#someone will have a better version but I need to post this now
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puckyess · 2 years ago
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Luke Hughes, best Hughes first goal edition
4.13.23
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oncominggstorm · 14 days ago
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My aunt decided a good way to wish me a happy birthday would be to text me a picture of me & my dead dad from my 22nd birthday.
Like yay thanks, I totally wanted to be sad and missing my dad on my birthday. I definitely wasn't trying to do the "out of sight out of mind don't think about sad things" thing to get through it without crying or anything 👍 Definitely wasn't already struggling missing not getting a happy birthday text from him 👍👍
#and like I get that her intentions were good but i find it SO rude#why would you bring up something heart wrenchingly sad to someone on their birthday? Unless they've indicated to you that they want that#it wasn't even like it was a new picture/one she could reasonably believe I hadn't seen before#we literally used a cropped version of that exact photo for his obituary#she has done something similar with EVERY SINGLE holiday since he died#fathers day & his birthday & thanksgiving & christmas all of them we got texts like “i know how hard today must be!”#like uh no i was doing fine til I got your text actually cuz I was blocking it all out & now your text has forced me to think about it#we're not even that close? Like she legit had never texted me before my dad died#and the last conversation I had with her was her telling me that me needing help with things was co-dependence#rather than a legit need because I am disabled#and that keeping my curtains closed all the time was unhealthy#and when I tried to explain sensory issues she said that she 'gets headaches from the sun sometimes too but you just have to power through'#as if that's the same thing as sensory issues from autism#(which she is apparently an expert on because she is a nurse and has worked with a few young boys with autism)#like literally she claimed she knew better than my actual doctor who diagnoses autism for a living#or my therapist who sees me twice a week (whereas i speak to my aunt MAYBE once a year)#oh also did you know that I should totally be able to hold down a full time job?#because the 18 year old autistic boy she knows whose parents do literally everything to support him and who has zero other responsibilities#and a huge support network trying to meet his needs#well HE'S able to work part time at the movie theater#so obviously that means that I should be able to work too because we're all the same#yeah anyway sorry rant over#it just really upset me#also because I was so upset I forgot I wanted to go to the park on my way home from the weed store 😔#beth posts
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wildevenusian · 3 months ago
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ireverie · 15 days ago
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see a cheerleader, breed a cheerleader
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pairing ↠ """nerd!"""jake x (f) reader
genre .. warnings ↠ smut, noncon, dubcon, oral (m receiving), male face sitting, face fucking, unprotected sex, blackmail, choking, hitting, virgin!reader
summary ↠ ever since forever, you have always gotten your way with people by whatever means necessary. a wink and a smile is all it takes to make a boy drop to your feet and worship you. no one told you to think that jake sim would be any different. as it turns out, actions do have consequences.
wc ↠ 14.9k
a/n ↠ jeno version of this fic posted on my nct blog revehae. yea, mine. i am her she is me. feedback is appreciated!
don’t like it, don’t read.
▸ short, sweet, sometimes sticky
it was supposed to be like everybody else.
short, sweet, maybe sticky if you considered that one time you’d shaken that sunoo boy’s sweat-coated hands and watched the pale of his face burn the same fierce rose as the lens he saw you through. 
you’d laughed lightheartedly to spare him the embarrassment, telling him that everybody got a little sweaty every now and then, especially you. after all, cheerleading was more than skipping around and twirling. and at those words, you’d watched his eyes haze with the image of you damp with sweat, drenched head to toe.
hook, line, and sinker.
far too easy, exactly how you liked them. smart, easy, and utterly unable to resist you.
no one told you to expect something different from jake sim. and why would you? he knew all the right answers, had some of the best marks, and practically lived in the library. he perfectly fit the bill of your standard victim.
which was why you had no qualms about approaching him in the library while he was typing away at his laptop, occasionally sipping from some kind of coffee.
as if he could sense he was in imminent danger and needed to evacuate immediately, jake turned around before you could even make it completely to the table and saw you advancing on him with a pretty, practiced smile. “hi,” you greeted, waving at him. falling, your hands gripped the rear of the chair beside him. “is someone sitting here?”
jake raised a brow at you, but shook his head. “no, no one’s sitting there.”
“perfect,” you replied, pulling out the chair and taking a seat. you turned so that you were facing him. “jake, right?”
jake nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. he got plenty girls, sure, but none ever approached him in the library. “that’s me,” he said, curious. “do i know you?”
“well, probably not,” you replied, giggling as if something was funny. “but, you know… i’m a cheerleader.”
jake hummed. “are you now?”
you bobbed your head expectantly. “yeah, and i’ve heard about how smart you are. i’m impressed, to be honest. i mean, every time i’m in the library, i see you sitting here. i could never spend so much time here. you must have a lot of resolve to do something like that.”
“you think so?” jake asked, pretending to be flattered just to see where you were leading him. 
“i do. like, really do,” you replied, brushing your fingers against his forearm. “i just have so many other,” better, “things to do, you know. with cheer, i’m either practicing or resting so that i’ll have energy for practice. it’s really hard on me, you know?”
jake stifled a chuckle and glanced back at his laptop screen. “you poor thing.”
your brows stitched. he wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to you. it was almost like he was uninterested. “and that’s why i was wondering if you could help me. i mean, you’re such a genius. you could probably do it in half the time it would take me,” you continued, lowering your hand onto his denim-clad thigh, and becoming surprised by how sturdy it felt.
jake spared a fleeting glance at your hand on his left thigh before his eyes flitted to your face, watching you wink at him and throw him a smile. “let me get this straight,” he started, slowly caressing the back of your hand with his thumb as it sat on his thigh. “you want me to… do your work for you?”
“hey, your hard work wouldn’t go unrewarded,” you insisted, ignoring the unexpected motions of his thumb. “you’d have my attention. i mean, like i said, i don’t have a lot of time to give away. but i’m willing to spend some of it on you.”
jake snickered, unable to help himself anymore. “are you this patronizing to everyone you meet?” he asked.
your eyes flickered. “p-patronizing?”
jake smiled, patting your hand before setting it on your own thigh. “sorry, was that a big word for you? you know, when you think you’re too good for something, but you don’t want to say it, so you play sweet and act like you’re helping me, when really, it’s the other way around.”
switching on a dime, you narrowed your eyes at him. for such a pretty boy, he had quite the attitude. “i know what patronizing means. and right now, i think you’re the one being patronizing.”
“am i?” jake asked, feigning obliviousness. “how’s it taste, cheerleader? doesn’t feel good, does it?”
your face was set in a scowl. sometimes it hurt you to play nice with people, and now was one of those times. “are you gonna help me or not?” you snapped.
“there it is,” jake sang, chuckling to himself. he put his hand on your thigh now, squeezing the flesh gently. for now. “there’s the real you.”
you swallowed, glaring over at him with a hint of defiance despite the disgusting, foreign feeling rotting in your chest. it had never gone like this before. every situation predating this one had been somewhat predictable, to the point where you’d come to expect certain reactions. this was not that.
“i’ll help you,” jake said after a pause.
you forced a smile. “great, so…”
jake interjected, “on one condition.”
smile faltering, you trailed off, processing his words. now he was making some kind of deal with you? who in the hell did this man think he was?
“on one condition?” you echoed, as if you’d somehow misheard him. your brows scrunched in suspicion. “what condition?”
jake grinned, the look on his face sly as hell and a stark contrast from the disgruntled glower on yours. “give me something in return,” was all he said, the tightening hold on your thigh giving away more than his words had.
you gawked, as if you were offended, and quickly swat at his hand. “i’m not having sex with you, you pervert!”
“sure, you’re not,” jake answered with a chuckle, eyes twinkling with amusement. everything about you was alluring to him for mostly all the reasons unintended. “but you said i’d have your attention. i guess you think it’s not often a poor, busy nerd like myself gets anyone’s attention, yeah? but nerds get tired too, don’t they? they need to de-stress…”
“that’s not my problem,” you spat. 
“you getting an F isn’t my problem, either,” jake retorted, shrugging his shoulders. “so what it’s gonna be, cheerleader?”
something about this situation isn’t right to you. maybe it’s the lack of power you currently wielded over him, despite the fact that you had gotten used to having your way with academically competent boys like himself. if he weren’t taller than you and stronger than you, you’d resort to other, more familiar methods.
but jake had changed the entire trajectory of this interaction for the worse, and now you had to determine whether or not it was beneath you to let him treat you as if you were some kind of object. you sulkily mulled it over, arms folded, trying to think of a way to maintain some semblance of power. “fine,” you finally replied, relenting. “but i’m not doing anything that requires me taking my clothes off.”
“you never seen a good porno, cheerleader?” jake asked, a stupid, taunting smile blemishing his lips. “that cute little uniform of yours is the whole appeal to some people.”
“my name is…,” you huffed irritably, tired of being referred to by your title. 
“frankly, cheerleader, i don’t care what your name is,” jake told you with brutal honesty. “you’re the one that introduced yourself as a cheerleader, like that’s your whole personality or something. thinking it would make me fold. you can’t be stupid and demanding.”
you gaped, affronted by the sheer audacity of him to even utter those words to you, like you were some dumb bimbo. “i’m not stupid! i’m just too busy.”
“right. too busy,” jake echoed, obviously none too convinced. “sorry for assuming.”
with a roll of your eyes, you stood up from the table chair, feeling utterly disrespected. “yeah, you should be,” you said, despite knowing his apology was completely inauthentic. “where’s your phone?”
jake arched a brow and glanced over to his phone, sitting face down against the table on the other side of him. before he could even respond, you reached over him to grab it and pointed it at his face, unlocking it as if you’d done it a million times before.
then, you started typing away, all the while jake watched you with an amused expression on his face. he had to admit, you were surely something. and though he found you entertaining, he couldn’t shake the thought that you desperately needed someone to put you in your place.
“reach me here,” you said after a moment, handing him his phone back. the screen was on his messages, a fresh contact with you.  “pleasure doing business with you.”
with that, you walked away. 
jake shook his head, scoffing. who the hell did you think you were?
over the next few days or so, you met with jake to better construct exactly what your expectations were pertaining to your work. or at least, those were the words he’d used. most of those limited encounters had ended with his hands sealing around your breasts.
you let it slide, deciding that a little over-the-clothes stuff was relatively harmless. after all, this was the busiest you’d been all year long, and you were far too exhausted when you got home to be burdened with stupid assignments and pesky discussion posts. the next two months, if not the next two weeks, were going to kill you if you didn’t have someone to carry at least half the workload on your behalf.
it was okay. jake’s inability to keep his hands to himself was fine. it wasn’t like anybody was going to know, or that this arrangement would last long enough for them to find out. you would get to keep your dignity and your grades, without saving one at the expense of the other.
short, sweet, and sticky, remember? maybe the latter was simply manifesting in the way jake’s hands were stuck to you. not that anything about him was sweet.
more like sacrifice.
▸ gilded age
“guess who just made the list of this week’s top ten trending sluts,” jennie said as she walked up beside you and roseanne.
roseanne perked up that, though she couldn’t help but mischievously quip, “you?”
jennie narrowed her eyes. “hoe, as if,” she spat. “i know how to keep my legs closed.”
you snickered. “god, what happened now?”
“a sex tape got leaked. hyeri, and apparently sunghoon.”
your nose scrunched, as if disgusted. “always knew she was a slut. i mean, you should have been there to see the way she acted around the jocks in high school. her eyes were practically screaming, ‘pick me, choose me, fuck me,’” you mocked.
roseanne burst into giggles, downing the rest of what was left in her red cup. “i don’t think that’s how that goes,” she chimed. “but sunghoon? is she crazy? i hope they didn’t do it raw. i heard rumors that he’s got the clap.” 
“he sure clapped something, alright,” jennie retorted, much to your amusement. “it was definitely raw. hope it was worth the itch. you guys wanna see?”
“absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head vigorously. “i bet her parents would love to see it, though. on second thought, send me it.”
roseanne gawked. “are you serious?”
you bobbed your head, grinning deviously. “yeah. you guys have no idea what that bitch was like in high school. i tried teaching her a lesson, but she just never learned. it’s like the bitch is addicted to pain or something.”
jennie shook her head, pretending to disapprove, though she was intrigued to see how far you would your obvious loathing. “just sent it.”
your phone vibrated in your hand a few seconds later. you opened your instagram burner account, scrolling through your main’s following to find hyeri’s mother’s page, and dropped the video in her inbox. your sly giggle alerted your friends to your success and you dropped your phone in your pocket, satisfied.
“oh, you’re sick,” jennie insulted playfully, nudging your arm. “i wonder if she’ll say anything.”
you shrugged your shoulders, feigning nonchalance as if you weren’t excited to see how her mother would respond. “don’t know, but i’m more curious about if she’ll talk to hyeri about it. i’d love to be a fly on the myung’s wall when that happens.”
roseanne tapped your shoulder. “hey, don’t look now, but that jake guy is staring you.”
your head whirled around, spotting jake in his own corner of the party, indeed watching your every move as if he wanted to consume you and was waiting for the perfect moment to attack. which, if he was, would not be surprising. 
roseanne sighed in annoyance. “i literally just said don’t look now.”
you turned back to face them, shaking your head. “don’t worry about that creep,” you replied, brushing it off. “he’s just begging to get in my pants. didn’t even know he went to parties.”
for whatever reason, jennie laughed. something about what you said tickled her, apparently. “um, yeah. that’s jake for you, alright. he’s either partying with his friends or grinding in the library, no in between. perfectly balanced lifestyle, i have to admit it.”
your brows furrowed. that was news to you. and probably an important piece of information that you’d conveniently missed when narrowing down your targets. maybe you should have asked around about him more. you just didn’t think that someone who studied as hard as he did could also be the life of the party.
what was he doing here, anyway? shouldn’t he have been off doing your homework? useless fucking nerdy-not.
“do you guys know each other or something?” roseanne pressed, noticing the strange tension in the air despite the fact that you and jake were feet apart. which was honestly admirable. “do you think you could get him to put me on with jungwon?”
jennie’s laughter rang out again, only this time, it was much louder, and much more mocking. “please. jungwon isn’t gonna touch any of us after how she broke his heart. you’d have better luck with jaehyun,” she sneered.
roseanne glared, a snarl on her face. “fuck jaehyun.”
“yeah, i bet you want to. i bet you’re still dreaming of that big, thick, meaty dick you wouldn’t shut up about, like, two months ago.”
“a lot can change in two months.”
“oh, it sure can,” jennie replied, humming. “it sure can.”
▸ takes two to tango
jake: come over
you: no
jake: that wasn’t a request 
you: no where in our agreement does it say you get to boss me around
jake: not even for an A?
you: that’s what your grabby hands are for
jake: i don’t have to do this, you know. i can let you be a grown up and fiend for yourself like the rest of us
you: i’m otw, chill. jesus
the knock of your fist against jake’s door was incessant, more than likely enough to exasperate his neighbors, given that it was particularly late at night and a good number of them had to have been sleeping.
jake threw the door open with a scowl, obviously irritated. “you are so fucking annoying,” he hissed, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you. 
“ow!” you cried out, snatching your arm away. “stop that, i’m sore.”
jake shook his head, his discontent frown disappearing in favor of an entertained, idiotic smile. “sore, huh? from doing what?”
you rolled your eyes. “if it isn’t obvious, i’m a cheerleader,” you reminded, gesturing down to your uniform. “meaning, i cheer.”
ignoring your snarky attitude, jake glanced you up in down, taking in the sight of you in that tight, short cheer uniform that clung to you rather snugly. sweat still beaded at your damp legs and likely gathered between your breasts and down your back, as jake was imagining. “yeah, you cheer. you won’t let me forget,” he said, amused.
“well, i’m busy,” you said, crossing your arms.
busy, my fucking ass, jake thought to himself. “yeah, you won’t let me forget that, either. and yet, i saw you giggling with your friends at a party two weeks ago, looking completely fine. your poor, exhausted legs seemed to be working perfectly.”
“what, so i can’t have hobbies now?”
“sure, you can,” jake replied, shrugging his shoulders. “i just have to ask, do you ever do anything productive with your time?”
“of course, i do,” you hissed, before quickly deflecting, “but we both know that’s not why you made me come all the way over here. so, what do you want?”
“your attention,” jake said without missing a beat. his hands plopped against your bare shoulders and began wandering down your arms, rubbing them back and forth. “i’m in desperate need of a cheerleader’s sweet, precious attention.”
the disgruntled grimace on your face was the most effort you made to express your discomfort, not that he was looking there anyway. to him, at the moment, the sight of your body was much more appetizing. you watched with a repugnant burn simmering in your gaze as his eyes met your long, slender legs.
without warning, jake grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you into the air, making you cry out in surprise. arms dangling around his neck, you held on for dear life, not an inch of your body feeling safe in his arms. you had been hauled further away from the ground by your cheermates, but this was different; no one wanted to fail, meaning no one would drop you. you had no reason to assume that jake would handle you delicately.
but his burly arms, however, were not lost on you. though you hadn’t yet seen them in full power, your interactions mostly taking form of him forcing your back flush against the chiseled muscle of his chest as he kneaded yours, you could only imagine what the hands that groped you were capable of. 
in a matter of seconds, you landed on your back against his sheets, another shrill screech escaping your throat. “jake, what the hell?” you exclaimed. 
“i’m not getting on my knees for you,” jake said, the slyest of smiles tugging at his lips. “not unless it’s to fuck you. and you’re just too good to give it up, aren’t you?”
for him, definitely. and you would have said so, but your lips parted in a gasp, surprised and startled. something wet pushed along your sore legs, which were abruptly yanked to pillars far above your head so that they’d be more conveniently within reach of jake’s tongue as he licked long, hot lines at them.
your eyes were rooted on him, fixed in a shape unlike their natural narrowed, black blaze and it would instead be more apt likening them to the fear and fret of a deer in crossed paths. wide, waiting, almost innocent. too used to circumstance to understand its fabric and too unfamiliar to chance to understand its fate.
unsatisfied, jake bent your knee and pushed your leg further as he stood over the edge of his bed, and, in turn, over you, a grip on your ankles that you could feel in your bones. “jake, that hurts,” you whined. 
jake didn’t understand why you were bitching. “but you’re a cheerleader,” he echoed. “aren’t you flexible?”
you writhed uncomfortably as he continued shamelessly, tongue even daring to twist against the bone underneath the bend of your knee, a sensation that itched more than you expected. his lips sealed around your skin, sucking and nibbling.
needless to say, it was unlike anything you had experienced before. “stop, that’s weird!”
