#its RIGHT THERE why is no one tapping into their dynamic. why do I have to do everything myself

[dieselocelot]

are you going to strangle me next?

[arolesbianism]

Yet another beautiful day to have the Maxwel tag blocked (can't see half of the posts in the Wendy tags)

[yanderefarm]

could I perhaps be goofy silly and request skott bullying.........

skott x mean supervisor!male reader

hehehehehehehehehe

ok but the funny part is after you sent this i thought of something and i was like... no thats too far. censoring myself after what id already said.

a lot of the meaner bullying comes at the end. also. whore skott is real he told me

cw; violence, electrocution, nsft, bully reader, power dynamics (you're his supervisor), dub con because of said power dynamics? i guess

your pathetic, stupid, horrible subordinate had just come crawling back to you from aurum alley. again. it was one thing to screw the ipc on the deal to begin with, it was humiliating to have the video of someone under your command barking like a dog spread across the entire star system, it was degrading when your bosses chewed you out for his poor treatment of the xianzhou natives. to do it all again? for no reason? skott should have died to the amateur swordsman. that would have been better.

you watched the video of the man squealing like a pig, your face twisted into a scowl at the disgusting sight. fucking skott. you looked from your screen, the sound of his squealing still playing as you eyed up the man in front of you. skott had his head held low, clearly aware of how much trouble he was in. you tapped your boot against the ground impatiently as his squealing seemed to only get louder. your teeth clenched together as you suppressed all the cruel words that you wanted so badly to spit at him. finally after what felt like an eternity of the squealing, the angry silence, the clenching of teeth, you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down.

"there are a lot of things that I could say to you. there are so many words i could call you. i could fire you right now." you paused the video as you spoke calmly.

"p-please i-" skott started in his way that made you want to grind your teeth again.

"stop. i won't fire you. in fact i think you've earned yourself a little promotion." you gave a small smile as you opened your desk drawer.

"oh- oh! w-well thank you so much sir i-" he was cut off again when you put a heavy collar on your desk in front of him.

"you should be grateful skott, all this time you've been a stupid stray dog running around freely. you need an owner, in fact i think you've been begging for it." you gestured for him to come closer. skott's eyes went to the collar and then you and he swallowed hard.

"this is unprofessional i-i could report you to-"

"oh please. don't act like you don't want this. i see how you eye up my desk, how you examine the width of my office. i know how hungry you are to climb the ranks." you rapt your fingers against your desk, each soft thud against the desk like another rock against a glass door. "you would sell out your girlfriend and now you're not going to play dog with me? just think, skott. you could be a good doggy for a few months and gather all this evidence of my HR violation. maybe they'd reward you with my position. with my office."

each word is like music to the power hungry idiots ears. if he had any brain he might stop and think for a second about why you're so willing to put your job on the line just to get your rocks off. of course dogs aren't smart enough to think. just like you expected skott moved to your side of the desk. before you could even open your mouth to tell him to he got on his knees in front of you. he wanted this so bad, its evident behind his golden eyes. his desire. his need. you reached down and pulled away his stupid glasses exposing his soul to your cruel gaze.

"good boy." you coo at him as you grabbed the collar.

skott didn't reply but his cheeks were red and his eyes closed in anticipation. you wasted no time clasping the black collar around his neck. a soft gasp leaving his lips as it adjusted itself to fit him perfectly, you hummed in approval. one of your hands moved from his neck to his hair and you ran it through the surprisingly soft locks. you sat there petting him for a minute, his head naturally moving to rest on your lap. you could already see the wheels in his head turning around how to bring your downfall. he's kind of cute when he's not talking. maybe instead of just ruining his life you really could train him to be a good obedient doggy.

the best start would be to break his already weak spirit. your fingers stopped in his hair and you pulled on it hard causing his eyes to shoot open as a yelp left his lips. you clicked your tongue at him before shushing him.

"don't be noisy doggy." you cooed as you guided his head from your lap to between your legs. one of your legs rested on his shoulder, the heel of your boot digging into his back.

the expression of embarrassment and disbelief that painted his face was so cute you found it hard not to laugh. he had opened his mouth to try to say something but clearly the words were lost on him as he stumbled over various exasperated sounds. yeah he's cute until he opens his stupid mouth. you pushed his head down onto your bulge, his hung open lips finding place around the outline of your shaft. a whimper left his throat but he didn't complain again, in fact you didn't even need to tell him what to do. his mouth so naturally began to move along your bulge, tongue pressing against your uniform all too eagerly. you couldn't help but wonder how many times had he done this? how often did pretty little skott drop to his knees for a promotion?

"you're such a fuckin slut." you groaned at him, your tight grip on his hair pushing his head down until you could feel his nose press against your belt. "who did you fuck to get here skotty? i might get jealous if i find out you're someone else's dog too."

skott tried to answer but you didn't let him up. instead your free hand began to undo your belt as you made him drag his tongue along your massive length. when his lips met your tip resting against your thigh he sucked greedily on it. it was hard to tell if the spot that formed was your precum or his drool. you moaned as you pulled your belt free and discarded it on the floor.

"slut."

skott didn't even look embarrassed anymore, more dazed and hungry if anything. you let his head go expecting to hear him complain about how inappropriate this was, or maybe defend himself from being called a slut. he didn't. he sat there patiently waiting for you to pull your cock out. fuck it was hot. you undid your pants and pulled down your underwear enough for your cock to spring free. you slapped the tip against his cheek and all too eagerly skott attempted to take it in his mouth. you gripped his hair again and held him still.

"beg, doggy." you ordered before the desperate whore got the taste of your cock.

"i-i.. uh.. pl-" you cut off his pathetic yammering with a harsh tug to his hair.

"doggies don't talk." you reminded him. it was funny the way his dazed, cock hungry eyes refocused into shock and confusion.

he started whimpering. he started whimpering way too easily and way too dog like. he really was some kind of kinky pervert who got off on being treated like a dog wasn't he? did he keep picking fights so that he would be publicly humiliated? what a pervert. his tongue hung from his mouth in between his all too accurate whimpering. you decided to humor him, waiting for his tongue to hang out again before you pressed your tip against it. the moment your cock touched his tongue he took it in his mouth so eagerly, his warm wet mouth closing tight around you as his tongue circled your tip. he knew how to give head. not just knew about it, he was good at giving head.

"jesus you really are such a fu-fuckin whore" you thought you could keep your composure but he was too good at this.

he took your cock back to his throat and he gagged on it a little bit before he relaxed and took your whole length down his throat, his nose pressed against your skin. then he pulled his head back and sucked and licked at your tip again. as he began the process of bobbing his head up and down he let his teeth ever so lightly brush against your skin. it was like a pornstar. he even sounded like a pornstar, the wet sound of your cock pounding into his face, the moaning that accompanied it, and the delightful sound of him always gagging a little bit. he pulled his head up, coming up for air as his hand wrapped around your cock and continued stroking your length as his swollen lips kissed the tip like he was trying to make out with it.

"fu- fuck skott you love cock that much..? you want me to cum all over your face?" you couldn't believe how quickly he had gotten you to the edge. your tip was swollen and red and dripping as skott eagerly licked up every drop.

skott didn't talk, instead he opened his mouth and pressed your tip against it while letting out a cute doggy whimper.

"inside, pretty boy?" you were met with a nod.

you reached down and began stroking your cock against his tongue as he eagerly held it open. he was even panting like a dog. you grunted as your cum finally sprayed across his tongue and into his mouth. you were gonna tell him to swallow after you caught your breath but he didn't need to be told. you watched skott's adams apple bob as he swallowed hard before opening his mouth again to show you it was empty.

"where... where the fuck did you learn that?" you could feel your cock twitch at just the sight of him, how messy and undone his face looked.

"i don't have to tell you about my personal life." oh god there was his smug attitude again. you let go of his hair and grabbed his face instead.

"you want to try that again, mutt?" you asked, regaining your composure.

"this was fun, i won't lie. i can assume "being your dog" will be similar things along with running errands and getting coffee. i'll begin saving samples of your dna starting next time." he was so fucking smug as he straightened his clothes and began looking for his glasses. "please try not to trash my office while you're still here."

you watched him put his stupid glasses back on and get up. you were stunned to say the least, surprised by his nonchalance and annoyed in equal measure. you were about to say something as he headed towards the door when he stopped in the middle of the room and turned back to you.

"oh i almost forgot you can t-" he had reached to remove the collar around his neck when it sent an electric current through his body causing him to scream and collapse on the ground.

you started laughing, his scream brought you to your senses from his stupid haughty attitude. you fixed yourself and buckled your pants, leaving your belt off. instead you grabbed the thick leather material and folded it in half. you got up and walked over to where skott lay twitching on the floor, tears in his eyes. you laughed again as you nudged him with your boot.

"oh you almost had me, doggy. i thought you were actually smart for a minute." you brought your boot heel down on his leg, grinding into him and bringing another scream from his throat. you smacked your belt against your free hand a sadistic smile on your face.

"im gonna teach you what happens to bad dogs"

[marasmadness]

Only Need You For The Oxytocin- Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

CW: season 17 section chief Emily💋, stripper!reader, erm not everything Emily does is very legal but let us all close our eyes for the time being, interrogation, enemies to less than enemies. everybody is very flirty in government buildings where they should not be! handcuffs, smut, rough sex, power dynamics (dom!emily), bondage, thigh riding, light degradation, oral sex (em receiving), choking, semi public sex

Rossi tapped his fingers against the windowsill of an interrogation room, turning to face Emily beside him. “Some of the most psychopathic men have sat in the room and started to squirm after thirty minutes. She’s been sitting in there for two hours, unphased.

“She’s not a man,” Emily mumbled, watching the woman on the other side of the glass with squinted eyes. ”I’m going to talk to her.” Emily perked up, finally growing impatient. Grabbing her jacket off the chair behind her, she slipped it on, knowing that Rossi had already turned down the thermostat in there.

"Prentiss, wait, we already drew up a profile. We won’t get anything out of her. She’ll just try to play with you.”

“Let her,’ she replied, leaving Rossi with a half-open mouth as she dipped inside the interrogation room, shutting the door behind her.

“Oh, you’re a new one.” You smiled at the older woman who had finally walked into the room, alluding to the three other agents who had entered hours ago and quickly left. “Shame, Agent Jareau and I were having a grand old time. You could be fun too,” you commented, eyeing her up and down as she introduced herself.

Emily cleared her throat, choosing to ignore your comments. “I’m SSA Emily Prentiss with the BAU. Do you know why you’re here today?”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “Because your team wanted to have a little chit chat?”

“Bullshit, you’re too smart for this. You know why you’re here.” Ignoring the chair across from you, she opted to sit against the edge of the table. I’ve already talked to just about everyone else in your club and every other one in the city, for that matter, and they all came to one conclusion. If I needed information, you would have it. She explained calmly yet sternly as she swept her arm toward the door.

You sighed as you rested your tilted head on your palms. “You speak like this is an expectation from me, yet your men dragged me in from the parking lot on the way out of my shift and didn’t tell me anything until I was sitting in your interrogation room, like I’m the one running around committing crimes,” you said pointedly. “And don’t think I didn’t realize your old friend out there was lowering the thermostat, thinking it would get me to tell you whatever you wanted; I’m barely wearing any fucking clothes; of course I’d notice when it drops a few degrees.”

A sense of unease flashed across Emily’s face as she felt slightly guilty. She had come in headstrong, and you were right, without knowing how you ended up here in the first place. She was still standing in a room across from you, who was already on edge, so instead of rewinding, she doubled down. “So now what? You’re not going to give us the information we need to stop a serial killer because you’re offended,” she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

You just stared, watching the woman. She wore a gold watch, its face sitting on her inner wrist, which clinked against her belt buckle lightly every time she dropped her hands to her side. Underneath a long red coat that you desperately wished to be under right now, her outfit was sleek and simple: black pants, thin gold jewelry, and a black blouse with newly undone buttons. Your eyes froze on her shirt, your lips pressing into a smile."Really? Two hours of you and your team of profilers brainstorming, and the best you could come up with was that I would spit out all my information if you sent a woman twice my age in to what exactly, seduce me?” Emily looked caught off guard, and you tipped your head toward her chest. “You’re wearing three fewer buttons than when I watched you walk by this room earlier when Luke left, and a fresh coat of lipgloss.”

Emily held up her hand, leaning in closer over the table. "Okay, I get it—not the correct strategy.”

“No, you had my weaknesses spot on; just use them in a bar or a date, not an interrogation room. I’m not that gullible.” You smirked, enjoying watching Emily’s panic level rise, and then her eyes narrowed as a giggle escaped you.

Emily finally took the seat across from you, resting her forehead in her palm. “You’re giving me a headache.”

She heard you shuffle, reaching underneath the table, and eventually looked up when you tossed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in front of her. She suddenly snapped up in attention. Where did you get those?”

You shrugged, picking one up. “I had them on me.”

“They didn’t search you when you came in?”

You shook your head, going to light one until Emily snatched in from between your fingers. “Stand up,” she directed, dragging two fingers upward through the air as she made her way around the table. You heard her mumble something under her breath, unable to distinguish any of it other than something about doing everything herself around here.

Her hands slid delicately down your sides and along the side seams of your clothes. She hesitated at the sensation of her hands brushing against your bare waist. Clearing her throat, she removed her hands. “Moving on, I need the list of Claire Demont’s regulars; I know she handed the list down to you.”

“I don't feel entirely obligated to help you. Claire has done a lot for me. Men have done a lot of shitty stuff to her. I’m not saying murder is ever the answer, but I don’t doubt that there's a reason for her rage. Can I go home now? Last time I checked, I wasn’t guilty of anything.” You stretched back over the metal frame of the chair, waking up your stiff muscles.

“No yet, but we do have a 24-hour hold because my team is under the very strong impression that you have information regarding the case.” Emily began to trail off upon seeing your disinterested demeanor and knew she wouldn’t be getting through to you. “Look, I can’t get you out of here; the best I can offer you is that we talk in my office instead, but I better be leaving with the list of names, no exceptions, got it?”

“Fine,” you got up slowly, demonstrating restraint to hide your eagerness. Before you could breathe deeply about your new slight ounce of freedom, the agent’s hands were enclosed around both your wrists, swiftly moving them behind your back. A short gasp of shock left your lips as you recognized the cold metal rings that clicked around your wrist. “I thought you said I was under arrest,” you muttered, irritated.

Emily’s chin hovered just above your shoulder as she whispered slowly in your ear, “You’re not; that was just for my entertainment.” A soft chuckle escaped her as she pulled away. Looping her fingers around the chain connecting your wrists, she tugged lightly, directing you toward the door.

Emily stepped outside much more composedly than you when you came face-to-face with three security guards outside the room. Emily knew they would be the only ones left in the building; no other agents remained, and they did not alarm her.

You heard a soft noise from over your shoulder, something you couldn’t make out but clearly Emily had. Turning your head, you found a man’s eyes roaming down your skin, almost greedily. Within seconds, Emily had dropped her coat off her shoulders and draped it over your shoulders. Pulling it closed around you, it hung down almost your entire body. Without a comment, her hand naturally fell down by her badge, and she gave a soft nod as she passed by the remaining guards, giving them no reason to question her authority.

Your heart rate sped up the farther you made it down the hallway; its loud beating suddenly became very evident beneath your chest. Peeking a glance over at Emily, she seemed collected and undeterred as she led the way to her office.

Stepping into her office, you immediately opened your mouth to speak. Before you could get a word out, Emily’s hand was over your mouth as you were pressed up against the wall beside her door as she locked it and pulled down the blinds. She eventually dropped her hand, narrowing the space between you slightly with the tilt of her head. “You’re not very good at this, are you?” She smirked before reaching over your waist to undo the cuffs, then looped them back around her belt. “Sit down,” She tossed her hand out across the office as her eyes scanned the rows of shelves lining the back of the room. You took a seat on the edge of her desk, right across from her chair. She pivoted around on her heel, setting a pen and piece of paper next to you. “Names,” she said, tapping the blank sheet with her nail.

You sighed under your breath but picked up the pen anyway, twirling it in between your fingers. Emily slid herself between her chair and your legs, dangling off her desk, before sitting back. ”Just so you know, I never knew all of Claire’s clients. When she left, she only gave me a handful of regulars' names to pass on to me.”

“That’s fine. The more she interacted with them, or the bigger impression she made on them, the more likely these men were to be targets. Do you know if she slept with any of them?”

“No, she never slept with clients, and despite contrary belief, neither did I,” you clarified, narrowing your eyes into a warning glare.

“I never said that,” Emily corrected, her voice remaining low and even throughout every interaction. “Sometimes it's just helpful to know because a man’s sex life can often tell you a lot about him.”

“If that's the information you need, you don’t need a profiler to find that out. You just need a little attention to things other than the physical act of sex.” You flipped the piece of paper in your lap around so the names were facing Emily as your pen rolled down the list. “These three are married and always want to give up control. They crave attention from the dancers but don’t do anything to draw it to themselves. They don’t demand anything; they want you to come to them. And the next handful of names have been single almost their entire lives. Most of them are possessive, and they want to spend the most time with you. They’ll tell you exactly what they want from you. Those men are typically the ones who will pay for a lap dance or two.”

Emily looked up at you, curious and slightly impressed. “You can tell me all that from a few minutes of interaction?” She asked skeptically. Your eyes skipped to the slight movements of her body, her thighs tensing against the tight fabric of her pants, and her ringer fingers closing against her palms as they rested at her side.

“Almost always, it's quite straightforward to discern if a partner is going to be possessive, controlling, desperate, or possessive.” You selected your words carefully, letting them hang in the silence between the two of you almost tauntingly.

Clearing her throat, Emily shook her head softly, causing a strand of silver hair to fall from her shoulder. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Without thinking, you slipped off her desk with languid movements, finding yourself hovering over her with knees on each side of her body. You leaned away from her, back arching, so you were suspended over the air in front of her. Within seconds, Emily’s hands grasped at your hips, pulling you farther into the chair. It wasn’t an act of politeness to keep you from falling; it was lust-filled, her bruising grip not lessening or pulling away like two strangers should. Lifting your fingers, you brushed the collar of her shirt out of the way, pressing two fingers to the warm skin beneath her collar bone. Smirking, you felt her skin pulsing against you rapidly—the telltale sound of her racing heart. Tucking her fallen hair behind her ear, you whispered softly and sweetly. “ Just proved it.”

You lifted yourself off of her, starting to climb back down, before her firm grip pulled you forcefully back onto her lap. Her hands slid up her back, fingers playing with the zipper that held your top together teasingly. “Ah, finish what you started, doll.” She positioned you how she wanted to, her thigh between your legs with your hands draped over her shoulders. Her nails trailed down your legs, leaving light red scratches as she tore through your thin fishnet stockings.

Her lips latched to the side of your neck, sucking bruises of red and bluish hues down to your collarbone. Her sudden tightening grip made you suck in a gasp midway through ridding her of her own shirt. “Ride.” With one hand on your waist and the other clinging to the curve of your ass, she started the rocking motion. She flexed her toned thigh, holding you roughly down on her thigh, so every slight movement initiated by her stimulated your clit through the thin fabric between you.

The fact that your breathing was already breaking into stuttered sharp inhales simply from riding her thigh had your face burning. In an attempt to hide the fact, you buried your face against her shoulder, turning away from her unwavering gaze.

She brought your rocking to a halt, stopping to rest a hand on the base of your neck until you had to pull back upright to breathe deeply enough for the stars in your vision to disappear. “Eyes on me,” she corrected without additional comment before continuing her motions.

Sensing you were close to falling apart for her, she tugged your panties to the side, pressing the pad of her thumb to your clit. “Fuck,’ you trembled against her strong frame. The older woman’s eyes suddenly darted over your shoulder, and she quickly brought her hand from between your legs up to your mouth, pushing two fingers coated in your arousal past your lips.Sensing a noise behind you, your eyes widened in fear, realizing she had given you her fingers to keep you quiet.

There was a knock on the door, and Emily didn’t appear to be as alarmed as she should be, in your opinion. “Get under my desk and stay quiet.” She husked directly in your ear, nudging you down onto your knees in front of her, and she called out. “Come in,”

Anderson entered, swiping his badge to unlock the door. “Hey, Agent Prentiss. I just noticed your light was still on and wanted to make sure everything was okay. It’s getting late.”

“I’m good, Anderson, thanks.” She smiled softly as she thanked him. Her eyes fell coolly to the papers you had scattered across her desk from sitting on it. “I’m just finishing up some case files. I’m a bit behind at the moment.” Emily shuffled forward in her chair in an attempt to hide you if Anderson stepped any closer.

Sensing that he seemed to want to linger for a moment, you reached towards Emily’s zipper, her belt already on the floor beside you from your flurry of undressing earlier. Her hands engulfed your wrists, but after a minute of protesting, she had to lift her hand back up to avoid looking like she was fighting something under the table. The opportunity for payback was being handed to you on a silver platter.

