag list: @jasminelafleur @nailbatanddungeon

[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...