“stop complaining,” jake groaned, pushing your leg even harder. “it’s like all you ever do is complain about how hard your life is.”
your eyes stung now not only with loathing, but the threat of hot tears. it was stupid; it sounded dramatic, but you felt it was warranted when he was the one actively making your life harder. “you’re a fucking weirdo,” you snapped. 
jake heard it. the slight tremble in your voice despite the courage you’d been feigning. that was the sole reason he even bothered to look up at your face, the tears in them stealing his attention away in a heartbeat. he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed, or maybe even both. “god, now you’re crying,” he pointed out. “i haven’t even done anything to you. do you need me to give you a reason to cry?”
you shook your head. all you needed was to go home and recharge. you were beginning to doubt whether or not he was worth the trouble he carried with him in exchange for a grade that would keep your parents off your back, especially if he was going to make pulling stunts like this a regular habit. 
the last thing you expected jake to do was tug the bottom of your top past the shadow of your breasts, slackening the taut grip on your ankles in favor of your wrists as if he knew you would dare resist him, and burying his face between your chest. you exhaled shakily, mortified by the hot, wet feel of his tongue licking a stripe between your breasts, gathering leftover sweat on its tip.
and you did thrash. but you were getting a taste of that power now; a power that wasn’t your own, a power that you couldn’t reap. a power that grabbed you with its calloused fist with a might so strong you couldn’t move. and it was for the first time that you felt utterly weak. there had to be a word for something as unfathomable as that, but it was so foreign to you that you couldn’t think of it.
to make matters worse, jake was taking his time, sucking bruises onto the skin of your chest in between his licking, as if he wanted to ensure there was no spot left untouched, no drop of sweat left behind. your face strained with discomfort, wanting more than anything to get away from him and this awful feeling rotting inside of your heart.
maybe your cries for mercy were heard, because no sooner had you hoped for an end than it came. “you can go now,” jake said, pulling away. he pulled your shirt back down and smoothed out any wrinkles, which was almost kind of him.
even though you were more than eager to be rid of him, you lay there, dumbfounded. it was one thing to be violated, and it was another to be dismissed, but to happen in rapid succession of each other quickly bred some ugly emotion that was only festering.
jake had expected you to scurry out of his bed, and out of his apartment, so the fact that you were still there bemused him. “what, do you want more?” he teased. 
you shook your head, sitting up a little too quickly. your head started to feel lightheaded. you barked, “that isn’t what i agreed to!”
jake had the audacity to laugh. like you had told a joke of some kind. “isn’t it? your clothes are still technically on. that was what you agreed to. remember?”
you dropped to your feet, pushing past him. “you’re disgusting,” was all you said, making a beeline for the door.
“takes two to tango, baby,” jake called after you, simpering.
you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. there was an unpleasant stir in your gut - not as easily distinguishable as the loathing - unlike anything you had ever felt and you desperately wanted it to go away, to rid of yourself of anything that even remotely resembled jake sim.
 ▸ chess, not checkers
deep, low grunts smacked against the walls and bounced back with almost the same amount of vigor of jake’s quick, unrelenting hips, the sound nearly as hard and heavy as he was. the only thing rivaling the tightness of the hole he was using was the wince of his closed eyes and the grip of his strong hands.
jake didn’t want to see. it would be too blatantly obvious that she wasn’t you, and that it wasn’t your blemished hips he was holding. though she sounded nothing like you. he knew that you would have been so much whinier, and despite finding them painfully obnoxious, he found himself longing to hear all your worthless, melodramatic complaints.
instead, he heard soft moans mingling with his own labored sounds as his hips moved with a mind of their own, imagining it was you underneath him where you truly belonged.
the image stained the back of his eyelids, burned behind them every time he closed his eyes; the shortness of your pleated skirt scrunched around your hips, weak legs on his broad shoulders with nicks and bruises scattered here and there, arms swinging aimlessly.
and if he got tired of hearing you, he could simply press his palm squarely against your mouth, muting the sound of your incessant fussing. if he really wanted to put you in your place, he could clasp his hands around your throat and clamp down onto your windpipe till all that escaped you was a pitiful, featherlight squeak.
jake could tell no one had ever properly put you in your place before, no one had ever stood up to you and reminded you of your level. you were in desperate need of a humbling and didn’t even know it yourself. no one better than jake for the role, he figured. a little cheerleader parading around in a uniform to feel different from everybody else she met didn’t scare him whatsoever.
the only thing saving you was essentially the fact that you were undeniably pretty and not necessarily to blame for the school’s superficial culture, which elevated girls like you in terms of status despite it having no real meaning or manifestations outside of campus, and put you on top when you were within the bubble.
but outside the bubble, away from the boys who thought of you as this beautiful, unattainable poison and the girls who enabled you with a faux sense of togetherness, you had no real identity, no real power, and no real worth.
and yet, maybe jake was contributing to the problem. maybe he had inadvertently become one of the people elevating you. because choking in the heat of the moment, he uttered your name, forgetting who he was with and where he was.
hands shoved at him, hard. at least, hard enough for him to be jolted out of his reverie, finally gazing into the eyes that seethed because of him. “did you just call me that evil witch’s name?” seoa barked.
jake winced. that was a fair reaction, all things considered. he wouldn’t have wanted to have been called your name out of everyone’s, either. he rubbed his nape. “well…”
“unbelievable,” seoa replied, scoffing. she got out of the bed and hurriedly began picking her clothes up from the floor, redressing herself.
jake exhaled a breath, mostly annoyed that his orgasm had been ruined, but still feeling a hint of sympathy. “seoa, wait,” he said, touching her shoulder.
seoa recoiled, pulling away. jake had never seen anyone be so ready to put on their pants after being with him, not even with a hell of a schedule after. “never touch me again,” she spat, walking out with her shoes in tow. “fuck you.”
jake ran a hand through his hair, watching her leave, and murmured under his breath, “god dammit.”
a few days later, while they were attending a festival, jay marched over to jake, draping an arm over his shoulder, and asked, “wanna tell me why seoa blocked all of us and she’s been glaring at me and mark since she got here?”
jake snickered, shaking his head in slight disbelief. he was over it by now, he figured she would be too. “i let a certain cheerleader’s name slip while i was balls deep inside her,” he confessed. which he wasn’t necessarily proud of, considering the only reason he even knew your name was because you’d saved your own contact on his phone.
jay’s brows furrowed, glancing around as if he was trying to spot you in the crowd like a heat-seeking missle. “who?”
rolling his eyes, jake grabbed the back of jay’s head with one hand and turned it in your general direction, hoping it would help. and jake knew it had when jay’s confusion melted into disgust. 
“oh, that bitch?” he asked, nose wrinkled.
jake chuckled, releasing his friend’s head. “she’s a bitch, but she’s pretty.”
jay couldn’t argue with that fact even if he’d wanted to. “yeah, i’ll give her that. cute in the face. she’s fake as hell, though. played jungwon like a fiddle. he did six months worth of her homework because she promised they’d get together.”
that was news to jake. he knew you were cruel, having had stories from sunoo and the like, but he never knew of your history with jungwon. if it could be called that. “did they fuck?” he couldn’t help but ask.
jay shook his head, taking a sip from the bottle in his hand before he answered, “he said she always turned him down. told him she was waiting for ��the perfect moment.’”
now that was funny as hell. jake had only known you for a few weeks and yet even he quickly pieced together that you weren’t the romantic type. “well, that’s fucked up,” he said, happily accepting yet another reason to dislike you. “but he’s dumb as fuck if he did her homework for six months without getting a crumb of pussy in return.”
jay made a face, nodding. “yeah,” he exhaled, giving the impression that he’d wanted to defend jungwon. “but man, what possessed you to say her name while fucking the seoa? i need a good excuse. you just blew my shot with her.”
jake shrugged. “don’t have one. she approached me maybe three weeks ago asking me to do her homework, and i agreed.”
jay gawked. that didn’t sound like jake. like at all. “man, what? is she paying you?”
“oh, dividends,” jake quipped.
“oh, and in what? pussy?”
“nope.”
jay looked horrified. he was so damn dramatic. “then, why the hell are you doing her bidding? that doesn’t sound like you.”
it didn’t, not immediately, but jake had his reasons. “entertainment purposes,” he replied curtly.
jay shook his head, taking another swig of his drink. certainly, he was drinking, not smoking. “you’re becoming her pawn for entertainment purposes? unbelievable, bro.”
“chess, not checkers, jay.” jake smirked, putting a hand on jay’s shoulder. “you’ll see.”
▸ things good guys do 
“you’re lucky i was already out,” jake told you when you let him into your apartment. “it’s the middle of the night for fuck’s sake. what do you want?”
“oh, please,” you spat, damn near rolling your eyes. your arms were folded. “you get to call me over at the ungodly hour, but when i do it, it’s a problem?”
jake exhaled through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he bothered to come here when he had no obligation to do your bidding, as jay had put it. but something told him that he wouldn’t have any regrets. “yeah, it is. now, what do you want?”
you were silent for a few moments, somewhat ashamed of the request you would ultimately make. you sighed, surrendering. “i need help with calculus,” you finally said.
jake’s shoulders drooped, eyes shrinking in a contemptuous disbelief. “seriously?”
“seriously,” you repeated, sitting down on your couch as your laptop screen glared back at you from the coffee table.
jake groaned, “i seriously don’t know how you even got into this school. can’t you do anything by yourself?”
you gawked, affronted. he made you sound like some incompetent, immature dickhead. “contrary to a weirdly popular belief, i’m actually really smart,” you insisted, having the transcripts to prove it. “but my professor sucks and i need an eighty-nine on my final to keep my A. and it’s not like you can walk in and take it for me because it’s proctored.”
jake shook his head and reminded, “you know this little agreement we have doesn’t include me tutoring you, right?”
“it didn’t include you assaulting me, either,” you retorted.
“you think that was assault?” jake asked, scoffing. he dropped beside you on your couch, the proximity instinctively making you suck in a breath. “if i wasn’t a good guy, i’d show you assault.”
scooting over to ensure maximum distance between your bodies, you argued, “good guys don’t call themselves good guys.”
“good guys have self-control,” jake replied matter-of-factly, resisting a chuckle. he didn’t make a move to touch you, but he noticed how tense you looked now that he was sitting beside you. “i’ll tutor you, but we’ll have to up the terms of our agreement.”
you swallowed sharply, throat bobbing. you had a feeling you weren’t going to enjoy these new terms. “what do you want?”
“a blowjob.”
“that’s disgusting,” you spat without a second thought, features contorting with repugnance.
jake quipped, “and so is your inability to do your school work without using and depending on every intelligent boy you meet, but hey, i’m sure you can’t help that.”
you sighed, exasperated, and cradled your face in your hands. was this seriously what your life had come to? giving a boy a blowjob in exchange for a pretty transcript?
jake grinned, appreciating the sight of you in distress. it was a sign, a good sign, and he intended to bring it out of you more and more, bleeding you absolutely dry. lowering a hand onto your thigh, he urged, “come on, bruise those little knees for me. don’t you bruise ‘em for cheer?”
“that’s not the same!” you whined. 
“of course, it’s not,” jake said, squeezing your thigh as his shoulders trembled with laughter. “cheer isn’t helping you graduate with flying colors.”
you desperately wanted him to be wrong, you were begging for him to be wrong, but you both knew that if he was, he wouldn’t have been here with you at the moment. not now, not three weeks ago, not ever. so you sucked it up, slamming down your laptop lid, and grumbled, “fine.”
maybe he didn’t come here for nothing, after all. grateful he’d trusted his gut, jake stood up and clutched your arm to pull you along with him. “come on, let’s go to your room. i like my blowjobs a little messy and i’m sure you don’t want to mess up your nice carpet.”
you snatched your arm away from him, hating his insistence on touching you for every little reason whenever he possibly could, even if it was insignificant. your mouth was taut as you begrudgingly headed for your bedroom.
it was obvious that you were sour. walking behind you, jake couldn’t help but chime, “glad to see that you can at least walk by yourself!”
you bristled in annoyance, wishing you could just get rid of him, but you knew it wouldn’t be wise to discard him so quickly. at least for now, he still held some kind of value.
jake walked in behind you, looking particularly radiant, and you hated that you knew why. hell, you hated the reason itself. “get on your knees,” he commanded.
normally, you would complain about him giving you orders as if you were his lap dog or something, but you just wanted to get this over with. you were already so over this entire week. you slowly dropped to your knees, trying to ignore how demeaning it felt. 
“good girl,” jake praised at your compliance. “now, look up at me with those pretty eyes and ask me to help you with calc. ask me nicely.”
you met his eyes, noticing the expectant glimmer in his gaze that you so badly wanted to knock off. but you weren’t dumb enough to incite violence against a grown man that walked around with his bulging muscles on display for all the world to see, and you didn’t doubt that he would hit you back. “jake, please help me with calculus,” you pleaded, choosing your battles.
jake hummed, satisfied. “you sound so pretty and sweet when you ask nicely, instead of demanding things. didn’t know you were capable of that,” he told you, running his fingers through your hair. “take it out. get me hard.”
your hands moved to his sweatpants, tugging at them enough to bring them down just shy of his knees, and doing the same with his underwear. he wasn’t hard yet, but that would be an easy fix; witnessing your state of pure anguish, watching you speak and move as if you were totally dejected, always excited him.
not to mention that the sight of you on your knees for him, the more he took it in, was arousing him even more than he thought it would. he had pictured it in his mind before, you serving him, pleasuring him, existing solely for him, but nothing could compare to the sight he beheld now.
at least, nothing other than you actually doing something rather than sitting there like an idiot. he liked taking control, but he figured you would take matters into your own hands, literally, when he gave the order. “do you need me to tell you what to do or something?” he asked, huffing irritably. “put your tongue on it. tease the head.”
your face and ears burned in ways they rarely did, but you nodded wordlessly and did as told, bracing your hands on his thighs and reluctantly pressing your tongue onto his tip, looking anywhere but his eyes as the muscle swirled around.
that amused jake to no end. at least for now, he would let it slide, not feeling the need to maintain eye contact with you at the moment. if he needed to, he would simply just grab a nice, thick fistful of your hair and yank it back to jolt your head up at him. he could still see your pretty, bare face, hair arranged messily at the top of your head with a few needless strands jutting out here and there.
he liked that. of course, he would have been more than enthusiastic to have you suck him off if you’d been all dolled up, making you ruin your makeup and undo at least an hour of careful, clean work, but he also just took pleasure in seeing this natural, undone part of you. he wanted to see you for what you really were.
it didn’t take long for him to get hard. with all his thoughts revolving around you and the feel of your tongue on the head of his dick, that was a no-brainer. “good, now put it in your mouth. take as much as you can and not an inch less,” jake instructed.
widening your mouth, you accepted his stout, heavy cock into your mouth, lips forming a tight suction around the head and steadily advancing down his shaft. bit by bit, inch by nightmarishly thick inch. you had made it maybe halfway down his shaft when you quickly discovered your limit.
jake was surprisingly content, despite the fact that you definitely still had a few more inches to go. “there you go,” he said, giving your head a soft pat of approval. “suck. go slow. and don’t you dare let me feel any teeth.” 
your heart was thumping out of something you could only understand as fear, even though jake hadn’t done anything to warrant it yet. inhaling through your nose, you tried to level your breathing, taking your time to draw in his cock lest you made a mistake. the hint of warning in jake’s voice, in spite of the calmness, was clear.
jake, on the other hand, was reaching elysian heights. faint grunts of, “fuck,” escaped his pink lips, large hands at his sides reflexively tensing into tightly clenched fists in need of something to grab, hips just barely stuttering. your mouth was hot and wet, with the added benefit of your torturous tongue pressed against his size.
there was a pinch of desperacy in your actions that overcame the resistance; a desperacy not necessarily to please him, but to appease him. accidents were the last thing you could afford and eliciting his frustration was the last thing you wanted.
“lick,” jake said, chest undulating. “up and down.”
with a hum, you started drawing long, wet lines back and forth on his veiny shaft, almost as if you were tracing the bold veins with your tongue. jake’s reaction was instantaneous, deep groans the only thing you could hear other than the wet sound of your mouth on his cock, sucking and licking. 
jake’s eyes fluttered closed. “fuck. yeah, like that.”
you pressed your tongue against the underside of his dick, lingering in each spot for a moment before you continued, mostly because he seemed to like it when you did. which was your north star in an empty, dead night, because you had not a clue what the hell you were doing and you were afraid of making it obvious somehow.
if jake could tell, he didn’t make it known. he was in a world of his own, all too happily reaping the pleasure from your mouth as if it was a dream come true for him. “kiss my balls. lick it.”
you stifled the sigh you were half tempted to let loose, pulling off his cock with a wet sound and a string of saliva connecting from the sticky tip to your glossy lips. moving your head, you took a moment to steel yourself before peppering tiny, soft kisses along his balls, down to his scrotum.
it wasn’t the most dignifying thing you had ever done, it may have even been the least, but your aching, sore jaw appreciated the break from sucking. you dragged your tongue over his testicles, tasting nothing but rubbery flesh. you were too busy avoiding his eyes to notice, but his face was tensing with pleasure, lips parting in low murmurs.
compared to when you first started, jake was drastically harder now, massive, monstrous cock nearly bursting at the veins with precum leaking out from the thick tip. had your goal been to take all of him entirely, the sheer size of him would have immediately overwhelmed you.
“switch to your hand and go back to sucking me off,” jake said, firm yet quiet. it sounded like he was trying to restrain himself, barely holding it together.
at least you were a fast learner. teasing the head of his cock, you gave it a few slow, tentative licks before you began to take him into your mouth again, all the while gently fondling his balls with your fingers. jake groaned, arching into your touch. he couldn’t help himself.
you could taste the vicious amount of precum staining your tongue and you didn’t know how to describe it, other than slightly tart. the flavor blended with that of your own saliva, lingering on the roof of your mouth and the warm flesh underneath the flap of your tongue, mild as could be.
at least it wasn’t downright awful. you had heard stories before, not that you’d ever known what to make of them, or even pictured yourself being inside of them. if a month ago, someone had told you that you’d be on your knees for a man - for anyone - you would have said they were delusional.
jake’s patience had worn thin and when you least expected it, he hauled you into the air, making you cry out in surprise just as you had the first time he’d lifted you into his buff, meaty arms. he tossed you onto the bed, just shy of the headboard, and suddenly straddled your chest. you gasped out a breath.