Her voice spiked up an octave as her legs clenched over your ears. Unperturbed, your tongue traced along her slit as she kept up with Anderson’s casual conversation about work and what she did when she wasn’t at the office. Her hands dropped lightly into her lap and beneath the view of her desk, but unbeknownst to the man rambling to her, she had her hands gripping at your hair, tugging harshly as your tongue swirled around her clit. She resisted the urge to look down just briefly to catch a glimpse of her arousal smeared across your mouth, hair mussed from her touch.

You picked up your pace as you heard Ansderson start moving back toward the door, which left Emily’s legs quivering as she climbed toward an orgasm with every lap and flick of your tongue. The second the door was locked behind the security guard, Emily’s hands found the back of your head, nudging your mouth into her cunt. “Fuck, you better let me come on your mouth after that little stunt, sweetheart.”

You grinned up at her from the floor, a mischievous look in your eyes as you delved back into her cunt, wrapping your lips around her clit as she moaned while orgasming on your tongue. She panted as she came back down from her high, slouching back into her chair and spreading her legs. She helped you up off the floor, fixing you up before yourself.

In the middle of it all, you picked up a pink sticky note and pen off her desk, scribbling something down. Emily’s eyes narrowed as you held out the sheet. “What is this? You were supposed to give me all the names already.”

“I did,” you said, rolling your eyes at her assumption. "This is the club address, and when I work, Stop by sometime; you do still owe me an orgasm,” you pointed out with a grin.”

“Mhm,” her eyes widened at your boldness as she held one knuckle to her lip, hiding her soft, sly grin. ”Well, I risked my job because you're a desperate little thing, so I think you owe me about three. I thought you didn’t sleep with clients.”

You shrugged and started heading for the door. “Well, there's a first time for everything, or maybe I’m just making an exception for you,’ you teased," she said, pivoting around to return her coat on her arm that you had forgotten about for a brief second.

She gave you a small head tilt. “Keep it; I’ll see you shortly anyways,’ she suggested, and you just dropped your head slightly, smiling on your way out.

"Have a good night, Agent Prentiss.”

[highvern]

Aphrodite

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: smut, friends to lovers, established relationship, fluff at the beginning

Warnings: bathroom sex, kissing, groping, fingering, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics but they’re both actually switches (Mingyu is a service top), cumshot, Mingyu is still obsessed with titties, hair pulling, choking (hand around throat but no breath play), doggy style, unprotected sex (not endorsed by author), praise kink and strength kink go burrrrrr, there's a little bit of fluff/angst at the beginning (care/comfort) because she had a hard day at work, porn with feelings

Length: ~3k

Note: Drunk Goggles couple's bathroom scene mentioned in Discovery! the first third is so cute i actually had to close my laptop and step away while editing it so please enjoy my brain rot lol. its implied reader is on birth control and Mingyu knows it but still wrap it before you tap it guys. This was drafted as "Champagne Confetti" but i couldn't post it with that title with a straight face

ALSO stream Mamamoo Wheein's new album In the Mood! Aphrodite was a huge inspiration for the sweeter parts of this fic

read more here

The knob of your bathroom cabinet is digging into Mingyu’s shoulder uncomfortably and his ass freezing on the hard tile, but neither register in his mind much. His sole focus is on listening to you vent about how shitty work was as you wash up behind the flimsy curtain only a few feet away.

“Oh and then she had the audacity to say I should have been more prepared for the meeting! As if she didn’t send me the info an hour before!” You babble, head popping out to look at him. 

Mingyu tries and fails to stifle the laughter bubbling at the sight of your shampoo Mohawk.

“What a bitch!”

“Right?!” You move back into the spray and out of sight.

“She’s just mad because you’re better at her job than she is.”

“I wouldn’t be if she actually did her job.” You sigh.

“I’m sorry baby.”

“‘s not your fault Gyu.”

“Do you want me to beat her up?”

“Yeah, because sending my gigantic ass boy toy after her is gonna get her off my back.” You call, closing your eyes as foam rinses from your hair down your skin.

“The correct term is boyfriend.”

“The correct term is baby daddy.”

“You’re fucking nasty.”

“You love me.”

God, I do.

But it’s too early to say those words with the level of earnestness he feels so Mingyu bites his tongue.

Steam and lavender soap tickle his senses as you wash away the evidence of your previous distress. Your manager is number one on Mingyu’s incredibly short shit list.

Mingyu had barely waltzed through the door of your apartment after work, excited to spend the evening cuddled on the couch with a movie like you do every Thursday. He nearly shit himself when he found you sitting at the kitchen counter, tears staining your face and eyes rimmed red. You dove into his chest and cried for an over hour, unable to speak as wretched sobs escaped your throat. He’s never felt so helpless as he sat there, stroking your back as he held you, whispering gentle affirmations into your hair. It was his idea for you to hop in the shower once you calmed down enough to assure him you weren’t injured and “no, no one died.” 

The entire time, Mingyu sat close by listening intently, chiming in occasionally with agreements. He hadn’t follow you into the stall, void of the desire to worsen your mood. Shared showers were not a favorite in this household. Either it ended after two minutes to move to the bed or one of you hopped out, annoyed that the other was hogging the hot water and leaving them in the cold. Mingyu wanted you to relax but the only way he could relax was to make sure you’re actually okay. Which is why he is planted on the ground near the door like a guard dog, keeping an eye on you in case the tears returned; numb butt and sore shoulder be damned.

The squeak of the faucet signals the end of your bathing, echoed by the ruffle of the curtain as you push it aside to exit the tub. He keeps his eyes trained on your face, a smile spreading at the glow radiating from the apples of your cheeks void of the earlier splotchy dullness. You already look a million times better than when he entered your home.

Mingyu is trying very hard to be a supportive boyfriend while you continue to rant; but it’s challenging when the actual woman of his dreams is standing only feet away, completely nude and soaking wet, skin flushed from scrubbing and glistening in the warm glow of the light above the mirror. It takes all his might to ignore the swell of your breast and gentle the sway of your hips, or the curve of your thighs as you stretch for your towel on the rack above the toilet. The movement sends droplets falling in staccato from your hair plastered against your head onto your shoulder before trailing down your front, tracing dizzying patterns across your skin. His very own Aphrodite, exiting the sea to fill his heart.

“I hope she gets fired soon. I know I didn’t look like an idiot in that meeting, it was all her.” 

“No one thinks you’re an idiot.” He looks down at his hands playing with the cuff of his sweatshirt to distract himself from how you start twisting to towel off, body bending and stretching suggestively as you concentrate.

“She definitely does but who cares.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, actually.” You smile, towel wrapped around you snugly as you step away from the tub and towards him. “But I could still really use a hug.”

“I can do that.” 

Mingyu jumps up from his place on the floor, beaming at the soft look on your face as he tangles you in his arms. He plants peck after peck across the crown of your wet hair, nose filling with the scent of your shampoo as he squeezes you against him tightly. The remaining moisture on your body is wicked away by the soft fabric of his sweater, covering him in wet spots along his front and down his arms.

“You’re the best.” You sign into his chest as he leaves a kiss on your hairline.

To distract himself from what he really wants to say, Mingyu blows a wet raspberry against your forehead.

“Nope! Never mind!” You squeal, trying in vain to break out of his strong grip. “Get away from me!”

“But baby you just said I was the best!” He counters, arms tighten to prevent you from wiggling lose.

“No, you’re gross and I hate you!”

“GASP.”

You can only roll your eyes at your boyfriend's dramatics.

“You hate me? I wipe your tears, clean up your snot, order us take out, and you hate me?” Voice rising in pitch, he gapes at you.

“You ordered take out?”

“Focus on me! I’m hurt. Devastated!”

“Oh no, what will I do?” You deadpan, but the twitch of your mouth betrays your amusement.

It’s a dangerous game given you’re still locked in his arms and his penchant for being over the top.

“I’m deeply deeply wounded missy. So there’s only one way I’ll forgive you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Kiss?” He says with puppy dog eyes and puckered lips that makes him look like a fish.

“Oh my god!” You cackle at his ridiculousness.

“Oh, there she goes again! Do you not care about me at all?”

His question is punctuated by him collapsing against you and fake crying. Laughter bubbles in your chest like champagne. Mingyu makes you feel better without even trying.

“Alright, come here you big baby. Let me give you a kiss.”

Matching smiles meet in a sweet kiss. In your relationship, one kiss frequently becomes ten or twenty so there's no shock when you keep planting pecks against his lips before moving to tickle them across his cheek, brow, and tip of his nose. Mingyu is all smiles and giggles under your lips as you move back to his mouth.

The short kisses become heated swiftly. You wipe the smile off his face easily enough, thanking the universe it takes almost nothing to get Mingyu started (not that you’re any better). You’re impressed he didn’t jump you when you stepped out of the shower in all your naked glory. Honestly, you’re a little disappointed he didn’t. But now with your towel unraveling from your tussle, pressed against his solid frame as you nip his lips, you know it’s a matter of seconds before Mingyu crowds against you and makes you feel a lot better.

Like clockwork, a simple hum in the back of your throat paired with your nails trailing down his chest sets Mingyu off. He turns with you still in his hold, lifting you up and depositing you on the cool marble of the countertop, pushing your legs apart to make room for himself. Clumsy hands push your towel away, giving him access to play with your chest. When the nail of his thumb scratches your nipple, you arch against him with a sigh. The shift breaks your lips apart and Mingyu wasted no time diving for your throat.

Apparently tonight is one of the few nights Mingyu wants to be a little more demanding with you. The hand not plucking your chest moves the tangle itself amongst the wet hair at the crown of your skull, giving a firm tug that has your spine arching, stretching your neck with a whine to give more space to bite along your throat. Teeth scratch against the cords of muscle, but his tongue soothes the abused skin immediately after; even when he’s rough, he treats you like a princess. You feel yourself clenching around nothing at the maddening combination of sensations.

“Please, Gyu”

“Please, what?” He asks, not budging an inch from where he latches to your collarbone.

“Touch me.” You whimper.

His mouth replaces the hand pinching your chest, sucking your abused nipple into his blistering mouth. The hand that was on your chest, skates down between your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, letting your foot find purchase on the handle of the cabinet next to you to spread you wide.

He starts slowly, middle finger parting your downy lips to trace from your entrance to your mound. The calloused pad of his finger nothing more than a gossamer touch against your heat, maddening as it teases you. Curling your hips upwards, you give him more space to circle your entrance before he dips his middle and ring finger inside, thumb stretching to caress your swollen clit.

“So wet already.”

“If you had a boyfriend that treats you how you treat me, then you’d understand why.” You pant into his hair.

“Think I understand plenty.” He replies, moving your hand to caress his dick where it sits tented in his shorts.

The bathroom is filled with shameless whines and puffs of breath as you work each other up. You’ve successfully gotten a hand into his underwear, fisting the head of his cock in a tight rhythm just how he likes. The other busies itself scratching down his back as he preps you for what's to come by twisting two fingers inside you, heel of his hand grinding against your clit with every thrust.

“Need you inside.” You whisper into his mouth.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you?”

“Mhmm,” your tone is verging on pathetic but his reaction washes away any embarrassment.

“Then be a good girl and turn around.”

Mingyu steps back, giving you space to quickly jump off the counter to turn your back to him. He busies himself with removing his sweater while you settle on your elbows, ass pushed out in front of him teasingly. It gives him pause, easily distracted by the arch of your spine and the subtle jiggle of flesh as you rock from one foot to another. You watch in the mirror as he blinks lazily, using one hand to push down his pants while the other cups a cheek, squeezing it in his palm. When his shorts are finally pooled around his ankles, he steps closer to let his length rest on your ass.

You can feel his leaking tip brush your tailbone, leaving a faint trace of dampness across your skin as you roll on to the balls of your feet to grind back on him. The rigid velvet of his shaft has arousal dripping down your thighs crudely.

You watch his face with rapt attention in the mirror. He’s hypnotized by how his cock looks pressed snug against your rear, resting hot and heavy in the valley of your cheeks. His throat bobs with a harsh swallow; hands wrapping around your sides, lazily tracing the curve between the bottom of your ribs to your hip bones. Mingyu’s hips move of their own volition, rutting across your ass as his cock continues to drool on your skin.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Come on baby, I had a hard day. Need you to make me feel better.”

Mingyu's eyes find yours in the mirror. You know the pout on your lips will get you everything you want. Mingyu knows it too.

“Condom,” he prompts. 

There’s a stash in the drawer to your left but Mingyu is fully aware he lacks the will power to reach over and grab one when his hands are filled with something so much more enticing right now.

As you shake your head with a mischievous quirk of lips, he’s pretty sure you’re playing a cruel joke on hum.

“Shit,” He curses. “Are you serious?”

“Fuck me, Gyu.”

Palming his cock, Mingyu recites a silent prayer that he doesn’t blow his load immediately. This is the first time he gets to fuck you raw and goddamit if it’s short lived. Tracing his tip through the mess between your legs, he collects your arousal to lube him up. He can feel how soaking you are at the idea of him fucking you without the barrier of latex, inner thighs smeared with your essence. Hopefully you’ll come as quickly as he probably will.

“You’re so dirty, letting me stuff you with my cock like this. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you gasp when he nudges your clit. “Your dirty girl.”

“That’s right, my dirty girl.” He growls as he pushes inside you.

The first inch has you both closing your eyes, vision filled with stars. As nice as he feels bare inside you, it’s the mental is getting you off more than the physical. Every time Mingyu stretches you out on his cock is a treat, but the knowledge that the flared head of his cock pressing deep inside is leaving traces of his seed along your walls has you breathless. You’ve never let anyone else fuck you like this and a part shielded in your chest hopes he’s that last to.

Mingyu is more or less losing his shit behind you. The scorching wet clamp of your silky inner muscles that he’s only felt on his tongue or fingers is better than he could ever imagine. Your pussy gushing to coat his cock as he splits you open has him on the verge of tears. When he’s settled in, your ass pressed firmly to his pelvis, you wiggle against him.

Mingyu responds by pressing forward, pinning your hips to the counter harshly to prevent you from moving again. You’re clenching around him so hard, it takes all of his self control not to cum. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You mewl.

You’re really not helping.

“Calm down.” He grits out, both to himself and you.

“Need it.”

“Oh you need it?” He chides, delivering a bruising thrust.

You reward him with a sharp whine.

“Calm down baby, I'll give it to you. Always do, don't I?”

One hand circles the base of your throat, not squeezing; just resting the curve against his palm as his thumb trails along the side of your neck. It stops your breath anyway. But then Mingyu leans down to press his chest with your back, face coming into view right over your shoulder to whisper in your ear while looking you in the eye through the mirror.

“But you gotta be a good girl and spread it for me.”

You heave at his words, afraid you might pass out. Hands scramble to grab your own ass cheeks, pulling the flesh apart so he has a clear view of your pussy sucking him in as he starts curling his hips inside you.

The way he’s fucking you is vulgar. Hand wrapped around your throat as the other moves back into your hair, your own brushing the tops of his thighs as he cants against your ass, balls slapping against your pussy with each thrust. Mingyu leans back to watch himself disappear into your cunt, pulling you up into an arch. The feel without a condom is melting his brain but the visual absence of latex is doing incredible damage to his psyche too.

You both are a mess of sweet whines and rough groans, bathroom echoing with the clapping of skin and wet squelch of your full pussy. Breaking his focus on the way your entrance stretches to accommodate his thick cock splitting you open, Mingyu looks in the mirror to watch the way your tits bounce in time with his hips; your mouth open in a silent scream, eyes misty with delirium as you watch him watching you.

“Feel so fucking good like this, shit.” He pants. “Hear how wet you are? Fucking love it don’t you?”

Your head falls forward pathetically, only stopped by the palm still resting around your throat. When Mingyu gives a tentative squeeze, you whimper a quiet agreement. He watches as you force a hand between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit in tight circles to push you closer to the edge.

“Gonna come,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Mingyu asks, excitement clear as day. He tilts his hips to fuck deeper, stretching you just a little bit wider on his cock to send you home.

“Fuck!” You sob, tensing as your orgasm washes over you. 

Every muscle in your body ignites, squeezing impossibly tighter as electricity snaps through your nerves, licking your veins and exploding your field of vision in a blinding white. Like a taunt bow string being released, you curl in on your chest as you clench around your boyfriend’s cock, gushing down shaky thighs. Your free hand grips the edge of the sink, holding on for dear life as you twitch in his hold.

“Where do you want it?” Mingyu cries, two seconds behind you and using his last functioning brain cell to not piss you off by assuming he can finish inside despite wanting nothing more. “Gotta tell me where you want, Y/N.”

“On me, wanna feel you on me!” You cry, still playing with your clit as you pry open teary eyes to watch Mingyu from the mirror.

A bright red blush spreads across his chest and up his neck, glistening with beads of sweat and condensation from the steam clogging the air. His bottom lip swollen from where it's locked between clenched teeth, neck straining and biceps bulging from his harsh grip on your body. He has enough sense of reality to slip the hand around your throat into your hair, gathering the strands in a makeshift ponytail to keep it out of the way of the mess he’s about to make.

He pulls out with seconds to spare against a tsunami of pleasure that begins to surge through his body, beginning in his balls and crashing outward to swamp his nerves. It ripples across his skull, raising goosebumps in its wake as it ebbs through his blood stream. Mingyu’s abdomen flexes as he fists his cock still slick with your combined arousal over your ass; thick streaks of his seed rushing forward. You feel a hefty rope land between your shoulder blades, the sticky heat intoxicating as it trickles down your back. A few drops sputter on the dip of your spine and your hand still spreading you wide, decorating you in his own diamonds.

Mingyu can’t help the way he stares at your hole, obsessed with how you clench around nothing like you’re missing something. He wishes he was watching you squeeze around his dick, his cum dripping out of you with each pulse of muscle. Maybe someday he’ll get to.

As your orgasms subside, weariness circles on the edge of your senses. Two sets of eyes flutter shut, chests heaving and hearts beating in time. Unwinding his hand from your hair, Mingyu lets it gently rest next to your hip on the counter, preventing him from collapsing against you and into the sticky residue he’s left. He can’t feel his legs, head empty of coherent thought. Unconsciously, his thumb traces the dimple at the base of your spine, the gentle caress grounding him to his body. 

The quiet of the bathroom is only disturbed by the hum of the overhead fan. You both are spent, muscles weak and nerves fried. Occasionally a deep breath interrupts but it's peaceful as you bask in each other's presence. 

“Oh my god,” you pant, breaking his trance. 

“Hmm?”

“How did you get cum on the mirror?”

[demonicbaby666]

Babe. Please teacher/student Emily and fem reader. I beg of you. Smut galore!!!

Professor P

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut and fluff

Words: 4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fingering and oral (r!receiving), semi-public sex (lecture hall), teacher/student, a little sprinkle of praise, swearing

Summary: Professor Prentiss has been coming to deliver weekly lectures at your university. You’ve mainly kept to the back and been weary of getting in her bad books. When you turn up late to class one day, things take an interesting turn, and you find the dynamics between the two of you drastically change.

A/n: i cannot find the gif I want, so we are going with a new layout. I scavenged everywhere for footage to make one and found fuckall :(

You're late. It's only five minutes, but that doesn't matter. Emily Prentiss does not appreciate tardiness, which is why your pulse is racing and your feet are rapidly slamming against the varnished floor.

When you reach the daunting lecture hall door, the handle mocks you with its screeching, causing you to grit your teeth. Great. Heads turn to the back of the room and watch as you clamber to find a seat, and no matter how hard you try not to look, you can feel Emily's pointed glare burning a hole straight through you.

The hall is relatively big. Sounds transpire effortlessly. It benefits whoever takes the class, their voice seamlessly carrying to the back. It offers no such advantage for the odd student who comes in late because the same principles apply. No matter how hard you try to keep quiet, the silence in the room does nothing to mask the ruffling of papers and pens.

"Thanks for joining us," Emily calls out once you settle, forcing you to meet her eyes.

You know better than to challenge her, so you grimace and mutter your barely audible apology.

"See me after class." she says, and murmurs scatter across the dotted ocean of students, "Let's continue."

It's torture. With each passing minute, your palms grow clammy, your knee shaky, and your breath heavy. Emily's picking on you more than anyone else, and though you know the answers, getting them right doesn't alleviate your nerves. She does offer a smile when you prove your lateness is by no means an accurate reflection of your intelligence. However, it's not a proud, candid smile that does little to calm you, simply because the browns of her eyes are tinted with something hungry and predatory that sends shivers through your body.

Time passes, and you continue to blossom into a colossal mess. Students dart out whilst you gather your things and nervously await your fate. On your way down the broad steps of the auditorium, fellow peers you've spoken to in passing offer their sorry attempts at comfort by leaving taps on your shoulders. It feels more like you're being sent off to the front lines rather than having a reprimand from your professor.