“open up,” jake said, cock positioned right in front of your mouth.
not that he gave you the time to obey him, because he pressed himself against your slightly parted lips and forced them wider, entering your mouth on his own. your face strained, perfectly threaded brows tugging down into a discontented arch.
when you tried to pull away, jake grabbed the sides of your face and pushed you onto his shaft with trembling hands, making you take him and leaving no room for escape, not until he decided he was done with you. there was only one concern present in his mind and that was getting himself off.
tears stung your eyes, that same implacable feeling you had when he’d dragged his tongue over the expanse of your soft, shaved legs and bare, sweaty chest finding you again in the most of unwanted company. jake scoffed, spitefully tugging at your hair. “you know what’s funny? you’re such a fucking crybaby. you can’t take even half of what you give to others.”
chin flush against his scrotum and your nose not even an inch away from his bush, you almost gagged. the slurping sounds were humiliating, loud, wet squelching with every other big gulp making you want to shrink. however, jake loved it, obsessing over the idea of making a mess out of you. the sound went straight to his dick.
jake held your face in that low position, deeper than you’d ever taken him so far. “i’m really not that bad of a guy, you know,” jake said, sounding like he truly believed it. you could have scoffed, if not for obvious reasons. “you just bring it out of me. i’m really just treating you like how you treat everybody else.”
he made you sound like something straight out of hell and you couldn’t help but think it was an unfair justification for something that felt too close to punishment. he obviously thought he knew you better than he did and it made you aggravated. that, or he somehow thought he was better than you.
there was a fleeting second of relief when jake unmounted your chest and let you breathe, only to be crushed again when he dragged you by your wrists to the edge of your mattress, leaving you in the deep end. your eyes struggled to grasp with the flipped image of him nearing you, cock back down your throat before you could even blink.
though his hips thankfully had been moving at a calmer, steady pace before, despite forcing himself deeper than you could handle, he began to thrust more urgently into your mouth with the new change, embedding himself even further into your throat than you knew was possible. 
you cried harder, hating every second of it. the salty, bitter tang of your tears mingled with the tainted taste of spit and sharp bite of precum that had come to stain your chin and cupid’s bow. the vigor of his movements was overwhelming, overpowering.
“that’s it, cheerleader. cry harder,” jake taunted, tracing his thumb over your face to swipe at the trail of tears. all the while his hips were moving faster, harder.
it felt like such a mockery, him doing that. a feigned act of sympathy while perpetuating the torment that was reducing you to tears as a selfish means of achieving pleasure of his own. 
then, his hands wandered down to your breasts, slipping inside your night shirt and mauling your chest. running his hands in a circle, his thumb brushed the erect, colored nipples and he clasped his hands around your chest, squeezing your breasts. “fuck, i’m close,” he grunted, grip tightening, pace hastening, force increasing. 
with how close he was, your nose was squarely against his the flesh of his balls, effectively cutting off your exhale. your heart thudded, racing and pounding. tensing with panic, your hands frantically moved, striking at his navel and thighs. even your legs were in alarm, unstill towards the other end of the bed. 
jake groaned, smacking your cheek. another slap followed the sizzle, straight against your chest. “calm the fuck down,” he hissed, raising his arm in preparation to hit you again. “i’ll let you breathe as soon as i come, so you better not get in the way, if you know what’s good for you.”
even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stay calm. your body physically couldn’t handle it, responding the only way it knew how, trying to protect you. somebody had to. you closed your eyes, face warm with tears and panic, and you tried to brace your hands on the sheets, anything to comfort and stabilize yourself.
it got to a point where jake couldn’t hold back anymore and he climaxed with a prolonged, guttural groan, hips still brutally smacking into your mouth as he painted your tongue and the back of your throat with his cum. he went as far as to grab your head again, forcing himself onto you as deep as he could go, and demanding, “swallow it.”
like hell you would. you pushed him away, coughing and choking as soon as you did, drops of cum pooling from your mouth and some of it flying here and there in the midst of your coughing fit.
irritated, jake pressed his tongue against the roof his mouth. “you’re so fucking useless,” he groaned, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and quickly turning on the camera. “look at you. sitting here choking on my cum. you want it again, don’t you?”
you sat up, nearly tumbling over the edge of your bed from the intense convulsing, and turned to face the other way as you hunched over, tightly clasping your sheets. “fuck off, you got what you wanted!” you rasped.
jake laughed. you sounded so gravelly. “you’re right. i did,” he replied, putting back on his pants and pocketing his phone. “so, tutoring. i’ll see you tomorrow. nighty night, cheerleader.”
he gave you a pat on the head and turned, heading straight for the door.
▸ hard feelings
something about today was different than usual. 
when you woke up, you had felt a shift in the air, but you’d chalked it up to being nervous about the final you had in three hours.
but when you finally went to go take it, however, you quickly realized that the unsettling feeling you had was not simply pre-exam jitters. it was something much more sinister than that. with the status you held on campus, you were used to being watched and gawked at, but this was different.
it felt like everybody and their mother was looking at you.
you were confused. you had been the subject of this much attention before, but only once; it was a couple years back when someone had spread a dirty, foul rumor about you. there was a social media page for your school called top ten, mostly used to shame women for their sexual exploits, but some men made their way on it too. that was how you heard about sunghoon’s clap rumor.
long story short, a rumor about you had originated there and it had taken you weeks to clear your name. but by that time, there was already another slut of the week. you were lucky to have your situation not only be false and debunked, but word of mouth. only the most unlucky of people, like hyeri, got images or videos of themselves posted.
and you were a community favorite. you would understand if you were new, but you had built a reputation around here. why would anybody believe floating rumors about you now?
but the abundance of stares didn’t end there. even in the cafe, you had caught someone watching you a little too hard to be a casual leer of admiration. and you were determined to find out why.
fortunately, you were able to find jennie and roseanne walking and talking in the courtyard, and you called out their names to stop them.
jennie turned first, and you watched her smile drop in real time. she glanced around, frantic, as if she was worried about someone watching her too.
roseanne smiled thinly, halfheartedly lifting her hand to wave. “hey,” she greeted quietly, matching jennie’s nerves.
they knew something you didn’t and it was glaringly obvious. “what’s going on?” you asked. “everyone’s looking at me and i know i’m not going crazy yet.”
jennie and roseanne glanced between each other, as if they both had bad news but neither of them wanted to be the one to tell you. after a few seconds, jennie groaned and said, “you might want to check top ten.”
your brows furrowed. you, on top ten? again? god, people could be so infuriating. “ugh, what rumor did they spread about me this time?”
jennie winced, which only made you more anxious. “it’s not just a rumor,” she whispered. “…it’s a video.”
“video?” you echoed in disbelief. that didn’t make sense. you hadn’t been with anyone except… except jake. you tensed with anger.
roseanne opened her phone to show you the video that had been posted. it was an anonymous submission that claimed to be a recording of you. unfortunately, it was you, bits of your chest exposed from jake reaching into your shirt and drops of cum landing there as you fought for breath. your face wasn’t visible, but there were some other distinguishing signs, like your hair and skin and sheets.
your heart thudded and your shoulders went cold, but your eyes were scalding. you were well aware that jake didn’t like you, you didn’t exactly love him either, but you never thought he would stoop low enough to hurt you like this.
“i’m sorry,” roseanne apologized, dropping her phone in her purse when you were done. the video was only a few seconds long, but the damage was forever. “but don’t worry. it’s not like it’s top three worthy. everyone will move on next week.”
jennie nodded in agreement and briefly patted your back. “yeah. we’ll hang out again when this all blows over, i promise.”
then, they walked away. leaving you reeling with ache and betrayal. your friends didn’t want to be seen with you anymore. you were an embarrassment.
you swallowed the bitter feeling scorching up your throat and tapped your pockets for your phone, knowing there was one person you needed to see. 
you: you and i need to talk. right now.
jake: about what?
you: don’t play dumb, i know you sent that video in!
jake: maybe u should have swallowed
you: you know what, i don’t need you. i never have. and i don’t want your help anymore. just leave me alone
jake: [one attachment]
jake: you sure about that? because i’m sure there’s plenty of people that would love to see the version with your face in it
you gawked, hiding your phone screen against your chest while glancing around to make sure no one could see.
adjusting your brightness, you unlocked your phone again and texted him back hurriedly.
you: why are you doing this?! i’ve never done anything to you
jake: this is bigger than just you and me
jake: now if you don’t want everyone to see that pretty face, come put those lips around me again and we can work something out
and that was how it started. though you hadn’t had the upper hand in weeks, this was the moment you completely lost it. what was once an arrangement for him to help you in exchange for your attention became a hole of misery that you couldn’t dig yourself out of.
one blowjob became two, and two became three until you started to immediately recognize what it meant when you saw his name appear on your screen, knowing what it was before he even asked. not that he ever technically asked. it was always a command, a claim to your body wherever and whenever he wanted.
if you tried to be strong, if you tried to break free of him, he always threatened to make sure that recordings of you on your knees for him went up for all the world to see and no one would ever think of you the same way again. he was more than willing to taint the pretty, perfect image of yourself that you presented to the world.
you felt stuck, trapped. isolated with nowhere to go, no way out. you tried to conjure up a way to escape this situation, but you couldn’t think of anything feasible. if you wanted to protect what was left of your social life and dignity, if you wanted to go outside without being ashamed, your only option was to be compliant.
no matter how many late nights and sore throats you had to go through.
you were in the middle of dozing off, your head leaning off to the side, when the sound of your phone ringing suddenly jolted you awake. you were tempted to ignore it until you saw the contact and begrudgingly pressed the phone to your ear. “hello?” you grumbled.
“i’ve been texting you,” jake said, sounding miffed.
you sighed, glancing over at the clock on your nightstand. “it’s literally two in the morning,” you complained. “i just got home from cheer practice and i’m trying to study for my last final. i haven’t even showered yet.”
“aw, poor thing,” jake crooned, pretending to care. “come over.”
you heartless, selfish bastard, you snapped in your head. of course, you were in no place to say that out loud, so you settled for a calm, “okay,” and hung up.
stifling a yawn, you grabbed your keys and lazily stepped into a nearby pair of shoes, stretching your arms above your head before willing yourself to get up from your desk chair. then, you accidentally scraped your leg against the bottom drawer of your desk, which you’d accidentally left open. 
“ow!” you cried out, bending down a little. “god, why does this world hate me? what did i do wrong?”
it was a wonder you managed to make it to jake’s apartment without getting into a wreck, although at this point, you wouldn’t care if you had as long as it killed you. or put you into an indefinite coma.
on the other hand, jake seemed strangely enthusiastic to see you and looked full of life and energy. “there you are, cheerleader,” he said, pulling you in to hug you from behind. he led you over to his couch, much like he always did. 
you covered your mouth with your elbow as you yawned. “can we get this over with? i’m sleepy.”
jake chuckled. “i don’t want you to suck me off. not right now.”
your brows furrowed, wondering if you had heard him right. if not for that, then why were the hell were you here?
“i’m sad,” jake said, not even attempting to keep the smug smile off his face. “i need you to cheer me up.”
you blinked at him like he was stupid. “cheer… you up?”
jake nodded his head, glancing you over with a grin. you looked like hell. partly because you were so obviously exhausted, but he knew he’d been having an effect on you too. “yeah, cheer me up. you’re a cheerleader,” he reminded, sounding proud of himself. “i want you to do your routine for me.”
you gawked in disbelief and whined, “i’m not even in my uniform.”
“so?” jake asked. “those bones might be tired, but they still work. matter of fact, take everything off.”
you were quick to exclaim, “what the hell? jake, can i please just do it later? everything hurts.”
“take everything off,” jake repeated, his voice more stern this time. “and move your ass.”
defeated, you reluctantly began to peel off your clothes, ignoring the way jake shamelessly ogled you for the sake of your own comfort and tugging your shirt from above your head. you couldn’t even look at him as you abashedly stepped out of your shorts and panties.
what was even more mortifying was having to perform every stupid little routine for him with your entire body on display and your chest bouncing with every motion. putting on the sweet, forced smile and calling out the chants you’d memorized, all the while ignoring how your bones ached.
when you were done, he made you sit in his lap so he could touch you as he pleased, paying no mind to the way you squirmed uncomfortably.
you cried enough tears to occupy a sixth ocean the next day. you weren’t exactly sure why. you just remembered miraculously waking up in your bed, sitting up and staring into empty space, and the water crashing down after a few minutes. it took you even longer to notice you were sobbing.
after a couple of meaningless hours, you got the random urge to call your moan, yearning to hear her voice. “mommy?” you said when she picked up.
“she calls,” your mother chirped, pleasantly surprised. “hi, baby. i was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten about little ole’ me. you know, you never come see me anymore.”
you forced yourself to laugh, trying to strip your voice of the agony so that she wouldn’t notice. “i know. i’m sorry,” you apologized quietly. “i’ll come see you soon.”
“you better,” your mother snapped playfully, no real malice in her voice. “now, what’d you call me for? and don’t say just to check up on me, because that’s a damn lie.”
“i miss you,” you confessed. 
“a lie don’t care who tell it.”
“ma,” you groaned, knowing she was just messing around. “i swear i do.”
“mm-hm,” your mother hummed. you could already picture her in your head, eyeing you with suspicion, arms folded over her chest. “let me guess why you really called. you’re having boy trouble.”
your eyes flickered in surprise. how did she know? you doubted it was exactly what she was thinking, but she was close enough. “yeah, something like that.”
there was no doubt that your mother sounded excited. you had always seem thoroughly uninterested in boys and dating, and while she was thankful when you were a teenager, it was a little worrying now. “it’s about time,” she said, clasping her hands together. “tell me all about it.”
you sighed, wondering how you could tell her about jake without making her fret. she had gotten all pumped, you didn’t want to tear her down and ruin everything. “well, there’s this guy i met almost two months ago. at first, i didn’t feel anything for him. he was just another boy, you know. someone i could keep around for a good time, not a long one.”
your mother hummed again. you could hear metal pans clacking against her counter and assumed she was cooking. she always did that. 
taking a deep breath, you continued, “but everything changed. he’s different from every other guy i’ve dealt with. he doesn’t just do what i say because i say so. and as the weeks passed, he’s started listening to me less and less than he already was.”
your mother chuckled. “and you didn’t like that, huh? got your mother’s stubborn heart and indomitable spirit.”
in truth, you didn’t think you had half of your mother’s strength, but you would never tell her that. as far as she knew, everything was going perfectly in the life you’d created here on campus. and it probably was the last time you’d spoken to her. “yeah,” you replied, wishing that were true. “i don’t like it. he makes me feel something i’ve never felt before.”
“he makes you feel powerless,” your mother told you. “he’s got you feeling weak because he’s the first man you’ve ever met willing to stand up to you. trust me, i was surprised the first time too. that’s how you got here.”
“ma,” you groaned with a wince.
she laughed. the sound made you happy, something you hadn’t been so certain you were capable of feeling anymore. “i’m just keeping it real.”
you thought about her words. she may have been way off in her perception of what this relationship between you and jake really was, but she wasn’t wrong about how he made you feel. weak, powerless. suddenly, this consuming feeling you’d been having for weeks finally had a name, and yet that made it even harder to come to terms with.
because you didn’t want to be powerless. you wanted to be in charge, in control. you hated when things didn’t go your way, and more importantly, you hated when there was nothing you could do about it. it was supposed to be you wielding power over people’s head, not being crushed beneath the weight of tyranny.
and it was then you fully realized the scope of your feelings; you absolutely hated jake sim.
  ▸ cheerleader? breed her! 
standing there in a skimpy dress, face done and your feet clamped in heels that made you four inches taller, you didn’t feel like yourself.
you thought that you would. in truth, you hadn’t feel like yourself in months. today marked a little over two months since you made the mistake of beginning that agreement with jake and you regretted it more than anything. he had completely ruined you, your life, and everything that made you feel whole.
there were pieces of yourself that you would never get back, thanks to him. it was true that everyone had forgotten about the ordeal regarding the recording of you, but not without cost. it was a price you were still paying everyday; even when you weren’t on your knees or otherwise commiting demeaning acts for the sake of jake’s entertainment, you were hurting and mourning yourself.
you were starting to wonder if it was worth it. obviously, you liked being respected amongst your fellow students, but you were no longer certain if their respect was worth the price of your sanity. it was hard for you to even have basic interactions without giving away how incredibly lonely and isolated you felt, how trapped and doomed you were. helpless and powerless.
jake came up behind you, startling you. he was like a wolf and you were a little lamb masquerading as a wolf. “there you are, baby,” he said, snaking his hands around your waist. he seemed to love doing that. “did you know our anniversary was a few days ago?”
you scoffed. the two-month anniversary of the worst decision of your life to date. there was nothing you would’ve give to undo it. doing your homework yourself would have spared you so much unnecessary pain. “stop doing that,” you whined, scanning the party. “someone will see.”
jake chuckled, clearly not giving a damn. “unlike someone, i don’t really care what people think about me.”
you wished you didn’t care. there would always be a part of you that cared, that was so afraid of what people could say about her that she would do anything to tailor her image perfectly. matter of fact, it was all you had cared about in high school, and every year after that was spent maintaining the brand.
jake’s hand went from your waist to your ass, making you tense in his grasp. “you know, i think i deserve some kind of compensation for putting up with you for two months.”
you deserved that too. freedom. being unshackled from his cruel, unrelenting orders was the one thing you wanted most and the one thing he refused to give you. “don’t you have your compensation almost every day?” you asked irritably.
“that’s not nearly enough,” jake insisted, squeezing your ass.
god, how greedy could someone be? it was like he wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.
“you know what i want?” jake asked huskily, leaning into your ear. “i wanna fuck you.”
your eyes widened a little. you had hoped this day would never come, even though you weren’t oblivious to the fact that jake had steadily gotten bolder in his interactions with you, the things he made you do for his satisfaction becoming entirely more erotic. 
grabbing your arm, jake started to lead you away. “come on, let’s go.”
you rooted in place, nearly stumbling. you didn’t want to go anywhere with him, especially if it meant putting up with his insatiable urges. “jake, i don’t want to,” you said, trying to push at him.
jake scoffed, wondering when you would realize that he didn’t care what you wanted and you had no way of winning. “if you want to make a scene in front of all these lovely people, be my guest,” he hissed in your ear.
panicked, you glanced around the crowd in search of someone that could save you. it was like everybody was looking at you until you actually needed them to. 
then, you locked eyes with jungwon. matter of fact, it seemed like he’d been looking at you much before you’d even glanced in his general direction. he saw you, saw the way jake was holding you roughly, saw the obvious stiffness on your face, saw the pleading look in your eyes; but ultimately, jungwon saw the image of you letting him down after bleeding him dry for half a year, and he turned away.
your shoulders slumped in defeat.
jake started dragging you toward the stairs, pushing past a bunch of drunk people dancing on each other. your heart was thumping, and your whole body was rigid with nerves as you tried to think of a way out of this even though you knew there was no option without consequences.
just your luck, the bathroom jake hauled you too was empty. he pushed you in and locked the door, pressing you against the counter. you gasped and glanced at your reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing yourself. “jake, please,” you whispered, trying to plead with him. “please, don’t do this.”
jake didn’t seem moved by your begging, but he did, however, appear amused. “why are you acting so sensitive about this after all we’ve done together? it’s like you’ve never gotten fucked or something.”
you swallowed, not saying a word. 
the silence was very loud, very telling. jake arched a brow, a realization dawning on him. “you really have never been fucked,” he said, surprised. “damn, i should have figured that out when you were acting like you never sucked dick before.”
your face flushed with heat. it wasn’t like you were necessarily embarrassed about it, not until now. you had always taken it as something to pride yourself on, being fuckable but untouchable. “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” you replied, glancing down at the sink to avoid eye contact.
jake chuckled. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he had been convinced that you were completely pretending to be a goody two-shoes. to know there was at least one percent of you that was still pure amazed him. he lifted the skirt of your dress with his hand and brought it between your legs, asking, “what, you just never find anyone worthy enough for your perfect, sacred pussy?”
you gasped out when he touched you there. his fingers circled your clothed cunt, thumb digging into your inner thigh. feeling scandalized, you grumbled, “maybe i’m just not interested.”
jake shook his head, astonished by the amount of attitude you still had after all these months and determined to break it out of you. “and maybe i just don’t care if you’re interested or not.”
it went without saying that jake always made you feel like some kind of object, but this was next level. “this is dehumanizing!” you exclaimed. 
hearing you, of all people, talk about dehumanizing made for an interesting conversation. big, calloused hand pressing harder into you, he asked tauntingly, “doesn’t feel good, does it?”
your glossy, painted lips were parted, unable to breathe through your nose. your eyes burned with the threat of tears and it was becoming second nature for them to shed whenever jake was nearby. “i don’t understand,” you whimpered, trying to free yourself, but to no avail. “why are you doing this to me? what have i ever done to deserve this?”
jake could feel you struggling, trying to push him off you, but all it did was move your hips against his rapidly hardening cock. he groaned, grabbing hold of your ass and pushing you further back against him. “fuck, just like that,” he growled. “haven’t i told you this already? this is bigger than you and me.”
it wasn’t lost on you that jake obviously had heard stories about you from other people, stories of happenings you probably couldn’t deny, but it had nothing to do with him. “look, if you’re doing all this to get back at me because i hurt one of your friends or something, i’m sorry, i really am. but i can’t do this anymore, jake. i want to stop, please. please let me go on with my life.”
“what a privileged response,” jake hissed without concealing his vitriol. at the same time, he kept palming you over your panties, noticing them beginning to cling to your cunt, and tore your underwear to the side to insert a pair of fingers inside. “what about all those girls whose lives you ruined? i’m sure they wanted you to stop. and you didn’t until they were too humiliated to show their faces around here again and you had no choice.”
you swallowed the lump in your throat. he knew about the girls? “jake, i haven’t done that since freshman year,” you told him, desperately trying to reason with him.
two loud, harsh smacks echoed in the tiny, crowded space of the bathroom, followed by a gasp consequently. your pussy stung, your head jerking around to look at jake. “do you really think that matters?” he asked, grabbing your hair to turn you back around just as quickly, as if you didn’t deserve to look at him. “you think that matters when the pain you’ve done to them is permanent? they don’t forget. and they damn sure don’t forgive you.”
you tensed, hating the way your walls were gripping and gushing around his fingers. “so what? you think you’re god or something? is this you punishing me for my sins? you’re not exactly what i would call a saint, either.”
“me and you, we’re not the same,” jake remarked, a nip to his tone as if you needed the reminder of how much he disliked you. “you only pick on people that you think are below you somehow. people you think won’t fight back.”
“i know i’m not a good person,” you admitted in between gasps, thighs straining as his fingers pumped into your pussy harder, faster, reaching places you’d never touched on your own. “ i know i don’t deserve to be happy. maybe i don’t even deserve to be treated with respect, but please leave me this one thing. spare me just this once.”
jake laughed cruelly, pulling his fingers out of your drenched hole and smearing your juices all over your folds and thighs. his finger unintentionally swiped over your sensitive clit, making your legs quiver and your stomach tighten, sucking in itself.
“damn, baby. you really know how to hurt my feelings,” jake said, voice dripping with sarcasm. he withdrew his fingers, bringing them into his mouth for a taste. “you don’t want me to fuck you that bad?”
your heart was spiking with dread, thumping belligerently in your chest, your ears, and between your legs. no one had ever made you feel so vanquished.
“take my dick out,” jake said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “hurry up.”
you sighed anguishedly, turning around to undo his pants and slip his aching dick out of its confinements. for months, jake had been suppressing the urge to fuck you, wanting to wait for the moment where it would be most pivotal.
getting a hold of your throat, jake roughly yanked you flush against him the second you whirled back around to face the tiny bathroom counter, making you stand tall against his chest. his voice was almost as rough as the hands that held you. “put it in.”
you gawked, shaking your head.
his fingers tightened dangerously around your windpipe, making your damp eyes widen and your jaw slack against his whitening knuckles, maybe half a wheeze making its way out your throat before he warned, “if i have to fucking tell you again, i’m gonna crush every bone in your goddamn neck.”
with no other option, you meekly reached behind you to grasp him in your quivering hand, aimlessly steering him to your hole and sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as the tip brushed past your dripping folds. jake released a shaky breath, slapping your hand away and rutting his hips into you from behind, sheathing himself inside in one go.
he slackened his unforgiving grip on your throat, shoving you back against the counter none too gently, but you still felt like you couldn’t breathe when he entered you, a mangled whimper echoing out. your fingers desperately braced the edges of the counter for purchase as you tried to will yourself to inhale, but it was like you were choking.
jake had a death grip on your thighs, forcibly pushing them apart a little more as he coated himself with the creamy, hot wetness of your unwanted arousal. “mm, hard to believe you don’t secretly want me when you’re sucking me in like this, baby,” he said, proud.
you shook your head in denial, face flushing with a heat that spread to your ears and neck. it didn’t help that there were beads of salty, hot tears pouring down your face and reducing your vision to one big, hazy blur. you didn’t want him, not even a little bit. but you couldn’t control the way your body was responding.
the lewd, wet smack of his cock thrusting deeply into your tight cunt rang out so loudly that you wanted nothing more than to hide into oblivion and never be seen again, mortified. it made things seem so much different than they were. his long, thick cock was stretching you beyond the cusp your limits and making you gape.
“i’m so nice to you,” jake said, tipping his head back. you could see his chest rising and falling through his clothes, his body taut with pleasure and excitement. “i’ve been holding back for so long, trying not to fuck you. won’t keep me out this pussy now. i’m gonna fuck you till your legs give out. have you at practice limping.”
your knees, wobbly as they already were, began knocking into the cabinets at the bottom of the sink. you winced your eyes closed as your fingers curled around the edge of the counter roughly enough to change the color around your knuckles, hoping to think of something, anything, to take you out of the moment.
but it was too hard. you couldn’t ignore the throb of your gushing walls as they kneaded his cock, making him grunt in your ear as he leaned over your backside. you couldn’t ignore the faint sting of his nails stabbing your hips and his heavy palm slapping repeatedly against your ass. and you definitely couldn’t ignore the dirtiness staining you from head to toe.
sure, it felt good, his body rocking against yours steadily, but it didn’t feel right. many nights you had pictured what losing your virginity would be like, both the way that it was supposed to look and the way that you were more inclined to, but this was neither; it was heartless, it was punishing, and it was brutal.
jake grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look into the mirror, yanking your head up. “there it is,” he spat, words sounding painfully familiar. “there’s the real you.”
your hair was messy from him tugging it every which way, treating you like a doll to mishandle. your makeup was ruined from your sobbing, the path of your tears harsh against everything else. your eyes were red and your right lash looked like it was barely holding on, the effect of rubbing at your face.
jake watched you take in the destroyed sight of yourself, practically hearing the critical thoughts hopping in your mind. “this is what you really are. this is what you’re sucking my dick to keep hidden from the world. is it worth it, baby? or do you just like the way i taste on your tongue?”
no, it wasn’t worth it. you were beginning to understand that now. he was taking too much from you, too much of your peace and too much of your sanity. maybe it would be better to be judged and lonely but free than to be loved by people whose opinion of you could change on a dime anyway at the expense of your soul. 
your pride had been buried a long time ago, brutally murdered in her sleep. “jake, please stop. i’m uncomfortable,” you complained, tearing your eyes away from your reflection in shame.
jake smacked your ass again, making you cry out sharply. “you just love being the victim when it’s convenient for you, huh?”
“i’m sorry!” you whimpered. “i don’t know what you want me to do. what do you want? just tell me.”
jake snickered, running his hands over your hips and waist to knead the flesh. then, he brushed your hair out of your face, nibbling at the skin behind your ear before growling, “you know what i want, cheerleader? i want to assassinate all there is that you love about yourself and leave everything else untouched, so that you understand not why everybody hates you, but why nobody loves you.”
those words hit you straight in the gut. for the first time, you had no retort, no comeback. 
hips beginning to move faster, jake continued, “the boys don’t love you, they just want to fuck you. they would kill to be as deep inside you as i am. the girls sure as hell don’t love you. they either want to be you, or they resent you for beating their asses. and don’t get me started on those girls you call friends.”
“jake, stop,” you whispered, an agony vicious enough to rip through flesh tearing you straight in half. 
but jake didn’t listen. he wasn’t done, not until he made his point. “don’t think i didn’t notice how lonely you were for the whole week everybody was talking shit about you. they didn’t want to touch you with a six foot pole, did they? they don’t want to be seen with you unless it gives them a good rep.”
there was a pang in your chest. you didn’t want to admit it, but that cut deep. you had heard people say mean things about you before, it was to expected when you were an emblem of popularity on campus, but few things had reached you where it hurt.
jake stroked your messy cheek, almost with affection. “but it’s okay. because you want to know something, baby? it was hard for me to admit it to myself, but you truly fascinate me. i can’t get you out of my head sometimes. you piss me off every time without fail, but i keep coming back to you. i like you, baby. if no one else does. you grew on me.”
you weren’t sure if that was supposed to make you feel better, but it didn’t. if anything, you only felt more heartbroken and wounded not only by his words, but by your inability to counter them. it truly dawned on you, right then, just how alone you were.
jake threw his head back, grunting. his hips were moving with a mind of their own, eager to finish. “fuck, i’m gonna come.”
your eyes went wide in panic, remembering that he had gone in bareback. 
“jake, don’t…”
before you could even finish your statement, jake clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling your protests into his pale palm. “you know what guys at my school used to say about cheerleaders?” he asked, obviously not expecting a response. “‘see a cheerleader, breed a cheerleader.’ ‘cheerleader? breed her.’”
you thrashed, but it was pointless. those thick, burly biceps of jake’s were one of the first things you noticed about him and they weren’t just for display. he held you in place as he quickened his pace again, his thrusts unrelenting.
with a couple more quick yet shockingly rhythmic thrusts, jake emptied his load deep, deep inside you. he moaned, moving his hands from your mouth to your hips to keep himself steady as he reeled from the pleasure of a mind-numbing orgasm. “goddamn,” he cursed, panting for breath.
you stifled a small noise as you felt his warmth flooding into you, unsure how to feel at this point. 
to your surprise, jake started fucking you again, never once daring to pull out as if he was determined to fuck every drop of his sticky cum as deep inside you as it could reach. his stringy, thick load gathered on his dick and inside your pussy, leaking down your thighs as he kept going.
you gasped out, moans involuntarily leaving you as you were stuffed full of him over and over. you didn’t mean to, but it was impossible to control.
then, jake stuck a hand between your legs and rolled his thumb over your clit, which didn’t help. you cried out, tensing. “jake, stop! it’s sensitive.”
“that’s the point, dummy,” jake replied, stimulating your clit with his hand while simultaneously pumping himself into you from behind.
your core tightened, heat wafting over you as your chest heaved wildly. “what are you doing?” you stammered. 
jake smiled, watching in the mirror how your face tensed with a blend of confusion and ecstasy that you couldn’t rein. “you really think i’m an asshole, huh? i’m trying to make you come. relax and let me.”
you shook your head. you didn’t want to come, not for him, and most definitely not on his cock for him to feel every unintentional shudder of your pussy as it gushed and pulsed with hot, sweet release; that would be embarrassing.
that made jake chuckle. “no? you don’t wanna come for me, baby?” he asked, furrowing his brows playfully as he tilted your face back up to the mirror with a push of your jaw. “come on, let go. you keep saying i’m not a good guy, but you shoot me down when i try to be nice.”
you moaned again, against your own reason and better judgment. “please,” you rasped with half a breath.
“please, what?” jake asked, rubbing you with just a pinch more force. “do you even know?”
god, you hated him; you absolutely despised him. but damn, if it didn’t feel good to have someone touch you after you’d spent so long avoiding sex like it was something to be ashamed of.
and this? this was definitely something you were ashamed of.
and yet the most shameful moment, perhaps, was when you finally couldn’t resist the pleasure of his big, long fingers twirling around your sensitive nub and his brutal hips smacking into you with a vengeance, clamping around him as you orgasmed with a loud cry and the heat shot through every corner of your body.
“shit,” jake hissed, the feel of you finishing around him draining the cum from his balls for a second time.
your jaw slacked, overwhelmed by how you felt completely and utterly stuffed, ropes of his cum filling you to the hilt. jake thrusted into you a little more, sending a flare through your back and shoulders, until he stilled for good. you could hear him panting behind you.
after a moment or two, jake pulled out. hand between your thighs, he gathered some of his stringy release on his finger and brought it up to your lips. “open up. don’t make me say it again.”
you opened your mouth wide enough for him to insert two of his cum-coated fingers inside. then, you sucked at them and swallowed it down, knowing those would be the next words to leave his mouth. 
jake raised a brow, pleasantly surprised. he took his time to withdraw his fingers, enjoying the sensation of you licking them clean. “see, i knew you loved eating my cum.”
your face burned, but you didn’t have the energy to deny it. not after that. it felt like there was a gaping hole in your chest, a void that would never be filled. 
“you’re learning,” jake commented, humming in satisfaction. “good girl. you know, maybe one day we can get along. don’t you think?”
“yeah,” you murmured weakly. at this point, you would just go along with whatever he said. and maybe that was why he figured you could experience some peace together now.
keeping your dress bunched up, jake grabbed some tissues from his left and started to wipe at you. “let’s get you cleaned up before we leave, cheerleader. don’t want the entire student body to see you like this, right?”
you whipped your head around, eyes widening in surprise. leaving to go where? certainly you weren’t going home with him after tonight. 
“did you think i was kidding?” jake asked with a sly smile, slipping your panties backing in place and giving your shoulder a fleeting kiss. “i told you, i’m gonna fuck you till your legs give out.”
3K notes · View notes
talisidekick · 6 months ago
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In the case you missed it. In United States Politics, the Biden Administration (current government) has updated Title IX to reword the regulations to include the line "sexual orientation, gender identity, and sex characteristics." in the "Protections against sex-based harassment and discrimination." section.
Meaning, the same protections afforded to cisgender children in schools against discrimination are now to be afforded to transgender and intersex children.
Full document here:
These protections were previously added by the Obama administration, then revoked by the Trump Administration.
So why is this different?
How it was done. The previous protections afforded to transgender students a part of the federally funded public school programs were done by a guidance document release by the federal government. These guidance documents can be revoked, or edited by subsequent administrations. The Biden Administration has updated the regulations on how the law can be enforced meaning it will be much harder to repeal those restrictions by subsequent administrations. Not impossible, just much harder. This is to take effect August 1st, 2024. Right at the start of the new school year.
So way to go USA. After years of attacking trans and intersex kids on every possible angle, this is a step in the right direction.
Edit: I made an error in my interpretation ...
.. and was spreading a bit of unintentional misinformation. This isn't a law change, it's a change in the regulations of how Title IX can be enforced. The changes are stronger than a guidance document but not as strong as a law change that would need to pass through congress to be officially changed. Please excuse my mishap, I was corrected in someones reblog. Please reblog this version.
And here's the link to the post calling me out who shared deeper context info!
I've update the original wording to be more factually correct. Again, I'm sorry. My bad. I'll do better next time (and maybe not write political info pieces when I'm feeling ill).
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kamaluhkhan · 5 days ago
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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY
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pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.
♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)
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track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen
(winter — age 17)
“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”
it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember. 
you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers. 
“vi?”
“....yes?”
“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”
vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.
you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.
“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.” 
“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.” 
you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control. 
neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.
“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”
“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 
of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.
“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.
you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”
“your mom going, too?”
“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”
vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top. 
she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you. 
“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”
you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips. 
“why’s that?” you ask. 
there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. 
vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins. 
vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.
“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.
“yeah?” 
vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being. 
“i want that too.”
vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.
you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults. 
you taste like home.
….
so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.
merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.
….
track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love
(winter — age 12)
you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’ 
when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world. 
“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”
you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.
“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”
you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 
your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them. 
you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.
…..
hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.
i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.  
…..
track 3: last christmas by wham!
(winter — now)
vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 
no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.
it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.
so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —
vi’s heading back home, back to you.
she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.
powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.
your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work. 
it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor. 
vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:
“violet? is that you?” 
she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.
“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 
she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do. 
vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party. 
with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke. 
“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”
vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways. 
so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow. 
“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”
“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”
“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”
the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.
“of course,” vi says. 
vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out: 
“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”
you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.