When you approach her desk, Emily's fingers tap away at her keyboard. Aside from a brief upward glance, she barely acknowledges your presence, and then she's back to typing, leaving you with nothing else to do - other than awkwardly fiddle with your fingers and wait.

What feels like an eternity later, Emily finally stops typing and turns the computer off. Though she may have still sat down, giving you the advantage of being on the higher ground, her piercing stare leads you to believe she most definitely is at no disadvantage and is solemnly aware she garners all your attention.

"What's the excuse?" she asks, looking you up and down.

"Excuse?" you nervously question.

"Yes, excuse," She rolls her eyes, stands up, then walks around the desk. Standing tall and remaining a few steps away, she continues, "Why were you late?"

Ice runs cold through your veins, and your mouth feels drier than the desert. You swallow the dry lump in your throat, "Library," you manage to choke out, "I lost track of time."

The answer doesn't seem to amuse her, and she rolls her eyes as she pulls up the left sleeve of her blouse. A silence bathes you both, though it seems only to take hold of you. Emily is too busy fiddling with her watch to notice or care.

It glints in the light when she steps forward, throwing your body into fight or flight, or the lesser of both, freeze. You stand stark still despite everything in your body telling you to back away.

"Hold out your wrist," she instructs, taking off her watch. You do as told and watch in astonishment as the leather straps clasp around your wrist. Emily's face remains unreadable until her eyes move from your wrist to your face, and you pick up on the slight curve of her lips and something unfamiliar in her eyes that almost resembles amusement, "Don't be late again."

Words aren't coming to you nearly as quickly as they should, and the hint of amusement that dances in Emily's eyes intensifies. Then, she grabs her things like nothing unusual has occurred and steps forward, whispering in your ear, "Next time, I won't be so nice."

A shiver runs down your spine, and before you can turn around, Emily's already out the door.

"What the hell just happened?" you ask the empty room, staring down at the watch on your wrist.

A week passes before you see Emily again, and in that time, there isn't a day that goes by when you don't wear that watch. The habit of looking down and smiling at it creeps up on you. Often, you look around to see if anyone else has noticed, then pull your sleeve over it as though it needs to be kept a secret.

Maybe you want to keep in on the down low because the thought of having anyone else know would tarnish what seems to be, or you hope to be a treasured memory shared between you and Emily, or maybe it is something else entirely. All you know is that you want the exchange to remain between the two people who were present for it. Thankfully, it does.

The leather straps of the watch itself have lightened ever so slightly with time, and a bubbling sense of warmth comes in late nights of your dorm room, looking at it and thinking of who it belonged to and how long it had adorned their wrist. You trace your fingers over the metal frame of the clockface and toy with buttons, all the while relishing in the hints of perfume that appear hellbent on remaining ever-present.

As the week drags on, you find yourself more excited than you've ever been for Emily's class. You're one of the first few to show up.

Though you usually favour the back few rows, the thoughts from the past week have you walking down more steps than you're accustomed to. Being at the front is far too much of a statement, you tell yourself. You settle for the middle.

With a clear view and no heads in your line of sight, you watch Emily stand by the computer and set up the necessary slides whilst she likely waits for the room to fill up. The side exit door is open, letting in a cool summer breeze that ruffles sitting papers on the brunette's desk—the touseling sound of crisp paper dances across the room.

The gusts of wind sweeping in aren't entirely strong, but they're blowing wisps of Emily's hair into her face. So much so she reaches a hand to brush them away and hypnotically tucks the loose strands behind her ear.

One of the first things you'd noticed about Emily, or rather, hadn't, was her fringe. Unlike in pictures you'd seen of her online, she now wears her hair down, parted in the middle with feathered layers subtly framing her face. It suits her. Then again, anything would.

Her attention falters, and she tears herself away from the screen to glimpse over the room. Eyes jadedly pass by you, then dart back and raptly take you in. Emily's gaze falls to your wrist. Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and there's no stopping the tension in your stomach that twists and coils in looping knots. Butterflies swim through the remains of cold brew coffee - that should be thanked for you getting to class so early - and the heat from the unforgiving sun feels like it's waited to peek through the window until this very moment to cast warm rays of light on your already flushed face.

Emily meets your eyes briefly. You mirror her smirk despite the nerves setting your body on fire and wait till she resumes scanning the room before shakily pulling out your notebook and pen.

It's not until she's looking back at her computer that you dare to look at her again. Your eyes traipse lower to her blouse. The light grey - if not off-white - colour of it is brought out by the occupying white blazer Emily has now flung over her chair. She's wearing black suit trousers, secured low on her waist by a simple belt, yet, with the buckle placement being off-centre, it becomes the heart of her outfit.

The last couple of students come in, dangerously close to being late, but no one else enters once the short clock hand takes its place next to the number nine. Emily moves to stand before the large white projection screen and begins speaking. Her hands move in time with what she's saying, gesturing to what's being displayed. Clasping together now and then.

You've always paid attention to how she carries herself, though now, you were really noticing it. Her walk, her posture, the way she needn't ask for silence or for anyone to focus because she simply demands it in the way she speaks. It's enticing. She's enticing, pulling you in like a helpless fish to bait. Everything becomes background noise from then on, and all you know is Professor P.

Words bellow through the room, and you try to focus on what's being said. It's not that you don't hear; it's that this lecture doesn't register as being nearly as crucial as Emily's newly popped button - revealing a whole new ocean of skin your eyes aren't quite sure they should be allowed to see. It takes dragging your eyes to the blank lined paper on your desk to find the will to breathe normally again.

Minutes pass. You don't dare pry your eyes away from the utter mess of words littered before you. Not being able to pick on anything being said coherently means going through the slides later, but it can't be helped. Every time you glance at the front of the room, you're entranced and sure that drool may be slipping from the sides of your lips. Somehow, Emily's loose shirt has managed to cling to her in all the right places, and you can't advert your eyes from her chest.

She clears her throat, and you break away from gawking at her breasts to see she's looking directly at you, trying not to smile. Thankfully, she moves on without drawing any unwanted attention from other students your way, but the damage has already been done. Your cheeks burn under the unbearable heat of the blaring sun and pure and utter humiliation.

For the remainder of the lecture, you keep your eyes glued to your desk. Thoughts racing, heart pounding, you think of how best to sneakily pack your things before Emily is finished so that you can flee the scene of the crime as fast as humanly possible.

That decision, unfortunately, is taken away from you when Emily makes her closing statement, "Come and collect your marked papers, and then you're free to go."

After tripping over flights of stairs rushing to be first, you end up fifth in the queue, straining to watch Emily search through a hefty pile to locate the corresponding paper to the student next in line. It moves quickly, and soon enough, you're face-to-face with the professor. Staring into her cedar eyes, you wonder why she's almost to the bottom of the papers and still hasn't found yours.

"Wait to the side, and I'll look in my bag once I've handed out the rest," Emily says, gesturing to the space beside her. So much for getting out as fast as you can.

There's not much for you to do but watch Emily delicately continue handing out papers. At times, she'll bring a finger to her lips and briefly run her tongue along it. Every morsel of your body lights up at the sight, and there is a need to discover what else that tongue could do. How fast can it move? How deep can it go? Would it delve in or torture you with teasing flicks until you're shaking with want?

The last student is given their paper, and you and Emily watch them leave. It's a hopeful thought to think that you're waiting because Emily wants to have you all to herself, and if that is indeed what she wants, you have no qualms.

The brunette leans down to grab her bag, making it incredibly hard not to notice the generous amount of cleavage on offer and the beginning of what looked to be a navy blue bralette, "You seemed less focussed today," she mindlessly says, looking through the contents of her bag.

Still flustered from the view, you shake yourself out of it and search your sluggish mind for a reasonable excuse that doesn't remotely sound anything like, 'Sorry, I was busy checking you out.'

"Sorry, I got a little distracted." It's not a lie. That does little to settle your nerves and level the uneasiness of guilt settling in your stomach.

Pulling out a sheet of paper, Emily places it on her desk and steps forward. The space between her desk and the wall is slim, so when you take the necessary action to keep your body at a distance, you feel the solidity of plaster against your shoulder blades.

In an effort to disguise your growing anxieties, you relax your back against the wall and push your hips out to place your sweaty hands against cooling white paint. Resting the straining muscles in your jaw, you hope to convince the profiler that this interaction does not affect you in the slightest despite it doing precisely that.

Emily studies your pose, and it appears for a few seconds she may have bought the whole, 'I'm waiting against the wall like any other normal student would' until she, once again, places one foot in front of the other and stands a hand's width away.

"What were you paying attention to then?" she asks, her tone unmistakably changing. It's raspy and playful, filled with the prowess of an experienced sweet talker.

She reaches out and lightly skims a finger down the outside of your arm, looking expectantly into your eyes for an answer.

Breathing has suddenly become incredibly hard. Electrical currents are running up and along the length of your arms, and they're ebbing their way across your chest, down your stomach to wake up an aching between your legs. There's no doubt what she's doing is passing the appropriate boundaries, but you can't deny the fact you want to entertain it.

"You." It was meant to come out confident. Instead, the word is whispered and almost cut short by your bottom lip slapping up to meet its counterpart.

The brunette's lips curve into a devilish smile, and she steps forward, resting one hand on the wall next to your head, "Interesting. And what about me were you paying attention to?"

"Emily," you whisper. It's unclear what you're hoping to achieve with her name tumbling out of your mouth in a manner that resembles both a beg and a warning. A faint tremor echoes through your body, and a surge of fear penetrates your mind, screaming that this could all be a wild dream within your psyche's hidden depth.

The professor's left-hand rests on your cheek; she bends her left elbow to draw her face nearer yours, and you see the eye of the storm in view.

Trudging through the muck of thoughts, you stand in the clearing. It greets you with visions that you've long since yearned for. Bodies tangled together, hands clawing along a muscled back, dark hair sprawled over exposed creamy skin dotted with botches the colour of wine.

"Please," you close your eyes and send your plea into the slither of space between you, a slither that feels more like a vast ocean. The need to know if this is real has you asking for one thing, "Kiss me."

The words linger, and weeds of doubt sprout. A pair of soft lips grab them from the root and plunge them from the earth with a kiss and firm hands now moving down to wrap around the small of your waist.

You part your lips and allow your hands to find their new anchor. They loop around Emily's neck and pull her in, and she, in turn, deepens the kiss, reaching out with her tongue to seek passage into your mouth.

Complying almost immediately, your tongues meet in a brief battle of dominance, where you quickly and selfishly decide it's best to surrender. Both of you are happy to let Emily take the lead.

Moans echo over the rows of seats, hands wander frantically under layers of clothing, and soon enough, Emily has you turned around and pressed against her desk. The shirt she's wearing has been fully unbuttoned, revealing a canvas of skin ready to be devoured: milky shoulders, sharp collarbones, full breasts, nipples straining underneath a cage of lace, and the soft outline of muscles running along her stomach down to the beginnings of her trousers.

"Up," Emily growls.

Taking it upon herself to carry through her order, she holds the backs of your thighs and props you atop her desk.

She wedges herself between your spread legs, pushing her taut stomach directly over your clothed cunt. The wetness of your underwear presses against your clit, and the realisation that no one had ever gotten you this wet from merely kissing and touching dawns on you. It makes you want her more if that's even possible.

Reaching out, you take her breasts into your hands, kneading them in your palms, then push the offending material away to give direct attention to her hardened nipples. One, you take between your lips, sucking intently, the other between your thumb and index finger, pinching and twisting it. When you switch sides, Emily lets out a crackled groan and threads her fingers into your hair. Your thumb brushes over her wet nipple, pressing it lightly into her breast. You circle her tit carefully whilst mirroring the same action with your tongue.

"Fuck. That mouth," Emily moans, the cords in her neck straining as she throws her head back in pure bliss.

Once satisfied, the brunette pulls you up into a needy kiss, desperate to show her gratitude. It doesn't last long, and soon, her mouth strays along the sharp edge of your jaw, down to your neck. Her fingers skim down your shoulder, chest and stomach, down to the buttons of your trousers, where she swiftly undoes them and delves her hand in.

You grip her shoulders, leaving moon-crescent indentations into her perfect skin, and let out a spluttered gasp. Emily runs her fingers through your glistening sex, leaving you breathless, "I love how wet you are," she says into the curve of your neck.

Using the arousal gathered on her fingers, she lathers your clit, circling it with a teasing barely-there pressure. Meanwhile, her hand sneaks under your shirt to toy with your nipple.

"More," you whimper, rucking your eyebrows and jostling your hips, striving for pleasure that will break through the surface of small shocks and leave you elated.

In unison, she bites down over your thrumming pulse point and pushes her fingers knuckle deep into you. A guttural moan roars and bounces off the tall confines of the amphitheatre. As the pleasurable cry ricochets back to the small desk, Emily shows no signs of stopping, too stubborn to care or too proud to acknowledge the severity of what the sound could lead to.

The walls of your pussy clench around Emily's fingers, heightening the stretch and feel of them slipping in and out of you. The abundance of wetness allows for no friction, and the fluidity aids the brunette to pick up a faster pace.

"You're taking my finger so well," she praises, thrusting deeper and faster.

Your nails must feel like talons to her at this point, clawing and etching at her back. She makes no complaint, only latches her lips to yours and groans whilst she fucks you fervently.

"I'm going to come." You breathlessly announce.

She pulls out abruptly, and the built-up pressure dissipates into thin air, leaving you simultaneously star-struck and confused.

A protest forms but has no time to leave you because Emily pulls you into a fiery kiss. It's fast and uncontrollable, tongue darting around your mouth, teeth gnawing at your lips, until she finally breaks away to catch her breath.

"I want you to come in my mouth," she says with a ravenous grin that instantly has you nodding your approval.

"God, yes." You moan.

Emily's quick to loop her fingers through the waistband of your underwear and trousers, leaving you half naked on the desk as she places your legs over her shoulders and runs her tongue up your right thigh, leaving a shimming saliva trail.

With one clean swipe of her tongue, the professor licks the entire length of your slit and moans as the first taste of you hits her taste buds. Hungry for more, she stiffens the muscle and plunges it inside you, lapping your juices straight from the source.

If the possibility of screaming wouldn't get you caught, you would do so. For now, you settle on nestling your hands into silky brown hair whilst quietly chanting Emily's name, encouraging 'yes's' and anything else that would keep her from letting up.

The muscles in your abdomen tense almost painfully from holding your body upright. You lay back on the desk, not wanting the sensations flowing through your body to be dulled in any way. Relief floods through you, and your actions are rewarded with waves of pleasure, crashing over every fragment of your being.

The room fades away as you close your eyes and feel the professor's tongue curve inside you, running along the rough edges of your g-spot. Too afraid you'll draw blood with the continuous raking of nails through her scalp, you settle your hands above your head, wrapping your fingers over the edge of the wooden desk.

Faint voices of students walking past the doors muffle in your ears, mingling with the rushed thudding of your heartbeat. Thud, voices, thud, clambered footsteps, thud, the sound of your moan, thud, then Emily's thumbing your clit, and every sound fades to nothingness, and you stop breathing.

Tremors render you useless. Your hips are grinding erratically, Emily's tongue is pressed inside you, and your clit is twitching. Sparks linger in your vision as your eyes fly open and find lust-darkened orbs - pinning you down with their fervour and watching you fall over the edge of your orgasm.

Somehow, through the haze of your orgasm-muddled brain, you tear your hand from the desk and slap it over your mouth to silence a shrilling sob. Your chest burns. Your legs shake. And finally, you arch your back, going joint-breakingly rigid.

The older woman slows down and runs soothing circles over the sides of your thighs. Two small pecks are placed on your hip bones before Emily stands up, and you all but fling yourself upright to devour her lips in a desperate kiss. Your aroma and sharp tang linger on the tongue, sliding into your mouth and causing you to stifle a moan at the taste.

"That was amazing," you murmur over her lips.

"Mmmm," Emily hums agreeingly, breaking away and resting her head on your shoulder to catch her breath.

"I still get to keep the watch, right?" You playfully ask, though there is some room for reassurance, "I've grown quite attached."

Emily chuckles into your neck, and it's single-handedly the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Her laugh penetrates your skin and worms its way directly into your heart.

"Yes, it's yours," she replies.

"And…"

"And?" She pulls back, looking confused.

"I don't need to worry about you handing out other watches to students, right?"

The brunette tentatively meets your lips again in a sweet kiss, stopping only for a second to whisper, "Not a chance."

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude | click here to be added to my taglist

[entername322]

Midnight snacks

Yuri (Izone) x Male Reader x Minju (Izone)

Length: 2752

Masterlist

“Babe, stop sleeping”

Yuri tried to shake your body awake.

“It's so fucking tiring babe, I need some rest okay?”

Today is a special day, it's your sister's wedding day. Which means you have spent  the last few days being there for her, supporting her which drains your energy.

“Babeeeee, come on, we haven't done it in ages”

Ages in Minju’s dictionary span between 6 hours and a week, in this case, it's 2 days. Of course you haven't had sex with them, you're preoccupied with your sister's preparations.

“Girls please, we still need to babysit Hitomi and Nako once we got home”

And that too, your childrens. Despite your stance against being a parent, the girls have their way to slowly manipulate you into giving it a try. Once you finally relent they are ecstatic, and you are somewhat restless. However you three switch sides the moment they are born. 

You swore, to God and the world and yourself, that you will keep them from all harm. The girls got annoyed with how much time you were spending with the two kids. 

Those regrets come and go, they tend to disappear when they come face to face with their daughters. Parental love is a strong thing, enough to stop them from sending their child to an orphanage somewhere to stop them taking your time.

Also, why do they have Japanese name?

“Sis is taking care of them, just let her be”

Right, Minju's sister, that girl has been trying to get into your pants for some time now. Minju and Yuri didn't go full psycho against her, but that doesn't make you any more comfortable with the new family dynamics.

“I think we shouldn't cause her any extra trouble”

Yoojin has been making sure your children call her mom as well, which doesn't sit right with you.

“Oppaaaa, come on I want to have a night for us”

Yuri grabbed your hand and pulled it to her breast, something that only grows even more after her pregnancy.

“Yes babe, I think we can do something to make it up for her. Can we just have this night together?”

Minju did the same thing, you can feel her braless tits through her dress. Instantly all the fatigue washes away, “You two are gonna be the death of me”

They can't keep their hands to themselves, and once the three of you get to your bedroom they practically throw you to the bed. Yuri straddles on to your lap, she takes off dress and unclasps her bra, “It's feeding time babe”, Your hand travels to her tits, pinching her nipple which leaks out some drop of milk.

You pull your finger into your mouth, savouring the heavenly taste of her milk, “Stop teasing oppa”, She whined. “Hehehe, you don't mind sharing right oppa?” Minju already took off her dress and kneel next to you, she took one of Yuri's boobs and started sucking on it. Of course, you can't wait any longer and start drinking from the tap as well. Your lips created a seal around her nipple as you started sucking all those nectar out. Yuri got off from your lap, moving to the side a little so that you and Minju don't have to headbutt each other. Then your hand grabbed Minju's, pulling it to Yuri's soaking panties. 

Being together for so long all three of you can just coordinate any sex moves easily. You and Minju slowly teased Yuri's pussy, rubbing its clit, penetrating it a little, all just so you two can hear her whine and whine again. “Yaaaa, this un-, aghhhhh”, The stimulation on both of Yuri's tits made her unable to construct any coherent sentences. Minju stopped teasing her and started fingering Yuri, your hand staying outside playing around with her clit. “Fuckkkk, I'm cumming”, The sensation proved to be too much for Yuri as she immediately got her first orgasm of the night. 

You still want to continue drinking her milk, you really do, but you know Minju also wants you to drink hers so you slow down a little. Which is kinda hard to do because everytime you slow down Yuri would just massage her own tits making it flood your mouth cavity. Sometimes the milk would leak out of your lips, trickling down to your shirt. “I need to prepare some space in my stomach for Oppa's milk baby”, Minju let go of Yuri's nipple and jumped to kiss her. 

You let go as well, watching both of Yuri's nipples have puffed up and turn bright pink. “Seems like you have a lot left in your tank baby, let me help you with that”, Both of your hands grab her tits and squeeze it hard making it sprays all over you. “Oppa”, The two girls stop kissing and watch you getting soaked by Yuri's milk. “Come here you”, You squeezed it again and pulled her down as if you're milking a cow. “Oppa”, She moaned as she fell on to you, “We should buy you some cow outfit or something”, You laughed before kissing her. She wrapped her arm around you, not letting Minju intrude into this make out session. Your hand however continues on squeezing her tits and pinching her nipple making her soak your shirt and the bed cover.