“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”
vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.
“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”
“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”
“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi. 
“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.
“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”
“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”
layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.
and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with. 
when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.
“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you. 
“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.” 
you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.
“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”
“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws. 
“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….” 
the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time. 
“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?” 
she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.
you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”
vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 
so, you do remember. 
she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —
“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’ 
vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years. 
“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 
“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.
“sure, but it ends hopefully.”
“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure? 
“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”
“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses. 
by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave. 
you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.
“not all of them.”
“yeah? which ones haven’t?”
vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”
you blink away and cut the engine.
….
you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating. 
he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.
should be fun. 
it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.
you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.
“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision. 
then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try. 
“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 
“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision. 
vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.
it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.
except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.
vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely. 
“hey. you still with me?”
you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.
…..
when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed. 
a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.
vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.
“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.” 
“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”
“oh, i know it.”
a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.
“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”
ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”
“i didn’t.”
“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”
“sure.”
“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…” 
“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”
“convincing her to go.” 
“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”
“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge. 
vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.
“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 
a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you. 
vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.
but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.
and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.
….
baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.
please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please. 
it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice. 
….
track 4: river by joni mitchell
(winter — age 23)
it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd. 
more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand. 
“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock. 
a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth. 
“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you. 
you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).
“me neither,” you smile. 
vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.
she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.
you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace. 
“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”
the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.
you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you. 
instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.
there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out. 
“wait, what the fu —”
you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.
“please, baby, let me explain —”
“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”
“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”
“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”
“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”
you stare at her, then start to laugh.
“please tell me you’re joking.”
“i’m not.”
“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —” 
“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?” 
“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”
“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”
“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”
“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”
as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying. 
you take a deep, shaky breath.
“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”
vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.
…..
vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry. 
please come home.
…..
track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton 
(winter — now)
karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21. 
you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house. 
which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.   
right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’
about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass. 
“you remember.” 
“are you surprised?”
vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.” 
something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”
that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be. 
vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 
“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”
you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’
you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.
as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.
“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”
“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.
“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.
you rip away from his grasp. 
“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”
“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —” 
“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”
“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder. 
oh, fuck no.
“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”
james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor. 
james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego. 
in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.
you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again. 
you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.
“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. 
somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact. 
you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.
“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.
vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”
a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.
she remembers. 
somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.
“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.
vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks. 
you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”
vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”
while i’ve been away. 
the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 
vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time. 
her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.
“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”
“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to. 
you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”
“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”
“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.” 
“you were my dream.”
you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”
“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”
it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.
“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again. 
“you’re still bleeding.”
vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work. 
you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door. 
logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….
you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying. 
so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.
she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear. 
“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”
“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”
vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.
you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.
“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”
“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”
you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear. 
“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”
you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her. 
“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl. 
you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.
“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.
her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes. 
“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.  
“yes. please.”
you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.
vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake. 
“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi.  “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”
vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.
you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.
“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek. 
you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away. 
there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone. 
but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move. 
"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.
vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."
you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath. 
you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.
"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs. 
all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin. 
unacceptable.
the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.
with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."
vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.
"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."
at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head. 
with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open." 
vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.
you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.
removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”
“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.
"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."
vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. 
“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit.  you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple. 
“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.
she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.
vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess. 
strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving. 
you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.
….
vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream. 
she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.
instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers. 
“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. 
“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.
you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.
“shit, i — did you want some?”
you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”
vi nods.
okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 
it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before. 
“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?” 
you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand. 
“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”
your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:
“i do.”
vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday. 
“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”
you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back. 
“ekko talked to you, huh?”
“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”
“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.” 
“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling. 
“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”
vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 
“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.” 
“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?
“anything.”
“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”
“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”
“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”
vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.” 
you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.
“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”
you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.
“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”
“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.  “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.” 
“sounds like a plan,” you smile.
the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.
you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:
“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”
beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder. 
she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye. 
“i better go.” 
“....yeah.”
you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room. 
the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later. 
you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.
"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.
you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”
....
hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..
anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s. 
i’ll see you later. love you!
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itsrlymine · 2 months ago
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Stop Falling for “New Techniques” And Just Use Your Mind. It's Not Hard.
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Stop listening to people who are coming up with new techniques for you to get into the state of having what you want every thirty fucking seconds and use your damn mind. No matter what new techniques start trending on TikTok or YouTube, you either have your desire now or you “don’t”. 
How many times are you gonna fall for the “oh try this out to help you get your desires” bs that people come up with every few seconds. Stop being a b*tch and just decide you have what you want now. Regardless of whatever technique you use, it doesn't matter because the technique isn’t what “works”, YOU ARE. Reality is a mirror. Do I need to explain how mirrors work? 
If you decide to sit there and have a conversation with the ai version of your sp or you want a search engine to make you feel better about whether or not you have something, those things won’t help you. No matter what anybody says. No matter what long ass post or 30 minute video someone on YouTube makes about how to use the next best technique to get what you want. They don’t have the power. You are the power. You are the damn search engine. 
You are born with your desires. You are born with everything you “need” to manifest so why aren’t you acting like it? Why do you still need the 3d to prove to yourself you can manifest something???
You don’t find funny that people will constantly tell you to go to the “next best thing” rather than to just go within yourself to get the answer you are looking for? Using outside sources for motivation rather than giving it to yourself…. You don’t feel the least bit pathetic? You don’t feel the least bit ashamed handing your power away to something that wouldn’t even exist without you being aware of it??
Stop creating excuses everyday for yourself as to “why” you don’t have what you want when you are the reason. You are the reason the sun shines in the morning yet you didn’t have to the 369 method or ask chatpgt if the sun will shine for you to know you’ll see it.
At the end of the day it’s just you and it’s only ever been you. Those things can work because you say they do but not because they have any inherent power. You are the power. You are the light. Fucking act like it. 
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stillnotyourmusebitch · 1 month ago
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Young at Heart - Alternate!Silco x GN!Reader
This all came about from a 'Late Night Thought' I had last week and i didn't think it would have any traction and it seemed to take off. So, I wrote the fic. (The poll wanted it the Alternate timeline Silco. This is my first time writing this version of him)
((Fluff, humour and established relationship) with a suggestive ending)
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When Silco asked me to drop everything and meet him in the upstairs office ASAP. You know I threw my bar rag a little too hard in the direction of my co-worker, hitting him square in the face, declaring I was taking my break early. I couldn’t even hear their disgruntled profanity ridden response. As I was already hopping up the staircase, taking some of the steps two at a time. When I burst through the door, my excitement instantly vanished.  
“When did a bomb go off in here?” I chuckle dryly as I try to edge my way into the office to get a better look. Papers were strewn about all over the floor, boxes overflowing with files and receipts that surround a rather dishevelled looking SIlco who was sat in the center of the explosion.  
“Ah, you’re finally here. You can start over that side of the room.” Not even looking up from his mismatched pile of papers, he waved off in the general direction he wanted me to be. 
“Ya knooooow. When you told me to drop everything, this was not what I had in mind.” I sighed as I slowly manoeuvre my way, without slipping, through piles of documents and files to the far corner where he wanted me to begin. “Why are you needing my help exactly?” I ask flicking the lid off a box stuffed with all sorts of crap I couldn’t care less about. 
“I’m trying to find certain set of files that I need to update the agreement we have on the bar but as you can see from the mess around you that the filing system I had perfectly in place was not up to standard and I'm needing to go through everything again because ‘some’ people did not see fit to follow my system.” 
I can hear the exasperation laced in his voice.  
“Where is Vander and why isn’t he helping you with this?” I turn to face Silco, he meets my eye. 
“He is out trying to buy me the time to find said files. It’s the least he can do after this.” He gestured to the mess around the room. “He thought he knew exactly where the files were and . . .” He imitates an explosion sound throwing some of the papers he held to get his point across. I wince at the realisation of it all. 
“How long have you been going at this? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages” I lean gently against the bookshelf as to not upset any boxes nearby. 
“Hours have become days and I'll be damned if it becomes weeks.” He throws the last of the papers in his hand down onto a makeshift pile that collapses under its own weight. “Urgh, fuck me!” he rubs at the bridge of his nose.  
“If I'm honest I thought that’s why you called for me.” I smirk at his gently reddening cheeks. Choosing to change the subject matter I ask. “What do these files actually look like? I might be able to help you better knowing what I'm trying to find.” 
Silco realising his basic error, begins to explain what I needed to assist him in recovering before we settle back into the search again. 
----- 
The task carries on for a few more hours in a comfortable silence. I had to ask if someone could talk to my coworker about my elongated break. When SIlco requires my presence most of the time he calls me away from work it's for a brief yet hot and handsy make out session that leaves me flustered when I go back to my post. Our relationship was known only to a few close friends and family. But I’m pretty sure everyone knows now because he and I aren’t quiet by any means. Yet nobody says anything about it to protect his professional image. 
“AHA!” Silco exclaims aloud as he stands up from the desk chair, a few precious papers clutched in hand. 
“Found them I see.” I glance over my shoulder briefly at his gleeful face. 
“Yes, finally.” He lets out a sigh in relief, looking over to where I was preoccupied with a box that he didn’t realise was accessible to me. “Please stay out of that one. It's labelled private for a reason.” His voice catches when he saw what I held. 
“Daaaaamn, so it is true.” I turn waltzing over to him, being careful of the still very messy floor, I flip the photo over in my fingers so he can see better. 
“Give me that.” When I get close enough, he reaches out for worn item in my hand. I lift it just out of reach above my head, playing a little game of keep away with his beloved memory. He steps nearer to me, so our chests are touching. 
“Oooo, so close.” I change hands quickly keeping the photograph away from his long fingers. “Come on you can do better than that sweetheart.” I smirk booping his nose quickly with the corner of the photograph before pulling my hand away again. His left arm snakes around my waist turning us around enough so he can push me backwards onto the desk with him almost straddling my right thigh. 
“Well now” I wiggle my brows suggestively, making sure the photograph is still too far away to grab in our new position. 
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” He rolls his eyes at me as he leans closer for the photograph. 
“Funny you say that as it’s normally you dragging me down with you.” I lift my knee grazing his inner thigh causing him pause. 
He says my name in a warning way. 
“Okay Mr Serious pants.” I reply in a mocking tone. 
He manages to finally grab the photo from me, checking it for rips or tears before pulling away and walking back to place it safely back into the box of memories. I follow behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his shoulder. 
“Next time you see a something marked private. I expect you to respect my privacy.” He places a one hand on top of the box of memories and the other rests atop my crossed arms. He sighs again.  
“Maybe you can grow it out again.” I let my inner thoughts be known. 
“What are you talking about?” He turns his head to the side to look at me. I pull one arm away so I can thread my fingers through his much shorter hair, scratching lazily at his scalp. Pulling a low moan from his throat. 
“Your hair darling, that picture proved you can rock the style, plus we know how much of a whore you can be when I do this.” I pull lightly on his hair making him gasp. 
“Don’t you think I’m too old for that style.” His breathing was ragged as he tries to remain calm. I chuckle darkly at my flustered partner, with practiced ease I spin him so I loom above him, lifting his chin with a single finger. 
“Of course, darling.” I lean down our lips graze with my words. “You’re just proof that men get finer with age.” He smiles at my words as I steal his response away with a soft kiss.  
-----
I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you enjoy reading it
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redbullgirly · 11 months ago
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Can you do a Lewis Hamilton smau where she is basically like Barbie? I feel like since Barbie is a fashion icon and so is Lewis, it would be a match made in Heaven. I read your pinned post and tried to make a request based on your rules. Sorry if it isn’t good enough
HI BARBIE! HI KEN! [part 1, LH44 smau]
Lewis Hamilton x reader
Masterlist & Hi Barbie! Hi Ken! [part2, LH44 smau]
Summary: Lewis Hamilton is part-time Formula One driver and full-time fashion icon. And so is his girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who's also known as a real life Barbie.
Warnings: None... but a lot of pink XD. Also this story is set in December 2023, so no broken hearts over Lewis going to Ferrari... actually maybe just a little teaser.
Author's Note: Hi Anon! This request is great and thank you so much for it, it definitely is good enough! :) I had fun writing and creating this, even though at the end it's kind of different than what I firstly intended to do. The original idea was to make Y/N very Barbie coded, but at the end I'd say she's Barbie inspired and I focused more on the fashion icon part of the request. Though there's a sweet storyline about why her nickname is Barbie, so I hope you won't be disappointed! :)
lewishamilton posted on instagram
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liked by naomischiff, pierregasly, mercedesamgf1 and 1,089,234 others
tagged: yourusername
lewishamilton A lot happened in 2023 season and there was also a lot of outfits 🤞🏾✨
view all 7,867 comments
user1 MY GOD THIS MAN IS BEAUTIFUL!
yourusername this was definitely one of my favs 💝
liked by the author
lewishamilton What can I say... pink is the color of real men 🫶🏾
yourusername but do i still wear it the best?
lewishamilton Of course ma'am
user2 I love them sm 😭
user3 can we talk about the fact they're the best couple ever?!
user4 so sweet🥰
user5 And the fact she's literally the only person he interacts with in the comments...
user6 You are the best Lewis, can't wait for another season 👏
user7 🔥❤️
mercedesamgf1 Did someone say Barbie and Ken?💘
user8 YES
user9 admin you're so real for this... they literally ARE our barbie and ken 🤭
user10 The only question is who is the Barbie and who's the Ken? xd
user11 lol imagine barbie lewis💀
user12 GOAT ⬆️♥️
carmenmmundt Me and goergerussell63 when?
gourgerussell I don't really think pink is my colour...😬
yourusername don't worry honey, if he won't wear pink w you i will 😘
carmenmmundt Oh I knew why you're my favourite Y/N 😘
georgerussell63 No wait I changed my mind darling!!
carmenmmundt Hmm now I'll have to think about it 🤔
georgerussell63 Y/NNNNN
yourusername 😌😚
user13 i love how he always manages to get y/n into his posts
user14 The power boyfriend Lewis has over me😩😩
user15 RIGHT?!
user16 he's just so... asdgsagfsgd 😫
user17 I literally need this version of him to live!!!
user18 i'm weak for bf lewis🥵
user19 Y/N looks SO GOOD in that coat
user20 I need to know how she does it
user21 fr
user22 The best driver and a fashion icon... damn he's got some talent 🙇‍♂️
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yourusername great season and now it'll be even better winter break w my love 💋💞
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f1 Our own Barbie🤩
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user1 yeeeees
user2 Wait I'm new in formula one, why do we call Lewis Hamilton's gf Babrie??
user3 idk user2 she just gives off the energy 😆
user4 Actually I think Lewis himself once called her Barbie in an interview when there were rumors about them dating and then it just stuck with her 🤷‍♀️
user5 oh really?!! tbh i had idea he ever called he barbie himself... y/n is just iconic xd
user6 IT'S Y/N'S WORLD AND WE'RE JUST LIVING IN IT 🗣🗣
lewishamilton Can't wait to spend the winter break with you ✨
yourusername *mwah*
user7 pls I'm so excited for them!!
user8 the vacation photo dumps are gonna slay🤭
alexandrasaintmleux stoppp you're so pretty!🎀
yourusername nooo you are alex 🥹🫶
user9 they could never make me hate these two just 'cause they're dating the hottest drivers on the grid🫡
user10 The outfit in the second photo? HELLO?!
kellypiquet 🤍
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charles_leclerc I see you like the Monaco circuit very much👀
yourusername i see you're stalking my photo dumps very carefully charles leclerc 🤨
charles_leclerc Well I have a feeling we'll see each other more often soon so I have to get to know you better😉
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charles_leclerc Caught in the crime😂
user11 WHAT WAS THAT CHARLES?!
user12 omg I wasn't the only one to see it? I'm not delusional right?🫣
user13 idk what you saw 'cause i didn't but this interaction is so funny to me XD
user14 mommy- sorry... MOTHER
user15 ❣️❣️
user16 y/n & lew >>>>
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yourusername i'm barbie. he's just a ken (and he won some trophy for p3 in the championship... idk where it is) 💖💄
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user1 I live for Lewis leaving the trophy there💀
user2 and the way y/n basically confirmed this by saying she has no idea where it is😭
lewishamilton You're everything. I'm just Ken 🙏🏾✨
yourusername exactly... though you're the best ken ever 💞
sebastianvettel Isn't he more like Allan then?
yourusername ohhh true seb 🤭
user3 YOU WANNA TELL ME THE SEBASTIAN VETTEL SAW BARBIE
yourusername yeah we made him watch it and he cried during gloria's speech 💓
sebastianvettel I'm not ashamed about it.
yourusername and that's why i love u seb 🫶
user4 why aren't all men like sebastian???😩
user5 I love these three with all my heart y'all don't understand
user6 my fav driver watching my fav movie and crying during speech about feminism is my roman empire
user7 AAAHSDFHFGSDHSG😍
f1 If there was a prize for fashion icons, the Hamilton household would definetly win it! 🏆
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user8 not admin calling them hamilton household🥹
user9 Lol that would be the only fairly given trophy this year
user10 OMG I just realized that one day Y/N and Lewis WILL be both HAMILTON😭😭
user11 I'll tattoo the date of their wedding on my arm fr
user12 that's real dedication user11 💀
user13 TRUE DEFINITION OF A QUEEN... LOVE YOUUUUUU
kellypiquet Gorgeous darling!💖💖💖
yourusername we both babeee 💖🫶
user14 the IT wags casually supporting each other
user15 I love they're still friends even though their bfs are probably the biggest rivals xd
user16 not the shade about the trophy💀
user17 Waiiittt what happened?
user18 someone who was at the ceremony said lewis gave him the prize 'cause he didn't want it😭
user17 Oh and Y/N wrote in her caption she doesn't know where it is?
user18 exactly😭
user17 Whoops... I love her, she's queen for that
user19 and the fact fia tried to deny these rumors💀
user20 Absolutely love this look 🤍
user21 you and lew are just such a good looking couple
user22 THE DRESS I REPEAT THE DRESS🥰
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lewishamilton 🇲🇨 with the best company.