Suddenly Yuri got pulled away, you watched Minju frowning from behind Yuri. “Sorry, come on your turn”, Minju latches on Yuri's tits for a second before jumping in to kiss you. Through the kiss she transferred Yuri's milk alongside her own saliva making it a pretty nasty cocktail. Thankfully you're also pretty nasty. 

Then you threw her on the bed beside you before going down to milk her. Yuri did the same thing, as the three of you repeated the scene from before. This time it's Minju who's getting milked, also now the three of you are laying down so once the milk overflows your mouth it just slips down soaking Minju’s boobs and cleavage. Of course your hand isn't slacking, you and Yuri are coordinating together to finger Minju. However Minju is much more resilient than Yuri, it took the two of you 10 minutes before Minju finally cum. 

“Fuck, I'm full already”, You laughed as you wipe your mouth, it's useless really, your whole body is already soaked by their milk. “Your turn oppa”, Yuri pushed you down as the two hurriedly took off your pants. Your half erect cock doesn't even get a second to breathe before the two girls immediately try to suck on it. Their pair of lips covered the sides of your cock as they started going up and down on it together. Their tongue made sure to lick every inch of your cock, the best part was when their tongue traced the vein on your cock sending jolts of pleasure all over you.

Then Yuri separates and moves to your balls, sucking it in her mouth while her tongue is gently caressing it. Minju did the same, but this time she suck in your cock. The feeling of having your cock being sucked by both of them is just heavenly. You grab their hair and face, guiding them to which part of your cock you want them to work on. Guiding the two of them as if they're just a tool for your pleasure. You make sure that both of them got their turn to suck on your cock and balls.

Then both of them merge again to do a blowjob sandwich. The two girls lick your cock and balls together, then suck in on it as if it's just one single thing. It didn't take long for you to get enough pleasure to cum, and when the feeling came, it came strong. “Babe, I'm going to cum”, You groan, the feeling is so intense that your vision starts to blur. “Cum for us babe, we want your cum”, Yuri said while swirling her tongue around your sensitive cock head. 

Minju was the first one to react and let your cock out of her mouth, then she immediately pushed Yuri's face and force her to suck you in. Minju then grabbed your balls and start gently massaging it as you unleash a torrent inside Yuri's mouth, licking the spills of cum on your balls. Meanwhile Yuri didn't seem to mind at all, she just continue sucking you like nothing had happened. Minju used her finger to collect some cum from your cock, then she sucked on Yuri's tits. She licked the head of Yuri's nipple before sucking on it, Yuri moaned and grabbed Minju hair before pulling her face in for a kiss.

The two of them exchange a passionate kiss, their hand grabbed each other's boob, gently squeezing it. Yuri leaned back and let go of Minju's tits which resulted in both of their tits to spray milk all over the two girls. Their tounge works together to cook up a mixture of cum, milk and spit in their mouth. Such a nasty mix, yet the two love it. Then they split it evenly, yet another skill they have mastered through the years of being together, and swallow the mixture down.

Their body is soaked by each other's milk and they went to clean it for you. You watched them lick the milk from each other’s skin and then continued making out. Their mouths opened and closed on each other’s lips, their tongue danced with each other’s tongue, their kiss got more and more intense as they bit each other’s lips.

But then Yuri broke the kiss and stood up, her naked body glisten with both of her milk and Minju's saliva. “I'll go first oppa”, You smile and watch as Yuri quickly crawled to you. She mounted you cowgirl style just like usual, but this time she was pretty aggressive. Her pussy slowly engulfs your cock bit by bit until she completely sat on your dick.

Minju also got up and get behind Yuri, you watched she kissed Yuri's ears and cheek while her hand went to squeeze Yuri's tits. “We don't want oppa to be hungry”, Minju smiled at you before grabbing both of Yuri's tits, she started massaging them which causes Yuri milk to flow out from her nipples. You got up and put your head in front of Yuri's tits, Minju used her hand to squeezed Yuri's tits and aim the milk into your mouth. You greedily gulp down the heavenly milk. The feeling of warm liquid running down your throat, tickling your tongue and then dripping down to your stomach is just so heavenly that you want more.

Thankfully Minju is more than willing to feed you. The way she squeezes Yuri's tits and then guided the milk into your mouth is just so erotic that you want to fuck Yuri harder. Which is exactly what she wanted, as soon as you took a full mouth of milk Yuri start bouncing on top of you in a faster speed. You grabbed her ass cheeks and squeezed it, you can feel her pussy tightening around your cock each time she comes down. 

You start drinking straight from Yuri's tits again. Minju, losing her job of feeding you used one hand to start rubbing Yuri's clit while her other hand is holding Yuri's cheek as she pulled her to a kiss. “Fuck, I'm cumming oppa”, Yuri moaned, you spanked her ass making her let out a scream. Then you spit the milk in your mouth on to her face, “You cum when I cum baby, you can wait right?” You laughed. Yuri slows down a little feeling scared of the torture that's about to come, but you can't let her take an easy way. So you start pounding her from beneath, making her moan. “Just hold on Yuri, you can do that right?” Minju laughs as she got even wilder with her hand. “Unnie, oppa, you're so mean”, Yuri whined as she fight for her life.

Minju yanked Yuri's head to the side, she held it roughly as her tongue starts to clean Yuri's face from the milk you just spat at her. “Fuck you're cumming oppa, yes, yes, yes, yes”, Yuri break free from the hold by Minju and jumped on to you. Her hand hugged your neck again as her hips starts to match your rhythm, “Fuck, take this you fucking cow”, You laughed before burying your cock deep into her and deliver your load inside her. “Oppaaaaa”, She moaned as she reached another climax.

Yuri slumped down on the bed, getting a few moment to breath. Unfortunately for you, Minju is waiting for her turn already. “It's my turn babe”, She didn't even move in on you, she just sat where she was and start rubbing her pussy and nipple to entice you. “Hehehe”, It fucking works, you can't deny any of their charms. You remove yourself from Yuri before crawling on to Minju, “Now, which one whould i pick?” Your hand rest on her crotch as your thumb alternate between her asshole and her pussy. “You know which one works for me the best”, You do, her ass is so used to your girth and length that you haven't used lube for a year now. 

Slowly you pull your already wet dick into her back entrance, teasing it using your tip. “Babe, I'm not in the mood for teasing”, God they got so desperate for your seed just after a few days. “Hey now, isn't there something you need to say to convince me first?” She smiled, taunting you, “Ruin me babe, if you have the energy to do it”, You cracked your neck before getting into position. 

You abruptly penetrate her making her let out a scream, “Fuck, you're so rude sometimes”, The smile on her face tells you she like it that way. “What's this? Having fun without me?” Yuri get on Yuri's face, “Fuck yeah”, Minju moaned before she start sucking out the cum out of Yuri's pussy. “Oppa, milk me again”, Who are you to say no to such pleasant invitation.

Although Yuri said to milk her, she actually want to try and feed you again like Minju. Only, she's bad at aiming, so most of he milk just ended up soaking your chest and fell down on to Minju's body. “Yuri get off me”, You heard a slap as Minju spanked Yuri's ass, moving out of the way, you were left with the lustful gaze of Minju. “Hey, babe it seems like you're getting a little tired there”, You would've fucked her harder hearing that, unfortunately the last few days has been very tiring for you.

Minju get off you and sit facing away from you. It was akin to a reverse cowgirl but you're actually somewhat sitting up and not just laying down. Then she wrapped one of her arm around your shoulder as you grabbed her waist to help her gain some balance. “Fuck, that's cheating”, Minju whined as your head leaned from the side to suck on her tits. “Hey, don't leave me out of this”, Yuri sat at one of your leg, her mouth is sucking on the other Minju's tits, her hand is fingering Minju, and her crotch is grinding on you.

Getting ganked like this, Minju can't hold on for long, “It seems like you're getting tired there babe”, You laughed as Minju starts panting. “Babe, cum soon, I can't hold on for long”, Thankfully for her, you are in the edge already. “Is that so baby? Then why don't you cum for me then”, Your hand grabbed her waist and start controlling her to help you get ovee the edge. Minju, love when you're getting in control like this, which is why she can't stop herself from cumming again.

As her pussy squirt all over the bed, her tits starts spraying milk all over Yuri who just laughed playfully trying to cover her face. You deliver your third load, and hopefully last, into Minju’s ass. When it all pass you slumped down on the bed, laying there, drained of energy. “Oppa, you can't think that it's finished right?” Yuri whisper in your ears while bitting it. “That's right babe, you're no longer that scrawny kid back in highschool, you have still have some more stamina for us right?” Minju locked your earlobe while her hand gently caressed your cock. “Well, this will be a long night”

[haptronym]

Hap's Adventures in Dadmight

aka “this experience was really strange so I’m going to write 6,000 words about it”.

Fandoms are bizarre. I know this, but I still keep doing the shocked Pikachu face whenever I join a new one. 

This time around, I really thought there would be no surprises. And yet, the fandom ended up having a really weird, really uncomfortable dynamic that confused the hell out of me for a long time. I met several others who said “Yeah, it freaks me out too,” but they couldn’t explain exactly why, and nobody really wanted to talk about it. So now that I’m mostly done with the My Hero Academia fandom, I’ll just go ahead and vaporize my bridges with a whole-ass case study about what on earth seemed to be going on here.

Warning: very long, very self-absorbed, as usual. Contains discussions of relationships, underage shippers, and how to influence whether something “feels” platonic vs. not.

Disclaimer 1: This doesn't apply to everything tagged "Dadmight." Just a select subset. But this subset appeared pretty consistently.

Disclaimer 2: I'm posting brief, fair-use-commentary examples of the content that made me question my sanity because it has to be seen to be believed, but I'm not including names or links because I don’t want to easily funnel negativity to them. If an author really wants me to, I’m happy to link directly to their story.

Disclaimer 3: I’m not trying to “spread awareness” or do a callout. I just like to write for fun and this time the fun was puzzling out why I, personally, had the experience I did. Many people feel differently and that's great. If all fluff has always felt 100% wonderful and charming to you, then this post isn't relevant to you. But if a supposedly "cute" story has ever made you squirm with discomfort, this might help explain why.

-

A few years ago, I took a terribly wrong turn in life and ended up in the My Hero Academia fandom. My kidnappers were these two:

In short: the little kid on the left, Izuku Midoriya, is exactly as dorky as he looks. He was born powerless in a world of comic-book superheroes and has a tendency to burst into tears under any possible circumstance. The series kicks off when the guy on the right, #1 hero and national celebrity All Might, sees potential in him despite all this. In a fit of inspiration, All Might decides to give Izuku the same chance he was given as a young boy. Despite being a notorious lone wolf, he (secretly) names Izuku as his successor and takes it upon himself to covertly train this weepy, noodle-limbed wimp into a hero, the hero, the next Symbol of Peace who will wield the world’s strongest superpower and safeguard the future of society. Surely they’ll pull it off just fine, right?

(Don’t ask how All Might switches from a bodybuilder to the skeleton pictured  above. The show doesn’t know either.)

I loved these two. I wanted eight seasons of beach training montage. The mentor/student shenanigans were hilarious and the found family potential was off the charts. They’re two awkward bumbling fools with several truckfuls of emotional baggage, brought together by purehearted heroic zeal. Wonderful.

However, I quickly discovered that the show shoveled approximately ten thousand new characters into every new episode and definitely wasn't going to slow down long enough to give me the All Might & Izuku content I craved. So I wandered off to see what kind of fanfiction was on tap.

...I wandered off, while bracing myself. I’ve been a weeb long enough to know that any characters who pass on power through “DNA” are never going to escape a fandom unscathed, regardless of pesky things like “Age Of Consent” and “Have You Watched A Single Minute Of This Show, He Would Never Fucking Do That”.

Their canon relationship is impressively alarming all on its own:

Izuku is 14-15. Underage character? Check. 

All Might is 55+. Enormous age gap? Check.

All Might is both Izuku’s secret mentor and his high school teacher. Teacher-student dynamics? Check.

Izuku is a nobody. All Might is a global celebrity. Staggering power imbalance? Check. 

Izuku’s superpower, which lets him go to the school of his dreams, accomplish his lifelong goals, and be the protagonist of this show, was given to him by All Might at great personal cost. Enormous sense of debt and obligation because of a huge sacrifice? Check.

Izuku is an outright fanboy. His room is full of posters and figurines of All Might in spandex. Other characters frequently comment on how obsessed he is. There is a whole plotline about him being so starstruck by All Might that he can’t think for himself. Literal hero worship? Check.

As the cherry on top, they spend most of the story pretending they don’t know each other and sneak around under the noses of every other character, including Izuku's mother. Secret hidden relationship with a minor that no other adult can learn the true extent of? Check. 

What a pair. Japanese fandom constantly cracks jokes about how Izuku is probably that kind of fanboy. Even official media is well aware of how sketchy it all looks:

With all this in play, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the stuff in their platonic-relationship fanfiction tag vastly outnumbered the stuff in their shipping one. Phew. Finally, a pair of characters who got something besides endless gross hornyposting. 

As I browsed, I kept seeing a certain tag: "Dadmight." This, unsurprisingly, was used by stories that decided to make All Might into Izuku’s biological father. But it was also used by... pretty much all non-shipping media that focused on their relationship. How interesting! I was used to ship pairings having nicknames, but not platonic ones. 

I could imagine why the name caught on. All Might was practically the definition of "goofy wholesome dad energy,” and his mentor/student relationship with Izuku was easy to see in a parental light. Plus, Izuku’s actual dad is never to be seen during the story. Clearly he deserves a replacement.

So I delved in. Man, this was going to be great! A huge amount of good clean platonic content, with an easy-to-find tag too. Reading about cute dadly shenanigans was going to be such a fun-

How he would love to fall asleep to the sound of his soft voice and the touch of his rough hands, telling him he was proud of him, caressing his hair. He was so mortified over having this need, for all kinds of reasons, but it became clear a long time ago that fighting it wouldn’t work, so he let himself dream.

Uh... well... Izuku didn’t grow up with a dad, so... maybe he needed a father figure... to... caress his hair with his rough hands...

More hums of contentment make their way from him, his body swaying with every push and pull from Toshinori’s long fingers. He uses them to massage Midoriya’s head, taking every moment to not just clean his hair, but to make him feel good; Toshinori can’t bear for this to be purely utilitarian.

Uhhh... okay... All Might was a rather isolated guy. I bet he appreciated being able to share time with his student... bathing time...

What if the boy would rather this stay simply as it has been, professional as mentor and mentee? What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?

What was this? What exactly did people think kids got up to with their dads!?

Well, maybe I just found a few of the strange ones, I told myself. Fanfiction always has its odd outliers. But after more searching, I realized: no. There was wildly uncomfortable stuff all over. It wasn’t all Dadmight stories. But it was a lot. The most popular authors of the “Dadmight” tag wrote it and the rest of the Dadmight authors gave them big thumbs-ups. It was at least as popular as the “All Might is Izuku’s real dad” stuff and sat at the top of the kudos and comments sorting.

Were people just being polite? Or was I overreacting? I know how annoying it is when people deliberately take things in bad faith and demonize perfectly innocent human affectio—

He kept the contact to a minimum, not wanting to take advantage, not wanting to cross a single, unspoken boundary… but how could he possibly completely refrain, with both how proud and how worried Izuku made him?

There was a voice, in the back of his head, that didn’t agree. That voice – either logic or wishful thinking – told him that while Izuku didn’t initiate physical affection, he surely did lean into it, and seemed to crave receiving it as much as Toshinori craved giving it.

Oh god oh god oh god what is happening STOP—

This was horrible. I just wanted to enjoy cute fluff. I’d never had this reaction to platonic fanfic before. I’m a big found family fan and my worst issue with fluff is usually just that it tends to be kind of samey. I normally love reading about chaste affection and closeness between characters who care about each other. So why did these stories read like Lolita AUs to me? Did shippers in this fandom like to hide their softcore stuff in the platonic tags?

I was soon able to find out. I had been writing my own All Might & Izuku story, and got invited to a “Dadmight-centric” Discord server. Almost all the popular Dadmight authors were there, including the ones who wrote the particular stories that made my skin crawl. There were several channels where people brainstormed, critiqued, and discussed the motivations behind their writing. 

Cool! I’d be able to meet new people, make some friends, and get a better understanding of what the Dadmight dynamic really was. So I introduced myself, I chatted, I lurked. Everyone was really nice.

I found zero cheeky shippers. The writers claimed to be horrified by the idea of shipping the two of them. They would never disrespect the purity and innocence of this beautiful platonic relationship, they said, as they churned out stories about Izuku “coming undone” under the caress of All Might’s rough hands. Right...

I could’ve understood if this was coming from naive 14-year-olds. But some of these people were in their 30’s, with kids of their own. If anyone understood family dynamics, it should’ve been them.

But after I spent more time around the server, I began to notice something else... something which explained a ton of the strangeness. 

Baby Fever

To understand what was happening, you first have to understand that Izuku’s baby face inflicts instant brain damage on sight. I mean, look at him:

aaa his cute widdle cheeks oh my god—

This kid sets off maternal instincts like landmines, and in the Dadmight server, I found that the Izuku infantilization train had gone completely off the rails. Writers constantly cooed over the adorable antics of 2, 3, 5-year olds and constantly talked about how much they wanted to make Izuku act them out. And surely, if All Might could indulge in the parental joy of caring for an innocent young babe, then his emotional scars would be healed and he could find fulfillment outside of that pesky “saving the world” business.

Now, the bio-dadmight folks had it easy: they just wrote about Izuku in his toddler years playing with daddy All Might. The cuddling and tickles made sense and were very cute. But other writers faced a challenge: they wanted to keep him 14-15 so that canon events could occur... but they didn’t want to be left out of the fun. 

So... they decided to rationalize and egg each other on. I mean, how much does age really matter? Being a child at heart is always cute and wholesome, right?

Suddenly, a whole lot of very uncomfortable things began to make sense:

So Much Physical Contact

He loved the physical touch. It was embarrassing and he would never admit it out loud, but there wasn’t much in this world he loved more than receiving physical affection from his idol. Every single time it happened he would save the memory to replay it over and over again whenever he felt sad, or almost every night before he went to bed. He was glad no one in the dorms had a mind-reading quirk. And All Might always gave it more freely when he visited his apartment, so of course he went there.

Izuku is often written to have a near-pathological craving for hair stroking and cuddles. Which is cute when directed at, say, classmates or mom, but gets real weird real fast when directed at the adult man he canonically idolizes to a freakish degree. Ever work with teenage boys? Most of them would rather die than be physically affectionate with adults, even parents... unless, you know, they’re that kind of fanboy.

Even freakier is that the grown adult would then reply, “Hell yeah! I see nothing wrong with getting physical with this kid who worships me! I crave it so much! I can't resist!” Ever work at a school? They have rulebooks and seminars specifically about how teachers should never touch or be alone with kids.

Then again, Midnight exists at this school. Maybe U.A.’s infamous lack of safety standards extends to this too.

Either way, though: cute and wholesome for a parent to do with their three-year-old. Very creepy when a high-school teacher makes excuses about why he really needs to cuddle and stroke his fifteen-year-old student in secret.

Narcolepsy Xtreme Edition

His student was never this affectionate or vulnerable when he was conscious, so he enjoyed the moment, even if it was a short one, as he moved to his room upstairs.

If you’ve read fanfiction for more than seven seconds, you’ve probably seen the “cram the character with booze/painkillers until they blurt out Vulnerable Things” plot device. It’s a beloved classic. But Izuku writers are robbed of the alcohol angle since he’s underage, and morphine is pretty niche. So authors who want to use this trick often just make Izuku tired after a long day, conclude that being sleepy is close enough to being five drinks in, and have him murmur “thanks, DAD... OOPS DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD???” to awkwardly segue into Familial Confessions.

But quite a few stories took the “sleepy” angle to a new, very odd place. Instead of groggily dispensing convenient confessions, Izuku would just... keel over while doing homework and be utterly dead to the world. And instead of having All Might briefly rouse him to shoo him to bed, or worry about his student suddenly becoming catatonic, the writers would make him eerily fixated on the opportunity to physically carry Izuku to his bedroom (which would somehow not wake him up!!!) and tuck him in while waxing poetic about how vulnerable and helpless he looked. 

Before joining the Dadmight server, I was mildly alarmed whenever I saw this, wondering why so many authors were obsessed with roofying the teenager and making the adult fondle him. But after joining, I realized: they were just trying to act out the cutesy aww-the-two-year-old-fell-sound-asleep-while-playing, it’s-so-cute scenes that all those darned lucky bio-dadmight people got to indulge in so easily.

Bed Sharing

It wasn’t long before Izuku’s breathing slowed, and soon he was asleep, snoring peacefully. Toshinori, after a few minutes of debating with himself, said screw it and got into the bed with the boy.

Cue me SCREAMING internally in confusion and fear. But no, it was just that the cutesy-kid-trope obsession stretched all the way to “Well, I used to snuggle with my parents at night after I had a nightmare! It was super wholesome!” Which led to scores of stories featuring a celebrity crawling into bed with his student.

All in all, joining this server was a huge relief. I was so glad to see that these hair-raising scenarios were just the result of the authors forgetting to mention “Oh, by the way, the characters are acting weird because we made them all agree to participate in preschooler roleplay.”

Just picture this while reading and it all makes sense.

Fanfic is uniquely susceptible to this sort of “forgot to mention this strange dynamic that I take for granted” issue. After all, 99% of fanfic doesn’t bother to waste time asking “would this make any sense to someone who had never watched the show?” It’s not worth it to focus on such a broad audience. As a result, fanfic normalizes skipping huge swaths of context that would normally be mandatory in a story. Fanfic authors don’t have to practice asking themselves “did I explain this properly?” anywhere near as often as original fiction ones.

This would be bad enough on its own, but then, we go cloister ourselves away into little sub-fandom echo chambers, and spend months crafting obscure in-joke fractals, and get so absorbed in our tiny myopic corners of the community that we also fail to ask, “would this make any sense to someone who hasn’t spent the last 5 months marinating in this specific Discord channel?” 

Sometimes we know exactly how niche our stuff is and just don’t care. But too often, we just legitimately suck at guessing how our work might come off to other groups. We don’t have to practice theory of mind as much as original fiction authors do. Our fandom buddies see nothing amiss with our writing (since they know all the server insider lore!) and everyone outside our tiny clique politely ignores our word salad... so we never get proper feedback on how incomprehensible our work can be even to other members of the same fandom.

In this case, this resulted in a whole pack of writers seemingly getting lost in the fluff sauce and completely forgetting to address the fact that the stuff men do with their own five-year-olds generally becomes really weird and creepy when done with someone else’s 15-year-old, whether or not the 15-year-old seems to want it. Izuku was a cute widdle innocent baby in their heads, so they assumed he was a cute widdle innocent baby in everyone else's.

Once I realized where they were coming from, it wasn't so hard to adjust my mental framework and enjoy these stories on their own terms. That said... infantilization still couldn't explain stuff like “What if Toshinori has read all of this wrong and the boy has no feelings above Toshinori being his teacher, and all Toshinori has done is fall harder and harder for him every day?”

To explain why that paragraph makes me want to crawl out of my skin, we first need to answer: what makes a piece of writing feel “questionable?”

“Vibes,” A Primer

Love comes in many forms. The big four are platonic, familial, romantic, and sexual. Sexual is easy: you’re horny for the person. Platonic love is specifically non-sexual, and familial love is a subset of platonic love. Romance usually implies horny, though there’s definitely a difference between outright sexual behavior and the behavior we file under the “romance” label.

There’s also a difference between romantic and platonic behavior. And this is where a lot of “questionable” vibes appear: when you’d expect an interaction between two people to be platonic, but for some reason, it has uncomfortable romantic/sexual overtones instead.

But what causes those overtones? A dad can give his kid a kiss on the head, and it comes off platonic. A suitor can give their crush a kiss on the head, and it comes off romantic. In fact, most romantic gestures have nearly identical platonic counterparts. Kissing, hugging, hand-holding, cuddling, vulnerable confessions. So what gives? What makes something “come off” one way or the other?

The actual answer is: a ton of stuff, most of it subjective. Everyone draws their lines in different places, based on culture and personal experience and how gutterbrained you’re feeling on any given day. A lot of it has to do with context (that thing that us fanfic authors are notoriously bad at judging).

Online wars are fought every day about whether some glance or gesture or phrase means they're "totally into each other fr"

But if you want to draw broad strokes, one way to roughly separate platonic vs romantic love is by gauging the level of passion involved. “Passion” is “a strong and barely controllable emotion that compels action.” That last part is key. 

Stereotypical romantic love is incredibly passionate. It’s all about desire to act, desire to change, desire to progress the relationship to something more. It features overwhelming anxious preoccupation about the other person’s thoughts and opinions, feeling irresistibly drawn to them, feeling intense longing. It’s about confessing and hoping the other person also feels the same. It often involves attempting to label the relationship, make it “official”, and show it off. It’s about trying desperately to secure assurance that this love will last forever and ever. You have to do something, and every moment spent not doing something is torture.

Contrast this to typical depictions of platonic and familial love. Familial love is calm, encompassing, soothing. It’s secure. You don’t have to worry, because no matter what rough patches you go through, they’ll always be your family and will always have unconditional love for you. Yes, you’ll fly into action if your loved one is threatened, but at rest, platonic love is generally not “exciting” and there’s generally little sense of urgency.

Romance is usually an insecure, anxious thing that’s trying to get to that secure, grounded familial stage. That’s why people say they progress from being “in love” to just “loving” one another. Romance draws people together and kickstarts the bonding process. And as the steady, mature bond of a long-term relationship forms, the obsessive mania of romantic infatuation fades away. 

So the difference between platonic and romantic behavior is not so much about the actual actions. It’s more about the mentality. Is the person anxiously trying to secure their partner’s affection while treating the relationship as a really big deal that will make or break their lives? Then their affectionate actions may come off more romantic. Are they seemingly at home in their partner’s presence and not trying to deepen or change the relationship? Then their affection will probably come off more familial or platonic.

There are, of course, a ton of things that go into it besides this, and caveats out the ass. For example, people trying to establish a new friendship are often anxious too. But when it comes to determining the “vibes” of a kiss or a cuddle, this can be a useful litmus test. Failing this test is often what makes something feel Questionable. The characters seem too invested... maybe because it's not truly innocent.

Now, let’s take a look at our Dadmight characters.

The biggest challenge of writing familial closeness between Izuku and All Might is simple: they are not family. They have no long shared history to justify any sort of intimacy. Instead they have a teacher/student relationship that places them both into rigid, frigid roles. 

Usually, familial-style bonding just takes time. You wait a few seasons, the characters slowly get closer and learn to trust one another, and eventually they’re hugging. But these two clowns spent the whole show being the ultimate found-family blue-balls experience. They were just never very emotionally open or touchy-feely. Every time they had the chance for Vulnerable Conversation And Cuddles, they passed it up in favor of a pep talk and a fist bump. It took a near-death experience to extract one (1) brief hug and some tears. But in normal everyday life? Arm’s length.

Literally. For example: after five seasons of bonding and character development, they are separated and Izuku is embroiled in a deadly conflict that almost destroys the world. When they finally reunite after the harrowing ordeal, alone under the starlight, they greet each other with a loving, heartfelt… handshake. This, predictably, spawned furious fix-it fic.

Overall, there is a huge gulf that authors need to cross in order to get these two from “polite handshake” to “tender cuddling and kisses.” They could write 50,000 words of setup to slowly accomplish this, but most authors did not want to wear their fingertips to the bone just to inch these two into an embrace. They wanted to jump the gap within a oneshot, leaping from canon frigidity into an unbreakable lifelong familial love that was also super touchy-feely and extremely vocal.

Now, remember what I was just saying? How romance is generally about trying to establish new family bonds? How it’s all about trying to change the relationship into something more?

Knowing all this, what do you think might happen if an author tried to speedrun two characters to the Family Finish Line as fast as they could? What do you think their shortcuts might end up looking like, completely by accident? Especially if their “sane and appropriate human interactions” gauge was warped by an echo chamber of fluff tropes and baby fever?

You might get:

Was it even possible that his feelings could be reciprocated? Toshinori didn’t want to think about it. It would just pain him more. Young Midoriya only saw him as an idol, a mentor who would help him train his body for One for All. Midoriya did not see him in the way he wanted him to.

Or:

He wanted desperately, desperately to have the courage to cross that threshold, to ask him what he longed for, to ask him for that relationship that he dared not voice.

Or even:

Toshinori feels his heart rate pick up and his gnarled stomach twist with nerves. Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell this boy what he truly thinks and risk everything they’ve built up together over the past year-plus? His palms are sweating and he wipes them on his suit pants, rubbing the pads of his fingers together.

I'll stop now. The point is that these quotes could all have been word-for-word ripped from a romance novel. These are some industrial-grade Questionable Vibes. And reading them in context really doesn't help that much, for me at least. It's almost comical when they throw in "...I crave the touch of your rough hands as a son! A SON!"

If you know the building blocks of romance, it makes perfect sense why stories like this could come off this way. Platonic love is great, but it’s also stable, calm, and slow. It simply doesn’t have the sheer explosive force needed to catapult two stilted dorks into a brand-new dynamic within 2,000 words. Most stories can only achieve that kind of mileage via near-death experiences... or by inflicting the characters with neurotic infatuation.

Not only that, but their canon relationship is uniquely poised to set off romance-adjacent warning bells. Because they are not actually family, it makes sense for them to yearn for a deeper relationship in a way that a normal family wouldn’t. It makes sense for them to be anxious and insecure about their relationship, because it’s a very strange, hard-to-define thing that has to be kept secret from those around them. And it makes sense for them to consider their relationship a huge deal, because in canon, it’s fundamental to the most important aspects of both their lives.

I actually think it’s kind of inevitable that their character dynamic will sometimes stray into places that feel romantic. But that doesn’t mean the writer is a secret shipper... because I don’t think that passion always has to imply sexual desire, especially in fiction.

I’ve spent some time around the asexuality community, and my biggest takeaway was that sexual desire is very different from the desire to make deep, lifelong connections. Most asexual people still yearned to find that special someone, their anchor, a partner who unconditionally loved them and would stay by their side forever. Family. They would fall for people... they just didn’t want to fall into their pants. But it was almost impossible to keep these partners unless they were asexual too. Every one eventually pushed to “take things further,” or they left to find another person who would. 

So I can understand the yearning for a world where sex is kicked to the curb, where two strangers can find each other and share intense, whirlwind, “you’re my #1” love... without any lewd overtones. This little pocket of stories seemed like a manifestation of that yearning. 

Nowadays, more and more stories are taking previously romance-exclusive intimacy and yanking off the sexual baggage. For example, looking on the Dadmight tag will reveal “platonic soulmates” and “platonic hanahaki” stories. Yes, platonic hanahaki. No, not parody. There’s a clear unironic market for this content. People really want to be able to indulge in passionate, “till death do us part” emotional bonding in a safe, nonsexual way.

All Might and Izuku sit in a unique place. Not related, but powerfully linked by something thicker than blood. And their relationship is easy to paint as “safe”. It makes perfect sense that these two would attract creators who want to explore this hard-to-define chaste side of passionate love.

In real life, passionate obsessive-style attraction between adults and kids is a huge red flag. We can never really know whether those feelings are innocent or healthy. 99% of the time, they’re not. But in fiction, the author gets to choose what people really feel and whether things turn out well. They can explore the most unbelievable scenario of all: not a world where everyone is a mermaid, but a world where it’s actually wholesome and healing for a high school teacher and his student to confess their deep, undying love for one another, where a famous celebrity can secretly invite his obsessed underage fan over, stroke his hair, tell him how special their relationship is, and sleep with him in bed, without it ending up on Law and Order: SVU. 

On Critique

“Hap,” you might be thinking, “surely these stories can’t be as bad as you say. If they were, someone would have pointed it out to these poor souls. You should have pointed it out to these poor souls. You were in their writing server for chrissakes, and now you’re gossiping about them like a heartless goblin.”

First: yes, I'm a goblin. Second: I did bring this topic up to several Dadmight authors one-on-one. After getting a bunch of head-in-sand excuses in response, I decided to just quietly munch popcorn and watch the fandom’s antics unfold like a slow-motion train wreck.

Third: people did try to point this stuff out.

It was fascinating to watch the Dadmight server whenever someone posted a comment expressing concern. Some comments were trolls trying to get a reaction, of course. But others were very gentle: “hey, isn't it kind of weird to have them hop into bed together? It comes off kind of shippy...” I learned that the reason I had never seen comments like these in the past was because they were usually quickly deleted by the fic authors.

After deleting a comment, the author would often flee to the server for reassurance. The other users would agree that the commenter was definitely in the wrong, since they could see absolutely nothing questionable about the writer’s story. Someone would inevitably chime in saying that, oh, one time they got a comment calling things questionable like that, and it turned out to be from a shipper who shipped bad things. So, you know, anyone who sees shipping in things is probably just a bad person.

Phew. Crisis averted. If you can successfully paint the critic as a bad person, then there’s no need to descend into existentialist dread as you’re forced to critically reexamine the foundational concepts of your writing and your grasp on relationship dynamics.

(Credit where credit is due: one of the rules of this particular server was not to bash or insult people who like things you don't like. In most groups this is followed with an unspoken "...unless you can clutch your pearls over it", but to my surprise, when stuff like the above started kicking off, the moderators did step in to remind people to keep it civil. So, good job, mods. More maturity than I usually see in online spaces.)

But still, if anyone actually bothers to read this long screed, I already know what certain responses are going to look like. They’ll smugly assert that people who see questionable things are just sex-obsessed weirdos, projecting their icky lewd thoughts onto every innocent interaction they come across. A morally pure person wouldn’t make such gross assumptions.

I’m familiar with this kind of response because I’ve spent a lot of time around another group that responds the exact same way to these kinds of concerns. That group is known as fundamentalist Christians, and their attitude fosters three things:

People are afraid to speak out when they feel uncomfortable, because they don't want to be accused of being dirty-minded. 

People fail to learn the ground rules of normal romance/sexuality and so fail to recognize red flags.

The community is absolutely infested with creeps who take advantage of points 1 and 2 to run rampant.

Sadly, these three things also seem to be true in the Dadmight community. Being a platonic pairing, it naturally attracts people uninterested in and inexperienced with romantic/sexual relationships. And then the vitriolic, derisive responses to people’s concerns teaches them that it’s wrong to bring up those topics around the community at all.

And so, point 3 blooms. I eventually confirmed that my initial suspicions were correct: shippers did camp in the Dadmight tag, and they got away with posting some impressively brazen softcore underage content in public, presumably because even the people who were suspicious knew that going “hey now” would trigger a circular firing squad. 

The Dadmight community wasn’t clueless about this problem. They were incredibly paranoid as a whole. They knew there were bad actors lurking in their tag, but since they had disabled all their own safety alarms and expanded the definition of “platonic” to a ridiculous extreme, they had no way of being able to determine what was shipping and what was not until characters started actively whipping their dicks out. I saw constant fretting over whether it was okay to click the “like” button on an affectionate-looking piece of fanart without knowing for sure the intentions of the creator. But asking intentions was pointless anyway, since shippers just lied to them and then laughed as the platonic group eagerly ate up their evil, dirty-minded content.

I get why these “wait, that feels shippy...” comments feel like attacks. It’s fucking awful when your intentions are pure but someone interprets them in such a horrifying, disgusting way. It feels disrespectful when you clearly label something “platonic” but people still doubt. 

But remember: Going from “mentor” to “dad” with these two generally means breaking down normal boundaries, to escalate the emotional and physical intimacy between an authority figure and a starstruck, needy, vulnerable kid, because they have such a special and unique bond that no one else understands. So special, in fact, that it needs to be kept secret from the public.

In real life, this scenario is known as Groomer Tactics 101. 

Seriously, stop and read that link. It’s short and non-explicit. This is why I called their canon relationship “impressively alarming”—the bullet points of stages 1-3 describe Izuku and All Might nearly word-for-word. This does not mean I’m claiming All Might is a groomer, or that Izuku and All Might’s relationship is bad. Just that, due to their circumstances, they happen to have all the building blocks of relationships that go horribly wrong. All that separates their scenario from tumbling into Bad is the goals of the adult. So when a fanfic then comes along and makes the adult suddenly really interested in excessive touching? And the only reason he gives is “I’m weirdly drawn to this kid and touching them feels really good”? Of course people will get nervous!

Noticing this does not mean someone is “obsessed with shipping”. It means they’re a normal human being with eyes. Accusing someone of being problematic for making the most obvious possible observations about adult/child interactions is like accusing someone of being an arsonist because they embarrassed you by pointing out that your homemade backyard fireworks setup is halfassed and dangerous.

This does not mean it’s wrong to write wish-fulfillment where escalating to bed cuddles actually turns out great and awesome. But it does mean that, if an author writes it ignorantly or carelessly, they risk coming off like they’re glorifying and normalizing Groomer Tactics 101. It’s the same as when careless Twilight fans glorify and normalize stuff that, in real life, is abusive controlling boyfriend behavior.

Yes, it sucks when people come and yuck the yum. I’m sure the Twilight fans also get sick of people who complain and demonize them instead of letting them write their vampire boyfriend fantasies in peace. But the concern usually comes from a well-meaning place. 

Proudly announcing “I ignore the most basic child/adult red flags because they ruin my fun” is not the flex that some people think it is. I highly recommend people reconsider before they try to paint anti-child-groomers as the bad guys.

The Recipe

So, let’s summarize how to reproduce the Dadmight phenomenon. It starts with a canon relationship that has the most enticing found-family building blocks the world has ever seen: a downtrodden kid who really needs a dad + a lonely heroic mentor. However, their canon relationship also sits on top of a powder keg, coincidentally featuring all the “setup” stages of the sexual grooming model: 

a lonely, low-self-esteem kid

singled out by an esteemed, charismatic adult who is a pillar of the community

sharing a “special” relationship

constantly going off alone and keeping secrets 

A platonic fan community forms that is blissfully unaware of the above dynamics. They head off to fluff echo chambers, as platonic fans do. But due to the crybaby tendencies of the teenage character, they start projecting really aged-down toddler-play scenarios onto him. Eventually, as echo-chambered fans do, they decide that contextualization is for chumps. This results in fics that take the powder keg and add:

The adult craving to touch and hold the teenager

The teenager craving touch from the adult and mewling like a kitten when his hair is stroked (I’m not fucking joking)

Completely age-inappropriate stuff like stroking, kisses, and sharing a bed with a teenage student

Izuku and All Might also happen to suffer from loneliness and isolation, even more so in their fanon incarnations. This really resonates with most fans, who want to soothe and heal them. They also want to get to the healing cuddles within a few chapters instead of wasting time on super-slow buildup. So they make the two of them really strongly fixate on and angst about the agony of their loneliness, and how the other person’s love is the only cure that will fix them. In doing so, they insert:

Anxious passionate obsession

Love confessions

Coming-out scenes

Craving for exclusive relationship labels

Desire for exclusivity

Lastly, because platonic groups are either uninterested in or too young for spicy content, they tend to have very little experience with romantic/sexual literature and the tropes and catchphrases they lay claim to. So fic writers will innocently sprinkle in poignant-sounding things they’ve picked up here and there, such as:

Blushing and heart racing when looking at the person

The phrase “falling for each other”

The man “caressing” his partner with “rough hands”

“He came undone”

And because their communities condemn people who “read into things”, nobody points out any of this shit, and it all slides out into the public Internet unquestioned.

And so, we get the most impressively uncomfortable platonic content I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder I had never encountered something like this before. It required a lot of unusual circumstances intersecting in just the right (wrong) way.

In the end, I think the biggest aspect was just that I'd never become a fan of characters that had such a potentially-problematic canon relationship. Usually adult and kid characters have very different dynamics, so if fics treat their social interactions with all the tact of a bull in a china shop, it just comes off as lazy instead of creepy. I'd be interested to know if other platonic adult&child fandoms suffer from this issue.

In any case, although it was fascinating to watch, I sure hope I never run into it again.

[beamtori]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

demon (in human form)!ji changmin x afab!reader

it's a silly thing that brings you both to intimacy, but the intimacy is never silly.

3.0k words, smut (minors dni), incredibly soft sex, talks abt sex/dicks lol (if u can't talk abt it, then don't do it!), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it bro), penetrative sex, fingering, low-key body worship (f.receiving), so much kissing, pet name (sweetheart), mentions of a broken wrist and scars?

a/n: this is an extension to my fic night terrors on my main! there are a couple refs from the fic, but the established dynamic is a huge turnaround for me in terms of writing for changmin if u haven't read night terrors yet LMAO anyways, for me and @mosviqu ily bar!! <3

CHANGMIN HAD GROWN USED TO your random questions of curiosity. There was, after all, so much you didn't know about his world, and for the most part, he was perfectly fine divulging information to you and being honest. He cared about you, after all. Loved you, even. It was just what he felt around and about and for you.

“How do demons have sex?”

He nearly snorted water through his nose.

You glanced over at him innocently from where you were perched on the hotel bed, your phone connected to its charger discarded on the nightstand.

He cleared his throat, capping the water bottle and setting it aside so he wouldn't choke again. “Sorry?” He sputtered, thumping his fist against his chest.

Your eyelashes fluttered and you replied airily, “Do you have sex the way humans do? Like… vaginal penetration or…? Am I making sense? Do you even have a—”

“Yn, I have a dick,” he cut in, then made a face. “Why are we having this conversation again?”