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roscoelovescoco Mom's look's so handsome's ☺️☀️
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lewishamilton Agreed
yourusername awww my boys are too sweet 🥹💕
user1 lewis complimenting his gf not w one but TWO accounts makes my heart melt
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user2 I want a man like him🤧
user3 WE LOVE ROSCOE CALLING HER MUM
user4 Lewis, Y/N & Roscoe are the best trio ever🥰
user5 parents and their son
user6 literally omg
yourusername wow who's that handsome boy laying on a couch 🥴😻
lewishamilton Handsome you say?😏
yourusername yeah, right next to u 🥰
lewishamilton Oh no, I should've seen that coming😒
roscoelovescoco Thank's mom's I'm handsome's boy's 😊👅
user7 these interactions give me the will to live
user8 I love the Hamilton family🥺
user9 lol y/n calling roscoe handsome xd
user10 The funniest part about this is that Lewis manages Roscoe's profile😭
user11 omg yes user10 not him playing being offended on his main and then being all sweet as roscoe...
user12 Love forever ❤️
user13 Y/N is so beautiful I can't believe my own eyes
user14 the two belong together forever 🙌🫶♾️💫
user15 fr
user16 If they ever break up I'll stop believing on love
mercedesamgf1 Mr. & Mrs. Mercedes
user17 pls give him decent car in 2024 to win another championship🙏
user18 The most iconic couple in history of motorsport 💅
user19 ❤️😍
user20 what's Ferrari doing in the likes?🤨
user21 lol calm down... he's literally lewis hamilton🤣
user22 No but it's weird... they never like other team's things
user23 and after the rumors during monaco gp too 🥸🥸
user24 I think this photo dump caused global warming... like daaammmnnn they're both so fine 🥵
user25 let's just say roscoe isn't the only one calling them mommy and daddy-
user26 lmao
user26 but true🫢
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yourusername barbie has a great day everyday... especially when she gets pink mercedes she wanted 🛍🤍
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lewishamilton Seems like Ken is good for something
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yourusername maybeeee
lewishamilton You want pink Ferrari too, don't you?
yourusername ☺️☺️
user1 ohhh to have a man like that
user2 OMG LEWIS PLS GET HER PINK FERRARI
user3 Yeah, Y/N will slay in that car😌
user4 i wanna be barbie too if she gets pink mercedes
user5 but first you'll need to have a ken like lewis hamilton
francisca.cgomes this barbie is so prettyyyy
yourusername love u! 💓
user6 Okay okay I NEED the bikini😫😍
user7 QUEEN
user8 Y/N looking gorgeous like always🫶🏼
user9 gold digger alert!!!!🤮
user10 Girl go away, you clearly know nothing about their relationship xd
user11 jealousy alert!!!
user12 the first pic does something to me 😩
user13 The most beautiful woman ever
user14 Lewis won lottery w her
user15 yes she's literally so pretty and they seem so happy together🥰
user16 fr I don't think I've seen him this happy before
user17 yeah he looks so much calmer and even younger when y/n is with him at event and gps...🥹
user18 Plus the OUTFITS?! I love them sm
user19 Where is Lewis 🙂?
user20 c'mmon he doesn't have to be in every post she makes🙄
user21 stunning as always 💘
user22 SLAYING AS ALWAYS
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Y/N’s interview
photo 1: Y/N: How did you and Lewis meet?
Y/F/N: Oh, you guys'll love the story!
photo 2: Y/N: It was actually in a toy store. Lew was there with his niece and I was there because... [laughs] Let's say I still like to collect dolls and lego, sue me.
photo 3: Y/N: Anyway, Lew's niece saw me, thought I'm a real life Barbie and wanted to say hi. [laughs] It was honestly so sweet that I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm just a normal girl.
photo 4: Y/F/N: So does she still think you're Barbie? [laughs]
Y/N: Yeah, I think so... She calls me Auntie Barbie! [laughs too]
photo 5: Y/N: But back to Lewis - I didn't recognize him and just thought he's really cute. We talked for few minutes, though then I had to leave and didn't have the courage to ask for his number.
photo 6: Y/N: But few days later he followed me on Instagram and I was just like - yes!
Lewis’ interview
Interviewer: Lewis, you recently followed a known influencer and model on Instagram. Is there something going on between the two of you?
Lewis: Are you talking about Barbie? Oh, shoot, sorry... [laughs] I mean Y/N?
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yourusername aesthetic life w the best man, cute son and lots of flowers 🌸💖
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roscoelovescoco I got's mom's the's flowers's 😊🌷
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yourusername thx roscoe baby!! 🫶 guess daddy will have to learn from you 😌🤍
user1 ... are we gonna talk about the fact y/n just called lewis daddy?
yourusername ... no please don't, you know what i meant 😭🙈
user2 Too late Y/N, the twitter girlies are going to go nuts about this (me included)
landonorris Awww look at that grumpy little dude 🥺
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pierregasly Mate are you calling the seven world time champion grumpy little dude?🤣
user3 lando tf-
user4 This is so funny for no reason😭
user5 Lewis being called grumpy little dude wasn't what I expected from this winter break tbh
landonorris ROSCOE
landonorris I WAS TALKING ABOUT ROSCOE GUYS
user6 💀💀
pierregasly Lol
yourusername why did you even think it was about lewis peirregasly ??🧐
landonorris YEAH MR. TRIPOD TELL US
pierregasly Goodbye...👋
user7 u and lew are so sweet
user8 MOTHER IS MOTHERING 😍
alexandrasaintmleux Shining like a star✨💖
yourusername and you're my sun ☀️💖
user9 I want a man who gives me so many flowers!!!
user10 yeah and they're beautiful and tasteful too
lewishamilton So lucky to have you darling! 🫧🫶🏾
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yourusername we're both so lucky lew 💗🫶
user11 and i'm lucky i was born in the same century as you so i can witness this love
user12 I LOVE Y/N & LEWIS🥰
user13 I'll ask again... When is he going to put a ring on it? 💍 C'mon Lewis you obviously love her sm
user14 Your guys love is so special ❤️
user15 if this is the content we'll be getting during winter break, i don't think i want it to end
user16 races are great... but boyfriend material lewis hamilton is better🤤
user17 REAL
THE END
Author's Note: Hi and thank you for reading! I'll be glad for likes, reblogs, comments, follows and any other ways of support. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT PART 2! I really enjoyed this version of Lewis and Y/N... and perhaps I have a lot of pictures that unfortunately didn't make it to the story because picture limit isn't very friendly. Love you and have a great day! :)
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spencerreidwifey · 2 months ago
Text
Tied Up - Spencer Reid
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MDNI! 18+!
Summary: Spencer reveals his private red room to the reader, but when unexpected guests arrive he’s forced to leave her alone, leaving tension literally hanging in the air.
Masterlist!
Part 2 - Tied 2 You!
Post Prison!Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Genre: Smut 🔥
Word Count: 8.2K
Warnings: MDNI! 18+! softdom!spencer, sub!reader, pre-established relationship, pre-established safe words, SLOW BURN, chains mentioned, whips mentioned, blindfold mentioned, flogger mentioned, handcuffs used, use of ‘Good Girl’, use of safe words, thigh riding, no sex, just teasing (sorry).
WARNING: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FIC, PLEASE BE NICE
The room felt like it was closing in on her, each item on display mocking her—mocking the reality she’d always known. She was no stranger to the darker corners of the human psyche, but this? This was something she hadn’t expected, especially not from Spencer. The chains, the whips, the cuffs... it was all laid out in front of her, each object far too intimate, far too raw, like a slap to the face. A stark contrast to the quiet reserved Spencer she thought she knew.
Spencer Reid, the FBI genius with a shy smile and a brain that could unravel the most complex cases, had always been hard to understand. But this—this—was not the Spencer she’d known, and yet, in a way, it was exactly the one she’d feared existed beneath the surface. Prison had changed him, she knew that. He’d come back with a quiet storm inside him, a part of him more ferocious than she’d ever expected. But this... this was far beyond what she had prepared for.
Her heart was racing, the intensity of the room’s atmosphere mixing with the intensity of the moment itself. She could feel the weight of his presence behind her, his breath brushing against her neck, as he stood close enough to make her skin tingle with a strange combination of dread and anticipation.
“Spencer…” She whispered, more to herself than to him, the words barely escaping her lips. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of everything. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid, or if curiosity was beginning to outweigh the fear.
He was so close now, she could feel his fingers brush the fabric of her shirt, his touch sending a jolt of heat across her skin. His hand snaked around her from behind, settling at the opposite side of her waist. The touch was firm and possessive, and as he pulled her just a little closer, she felt a surge of heat flood her body despite herself. He was patient, letting the moment simmer, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder as if giving her time to process.
"I understand it’s a lot to take in, but one night is all I’m asking," he murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing. There was an undeniable edge to it now—a darker, rawer version of him she hadn’t known existed. The boy who had always been awkward, and uncertain, was gone, replaced by someone much more confident, much more determined to get what he wanted.
His words made her heart beat faster, but the undertone of desperation—the need in his voice—sent a shiver down her spine. She could see it in his eyes now. He wasn’t just asking. He was pleading for release, and it was clear that he wanted her to be the one to give it to him.
“We don’t even have to do anything, just let me give you a test run.” He spoke with a growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The room was heavy with tension, and she could feel herself beginning to crack under the weight of it.
Her mouth went dry as she tried to process his words, her mind racing for a response. “A test run?” she echoed, her voice barely audible, still stunned by the shift in their dynamic. Her eyes darted nervously over the room again, the chains hanging from the walls, the whips draped over chairs as if all of it were daring her to make a decision.
The silence between them stretched, and still, neither of them looked at each other. Spencer knew better than to press her immediately, but his presence was undeniable. He was waiting, and though she felt that familiar sense of control over herself slipping away, she was too caught up in the moment to make a move just yet.
Her breath hitched as she felt the undeniable pull of the man behind her—no longer the shy, reserved Spencer, but something darker, something that called to a part of her she’d never fully acknowledged. Something she couldn’t resist.
Her mind was spinning, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Spencer’s words hung between them, heavy and deliberate, his tone steady, but there was a hidden hunger underneath it, something primal. He wasn’t asking anymore; he was offering something—daring her to accept, to take a step into a world she had only seen glimpses of, a world she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.
She looked at him, his features sharp in the dim light, his posture exuding confidence, like a predator who had set its sights on its prey. Spencer Reid, the brilliant, often timid genius of the FBI, had always been a puzzle to her, but now, standing in front of her with that cold certainty in his eyes, he was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.
“We’ll do something light for tonight,” Spencer continued, his voice unwavering, almost as if he were reading a script. “If it’s something you’re not interested in, we’ll never speak of it again. But if it is something you want…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing the weight of it hung in the balance.
The offer, the challenge, the invitation—it was too much for her to process at the moment. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what he was asking, what he was proposing. Spencer had always been a curious soul, someone who explored the depths of the human mind, but this was different. This wasn’t a case to crack open, a mystery to be solved with intellect. This was something visceral, something rooted in control and power, and she was the one he wanted to bend.
Her brow furrowed as she tried to wrap her head around it. Spencer was brilliant, yes, but he was also deeply sensitive, a man who had been through so much, and who had struggled with his own demons. How could he possibly want her, of all people, to be the one he could dominate?
She couldn’t help herself. “But why me?” Her voice cracked slightly, caught between disbelief and a tinge of hurt. “You know me. I’m not the one you want to be your submissive. I’m the complete opposite.”
She could feel the heat of the room pressing in on her, the walls lined with tools and items meant for pleasure, for control. But none of them made sense to her. They felt foreign. She was a woman who took charge, who fought for what she wanted, a woman who refused to bend to anyone's will.
Spencer’s gaze didn’t falter. He understood her hesitation, but it didn’t make him waver. In fact, the challenge only fueled his desire.
“I know you’re strong-willed,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper against the backdrop of her doubts. “That’s exactly why I want you. I’ve had plenty of submissives before, but they were always too easy, too willing to give up control. I want you because you’re different. I want to break through that hardness, make you see things from my side.”
His words hit her like a wave, and despite herself, she felt a strange shiver of anticipation. The thought of submitting to him, of allowing him to have control, was so foreign, so against everything she had known about herself. She was passionate and forceful, a woman who never let anyone hold power over her. But there was something about the way he spoke, the unrelenting force in his words, that made her question everything.
“I want a challenge,” he continued, almost as if he could read her mind. “I want a submissive who doesn’t make it easy for me. I want the fire, the resistance. The satisfaction of breaking down those walls. The pleasure is in the struggle. In bending you, forcing you to surrender just a little of that control.”
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She knew Spencer—knew the parts of him that others didn’t. But this side of him? This darker, more dangerous side that wanted to claim her, to make her submit… it was something she hadn’t seen coming.
“You want to break me?” She scoffed, trying to muster some strength, but her voice faltered, betraying the crack in her armor. “I’m not some project for you to fix or control, Spencer.”
He stepped closer, not breaking eye contact, his presence overwhelming. “No,” he murmured, his voice almost tender despite the command in it. “Not to fix. To free you. You’re just as much in control of this as I am. But I’m not going to let you hide from what you really want, from what we could be.”
The air between them was charged now, the boundary between challenge and desire blurred. Her pulse raced, and even though part of her was telling her to walk away, another part—one that she hadn’t acknowledged before—was intrigued, fascinated by what he was offering.
Spencer’s smirk was soft but knowing as if he had already won, as if he was certain that, in time, he would break through to her. His words weren’t just an invitation; they were a promise.
And for the first time, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she was ready to walk away.
“Just try, for me,” Spencer murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and commanding. He pulled back with a lingering look, walking toward the plush red velvet chair. He eased into it with an air of deliberate confidence, stretching out as he sat, his legs parted just enough to make his intention clear. The subtle yet calculated display was meant to unnerve her, to draw her in, and it was working.
(Y/N)’s gaze faltered before inevitably settling on him. How could she not? Every move he made seemed to be a challenge, a dare meant to test her resolve. Her pulse quickened, the crimson glow of the room amplifying the heat already building in her chest. He was playing a game she wasn’t sure she knew the rules to—but she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to play.
“Take off your top,” Spencer commanded his tone firm but not harsh, cutting through the thick tension in the room. The words hung in the air like a tangible weight, their presence making her heart race. She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered near the hem of her shirt. The space between them seemed to shrink as his voice softened, yet grew more intoxicating. “Slowly, (Y/N). Play with me a little.”
Her breath hitched, the words wrapping around her like silk, pulling her deeper into his control. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her nervousness melding with a flicker of boldness. If this was a game, maybe it was time to stop being afraid of losing.
Her fingers trembled as they softly grasped the hem of her shirt, toying with the fabric as though deciding whether to commit to the moment. Slowly, she began lifting it, teasingly revealing the soft curve of her stomach, inch by deliberate inch. The fabric slid higher, grazing her skin, until it passed over her chest and finally slipped free of her head. The shirt fluttered to the floor at her feet, abandoned yet heavy with the weight of what it represented.
She could feel his gaze on her, hotter than any spotlight, tracing every contour of her body with an intensity that made her stomach churn. Spencer didn’t need to move, didn’t need to say a word—his eyes alone held her captive. Shame bubbled in her chest, threatening to spill over as she wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, fighting the urge to cover what she’d just exposed. Her head dipped low, too afraid to meet his eyes.
“You’re gorgeous.” His voice was gentle but unwavering, carrying a reassurance that seemed to cut through her self-doubt. She risked a glance up, her breath catching at the warmth in his expression. He wasn’t mocking her, wasn’t scrutinizing—he was admiring, revering her in a way she hadn’t expected.
“You’re doing so well,” he added softly, his tone both a compliment and an encouragement. But then, he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and his next words were lower, more intimate, pulling her further into his world.
“Do you trust me?”
The question hung in the air, a fragile thread between them. Her heart hammered in her chest, her body torn between the vulnerability of her situation and the strange, undeniable comfort his voice offered.
She gave him a soft nod, her movements tentative, barely perceptible. Her vulnerability was written across her face, her uncertainty etched into the way her hands lingered at her sides as if still debating whether to shield herself. But that wasn’t enough for Spencer.
“I need verbal confirmation, (Y/N),” he pressed, his voice calm yet firm, each word carefully measured. His gaze didn’t waver, steady and unrelenting, like a lighthouse cutting through the fog of her doubt.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she hesitated, the weight of his demand bearing down on her like a physical force. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first—just a shaky exhale. His head tilted slightly, his patience an unspoken challenge, silently urging her to cross the threshold.
“Yes,” she finally stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and resolve. “Yes, I trust you.”
The words came out louder than she intended, almost like a yelp, as though speaking them had taken more courage than she thought she possessed. Her cheeks flushed instantly, the warmth spreading down her neck.
Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his expression softening. The tension in the room shifted, not lessened but transformed—where once there had been uncertainty, now there was something unspoken yet undeniable: her surrender, her choice.
“Good,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum as he leaned back in the chair, savoring the moment like a victory he’d been patiently awaiting. Then, with deliberate ease, he rose to his feet, his movements measured and purposeful, each step echoing faintly against the room’s silence.
Spencer approached her, his hand finding the small of her waist, the touch firm yet oddly reassuring. He guided her gently but unyieldingly toward a ring mounted to the ceiling. Her pulse quickened as she followed his lead, her eyes darting nervously between him and the strange, ominous apparatus.
His hand never left her waist as he reached up, his other arm brushing against her as he brought the cuffs down to her height. The metallic clink of the chain echoed softly in the space, and her breath hitched when he lowered them to dangle just above her reach.
“You want me in those?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the tremor betraying the fear laced in her question. The vulnerability in her tone was unmistakable. She glanced at the cuffs, then back at him, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Every fiber of her being told her to run, to escape the unknown. Yet something else—something she couldn’t explain—anchored her in place. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the magnetic pull of his presence.
Spencer tilted his head slightly, his darkened eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. He could see it all: the hesitation, the conflict, the desperate tug-of-war inside her. And he could see something else, too—that faint flicker of desire she was too scared to voice.
“Yes,” he answered finally, his tone steady but softened by a hint of reassurance. “You’ll have a safe word. If you use it, I promise I’ll stop immediately. No questions asked.”
His words were firm yet kind, grounding her in the moment. For a fleeting second, she almost believed that he could see straight through her fears and into the part of her that wanted to trust him, wanted to let go.
“You’ll be safe,” he added, his voice dipping lower, the sincerity in it undeniable. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to the cuffs. The urge to flee still clawed at her, but so did the pull to stay. As the silence stretched between them, she realized that it wasn’t just the situation that kept her rooted—it was him.