The two of you were holed up in a hotel several hours’ ride from Moonstone Creek. You were currently on your way to meet one of Changmin's clients about a missing lucky witch's cauldron. Instead of shacking up at a motel, you insisted on staying at a nicer hotel for once. Screw saving money this time; your ass deserved a break after sitting in his car for however long. Maybe you should invest in a butt pad…

You shrugged, shifting your position so you sat at the foot of the bed with your feet dangling over the edge. You held your dominant wrist with the other hand—a month had passed since it had been shattered, and though almost completely healed, it was still a little tender. “I was just thinking,” you said. “Is it like a human d—”

“It's a penis, Yn,” he deadpanned. “You've seen one, right?”

Your skin warmed. “Of course, I have,” you sputtered. “I was just curious about your—” You stopped yourself. “That sounds wrong.”

Changmin arched a brow at you, braiding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table across from you. “Supernatural creatures do have needs, too, you know. Sex isn't just a human thing.”

“I know that,” you shot back. Sex definitely wasn't exclusive to humans. “When was the last time you had sex?"

“I don't understand where this is coming from.”

“Are you a virgin?”

A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “I think it's impossible for a demon to be a virgin in any sense,” he said, head tilted to the side, tongue tracing his slight smile. It was funny for him to think about, really.

His eyes fixated on you again. “Are you a virgin?”

“Me? No.” Even when you were working your ass off for your accounting degree, you managed to find time to socialize with somebody. It hadn't been that special, really, but the guy had been decent and not an asshole. By your limited scope, that was as okay a time as any.

The room descended into silence.

You could tell he was thinking about something with the crease between his brows and the muscle in his jaw twitching. You didn't know what it was, but you could read that much.

“So why haven't we had sex yet?” was the question that popped out of your mouth next. It wasn't necessarily directed for him to answer; it was more so a… thinking-aloud situation… right…

But by the surprise that flickered across his face, he was going to answer it anyway. “I—I don't know. I guess…” He scratched the side of his head. “I never really thought about it.”

“Oh.”

You could see the regret as soon as he said it.

He brushed a hand through his hair, stepping over to you and kneeling in front of you. His eyes fluttered closed for a second before opening again. “I didn't mean it—like that. I just mean that so much has happened that it's the last thing on my mind. I didn't want it to come off like I only wanted that from you.”

“I know you don't,” you said, leaning onto your knees to lower your face slightly toward his. “But we both have needs, don't we?”

“Are you saying you're in the mood?” He asked.

“I mean—I was looking out for both of us.” You sat up again, leaning back onto your hands, putting more emphasis on your nondominant one. He followed you up and stood between your legs, knee pressing down onto the mattress to lean over you and collect you in his arms.

You both tumbled onto the sheets, your face pressed to his chest and his chin tucked over your head, legs tangled together. “I don't know,” you muttered, “it's been a good month, and I guess I was just…” Insecure. “I’m being ridiculous though,” you laughed the thought away, “every couple goes at their own pace.”

His fingers grasped your chin and pulled your eyes to meet his. The eye contact was strangely intimate with him as it always was. “Yn,” he said lowly, “you’re not being ridiculous.”

He rolled his body over yours, arms bracketed around your head with your noses a breath apart. “Can I kiss you?” He asked in earnest, searching your face.

You nodded, eyes wide. “Yes.”

His hand curled around the back of your head as he lowered his mouth over yours. Your nose slotted beside his, and you raised your upper body to hold onto him and press yourself all the more close. You sighed, his tongue pressing into your mouth to deepen the kiss.

There had been a few other times you'd kissed before. There was no rush with this one. He took his sweet time with you, kissing you languidly, devouring you whole. His limbs wrapped around you like a python so you were unable to leave his grasp—as if you wanted to.

When you broke apart, you were flushed and his breathing was heavy. He brushed the hair from your face, your eyes glazed as you stared up at him. “I've never been intimate with someone I care so much about,” he confessed, his voice gravelly from the kiss. Your lips parted for his thumb as he dragged it over your bottom lip.

“Me neither,” you told him. You reached up to run your hand through his hair. “Is it scary?”

“The way I feel about you?” He wrestled down a swallow. “I'm terrified.” Terrified to break you, to lose you, to hurt you. Everything in between.

It wasn't always that you were given the privilege of seeing him so open and vulnerable. He had slowly become better around you, especially around you, but there was still a few things you had to get past. It was okay though; he just needed time. That much you understood. This was new to you, too.

“I'm nervous,” you admitted quietly, “but I trust you.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed. “I trust you, too.”

Changmin brought his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to the underside of your jaw. Your fingers buried themselves into his hair as he trailed his lips down the column of your neck as if to taste every inch of your skin.

Your heart palpitated in your chest and you held him close, neck craned to encourage him. A moan slipped from your mouth when you felt his teeth graze your pulse. The rough pad of his tongue swiped over the mark he left.

It was strange to think of how trust and love worked. It would be so easy to rip your throat out, but instead, he was here kissing you.

His fingers danced along the bottom hem of your shirt in silent question, and you guided his hand beneath the fabric and along your bare skin. You shuddered as his fingers trailed up your side and reached the edge of your bra.

He raised his lips up to meet yours again, eyes half lidded.

Your shirt came up and over your head, bra clasp unsnapping behind your body until your top half was bare before him.

And he looked at you under him with an expression you couldn't discern immediately. It was that thing he always did, the look he had in his eyes when he stared at you, but this time felt slightly different.

You shied away into yourself, one of your arms coming to lie across your chest. “What?” You let out a small laugh.

He swallowed, meeting your eyes. “I…” Changmin took your arm and brought your once-shattered wrist to his mouth. He pinned your arm above your head then, so he could see you. “Nothing, I just—you’re beautiful.”

Your resolve softened. “You can touch me.”

He kissed you again then, softly, one palm enclosing around your left breast. You shivered, your heart throwing itself up against its confines so it might reach the hand it wanted to be held in.

Changmin rolled one perked nipple between his fingers and you arched your chest up into his hand.

“I never say it—” He said, tongue swiping over your lips again for any and every taste of you, “—as much as you deserve to hear it.”

His lips met your pulse again, mouth trailing down your clavicle, to the pendant resting on your sternum. The pulsing of the scarlet mirrored your own racing heartbeat and gave your state of mind clean away. Every touch of his lips, lap of his tongue, nip of his teeth along your skin felt like he was tracing your outline and committing you to memory. Every inch of you, loved and worshiped and acknowledged. Not his to own, but his to cherish.

Changmin's shirt came off next, exposing a toned upper body marked in faded white scars here and there. Oh, to kiss each mark upon his body—an endeavor for another time. The twin to your necklace swung over you from around his neck as he returned himself to your embrace.

“You're beautiful, too—d’you know that?” You murmured to him between the breaths between kisses.

“Only if you show me.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Deal.”

You felt his mouth curl up in a similar gesture, his arms wrapping around your waist and pressing the length of his body against yours. His weight was a comfort, kissing him was a dream.

Changmin tugged the waistline of your pants down, fingers hooking in the elastic of your underwear, then pausing. “This okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, and you helped kick your bottoms off and away. He was swift to follow suit, the belt of his buckle clinking together as he slid it off, then his jeans, and boxers. You could see the outline of his cock strain through the fabric before his aching, reddened length slapped against his lower stomach.

“Would it ruin the mood if I said that probably isn't what your demon form dick looks like?” You asked cheekily as he clambered back over you.

Changmin rolled his eyes. “I'm tryna be romantic and all you can talk about is—mmmph!”

You silenced him by dragging his mouth back down to yours. He melted into you, weaving his hand between your bodies so he could drag his fingers through your lower lips. You jolted at the feeling, your hips twitching in his direction in a silent plea.

He groaned low into your mouth, withdrawing as he circled his fingers through your arousal. “Is this all for me?” He asked, dipping a finger into your cunt. His thumb drew dizzying circles into your clit, and you swore you saw stars.

“Yeah, 's all for you,” you exhaled, earning you a searing kiss as he swallowed those words.

You pushed your hips against his hand, a pair of his thick fingers filling you up and curling against the sweet, gummy spot of your inner walls. It was as if he knew exactly where to find it, and knew exactly how much pressure would make you rocket up toward white-hot bliss.

You whimpered against his mouth as the tension in the pit of your stomach wound up tightly. “Changmin—”

“You close, sweetheart? Wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”

His thumb branded your clit with his fingerprint and drove you to insanity. Blood rushed in your ears, head spinning as he helped you over that crest. You cried out as you crashed and the steady pumping of his fingers coaxed you through it. Your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, grounding you as your legs shook and toes curled.

His fingers maintained their steady pace as you came down from the high. You imagined you looked like something of a hot mess beneath him, but when your eyes fluttered up to meet his, you were struck by the tenderness in those dark irises.

When you could breathe evenly, he withdrew his fingers and collected your come to thumb over the pearl beaded at the tip of his cock. “Are you—was that okay?” He asked, his free hand thumbing your cheek. You saw his jaw twitch as he pumped his cock with his other hand, slickened with both of your arousal.

You gave a breathy laugh, and he nearly stopped at the sight of your smile. “Okay? That was—that was more than okay,” you said. “Ji Changmin, come here. Let me kiss you.”

It was something in the way he crushed his mouth against yours this time, one hand cradling the side of your face like you were all he ever wanted—the other coming up to grasp your side—that had your stomach doing flips. And if actions spoke louder than words, you wanted to believe that he was yelling them at you now. If he couldn't bring himself to scream them from the top of a building, this would be enough.

Your nose gently bumped against his. “Can I do something for you?”

He replied lowly between kisses, “Another time. Just… let me do this for you. It'll be enough for me.”

You melted in his hold, as if he didn't make you a fuzzy-chested, dizzy-headed mess all the time.

You felt him nudge your opening, and you locked your hands around his neck. Slowly, you felt a delicious stretch as he pushed into you. Changmin groaned into your neck, the sound making you arch yourself into him further. His voice alone sent you careening toward your own climax, it was so sensual.

Once he sat in you to the hilt, hips locked against hips, he lingered to give you a moment to get comfortable. The girth of him filled you up delectably, the pain only the undertone to pleasure.

He raised his head out of the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah—” you nodded, “—I’m good.”

He returned the gesture, biting his lip, then swooping down to kiss you again. “You're doing so well for me,” he murmured. “So warm, so tight. Fuck, you feel divine.”

He pulled himself out slightly, then gave an experimental thrust of his hips. Your hold tightened around him, a moan slipping from your lips. He held you as he continued this motion, a steady and strong rocking of his hips against yours, cock dragging along your walls in confident strokes.

He tucked his head back into your shoulder, lips pressing open mouthed kisses to your hot skin. You could feel the dampness between your thighs dribble down your legs, and you were gradually clambering back onto that hill with your stomach twisting in pleasure.

His labored breathing filled your ear, followed by his mouth—marks lovingly pressed into your flesh and whispered in your ear. You locked a leg around his slim waist and met his thrusts, the pacing quickening slightly as you both began approaching your highs.

Your voice came out choked and desperate. “Changmin, I'm…”

“Yeah, sweetheart; I got you.” Changmin pushed himself back up to hover over you for the last few thrusts, his lips pressed together tightly and sweat dripping down the slope of his nose. He slipped a hand between your bodies again and worked at your nub—and it was all you needed to be pushed over that edge again.

You cried out his name, fingernails burying themselves in his shoulders. You clenched down hard around him, breathing hard and ragged.

You thought you heard him groan out your name as his hips stilled and he came. You exhaled heavily, his body wrapping around yours again while you both caught your breath and descended from bliss.

He left a kiss just below your ear and you cupped the back of his head and shoulders to your body. “Fuck me,” he muttered, rolling your bodies to the side, legs sticky and tangled together.

“Didn't I just do that?” You mused.

He chuckled, moving his head to bump his nose against yours. “Yeah, guess so.” Changmin gazed at you then, eyes searching and searching and searching. You never asked what he was looking for; you always figured he'd one day be able to tell you.

He licked his lips and a crease formed between his brows. “Yn… Yn, I…”

The voice inside his throat remained trapped, the words on his tongue froze. You looked up at him, glassy-eyed and patient, the tilt of your lips so sweet and terribly beautiful. He'd never been at such a loss for words.

You moved forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “I know,” you said. Even if he couldn't say it yet, you always knew.

He swallowed, a moment of silence falling between the two of you. His heart careened against his chest, and he was sure if the amulet he wore now had his blood running through it, the damn thing would pound away like a galloping horse.

He wondered how he got so lucky.

But though he couldn't express it in words, he would always find a different way to reassure you that he felt the same. Changmin leaned forward and wordlessly captured your lips again, rolling you onto your back and pressing every last word he hadn't the guts to say into this searing kiss.

I love you, I adore you. Thank you. Be mine, in life and death; mortally and immortally. Every promise, he would strive to keep.

a/n: at one point, yes, i will write abt sex in his demon form LMAO what did u expect from me 🤣 anyways, this turned out to be around the length of an actual chapter of nt haha

m.list

[deadghosy]

“Attention Seeker”

SLYTHERIN OC X GN! GRYFFINDOR READER

Prompt: gaining the attention of the infamous Noah Drost, you must say you didn’t expect to like it in the end of it all.

Dynamic: strangers to enemies to lovers

Warning: didn’t proofread much, mistakes of writing, mentions of fighting and a small fight scene.

A/N: I’m bored so I wrote this while listening to an edit audio. It may be bad cause I never wrote for Hogwarts and might never will. WHO knows. Also inspired my Harry Potter phase and by Slytherin boy writers such as @theodorenmyth @phas3d @ahqkas and much more. (amazing writers btw!)

Noah Drost, Drost never knew to stop being a dickhead is what most Gryffindors said about the Slytherin. Always causing trouble and always setting people for failure, oddly he was an attractive lad with dashing charms. You never got the hype on why some of your girl housemates would even thirst for a "prick" like him. You never really got to know him, but the way he jokes around with others, the way his beautiful brown skin and that slit eyebrow did make it hard not to stare. But was he reallly that handsome to you? No one knows really.

What you mostly didn’t expect was to catch his attention. You didn’t need it later, and you definitely don’t need it now. He was certainly staring at you during charms class. Professor Flitwick was just yapping away in his lecture while you doodled a bit and took notes. Apparently doodling isn’t so peaceful when you keep feeling paper hit the back of your head. You turn around quickly with a sharp look only to see no one suspicious. But when you turned around, there it goes again. Those paper balls hitting your head. You turned around only for a paper ball to hit a bulleyes on your face. That’s when you heard that signature chuckle. You whipped your head at the curly haired boy who seemed to smirk a bit. "Why in the bloody hell is he messing with me?" You thought as you scoffed and went back to fully focusing now to the professor.

Week 1, your notes had ‘suddenly’ disappeared after you set them down? That couldn’t be right as you literally had them there…you kept checking around your desk. You were certainly going to freak out as you wanted to have a good grade. You’re not that much of an overachiever, but to not be with the class. You asked granger where your notes are and she looked sorry for you. She said she didn’t know and offer to help a bit. But really Noah was just chuckling behind his hand.

Week 2, after you figure out who took your notes. You made it clear to stay away from Noah but still give him dirty looks. He eyes you from across the hall, his deep brown eyes following your every move completely. Like a predator watching its meal walk freely. He hasn’t said anything yet which was good, but unfortunately wasn’t him. Usually he called you “lion” or “the cowardly lion” matter of fact when you didn’t do something about his antics. You scoffed at the thought of even thinking about him. “Thinking of sweet ol' me?” You jumped as you didn’t notice you practically walked past him. “How did he know?!” You thought turning around with an annoyed look. “Why in Merlin’s beard would I think about you?” You said crossing your own arms. Drost smirks as his eyes just hook onto your own. “I know everythin'…you can’t hide your prettty little head from me.” He then taps your head with one finger and taps his own head. You felt your eyes widen as your face felt warm. Quickly you walked away, hearing that echoing chuckle from the boy you seen. You hated his guts.

Week 3 was the final stretch for you. You was certainly in potions class, a fellow Gryffindor was giving you instructions. You mostly hated potions class because of professor snape, you knew he didn’t much like Gryffindors. So you didn’t want to mess up in front of his watchful eyes. As you look in the book and grabbed some ingredients, a figure quickly added another ingredient in the cauldron. Preventing from being seen by you, the gryffindor, and snape. Finally collected the ingredients, you set the recipe down. You only added a small piece of wolfsbane then suddenly the cauldron exploded. Particles of liquid scattered around the class, even hitting your face as you gasp. And there it goes again, that chuckle that seemed to enraged your whole soul and being. You swiftly turn around to yell only to face snape. And he did not look impressed. “..10 points from Gryffindors.” He said, looking down at you with a look that made you feel small. Most of the class laugh except for the Gryffindor you were helping. You glazed your eyes over towards the slytherin who you knew did this. Noah only smiled, a cruel smile. And you weren’t gonna let this slide for another second.

As it hit lunch time, everyone was sitted perfectly in the great hall. Almost too perfectly for a lunch. “DROST!” You yelled with a bellow. The great hall fell silent as you strutted a powerful walk. Your shoes echoing with each step as your eyes made an auto aim on the boy’s face. Your knuckles were almost white with how tight you held your wand in your dominant hand. Noah looks up, amazed at the Gryffindor he’s been pissing off lately. “Ah L/N..what must the Gryffindor want from me?” He says, his dimples showing with a small smile. “You bloody bastard! You sabotaged my cauldron and I want you to admit to professor snape or else I’ll drag you by your damned cloak and make you.” You said, you felt your heart pounding by your adrenaline. “Or what?” Noah said with a dark look. He stood up with a smirk, he was practically towering you. You stood your ground as you poke your wand to his chest. “What you gonna do lion? Roar your little words at me?” He grabbed your wrist tightly. You narrowed your eyes as you tried to pull your hand back only for him to bring it closer to his heart. He was testing you.

“Do it. Show everyone how 'brave' you are my lil lion.” You immediately dropped your wand and he smirked. You lifted your other hand and slapped him. The slap echoed making everyone’s head turn to the situation. Noah’s head was turned from your slap, he touched with his other hand that wasn’t holding your dominant hand. He scoffed and pushed you away. “Really? A slap. What are you, a ch—” before you knew it, your body reacted than your own mind. That’s when you punched him and he landed on his arse. His nose bleeding a bit. Now most students started an uproar. Noah angrily got up and tackled you to the ground. You grunted before feeling a punch to your cheek. “So you finally had the balls?!” He yelled grabbing to your shirt. His eyes dark, and the blood dropped to his mouth. Before he could land another punch he started to levitate in the air.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” a professor said as they immediately separated the two of you. Noah smiled crazily seeing you getting help by a student of another house. You glared at him before he got set down and escorted out. You still kept your eyes on the back of his head. That’s when he turned around and lick the blood off of his lips. You froze and looked away before a professor had told you that you will be getting detention tomorrow after you get checked up on in the hospital wing. You nodded, not having the energy to say anything else. The image of Noah’s face was now engraved deeply in your brain.

Honestly you hated his fucking face. You hated how he can just smirk with his nose bleeding, you hated how that was actually hot.

Maybe detention with him won’t be so bad..

Noah sat in his desk away from your own desk. You were doodling as he just stared at you from afar. You tried to ignore that heated gaze that sat perfectly on you. With each drumming tap of his fingers on the desk he was at. It was getting hard to ignore him minute by minute. “Y’know…I find it intriguing how you stood up to me. Lion.” He said with a tone you can’t explain. He smiled seeing you paused your drawing. “When you hit me, it felt like a kiss to remind me that you’re quite a brave one. Just unlike some Gryffindors.” You looked up at him weirded out as he only smirked. His dimples showing clearly which made your heart thump a bit. He tilted his head to the cheek he punched yesterday. “You look even more beautiful with that bandge on. Suits how coool you are my dear.” He teases lifting his head up as you lifted your own hand to touch your cheek. You scoffed looking away from the Slytherin. He raised a brow, sitting up correctly. He kept his brown eyes on you. He started to chew inside his mouth, he started to have second thoughts in how he basically pushed your limits during the weeks. He cleared his throat, getting out of his seat in one motion going towards you. “I..uhm. I’m sorry.” You slowly look up to see him walk towards you. His head down as he suck in his lip. “I was quite the arse to you and I must say I’m sorry for how I made you feel.” Those brown eyes that you can’t look away looks directly to your own eyes.

You for once seen vulnerability in his eyes. His brown eyes that seem to melt wonderfully towards your own eyes. You watch him closely incase it was one of his little lies. He kept that stare, a stare that begs for you to forgive. He cleared his throat again looking away from you. “It’s alright if you don’t forgive..you were right of course to call me a 'bloody bastard' love.” You chuckled at the pet name but mostly cause of the lack of confidence in his stance as well. His shuffling feet made it amusing on his part. You never seen him act this way before. You stood chuckling as you got up to face him. “Well…I suppose I forgive you.” You put out your hand for a truce. Noah’s eyes light up like stars, quickly taking your hand and shaking it with a smile. “Thank you li…I mean L/N..” he smiles, stopping himself to even call you lion. But you must admit to yourself that you did like the little nickname he gave you. “You like the nickname?” You jumped as you let go of his hand, only to see his devilish smirk. Before you could try to deny it, he intertwined his hand to yours. Bringing you close to his face.

He smirks, grabbing you by the back of your head. Your heads close together, eyes making contact as you held your breath. His smirk only grew wider, that dark wood scent was driving you crazy and he knew it. “Cmon darlin', speak your mind. I know your pretty little mouth likes to chat away.” He said, his voice low so you could only hear him. You bite the inside of your cheek, you wanted to slap him. But also kiss his lips, you didn’t know what to do. All you could was stare into his deep brown eyes that seem to hypnotize you. “Cmon darlin', I’m waitin'.” He starts to move away, his fingers leaving a slight lingering touch on the back of your head. As he smirked he didn’t know what shocked him most when you grabbed him by his tie and smashed your lips to his. His eyes widen, before you could break away embarrassed by your own boldness. He grabbed the side of your face and kissed you deeper, leaning forward. It was a hungry deep kiss, but also passionate. You drowned in his scent, the scent clogging up all your senses.

And ever since that, everything changed. And not for the worst surprisingly. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months with you two together. He started to actually be sweet than what was underneath that tough boy mask. He always carried your books, held your hand. He was slightly clingy but not in an overwhelming sense. He even makes sure you understand the class and give you notes. His teases are still there, but he’s more softer. You like how soft and how he shows how vulnerable he is.

One day, Noah basically ran towards you and tackled you to the floor, smiling wide with his pearly whites. “Ah my favorite lion! Have you missed me dear, why wouldn’t you.” The Slytherin boy had to go to a tutoring session and missed relaxing with you in the courtyard. He got up dusting his cloaks and helped you up as well. He seemed very happy to see you today, some students walked by. Giving odd glances that a Slytherin and a Gryffindor was much in a committed relationship. “Ah my favorite snake.” You snickered at him, he seemed to be waiting for something as he kept a closed smile on his face. The boy was nearly smiling his bloody ear off. You raise a brow while his own smile turned into a smirk. That’s where you realize and chuckle, leaning forward to do a small peck on his lips only for him to gently cup your face and kiss you hungrily. You must say, he is an eager man.

A/N: Sorry if it’s bad, I never wrote a troupe like this one. Hope it’s good!

[welldonebeca]

bratty baby *

Summary: When you act out, Steve and Bucky teach you, their bratty baby, a lesson.   (It’s just porn. There is barely a plot holding this together.) Warnings: Masturbation. Teasing. Degrading kink. Dom/Sub dynamics. Daddy kink. Smut. Patreon promo. Everyone in this story is 30 or older.

Masterlist 

Steve was busy and Bucky wasn't home.

Everything always started when Steve was busy and Bucky wasn't home, because you had to get horny when you were supposed to be entertaining yourself, and it wasn't your fault that entertaining yourself usually meant reading.

And maybe it was your fault that most of your reading materials were some sort of porn.

However, you could never fully entertain yourself when one of the boys were home, cause you were only allowed to masturbate when you were home alone, and only once a day at the most!

And how could you not get horny, when your boyfriends were so fucking hot and Steve looked so big and so delectable on that stupid couch where he was reading his reports?!

You sneaked to him with bare feet and just a big shirt you'd stolen right out of Bucky's wardrobe, holding a teddy bear nearly your size in your hand.

"Daddy?" you called softly.

He didn't even raise his head from the big and heavy folder on his hand.

"Yes, my baby?" he lowered his reading glasses, looking at something from over the lenses.

You pouted, swinging on the balls of your feet.

"I'm bored."

Steve hummed a little bit, tapping something onto his phone, but you couldn't see it.

"I know, baby," he set it aside. "But daddy's busy. Have you tried playing your games?"

"My Switch is out of juice," you kicked the air.

He picked up a pen, writing something onto the paper.

"And your kindle?"

You bit your lower lip.

"You know why I can't read my Kindle when you're home."

Steve glanced back at you, raising his eyebrow.

"What about your Sims game?"

You pouted.

"But daddy," you walked to him. "I don't want to play the Sims."

He sighed and you walked to him, sitting on his thighs with your legs spread, and he rested a hand on your back, still very focused.

You nuzzled into his neck, holding his shoulder, and he barely glaced at you when you adjusted yourself, pressing yourself against the fabric of his pants and started rocking your hips, rubbing your clit against his thigh.

"Princess," he lifted your shirt slowly, touching your lower back with his warm hand, and you shivered. "Why aren't you wearing your panties?"

. . .

"Bratty Baby" is a Patreon fic. To read it, and have early access to everything I do, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and I promise you won't regret it. And let me tell you a little secret: the sequel is coming right out of the oven to warm your December nights.

. . .

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[hannahssimblr]

I tap a knuckle against the study door. 

“Dad?”

There’s silence. 

I knock again. “Dad? Are you busy?” 

He’s moving around in there, I can hear him. Closing browser tabs, maybe. Shuffling around and rearranging things, in a blind panic trying to look like he’s doing something important. I huff out a tiny laugh at the thought of him hurrying to close the minesweeper window before someone can come in and catch him doing something unserious. I don’t really know what he does in his pokey little study all evening, but one of Jen’s crazy theories is that he’s chatting online to his twenty two year old YouTuber girlfriend, to which I need to remind her, once again, that my dad is too boring to have an affair. Mom says he’s writing reports and even that sounds too exciting for him.

“Come in,” he says eventually, and I let myself into his lair where he is sitting stoically at his computer, a stack of paper, no doubt with exceedingly dull information on them is right by his side, and his hand hovers over it so I'll know he’s especially busy, and whatever it is, I had better make it quick. 

I close the door behind me and approach him while his eyes settle curiously on the stack of soft cover books in my hands. “What are those?”

“I spoke to the guidance counsellor at school this week. She gave me some college prospectuses, and I thought we could... um, look through them together”

He heaves out a sigh and gestures to the second chair. The guest chair, I suppose, not that there’s ever guests in here to sit on it. It’s uncomfortable like a lot of furniture in this house, all style but no substance, and I perch on its edge, my knee doing that annoying anxious jerking thing while dad takes off his glasses and swaps them with another pair. “Show me what you have.”

I pass the stack to him and he drops it onto his desk with a thud, picks up the first and immediately flips the front cover towards me with a completely uncalled for attitude. “What’s this?”

“A prospectus.”

“Rhode Island School of Design?”

“Yes.”

He tosses it aside without so much as a glance inside it and grabs the next, “School of the Art Institute, Chicago,” Then reads the blurb incredulously “‘Art and design change the world.’ Alright…” He raises his eyebrows and puffs out a breath as he chucks it into the discard pile. “CalArts, nope.”

My face gets hot. 

He snatches another and flips over to the back, “‘Studying here is different,’” He reads, “‘It is about making a better world, about becoming a creative force and learning to change the world through bold and curious thinking…’” He mumbles the rest and then scoffs at it as if it’s some political argument he disagrees with inside the Sunday Times, and he goes on and on in this manner while the rejection pile builds and builds and so does the feeling inside me. 

“What is this?” He says eventually. “These are all American schools. American art schools.”

“Yes.”

He scrutinises me like he believes I have gone mad yet says nothing because he doesn’t need to. I already know what he’s asking. 

The words come out of me in a rush. I rehearsed this in the hall for five minutes before having the nerve to knock, “Because I think I would get a chance at a really great education there. It’d be good for me to be away and independent and to learn a lot of new things, not just education and art, but also travel and culture. I’d really like to go to college somewhere that’s exciting and dynamic and… and…” Damn, I forgot the other adjective I’d chosen, “...Um, fun, I guess. It’s just that whenever I think about college I imagine myself in the US. I really think that’s where I should be.”

“That’s because that’s what you see in those movies.” He says movies like one might say hardcore pornography, because Christopher doesn’t waste his time with such things as movies. Christopher works, and studies, and reads endless, endless books about World War II. “You’re not going to college in the states.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a waste of time and it’s a waste of money. Do you know what it costs to attend just a year of college in the US? Before your living expenses?”

“I know, but I spoke to the counsellor about it, and she explained that there are scholarships.”

He laughs, “You’re not going to get a scholarship,” and switches back to his other glasses and shakes his mouse to wake up his PC, which has some kind of thrilling spreadsheet open on it. This 2009 financial report must be rapturously exciting if he’s more interested in it than the future of his only son and firstborn child. 

I inhale sharply, “But why couldn’t I get a scholarship?”

“Because,” He types some numbers into the sheet, “You’d have to have a pristine academic record, a long list of extracurriculars and a very persuasive personal statement,” he peers briefly at me over the rim of his specs, “I’ve been through the US education system, and I know the standard that these colleges expect of their scholarship students. You’re just not up to it.”

“I could be, if I worked hard. I’m already doing pretty well in all of my classes, like, I get Bs in most things-” I stop myself before unhelpfully adding, without even trying, “And I have extracurriculars, like, I play rugby and help out Jen with her maths work…”

“You have to understand that the kinds of people who earn these scholarships do a lot more than that.”

“Well I would do more things if I had more time to myself in the mornings, or in the evenings, or after school, or at any other point in my day when I have to ferry Ivy back and forth from-”

Dad barrels on as though he hasn’t registered that I am speaking, “And you know, as well as the extracurriculars, all of these scholarship students have exemplary records. They're well mannered, well behaved, they never get into trouble, never get detention, never mind suspension. Twice.”

I snap my mouth shut. 

“Honestly, if I was the dean of one of these,” he plucks at the limp corner of one of the prospectuses, “Art college places, and I saw an application from someone with your record, I would simply toss it out. There’s not a chance, and before you ask, I am not paying for art school when you could easily do that here. For free.”

“Okay, I understand that, but I don’t really want to go to college here if I can avoid it.”

He doesn’t ask me why. He already knows but doesn't want to acknowledge it, and it’s easier, as it always is, just not to discuss feelings. Any feelings, especially mine, which are the most irritating and irrational feelings of all. “Why art school?” He hums, idly poking around with something on screen. “Couldn’t you choose a more academic course?”

I’m surprised he thinks I’m capable based on all the things he just said about me.

“You could apply for something in Trinity. Math, maybe?”

“Maths.”

“Or if you want something more artistic you could try English. Literature. That would be interesting, don't you think?”

“Or I could just… do art.”

“I would just hate to see you become one of those arty types. One of that NCAD crowd loitering around Thomas Street with their facial piercings and crazy haircuts.”

Oh no, a haircut. I sigh, “I’m not going to NCAD. I was kind of hoping you’d be more enthusiastic about my choices, but if you don’t think they’re right, I mean… what can I do.” I loathe the laugh that comes out of me, this strange, nervous titter that I didn’t even realise I was capable of.

I get up and begin to gather the stack of prospectuses laying forlornly on my father’s desk, my hopes and dreams bound for the recycling bin. “I’ll speak to the guidance counsellor again about my options, I suppose, and then I’ll try and choose something that’s more realistic for me.”

Before I let myself out I force myself to pause and turn to him one last time, “Do you… um, if I come up with more choices for colleges, do you think you’d want to sit down with me some evening and go through them? Like, I mean, really look over all of the options and help me decide what the best thing is?”

There is a lengthy pause. 

“You know, Jude, I’m really busy, and-”

“Okay.” I leave the room and shut the door with a gentle click.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[esshetic]

Venus In Aries: Dynamic and all Encompassing

Venus, our planet of Love, Income, Beauty, Nature, and Food, is moving into Aries on the 5th of April for its transit through the cardinal fire sign. With the Sun also in Aries, it is a link-up of like minds and an activation of anything Aries related.

Throughout the month of Aries, we will be supported if we tap into the Venusian energy and how it wants to be treated in Aries. Are you choosing confidence? Then yes. Are you choosing shyness? Then no. Doubt? No. Worry? No. Aggression? Yes. Boldness? Yes. This is how we can work with and feel this transit. Tap into what it is asking us to engage in. Be playful, let go of expectations; this transit feels fun, light, and quick. Work with your ego and desires instead of your mind and heart here. Be cocky and talk your shit. Believe in yourself. See yourself as that girl that owns it right now. Enjoy this transit for what it is; I think we all need some Venus in Aries right now!

Through the Signs:

Aries: With Venus in your sign, being the life and soul of the party in your first house, you are pouring back into yourself, feeling confident and rebuilding your self-esteem. It's your birthday month after all, so enjoy being the centre of attention. The Sun is also helping you shine. Peacock yourself, grab attention, and own the spotlight. Dress intentionally; even if you're just popping to the shops, don’t blend into the background. Allow yourself to be seen and perceived; the viewer's gaze can and will be positive. You have the eye of the tiger right now, so set yourself up for a good summer.

Taurus: Venus, your ruler, will be heading back into your sign, but first, it will have a last shake-down in Aries, nestling in your 12th house. Being Venus-ruled naturally, these transits are a great time for you. Venus wants you to let your hair down and not be so serious or methodical for a while. Why so serious, Taurus? Venus in Aries wants to shake you up and loosen up your morals a bit! Do something you would never do. Maybe you see the person you judge for being footloose and fancy-free, and maybe there's a side of you that wishes you could let go like that. Maybe there's a part of you that wants to be explored through this time. The question is, will you let yourself be driven by curiosity and be pleasantly surprised?

Gemini: Venus will be in your 11th house, and it will like being here as you are a social butterfly who wants to keep things flirty and fun. With Venus in Aries, it certainly supports this energy. I see that you want to get out and mingle, explore, and experience this new sense of confidence you have found in yourself. You are happy to be seen just kicking back and enjoying life. I see you wanting to network and meet new people who spark your interest and curiosity. Perhaps because spring is here, we are all feeling lighter and happier with the longer days, and everyone will feel more receptive to connecting in a way that seemed impossible before.

Cancer: With Venus in your 10th house of public-facing life, you may be experiencing a fall from grace or a crisis in your career-based life, pushing you closer to the edge. The last few months or years of work-life balance or imbalance are finally coming to a sort of head—not closure, but crisis and a moment of flurry and activity. This is for you, Cancer, not happening to you. You'll be examining why you love the things you love—the people, places, or things. What have you swapped out or overcompensated for that could not be a replacement for the one real thing in life that you really want?

Leo: Venus will be in your 9th house, calling you to awaken your passion and turn it inward to your higher mind. Fire up your faith with passion; stop being lukewarm and turn super hot or cold. Infuse passion back into your life; it will be like lighting a match under yourself. You might feel like it would be like lighting a match in a gas-filled room and creating an explosion, but fear not, Leo. It will make you feel alive Leo its time to roar stop being passive and tame.

Virgo: Venus will be transiting your 8th house for a while, feeling like a friend coming to stay for an extended visit. You have to adapt your daily routine to someone else being in your personal space. It's fine and exciting for a few days, but it will wear you down as you start to miss your daily routine and personal space. Venus is taking up space in your life, and while it's lovely they have brought you flowers and brightened up and beautified your life, you are counting down the days until they leave and you can go back to your routine! You don’t like this transit as it will feel foreign, out of body, and uncomfortable, but it's necessary to upgrade your life.

Libra: With Venus hanging out in your 7th house, opposite you, alongside Mercury in retrograde in Aries, you may experience disturbance and disagreements in your life. This transit can leave you feeling quite stressed out, as there is no peace, and you typically prefer to avoid confrontation or having issues with people. You tend to be avoidant and hate having to confront people who have made you feel some type of way. This energy brings boldness, selfishness, and aggressive communication, egged on by Mercury, making you nervous about having to confront people. Right now, you might prefer to bury your head in the sand. So, Libra, you do you.

Scorpio: Venus will be transiting your 6th house. You might hear someone say, "So what?" But I sense a void. Venus is about love and emotions, yet you feel nothing inside; it's all outside to distract from the tiny voice within. This transit is oh so quiet for Scorpio—lots of reflection and cutting off outside noise to dig deeper and start to feel again. Like when it begins to rain, it starts with tiny raindrops before the downpour. This is you starting to feel again, little cracks in your armor allowing the tsunami of feelings to rush in. Feelings will keep you grounded in your body and in reality.

Sagittarius: With Venus hitting up your 5th house of play, this transit will benefit you by keeping life light-hearted and playful. You feel like playing the field and exploring, literally going on adventures to hike and simply be in nature more, as it reminds you of true, unbridled freedom. Sagittarius, you don’t ask for much; you just need to feel free, like a free bird. This transit reminds you of what you truly value in this world and what you have, making you generally grateful for being alive.

Capricorn: With Venus hitting up your 4th house where the Sun and Mercury are also hanging out for a while, this transit influences your home, familiarity, roots, and sense of belonging. I see this transit having you evaluate personal relationships within your family structure, particularly with a male figure in a paternal sense. Healing may come if you let it. Can you see the other side of the argument? Can you see the person as simply flawed human? And then, can you find forgiveness in the situation? Have you suppressed how you really feel instead of accepting the limitations of yourself and others, simply allowing forgiveness for yourself and others?

Aquarius: Venus is in your 3rd house, and I see cat fights—like the way cats congregate in gangs and hang out at night in alleyways, building little feline gangs to do surprise attacks on rival cat gangs! This is the energy of this transit for you guys. With Mercury in Aries and the Sun in Aries, your 3rd house feels full, too much energy hanging out here, and you don’t like it. You might explode and push out the energy of your personal space, which for you might manifest as detachment or maladaptive coping mechanisms due to feeling overwhelmed. Take your time and rest; sleep it out. There is no rush.

Pisces: Venus is in your 2nd house, and life is telling you to go with the flow of the fluctuating demands and needs of life. This season has you planting seeds for the future and looking at where you can sacrifice short-term happiness or instant gratification to be diligent with your future plans. Venus and Mercury are helping you connect to your soul and truth of what you want, and they help you communicate that to yourself. This season is asking you to be honest about what you feel and what you want with life. Take the time to develop grace with yourself as you explore this.

[wilt1ng]

MARK HOFFMAN HEAD-CANONS

SFW AND NSFW

In honor of Saw X and its release, why not celebrate with Hoffman head-canons?

-

SFW

Morally grey

This one is rather self-explanatory. Although Hoffman is a detective, he isn't a "right" one. He follows rules that only he lives by and will maybe comply with the rules of others if it's to his benefit.

He isn't necessarily one to express his sympathies to someone, especially if they found themselves placed into a jigsaw trap. However, he shares an extent to whom he would personally place into a trap. For example, he doesn't strike me as a guy who'd trap someone who smoked cigarettes compared to a murderer.

He feels a sense of injustice when a person survives their trap, and disappointment follows. He has a tendency to question Jigsaw's ways.

Sense of self preservation

Unlike Amanda, it's clear Hoffman doesn't hinder positive feelings towards Jigsaw. There are simply things he would and wouldn't do if Kramer asked him.

He doesn't follow blindly and is constantly on guard.

Loves from a distance

Hoffman's love life isn't truly tapped into it as it wasn't necessarily relevant to the Saw plot line, unlike the showcasing of love he shared for his sister.

He's an emotionally distant man who'd almost rather never meddle in the topic of feelings and love. However, if someone were to catch his eye, he wouldn't be exactly normal about it.

Knowing the skill set he has now, he'd often watch them from a distance out of pure curiosity. He'd want to know their deepest secrets and how they behave when they think they're alone. Hoffman isn't under giving them a background check as well, almost obsessively researching them.

If Hoffman chose to actively pursue a relationship, he would surveillance them nearly 24/7 out of fear of being caught or discovered.

Hidden cameras, tagging your car, occasionally breaking in, watching you leave to work, etc.

• Petty and vengeful

I wouldn't put it past Hoffman to severely punish his s/o for something like cheating on him. This man can and will put them in a jigsaw trap for the hell of it. Whether or not it's beatable depends on your crime, but more likely than not, you won't survive it.

The trap would be personal and perhaps symbolic to the pain they inflicted onto him. Hoffman would be there to watch the entire process, not feeling necessarily happy, despite them betraying him.

Bonus+: he would also trap the person they had an affair with/ensuring they didn't survive.

NSFW

Dominant top 😇

Although the idea of someone taking control and riding Hoffman seems exciting, he mainly gets a kick out of having all the control himself.

He's into choking, bondage, and light bdsm. Can and will cuff you to his bed while he has his way. He enjoys a sense of a power dynamic, finding comfort in knowing he has full control of the situation.

He would 1000% use that fuckin voice he uses (you know the one) to degrade you with, while using a gentler tone whenever you please him.

"Don't disappoint me."

"That's it. Continue being good for me."

Emotionally distant

Unfortunately for some, but Hoffman would go a few days without speaking to you, only to break the silence with a quick fuck. A toxic dynamic between you two may be easily built.