She hesitated, her breath shallow as she wrestled with the decision swirling in her mind. Finally, with a slow exhale, she raised her hands above her head, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the cuffs that dangled just out of reach. It was a gesture of tentative surrender, a signal that she was ready—or at least, willing—to take this step.
But Spencer wasn’t done with her yet. He wanted more, needed more. The dominance he had craved for so long wouldn’t be satisfied by half-measures.
“Take off your bra,” he instructed, his voice low but commanding, the words settling over her like a velvet chain. He stepped closer, his towering presence casting a shadow that seemed to engulf her. The way he looked at her, with that quiet, unyielding intensity, made it clear—this wasn’t a request.
Her eyes widened as his demand sank in, the weight of it making her heart race. “I thought this was supposed to be a test run,” she managed to say, her voice shaky and uncertain, her gaze darting between him and the cuffs above her.
Spencer’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, his eyes dark with purpose. “How will we know if you like it or not,” he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a hint of teasing, “if you don’t show some skin?”
The words hung in the air, both a challenge and a justification. He wasn’t just pushing her boundaries; he was coaxing her toward something she hadn’t fully admitted to herself that she wanted.
She swallowed hard, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves. Deep down, she knew this was coming. She’d known from the moment she stepped into his suite that her imagination—the fantasies she’d entertained but never dared voice—was inching closer to becoming reality.
But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.
Her hands drifted downward, brushing against the clasp of her bra as her breathing quickened. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, his gaze like a magnet, pulling her in even as her mind screamed at her to stop. There was no turning back now; the pull was too strong. 
In that moment, she let go—let go of the armor she wore so tightly, the hard and unyielding persona that shielded her from vulnerability. She surrendered it all to Spencer, letting him strip away the control she clung to so desperately. Deep down, she knew she could trust him. The knowledge that he would stop the moment she uttered her safe word was her anchor, the thread that allowed her to take the plunge.
With trembling fingers, she unclasped her bra, the fabric loosening its hold on her body. Gravity took over as it slipped from her shoulders, fluttering softly to the floor between them, pooling at their feet like a quiet surrender. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the cool air grazing her bare skin, sending a shiver racing down her spine.
Instinctively, she wanted to shield herself, her arms twitching as if to fold over her chest. But she resisted. Instead, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze locked with Spencer’s, refusing to break the connection. His eyes were steady, dark pools of intensity that seemed to swallow her whole. They didn’t stray—not even for a second—to her newly exposed form. He stayed focused on her, his stare grounding her, holding her in place.
Her vulnerability hung heavy in the air between them, but his expression wasn’t one of judgment. It was something deeper—reverence, maybe, or an almost predatory satisfaction at her willingness to give herself to him. The heat in his gaze burned away the edges of her lingering shame, replacing it with a strange, electrifying mix of fear and exhilaration.
Slowly, she raised her arms above her head, her movements deliberate, her breaths shaky but resolute. The cold metal of the cuffs grazed her wrists, the chill jolting her skin as she settled them in place. Her fingers curled slightly, her body tensing with anticipation as she waited for Spencer to lock her into place.
Time seemed to stretch as she stood there, exposed and open, the chains rattling faintly with her unsteady breaths. Yet, despite the vulnerability of the moment, she felt an unexpected calm settle over her. She had let go. The control was no longer hers, and somehow, that made her feel free.
Spencer’s hands moved deliberately, reaching above her head to secure her wrists in the waiting cuffs. The faint metallic click echoed in the stillness as he locked her first hand into place, his movements measured and precise. Her breathing hitched when he reached for the second cuff, the soft brush of his fingers against her skin sending a shiver racing through her.
“Is that too tight?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur, grounding her in the moment.
She gave an experimental tug on her restraints, testing the give of the chains, the slight pull on her wrists making her hyperaware of her position. The cold metal pressed firmly against her skin, but it didn’t hurt—at least, not yet.
“My left one feels a little too loose,” she admitted softly, her voice tinged with both vulnerability and trust.
Spencer nodded, his expression shifting into one of careful focus. He adjusted the left cuff with precision, tightening it just enough to hold her securely but not uncomfortably. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he understood the weight of her trust and carried it with care.
“Try that,” he said, stepping back slightly to give her room to test the adjustment.
She pulled again, her wrists shifting slightly in the cuffs, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. “That’s good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the words carried a finality that made her pulse quicken.
Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes darkening with intent. The moment hung between them, heavy with anticipation, as the last barrier between her and his desires dissolved. She was bound now, completely at his mercy, and the realization sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t quite name.
He stepped closer, his presence commanding, yet his movements were unhurried, savoring her surrender. She felt the heat of his body near hers, the air crackling with a tension that made her stomach twist in a dizzying blend of nerves and excitement.
“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that made her knees feel weak. But there was an edge to his tone, a promise of what was to come.
She knew now there was nothing stopping him, nothing holding him back from taking what he wanted—and, as much as it terrified her, she realized she didn’t want to stop him either.
“This will be the only time I give you a choice in what we do,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet unwavering, the firmness in his tone underscoring his sincerity. “Would you like to try a blindfold as well?”
He spoke with an unusual gentleness, a kind of care he rarely extended to anyone in his role as a dominant. But with (Y/N), it was different. She wasn’t like the others who had stepped into his domain, already accustomed to giving up control. This was her first time, her first step into uncharted territory, and he felt an overwhelming need to ensure she felt safe every moment of the way.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the flicker of panic in her eyes. It was subtle but unmistakable—the way her body stiffened slightly, the way her lips pressed together as if to hold back the truth. Spencer didn’t need her to say it aloud; the answer was written all over her face.
He knew it would be a no, and yet it wasn’t a simple refusal. It was a no that carried a weight, one wrapped in a quiet fear of disappointing him. The realization sent a pang through him, a reminder of how much trust she had placed in him and how fragile that trust was.
“It’s your decision,” he said softly, stepping closer, his tone warm and reassuring. “Whatever it is, it will never disappoint me.”
The sincerity in his voice seemed to settle over her like a calming blanket. Still, she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes dropped to the floor, focusing on their feet—the stark contrast between her bare toes and the polished leather of his tuxedo shoes. The image felt oddly symbolic to her: vulnerable and exposed next to his commanding presence.
Her breath wavered as she shook her head, the gesture small and hesitant. She forced herself to speak, her voice trembling but audible. “No,” she said, her tone heavy with a mix of shame and relief, as though the simple act of voicing her refusal felt like an act of rebellion against her own self-doubt.
Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying her with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. “Thank you for telling me,” he said gently, his lips curling into a faint, approving smile. “You don’t need to feel ashamed for setting a boundary. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
Her shoulders eased slightly at his words, her breathing evening out. At that moment, she realized that he wasn’t disappointed—far from it. If anything, he seemed pleased that she had trusted him enough to speak her mind.
Spencer reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a touch so tender it made her heartache. “You’re doing perfectly,” he murmured, his voice like a balm against her lingering doubts. “This is about you, not me. Always.”
And for the first time since she’d stepped into this world of uncharted sensations, she began to believe it.
Spencer’s fingers moved deliberately, brushing lightly against the curve of her hip. His touch was soft, almost featherlike, the kind of teasing that sent shivers skittering across her skin. He wasn’t rushing; this was about exploration, about seeing how her body reacted to him, how far she would let herself go.
Her breath hitched, and a quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past her lips. “That tickles,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, tinged with both embarrassment and restraint. She didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to break the moment or risk displeasing him. But her body betrayed her, shifting slightly out of instinct, as if it had a mind of its own.
Spencer’s hand stilled for a moment, and then he withdrew, his touch trailing away from her hip. Her heart sank at the loss, but before she could fully register the absence, his fingers were under her chin, tilting her face upward.
The movement was firm yet careful, guiding her gaze to meet his. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist and her knees feel weak. There was no need for him to speak; the demand in his expression was unmistakable.
She swallowed hard, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Somehow, she already knew what he wanted, what he was waiting for. Her voice came out as a breathy whisper, soft but resolute. “Yes, you can touch me.”
Her words hung in the air like a confession, and Spencer’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t a grin of triumph but of satisfaction—a confirmation that she was willing to give herself to him, step by step, in her own time.
He leaned in slightly, his hand still resting lightly under her chin, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, a reward in itself. The praise sent warmth flooding through her, melting away the last of her hesitation.
Spencer’s hand moved again, slow and deliberate, tracing her skin with the kind of care that left no doubt—this wasn’t just about control. It was about connection, about her trusting him enough to let him take the lead.
Spencer moved slowly, his touch deliberate and teasing, each contact designed to heighten the ache, the need growing in both of them. He knew how badly she wanted him to touch her, how much she would beg for it if he pushed her to that point. And yet, he was patient, letting the anticipation simmer, knowing that the slow build-up would make the moment more intense when it finally arrived.
He started at her cuffed wrists, his fingers trailing softly over the restraints. His touch was tender at first as if savoring the sensation of her restrained form. Slowly, his hands moved lower, tracing the line of her forearm, and the soft skin of her upper arm, each motion lingering longer than necessary. The gentle caress was almost maddening—he could feel the tension in her body, how her muscles tightened, waiting for the next move.
When his fingers reached her shoulder, he paused, deliberately drawing out the moment. Her breath hitched in anticipation, her body tensing as she prepared herself for the next step, expecting him to move downward, to give her the relief she craved. But Spencer, ever the tease, left her waiting. He chose to wait just a little longer, knowing that the suspense would make her feel every second of it.
Instead, his fingers danced across her shoulder, up her neck, tracing the curve with a soft, almost reverent touch. Her skin shivered under his fingertips as his hand moved slowly to her face, cupping her chin gently but with authority, guiding her to meet his gaze.
His eyes were dark, almost cold, as he took her in. He studied her carefully, noting the way the microfit shorts clung to her body, and how they outlined the contours of her hips and thighs. He could see the way her breasts stood out, her nipples hard against the chill of the room, a soft flush of color on her skin. Her stomach, ever so slightly bloated from the meal earlier, gave her an endearing vulnerability that only added to the beauty of the moment.
She was perfect to him. Every detail, every inch of her body, was etched into his mind. And as he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wish that she could see herself the way he saw her—vulnerable, beautiful, and entirely his in this moment.
The silence between them stretched, thick with desire and the tension of what was to come. Spencer’s fingers lingered on her face, tracing her jawline, his thumb lightly brushing her lips. He didn’t need to say anything. His touch spoke volumes—he knew she was waiting for him to give her what she needed. But for now, he wanted to make her wait just a little longer, drawing out the ache until she couldn’t take it anymore. 
As Spencer’s thumb grazed across her lips, a gentle shudder ran through her body. She couldn’t help herself, the desire bubbling up inside her, compelling her to lean forward and softly kiss the pad of his thumb. She longed for more—wanted to kiss him fully—but the cuffs that bound her to the ceiling kept her restrained, her arms stretched above her head, leaving her helpless in the moment. Still, the kiss she gave him, so subtle, was enough to send a shiver of satisfaction down Spencer’s spine. It was a silent reassurance to him, a sign that she trusted him completely, even in this position.
“Tell me what you want, Darling,” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, low and commanding, yet there was a softness to it that matched his intent. He wanted her to be brave enough to voice her desires, to speak up if she needed something, to never feel as though she couldn’t communicate with him.
Her breath caught as she swallowed, taking in the weight of his words. There was no hesitation now, only the quiet realization of how far she had come in this moment. “A kiss? Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She reminded herself of the rules she had read about submissives—about the importance of politeness, of asking for what they wanted with respect.
Spencer smirked, amused and pleased by her request, the politeness of her words making the moment all the more enticing. He moved toward her, bending down to her height with a teasing, almost taunting air. The position she was in—her arms bound to the ceiling, her feet barely able to touch the ground—made her feel both vulnerable and desperate for him. She had to balance precariously on her toes, her body trembling from the strain as she waited for him to make his next move.
When he leaned in, his lips capturing hers with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her, she melted into the kiss. It was deep and consuming, full of longing, with a quiet urgency. She didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, and her hands instinctively reached for the chain of her cuffs, her fingers gripping it tightly to ease the strain on her arms. The discomfort was sharp, but she pushed through it, lifting herself slightly off the ground. As her legs wrapped around Spencer’s muscled waist, she pressed herself against him, a quiet plea in her actions.
But Spencer was not so easily swayed. He pulled away, his lips lingering just out of reach. “Ah uh. Good girls don’t misbehave,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. The smirk on his lips deepened as he felt her thighs wrap around him, trapping him in place, her body pressing against his with a force that betrayed her desperation.
His hands moved to her hips, steadying her as her legs held him in place. He could feel her warmth through their clothes, the way her breath quickened with need, and it made him pause, letting the silence between them stretch. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, her every reaction amplifying the tension in the room.
For a moment, Spencer basked in the control he held over her, the way her body clung to him so desperately, her breath shallow and uneven as if she couldn’t bear to let go. His dark eyes lingered on her face, taking in every flicker of emotion—the need, the vulnerability, the surrender. She was entirely at his mercy, and he reveled in it.
But then, with deliberate care, he reached down, his strong hands firmly but gently prying her legs apart. His touch was commanding, yet never harsh, guiding her movements as he unhooked her feet from around his waist. Her thighs trembled as they released their grip, the strain and tension of holding herself up now giving way to his control.
As her feet found the ground again, Spencer softened, ensuring she landed with grace rather than force. His hands remained steady at her hips, holding her in place as her weight shifted, grounding her. The contrast between his earlier teasing dominance and the tender way he lowered her back down was enough to send a fresh wave of heat through her body.
“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. He lingered close, his presence still overwhelming, his hands resting on her hips for a moment longer before finally releasing her. The intimacy of the moment was undeniable—every movement calculated, every gesture leaving her yearning for what he might do next.
Spencer straightened, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to test him again, to see how far he’d let her go before taking back the control she had so briefly attempted to seize.
 “You need to be punished,” Spencer said, his voice low and eerie, carrying a dark promise that sent a chill down her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he turned away from her, leaving her bound and vulnerable as he walked toward the imposing wall of floggers and tools. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the floor seemed deafening in the heavy silence of the room.
Her heart pounded as she watched him run his fingers along the neatly arranged implements, his touch dragging across the leather strands and polished handles. Each one swayed slightly at the friction of his movements, the gentle creak of leather making the air feel electric. Spencer cast a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Which one should I use?” he mused aloud, more to himself than her, the teasing in his tone unmistakable. His fingers hovered over one flogger before moving to another, keeping her guessing, keeping her on edge. The deliberate slowness of his movements was maddening, a calculated way to build her anticipation—or her dread.
Finally, he stopped, his hand resting on a flogger with sleek black leather strands and a braided handle that looked almost elegant in its design. His fingers curled around it as he pulled it from the wall, his eyes flicking back to her. The way he studied her, the intensity in his gaze, made her stomach churn with a mixture of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.
Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. Deep down, she knew Spencer wouldn’t actually use it on her tonight. He wouldn’t push her that far, not on her first time in the red room. But in that moment, her logical mind gave way to raw emotion—fear and uncertainty clawing their way to the surface.
“Yellow!” she blurted out, her voice trembling as panic took over. The safe word slipped past her lips instinctively, a desperate plea for him to stop. She tugged against the cuffs in a frantic, almost futile attempt to ground herself, her mind racing as she tried to ease the discomfort that had taken hold of her.
Spencer froze instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. The teasing smirk disappeared from his face as he set the flogger down on a nearby table with a quiet thud. Without hesitation, he turned back to her, closing the distance between them in a few quick, purposeful strides.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice now warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the dark playfulness from moments ago. He cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over her cheeks as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.
“You’re alright,” Spencer murmured, his eyes softening as he searched hers, his concern evident. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to use it, I promise.”
Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to the tip of her nose, the gesture so gentle and intimate that it made her heart ache. His touch, his voice, everything about him in that moment was designed to bring her back to a place of safety and trust.
“You did exactly what you were supposed to,” he reassured her, his voice calm and soothing. “You told me how you felt, and that’s all I’ll ever ask of you. You’re safe with me.”
Spencer stayed close, his hands never leaving her face as he waited for her breathing to slow, for the tension in her body to ease. And when it did, when her eyes finally met his with a glimmer of trust, he smiled softly. The flogger was forgotten, left behind on the wall as Spencer refocused all his attention on her.
“I just want to be touched by you tonight, please,” she murmured, her voice trembling and fragile. She knew how it sounded—pathetic, almost desperate, as if she were bargaining with a man who held all the power, especially here in his sanctuary, his carefully curated pleasure room. But wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to speak her desires, to get comfortable expressing herself in this space without fear of judgment?
Spencer’s eyes darkened at her plea, but his expression softened. “I can make that happen,” he said, his voice deep and soothing, a promise laced in every word. His fingers moved with practiced precision, brushing lightly against the waistband of her black fitness shorts. He didn’t rush, didn’t assume. He lingered there, his fingers barely dipping beneath the fabric, waiting—no, insisting—that she give him permission to continue.
“Yes,” she breathed, the word escaping her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whisper.
Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he sank to his knees before her, moving with deliberate grace. From her vantage point, cuffed and bound, the sight of him kneeling was intoxicating, his presence commanding even as he took a submissive position at her feet. His hands rested gently on her hips, and then he leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her slightly bloated stomach.
Her breath hitched, the tenderness of the gesture catching her off guard. Slowly, Spencer hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down inch by excruciating inch. He took his time, letting the cool air brush against her exposed skin, adding to the anticipation. When the fabric finally pooled at her ankles, he left her standing there in nothing but her underwear, vulnerable and exposed.
But Spencer didn’t rush to the end goal. Instead, he moved with agonizing slowness, lowering his head further as his lips ghosted over the curve of her knee. His kisses trailed upward, soft and teasing, his warm breath brushing her skin as he made his way to her inner thigh. Each kiss lingered, igniting a spark that spread through her body like wildfire.
Her body betrayed her, straining against the cuffs, her hips shifting slightly as if to draw him closer. The chains rattled softly, her quiet plea for more unmistakable. Spencer noticed, of course—he noticed everything.
When his lips reached the sensitive skin just below her hipbone, he paused, pressing a lingering kiss to her lower abdomen, dangerously close to the edge of her underwear. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as the tension built.
“You can take them off,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She thought that was what he wanted, thought that her compliance would please him.
But Spencer only chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, sending another shiver through her body. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head to look up at her, his dark eyes locking with hers.