It's insanely difficult for Hoffman to open up, especially about his sister and how he's been feeling since then.

Due to his vulnerability issues, if you were to make that exception, he'd be constantly wary of you. Hoffman could become accusatory and/or obsessive with you and how you think of him.

"You think I'm a fucking monster, don't you? I want to hear you say it."

Toxic ex

Safe to say you wouldn't want Hoffman for an ex. Except harassing phone calls, ominous messages left at your doorstep, and the constant feeling you're never safe.

Hoffman would send detailed threats on how he'd trap you and your new s/o (assuming you moved on). He may never actually go through with these plans but nonetheless shares empty threats.

You'd never feel completely safe as he'd still monitor you via surveillance, occasionally breaking in to watch you sleep.

That's all for now! <3

[darkdemeter]

NEPHS IN THE ATTIC

𝐻𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓃 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 ◤✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | CATALOGUE Death/Strife/War/Fury x Female Reader

NOTES ↳ My Phantom Of The Opera flare came out with this one a little bit I think. COLUMN CONTEXT ↳ Fluffy/angst mix — period(ish) piece around the late 1800s — depictions of a turned toxic family dynamic/childhood — happy ending! — I think that's it? ↳ This Halloween, explore the enchanting tale of how you befriended four unlikely attic dwellers in the prime of your wistful, bright childhood before finally reuniting after the fallen grace of a life splendor you once knew. Come to know that despite it all, they have always been there.

✎ 2.7k

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Mother never approved. Nephs in the attic, ghostly voices on the staircase, led up to the rafters. Childhood slumbers often disowned in search of the hauntings that stirred and groaned from above. So secret and strange yet so enchanting to a childhood dream. 

Did they still remain up there all this time? The home is far too old now, its state past its lively prime. A barren hall no longer welcoming residents, there are no children to fill these tight corridors and secret cupboards with laughter and explored adventure. Yet you hold on to that past tense of yourself. A dancing apparition in a flowing white gown that twirls over creaky floorboards turned rotten. 

Your hand runs the old and dusty railing, smearing clear lines to etch the trail of your steps. It’s been far too long. Do they remain as the shadows hovering near the final staircase, awaiting for your curious nature to take hold and join them?

You reach the second floor to be drawn in by the whirling memories that once took place. A fond day of your arrival, the first steps you took upon the landing and the way you danced in the window’s bathing halo of light. Ballet shoes escaped from your grasp in your mindless mapping, twirling and feet tapping. 

Childish wonder had you inside and wrapped up, invited by the hollow breath of this place you came to call home. When the sun no longer beamed through the second floor window and dinner was done, playtime on the living room mat concluded as the last note played on the scratchy gramophone, you were whisked away to bed on the second story. Past the window covered with inky blackness and tiny, twinkling stars. 

Under the covers, safe and snug, your mother read to you from an old book she inherited from her now passed matriarch under the soft assuring hue of your room’s candle. Father stands in the doorway, pocket watch silently ticking each passing moment that he collects to his memory. 

Her voice, the silken tender that nurses you, your head cranes to rest against her shoulder all the while, you suppress a yawn. She reads,

“Upon the night’s blackness ride four. To a tolling of bells, swirling mists carry them to trot the moors of the void without wilting duty. 

All things beautiful must encounter these four and lonely forms to test their merit and mettle. Eternal existence in a purgatory not of their choosing, a fallen and disbanded fortress hold, their affairs leave them yearning for a light that can only be found by that which seeks them first…”

You bend down before the final ascension of stairs. Beyond their rise the attic awaits. You blow a steady stream of breath over the covering of dust, your fingers brush the golden crest of letters of the storybook. Flipping through its contents, pages flutter in low, rumpled ruffles. Years of aging have been unfair, years of abuse have been unkind, hinted scratches and angrily plucked rips almost tear the book to ruin. 

Why do you feel that this very book had been a map to all you would experience in this place? Moved by the calm nostalgia of your mother’s embrace, before she had turned cold and cruel, you hold the story close to your breast, blouse dirtied by the ashy cluster of collected forgetfulness. 

There are times you wish it had all turned right between your family that grew into feuding parties. The only thing that ever felt right since the beginning… was them. The unseen haunters by your parents, but to your eyes, they were acquired friends. Held dear and close to you, only ever truly yours. They enveloped you with wonderful stories, with adoring carefulness and applauding devotion. 

That first night you laid sound asleep with dreaming splendor when you heard it. A faintly and rapid rapping. Soft and knocking on a wooden surface, on the boards above. It was a barrier between you and what you would come to find to be them. They communicate with intricate patterns, a secretive language invented that first evening. You laid awake all night to listen until the first rays rose to shine in the second story window with a peeking warmth. 

“My little love,” your mother had sighed the next morning, eyes evidently darkened and tired. “Please keep the excitement of your playful tappings for the morning. You kept your father and I awake all night with your little and gentle rappings.”

“But Mama, I didn’t—”

“Please…” Her voice sounding to plead. You meekly nod in response. “Good girl,” she applauds and continues to wash the finished dining of breakfast.

By the midday hour, the window was adorned by the sun's bright heat that showered a casing of disturbed dust in the swirling air. The Autumn season made sitting under the shine most wonderful as you play with toys. Dolls and stuffed animals sat together to watch you perform in your ballet shoes, unaware of the eyes of an audience that watched you from the shadowed and swallowing top of the attic stairs. A flight that rose into the darkened rafters, fleeing from the pour of sunlight, barely scarred on its first step by the invasive light. 

It was your dream to dance upon a grand stage, dressed in silky and flowy hues that sparkle, to have an excuse to spin and cradle your weight with expertise. Father played the most beautiful music on his piano. The rhythm of his foot patting the muffling carpet, the ringing of notes written to produce a melody you found inspiring. He always seemed to know your mood before you knew yourself, what it was your heart yearned to dance to. 

Many days were just like this. After breakfast, you’d gather your checkered play mat and toys and wait for your father to enter his study to begin playing the keys on his piano. And every single one of the many days like this, your secret audience would silently shuffle to the attic’s mouth to watch you perform. 

However, when your mother came humming up the stairs with a basket of laundry or other knick knacks to attend her duties around the home, her motherly charm extending a pat on your head or a kiss to your cheek in passing, the nephs in the attic would scowl and scamper away with a scuttle only your ears could hear. Your eyes would search the darkness for what was simply not there.

At night you’d hear the gentle yet persistent taps and knocking raps. Each sound a beat that traversed through the older stale of wood and rumbly pipes, echoing. Eventually, you came to knock back finally. And then they stopped. 

There was one day, a fateful sight beneath the window’s gloomy canvas, a bland and cold shade of grey with raindrops spitting on the glass pane. The study room was silent. No music played on this day. Father had gone out, bid farewell by your mother and yourself as he tugged on his long and dark overcoat to protect him from the rain, a briefcase filled with sheet music held firm in his palm. 

Mother was doting and worrisome to leave you behind most times, but today she assured she wouldn’t be long. Her mind had slipped and an unfortunate side effect took place, misplacing her memory of a few missing ingredients she needed. 

The placid tap tap tap against the window went ignored, but the intricate pattern of a rap rap… tap caught your interest the most. You paused in combing your doll’s raven hair to listen. 

Tap tap rap.

Rap rap tap.

The direction came from the attic. But of course… your mysterious chanters of the late night language, a form of passing notes between the barrier, finally sounds from their residence. You crouch at the first attic step and delicately — asking permission — you give a drumming tap of your finger and wait in sat silence. 

The roof tiles chink and twang with each hail of rain, old and rusty pipes hidden inside walls shudder with a ghostly breath. 

“Hello?” you finally call to the upstairs dark. It loomed so gloomy up there, no doubt fogged and cluttered with an old mess and infested with cobwebs. 

There comes a series of groans that roll and growl like thunder. Shuffling of heavy sounding things up there. You stare with a curiosity that glints sharply in the day’s duller hue, palm rested fully on the first shadowed step. 

You marvel at the size of your hand laying flat, comparing its timely measurement. This had been your first introduction. An insightful meeting that lured you to wander up these very steps with the footfall of a child so intrigued by the home’s top mystery. Where nightly dreaming was abandoned in the cool of your sheets, instead you found yourself whisked away up there to meet with them. You now ascend upwards, fingers loosely tousling the peachy fur of dust from the rail, invited by their ancient presence with the footing of a much more matured yet wishful woman. 

Don’t let them be gone as well, away with the rest of it all, remaining as only memories of this place; of your past. A silly, girlish belief to cling to out of fear of abandonment, you know, but all the same you follow blindly in that faith. 

Atop the attic landing you look left to right from where the shadowy apparitions would sit quietly, respectfully at a distance between where you danced at the bottom of their realm. Dolls missing eyes, stuffed toys sitting stiffly with limbs loosely stitched back together. The wear and tear must have caused your mother such headaches after a while.

Just as you suspected, the gloomy hollow of the attic is just as matted by the drift of dust and decoration of cobwebs. 

Centered in the attic’s stage, a large form of a drawn canvas remains fashioned into a tent reminiscent of the carnival. Nearer do you come forth to engage its opening, expectant to be taken back to its debut construction, surrounded by the flickers of small, wavering flames and cuddled in close together sharing stories and laughing and playing. 

But just as the rest of the estate’s health, it too is left dormant. A shade of its former and far more comforting self. A carpet of weathered, dullened pages cover the wooden flooring inside the tent and you delicately retreat your memory with the kindling of that which you have lost. 

When… times grew harsher down below, you’d flee up here in search of rescue. Father’s music sheets often became rejected for one reason or another. Mother would grow spiteful and bitter towards him, mocking him over the butt of a choking cigarette. Between the shattered glass of toxic indulgences thrown in rage and the overbearing raise of their voices that screamed horrid absurdities at one another, you would run up the stairs with tearful eyes, 

Only in their arms would you be safe and the mean creaking that chastised you for running would go away. 

“In this tent, nothing shall harm you. You are safe here.” 

Yes… pages. Drawings. Ones that make your lashes wet in past fondness. How small and silly you were, so carefree in the messy lines that portray yourself and the nephs. They took such good care of you, never once did you falter to the doubtful thought that they would harm you. Protectors harboured in the attic. 

It mustn't have been easy to see you leave them behind, to remember you only by the figments of your shared memories that collaborate a bond forged from the rappings you heard at night. 

You hold as many as you can to the closeness of your chest, nursing them as they had done for you in your time of need, again becoming that little girl in search of her rescue. Your voice stiffly rocks with contained volume, a disbanding grace and held in fortitude to guard your better fears internally. 

Tears soak a steady streamline of glistening crystalline, the dampen summit of your lashes beating furiously in contempt. Had they simply vanished, never once actual and instead all a figment of the imagination of your perhaps lonely childhood? A solemn expression and one you kept so guarded close, feigning their existence as naught but distant friends to passing business inquiries and acquaintances. 

They were your friends. 

Something in the pained longing of your throat erupts into a tight lipped scream as you fall, your knees catching the thudding brunt of your loss. 

“I lost you… I lost you all!” 

There, at the pointed back of your heel’s direction in the corner, something stirs. Its resolve unflinching, it curiously wanders in the fabric of shadows. Through the tearing smear you peer through it, suckling desperately at air as you force yourself to hush; your breath held. In your renewed, tearful gladness you sigh. Like candlelight, the prowling glow dances highly in the atmosphere most dark around you, they flicker and wave with a sauntering gaze that watches you. Stalks you. 

First the piercing stare of orange, followed by its lighter sibling of glimmering gold… then as a sapphire brightened from its rich hue, those eyes dance too in the darkness. And then the placid glow of white, so oddly plain yet adoring and filled with harnessed life and expression.

They hadn’t left you. 

His pale frame creeps outward from the shadows first, followed by his siblings. The clung of skin shrunken tightly to his deeper anatomy is awkward to shift, almost too stiffly than you last recall. Had he aged so terribly in your absence?

Over the crusted white of his vague, second face taken form of the deathly skull, his eyes look down on you with fondness and one that has never left you. 

You sense that those eyes have been on you this entire time. All their eyes have. 

“You never lost us, little dancer,” croaks Death from the encasement of a rattled hum. He states it so obviously, scolding your ease to submit to those insincere doubts and anchored flaws. 

By the bellow of his colourful scarf worn and ragged with age, tattered drapings trail behind him in dragged motion. He sits on the perch of his heels, legs pronounced with a squatted position as he extends his torso forward. 

“We have always been there. Watching.” Strife’s voice rings with a wistful kindness and behind the iron gilded of his own mask, you feel that he smiles sheepishly. 

Eyes bowing back and forth between them and the pages you hold, your nose rings with a sharpened, recoiling sniffle. “I-I thought… Well, I missed you all.” 

Unhidden behind his brothers by the mass of his size — you often giddily pondered how he balanced so carefully up here without one’s notice besides yours — War steadily nods, slowly. “As we did you.”

The white crown of his brow shifts and you just barely catch its easing beneath the pull of his crimson cowl. He stands taller over his brothers now than he ever has before, proudly. 

“We knew you would come eventually. That does not mean we weren’t with you all along.” Fury words it with a note of sorrow, almost losing grasp of the hope of your eventual return, but her voice becomes assured and lighter; like a motherly coo.

Beneath the press of her gaze that regards you much softer than your mother had in recent years past, the wispy flow of her hair wafts adrift in wayward and ghostly paths. With a tilt of her head, eyes brimming into thinned gladness, the quick lash of her hair follows like a flame. 

The whites of your eyes become wider, showing the fuller orbs glossy laced. A curt gasp is the sound you make in your confirmed revelation. 

“So… it was you four, all along,” your cheeks peel back to reveal a flustered smile, “watching me from the theater rafters. Leaving me those precious and thoughtful gifts no other could.”

Before you know and levelled to your height, they crowd you in their comforting presence, mingling and close. 

Death’s fingers comb closely to your cheek and brush away the still spilling tears. “We always were in attendance. Always watching you dance so wonderfully. So freely. Our dancer caught in her twirling and whirling footwork tappings.”

Their arms envelop around you as a cage you don’t fathom as overbearing. They dare not clip your wings, instead being of the encouraging heart that urged you to follow in your dreams no matter. 

“Oh, my Nephs in the attic… not so cramped up here anymore. You can join me. Come out of your purgatory. For I am your freeing light.”

[helluvabun]

RadioApple.... thing

A/n: Could be seen as not RadioApple since there's not romance, but it was written with that dynamic in mind. They're also a little OOC but I did my best. 1056 words

Lucifer's heels clicked softly on the floor of the common room as he entered, punctuating the silence. His usual bravado shimmered, muted by a flicker of something else as his eyes fell upon the lone figure in the corner.

Alastor.

Seated in a plush armchair, legs crossed, his cane resting on his lap, Alastor’s smile widened at the sight of Lucifer, though it remained sinister despite its brilliance. His red eyes gleamed, locked onto the fallen angel with predatory intensity. The static hum that followed him seemed to grow louder, feeding off the charged atmosphere between them. Lucifer observed the demon who had so arrogantly claimed a place in the Hotel.

Of all the souls in Hell, Alastor irked him most. He could tolerate the chaos of Sinners and their predictable ambitions, but Alastor was an affront to his very nature. The Radio Demon was a constant challenge, a reminder of the audacity of mortals who dared tread too close to divinity and came up short. Yet, there was something infuriatingly captivating about Alastor’s self-assured grace that kept Lucifer from dismissing him entirely.

"Lucifer," Alastor greeted, his voice dripping with vintage charm, distorted like an old phonograph. "What a delightful surprise! Come to join me for a quaint little chat, or do you simply wish to bask in my presence?"

Lucifer’s lip twitched, his gaze narrowing as he approached, the tapping of his cane echoing in tandem with his steps. "Hardly. Though I suppose I should be flattered by your assumption that I would have the time—or inclination—to indulge you."

Alastor chuckled, a deep sound that filled the room. "Oh, don’t be so dour. I hear it’s unbecoming of a king. Or is it that I make you uncomfortable, dear old Lucifer?"

Lucifer halted, his wings shifting beneath his coat. His gaze was sharp, like shards of glass, though it failed to pierce Alastor’s permanent grin. "You give yourself too much credit. You’re merely… amusing at best, Alastor."

Alastor’s smile remained, but something darker flickered in his eyes. "Ah, amusing, you say?" His voice lowered, mockery never quite leaving. "Tell me, why do I have the distinct impression that I’ve been living rent-free in that labyrinthine mind of yours?"

Lucifer’s wings flexed, feathers bristling, but he remained calm. "Rent-free? Perhaps. But the moment I find you an inconvenience, you’ll be evicted without hesitation."

Alastor rose to his feet, smooth as silk, towering over Lucifer despite the angel’s proud posture. He stepped forward, coming closer than was polite, obliterating any pretenses of civility. "I wonder," he mused softly, "is it your daughter’s project that keeps you around, or is it something more personal?"

Lucifer tightened his grip on the cane, but his gaze never faltered. "I’m here for one reason, and it’s not to entertain your delusions. Charlie’s dream… it deserves protection."

Alastor leaned in, his grin nearly brushing Lucifer’s cheek. "Oh, but what about your dreams, Lucifer?" he whispered, the static around him caressing the air. "Or are those long dead, buried beneath centuries of failure?"

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with fury, but before he could respond, Alastor stepped back, his chuckle low and melodious. "For someone who claims to be above us all, you’re rather predictable. Everything about you—your righteousness, your arrogance—it’s all so tiresome."

"Careful," Lucifer growled, the forked tip of his tongue slipping between his sharp teeth. "You forget your place."

Alastor laughed again, wrapping his taunt around Lucifer. "I’m fully aware of my place, old friend. Right here. Standing toe-to-toe with the so-called King of Hell, yet you never quite manage to rid yourself of me."

Lucifer’s wings flared, a display of power radiating through the room. "Don’t mistake my patience for tolerance, Alastor. There’s a difference between allowing something to persist and being unable to remove it."

Alastor turned, his grin shrinking just for a moment. A flicker of something almost human passed through his eyes. "I don’t think you want to remove me, Lucifer. In fact…" His voice softened, playful lilt gone. "I think you need me."

The tension between them became a palpable force. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching taut like a wire, ready to snap. Lucifer’s expression darkened, studying Alastor, the depths of his mind churning with unspoken thoughts.

"Need you?" Lucifer’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "You overestimate your importance. You are a mere ripple in the ocean of eternity, and I…" His wings flared wider, casting shadows, "am the storm that commands it."

Alastor tilted his head, smile returning, now sharper. "A storm, yes. But storms eventually fade. What remains after the tempest? The echoes. The whispers. The memories of those who survive."

Lucifer’s eyes burned with rage, his voice rising. "Enough of your riddles, Alastor. Speak plainly or be silent. I am not in the mood for your games."

Alastor chuckled softly. "Oh, but where would the fun be in that?" Leaning on his cane, he tapped it lightly on the floor. "Let me be clear. This hotel… your daughter’s dream… it’s fragile, delicate. And you know it’s on the verge of collapse without the right influences." His gaze flicked to Lucifer, unwavering. "You may be the storm, but I am the voice in the static. Without me, all you will have is another failure."

Lucifer tightened his grip on the cane. "You are nothing but a meddler, Alastor. A parasite feeding off the dreams of others. I could end you with a thought, and yet here you stand, as if you hold power over me."

Alastor's grin widened. "Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not about power. It’s about purpose. You could destroy me, but what would you lose? What pieces of this grand puzzle would fall apart?"

For a moment, Lucifer hesitated. The weight of those words gnawed at his resolve. He knew Alastor was dangerous, a wild card in a game where every move mattered. To remove him now could unravel more than just the Radio Demon’s schemes.

Alastor saw the flicker of doubt, and his grin turned almost gentle. "You see it now, don’t you? You may despise me, but you can’t deny I serve a purpose. Chaos needs order, and order needs chaos. Without one, the other withers."

Lucifer’s expression hardened, but his silence spoke volumes.

Alastor’s voice, velvety and dark, slid between them like a serpent. "So, tell me, my King… what will you do? Will you embrace the storm, knowing I am the wind that keeps it raging? Or will you let it die, taking your daughter’s hopes with it?"

Lucifer locked his gaze on Alastor, cold and calculating. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, low and dangerous.

"Stay out of my way, Alastor. Or you’ll learn how much of a storm I can truly be."

Alastor’s smile returned, gleaming with satisfaction. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Lucifer." He bowed mockingly. "But let me know when you’re ready to admit you need me."

Lucifer turned on his heel, wings folding against his back. "Remember your place, Radio Demon," he growled, walking away.

As Alastor’s words lingered, Lucifer stood resolute, wings poised and powerful. With a final glare, he left, the door swinging shut behind him. The conversation sealed but left behind a promise of further clashes, an inevitable dance neither could escape.