“No,” he said firmly, his voice a mix of authority and amusement. “I want you like this.”
The statement hung in the air between them, final and undeniable. It wasn’t about rushing to undress her fully—it was about savoring the moment, the anticipation, the power exchange. And in that moment, she realized that Spencer wanted her exactly as she was: bound, vulnerable, and entirely his.
As Spencer rose from his kneeling position, his hands moved with purpose. One cupped her breast, his palm warm and firm against her soft skin, while the other snaked around her waist, pulling her closer and keeping her from shifting under his touch. His fingers worked skillfully, kneading her breast with just the right pressure, his thumb brushing over her nipple in deliberate, teasing strokes. Every so often, he pinched the hardened peak, eliciting sharp gasps and soft whimpers that fueled his own satisfaction.
His other hand began its slow descent, gliding down her waist, pausing briefly to caress the curve of her hip before finally settling on the fabric covering her aching core. Spencer’s movements were slow and deliberate, his thumb pressing against her clothed clit in slow, torturous circles, testing her response.
The moment his touch found the perfect rhythm, (Y/N) couldn’t help herself. Her head fell back, her lips parted in a shaky exhale as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Her body strained against the cuffs, her wrists aching to be free so she could touch him, pull him closer, beg for more.
“Spence, please…” she whispered, her voice soft and pleading, tugging futilely on the chains above her head. “Keep going.”
Her desperation sent a thrill through Spencer, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew she wasn’t in any position to demand, but something about the way she begged him stirred a dark satisfaction deep within him. His fingers continued their torment, experimenting with pressure and motion, coaxing whimpers and moans from her that only grew louder with each pass of his thumb.
But just as she began to lose herself, Spencer’s hand abruptly left her throbbing clit, the absence of his touch almost painful in its suddenness. Her whine of protest was cut short as he swiftly clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes dark and commanding as they locked with hers.
“Be quiet,” he growled, his voice low and rough, a sharp contrast to the gentle way he’d been touching her moments before.
His dominance was unyielding, and it left her breathless. She nodded faintly against his hand, her wide eyes filled with both submission and unspoken desire. Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfied with her obedience.
Without another word, he shifted his stance, lifting one knee between her legs. The movement was deliberate, his thigh pressing against her clothed core as he resumed the rhythm she craved. He applied just enough pressure to drive her wild, the fabric of her underwear adding a delicious friction as he moved his leg.
Pinned between the unyielding cuffs above her and Spencer’s strong, unrelenting presence, (Y/N) had no choice but to give in completely. Her muffled moans against his hand were filled with a mix of frustration and pleasure, her body trembling under his control.
Spencer leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You don’t get to dictate how this goes. I decide when and how you get what you want.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with every passing second just how thoroughly he intended to own her tonight.
She was teetering on the edge, her body trembling as waves of pleasure built with every calculated movement Spencer made. His knee continued its agonizingly slow, circular motions against her clothed clit, and the dual sensations of his hand teasing her sensitive nipples and his other muffling her soft moans were driving her mad. Her breaths came in short, erratic gasps as her release approached, her body betraying her desperation to finally let go.
“Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” Spencer murmured into her ear, his voice low and smooth, sending a fresh surge of heat coursing through her. As he spoke, his lips brushed along her jawline, placing soft, deliberate kisses that only heightened her arousal.
The pet name unraveled her completely. Her head fell back, a muffled cry escaping against his hand as her body arched into him. Gathering herself, she tilted her head forward again, locking eyes with him. Her gaze was pleading, her response a breathless, trembling, “Mmhm.”
Her release was seconds away, her body tightening in anticipation. But just as she was about to tumble over the edge, the unmistakable sound of his apartment door opening shattered the moment.
“Spencer! Henry’s here for your sleepover tonight!” JJ’s cheerful voice rang out from the front of the apartment, oblivious to the scene she had interrupted.
Panic shot through both of them. Spencer froze for a split second, his hands and knee pulling away from her in one fluid motion. The sudden absence of his touch left her aching and unfulfilled, her body still straining against the cuffs in frustration. Their eyes met, wide and panicked, as reality crashed down on them.
“Spencer!” she whispered harshly, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t leave me like this!”
But Spencer, acting on instinct and clearly rattled by JJ’s unexpected arrival, turned away without a word. He moved quickly toward the door, leaving her suspended, nearly naked, and vulnerable. The lock clicked as he exited the red room, sealing her inside.
Her heart pounded, a mix of humiliation, disbelief, and residual arousal swirling in her mind. “Spencer!” she whisper-yelled again, tugging futilely at the cuffs. She tried to free herself, twisting and pulling, but the restraints held firm.
Panic bubbled up inside her as she realized the absurdity of her predicament. Left hanging in the red room, her body exposed save for her panties, she cursed herself for insisting earlier that the cuffs be tightened.
She squirmed in frustration, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The sound of distant voices from the other room filtered through the walls, a constant reminder of her helplessness.
Her mind raced as she considered her options—or rather, the lack of them. There was nothing to do but wait, stuck in this mortifying position, and hope Spencer would come to his senses and return before JJ—or worse, Henry—wandered too far into the apartment.
Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! Part 2 - Tied 2 You!
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saetoru · 1 year ago
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)
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synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too
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— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)
— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)
— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333
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the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 
you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 
and then satoru wins. 
you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 
whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 
and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 
for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.
it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 
he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 
“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 
“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”
“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”
“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 
it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 
it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.
you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 
you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 
“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”
“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”
“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”
“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”
your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 
“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 
suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 
you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 
“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 
“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.
“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”
you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 
but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 
you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.
“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”
“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”
“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”
“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.
“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 
i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.
“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.
he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”
it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 
————————————————
even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 
the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 
you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 
“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 
as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 
except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 
it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 
“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 
and then you remember. 
faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 
it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 
but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 
“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 
“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”
“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.
“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”
it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 
“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 
“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”
you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 
when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 
————————————————
“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 
“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 
it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 
but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 
“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.
“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”
“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”
“tell him to go fuck off.”
“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”
“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 
you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 
he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 
you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 
but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 
so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”
“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 
“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.
he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 
“let’s go,” you hum.
“after you,” he mutters.
he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 
suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  
it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.
as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 
“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”
he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 
for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 
“what are you—”
“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 
“what?”
“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”
“i’m not a teenager anymore—”
“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”
“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 
“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”
so you do. 
with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.
“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”
“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.
“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”
“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 
“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”
suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 
suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 
something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  
but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 
“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”
“me too,” he says quietly.
“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”
home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.
“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”
“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 
his breath hitches. 
she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 
there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 
perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 
because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.
suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 
“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 
he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.
but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 
but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 
“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 
every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 
“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”
“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”
suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.
“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”
“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 
but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.
————————————————
satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 
you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 
but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 
satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 
it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?
well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 
it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).
it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 
and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 
it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 
geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 
so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 
it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.
and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.
“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.
“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”
“about…?”
“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”
“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”
“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”
“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”
“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”
“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”
“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”
“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”
“what?” you blink.
“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”
“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”
“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 
but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 
good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 
and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 
ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 
he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 
“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”
“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”
“how lucky of you,” you snort. 
picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 
so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 
“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”
“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”
“of all movies—”
“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”
“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”
“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”
all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 
“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.
“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”
“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.
“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”
“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 
suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 
you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 
“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”
suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 
“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”
you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.
it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.
“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 
in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.
it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.
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suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 
“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”
“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”
“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 
“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”
“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.
“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”
“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”
“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 
sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 
“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”
“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”
despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 
suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.
“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”
there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 
suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 
he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.
“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 
“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”
“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”
“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”
“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”
“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 
it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.
deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.
it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 
it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 
you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 
it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 
“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.
“do what?”
“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”
“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”
“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.
“like what?” he raises a brow. 
“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 
he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.
“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”
you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.
of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 
you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 
“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”
“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.
fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 
“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”
“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”
never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?
“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”
“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”
“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”
“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”
“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”
“i know—”
“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 
“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”
“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.
“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 
being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 
“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.
“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”
you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.
“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.
he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 
“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.
“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 
“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 
it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 
“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”
“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”
“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 
“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”
“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”
“yeah,” you breathe.
he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 
you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 
finally, for once, you’re enough. 
“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”
“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”
“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”
“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.
he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 
maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 
in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.
“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 
“because i need you here. will you stay?”
“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”
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hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3
also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok
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novafire-is-thinking · 4 months ago
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Medic, Maverick, Maniac, Murderer: Understanding Pharma
First thing’s first: I love Pharma, dearly.
In all the time I’ve spent evaluating his character, I’ve mainly focused on what can be worked out about who he is as an individual: his core sense of self, psychological drives, subjective worldview, etc.
When all else is stripped away, who is Pharma?
This treatise is the product of obsessing over Pharma, analyzing canon (and extras), and reading as many different perspectives on his character from fans across the fandom as I could find. The post is long, so for those of you who balk at the thought of reading a shortfic’s worth of Pharma thoughts, feel free to read the TL;DR (Conclusion) at the end and then decide if the full read is worth your time. Also, a premium reading experience is available in the form of the original Google Doc version.
As you read, keep in mind that this is primarily a mix of psychoanalysis, evidence-based examination, and speculation—not moral, ethical, or sociological commentary. The goal is to examine Pharma’s psychological drives and core values, and each of his appearances in the context of those. All other types of evaluation are up to readers.
Now, take your victim blaming-allergy meds (just in case); remove your black-and-white thinking caps; and leave your personal morality lenses at the door.
Psychological Drives & Core Values
Why does Pharma act the way he does? What gives him a reason to keep living? What are his personal priorities?
At the beginning of the Delphi arc, First Aid establishes Pharma as a “control freak” and someone who “thinks he’s an expert on everything.”
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Now, First Aid has a habit of complaining about his bosses, but on both points, there’s canon evidence to back them both.
Expertise and Intellect
Throughout the Delphi and Luna 1 arcs, it’s established that Pharma is a skilled and brilliant doctor.
He once performed a 4-way fuel pump transplant, donating his own fuel pump in the process. (see above panel)
Later, he invented a soundbomb that left an echo laced with a virus and invented an antidote to that virus:
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And on Luna 1, he was on the edge of finding a cure for Cybercrosis, based on the fact that Swerve was able to formulate a cure from his notes.
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More than being a doctor, Pharma lives for intellectual and scientific achievement as a physician scientist. He feels most alive when he’s able to solve complex medical problems, and when his achievements are recognized by those whose opinion he considers important.
This is Pharma’s 'why.'
And even though he’s arrogant and enjoys praise, it’s not his primary motivation. He doesn’t need it in order to set his mind to whatever he’s interested in, although he’ll seek it from those he values most (i.e. Ratchet).
Pharma sees himself as less of a doctor, and more as a scientific innovator or medical maverick. The practice of medicine is primarily a catalyst for his creativity and intellect; it’s not an end in and of itself like it is for someone like Ratchet or First Aid.
First Aid’s observation of Pharma can be better phrased as, “[Pharma] thinks he’s an expert on everything medical”—because he’s not so driven by achievement and admiration that he’ll grovel at the feet of strangers and get good at something he doesn’t personally find interesting. The only time we see him express a desire for praise is when he’s around Ratchet—someone he holds in high regard for both personal and professional reasons. This makes sense since Ratchet is one of the only people who can give Pharma any kind of competition within what he considers to be his area of expertise.
“Each day we go to our work in the hope of discovering—in the hope that some one, no matter who, may find a solution of one of the pending great problems—and each succeeding day we return to our task with renewed ardor; and even if we are unsuccessful, our work has not been in vain, for in these strivings, in these efforts, we have found hours of untold pleasure, and we have directed our energies to the benefit of mankind.” —Nikola Tesla
Ego
Without question, Pharma has an inflated ego, but having an inflated sense of self doesn’t automatically mean a person is a full-blown narcissist or that they are totally uncaring.
Every personality trait exists on a spectrum. Yes, Pharma is arrogant, but the presence of arrogance doesn’t automatically and completely cancel out all “positive” traits. (For fun, check out studies on Dark Tetrad and Light Triad personality traits.)
People are complex. Arrogance can coexist with genuine kindness, ruthlessness can coexist with deep compassion, etc.
Whether Pharma exhibits genuine kindness is up to each reader’s interpretation of what little canon material exists, but the point is: Pharma’s arrogance doesn’t automatically rule out the possibility of authentic “positive” traits.
Controlling Tendencies
Pharma is comfortable pulling the power card and using it to dump what he sees as uninteresting parts of medical practice on those below him:
“So Fisitron’s writing about the Wreckers’ elbows now, is he?” said Delphi’s Chief Medical Officer. “Come on, First Aid - get to it. You’ve got a Fader in Row 2 downstairs.” He squeezed the air with his finger and thumb. “He’s about this far from shutdown.” —from Bullets by James Roberts
However, there’s nothing in canon indicating he’s power-hungry in a megalomaniacal sense. He’s not Starscream or Megatron; he doesn’t seek political or social power. In fact, he seems perfectly happy hiding away in a lab or medibay by himself so he can direct all his energy toward solving issues and achieving the so-called ‘impossible’ within the field of medicine:
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The ways in which Pharma exercises power and control are through his expertise, and his administrative/management skills. That’s it.
Self-confidence
Pharma’s arrogance and controlling tendencies don’t seem to be a mask—like he’s trying to compensate for some sense of lack (in those areas). Yes, he fears failure, and yes, he displays some insecurity when Ratchet questions his competence. But at every other point and in every other way, Pharma is unapologetically self-confident. He’s fully self-assured of his intellectual prowess and problem-solving capabilities; he knows what he knows, and he also knows what he doesn’t know.
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Pharma’s arrogance and desire for control don’t stem from a hidden lack of confidence or a hunger for power on its own. They stem from the fact that he genuinely sees himself as the best person for the work he does. He trusts himself above anyone else to solve problems that come his way—medical or otherwise (within limits).
Elitism vs. Superiority
I’ve always read Pharma as having an elitist attitude, but not in the social stratification sense:
elitist (adj.) relating to or supporting the view that a society or system should be led by an elite.
There’s no evidence that Pharma believes an elite class of people should hold the most power. Instead, Pharma’s “elitism” is actually an individualistic sense of superiority. It’s centered on him alone, and is tied to his capabilities as a physician scientist and surgeon.
Pharma sees himself as the best of the best and makes sure everyone knows it—sometimes through his words, but mostly by his conduct in the field of medicine. This, paired with Pharma’s natural temperament, doesn’t exactly make him socially popular—inside or outside of medicine:
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One could argue that the “personality” Lockdown is referring to was a result of all Pharma had suffered at Delphi and Luna 1, but just as easily, one could argue he was always a bit difficult to get along with, and that his traumatic experiences merely magnified his already-present psychological patterns. Personally, I like the latter interpretation because it’s a flaw that makes Pharma a more interesting character no matter his mental state.
Everyone reacts differently to real and perceived social rejection. Some are so concerned about it that they’ll try anything to belong; others genuinely don’t care, and they continue as usual; and still others cope by shifting their mindset and developing a sense of pride in being an outsider.
There’s no evidence for this in canon, but I believe it’s within reasonable characterization boundaries to headcanon Pharma as being in the second or third category.
With either of those two mindsets, a sense of superiority can develop, or even be an inciting factor. Either someone sees themselves as genuinely superior to the majority and doesn’t mind when this alienates them from people, or they convince themselves they’re superior because the pain of accepting they were rejected for who they are is too much to handle.
Whatever the case, the point is, having an “elitist” attitude isn’t necessarily rooted in a sociological or ideological belief. Sometimes, individuals just see something in themselves that—to them—justifies a sense of personal superiority. A quick glance at Pharma’s canon appearances makes it clear he holds such a view of himself, at least to some degree.
Morality and Compassion
When Pharma first shows up in canon, he’s working at the New Institute. A lot of questionable things took place there on a regular basis—things Pharma would have been aware of, to some degree. However, his presence at the Institute doesn’t automatically mean he agreed with everything happening. Depending on how strongly someone feels about something, some people are content to disagree in silence. Not everyone who seeks employment considers it a priority that the establishment they work for aligns perfectly with their moral values. After all, there are other reasons to take a job: financial benefits, exclusive educational and career opportunities, pure convenience, etc.
I’m not here to say either way whether Pharma’s willingness to turn a blind eye to the events at the New Institute was wrong or right; that’s up to each reader to decide for themselves. However, Pharma’s choice to remain employed at the Institute for some time can say something about him as a character: his priority as a doctor and person is not to take care of everyone he encounters, or to act as some kind of moral or ethical authority.
This isn’t to say Pharma won’t ever stand up for something he regards as right or push back against something he sees as wrong, “off screen.” It’s just that everything in canon points more to a tendency to choose his battles instead of acting immediately on any moral sense the way someone like Optimus or Ratchet might.
This also isn’t to say Pharma doesn’t care about saving lives, but from what little is shown of him before Delphi, it’s hard to say how much he cared. Ratchet confirms later that Pharma was an excellent doctor for most of his life, but all that tells us is he was an excellent doctor; it says nothing about his internal attitude toward his work or patients.
However, inferences can be made based on doctors in our own world:
Being a doctor—especially one in trauma care—is far from easy. It takes a lot out of a person, and there are very few people who last in the profession for a long time. Most medical professionals fall into one of the following categories:
People possessing a strong will that’s coupled with an unwavering passion for taking care of others (the public’s favorite)
People who naturally have, or develop, an ability to switch their empathy off and on at will, or build walls around it—also possessing a strong will (the ideal)
People who naturally have a limited capacity for empathy (the one the public hates to acknowledge)
People with a strong social and professional support system (the necessary, but underutilized and underappreciated factor)
Of course, even if a person has one or more of the above, burnout can and does still happen, but individuals who have at least one have the best chances of surviving and thriving amidst the demands of the majority of medical professions.
As far as is shown in canon, Pharma never had a strong support system—either circumstantially or by choice—so something else was keeping him in medicine.
Pharma shows concern for both Tumbler (Chromedome) and Hubcap:
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But even though he obviously cared enough to step in, neither instance makes a strong case for a capacity for empathy beyond the “average” or “norm.” Performing a job well is a lot different from being personally invested in the work.
Based on everything up to this point, and this later comment from Pharma, about Ratchet…
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…Pharma has probably never shared the same I-care-about-everything-and-everyone view of the world. Instead, it’s more likely that Pharma holds a more rational view of his work and patients.
One of the first things learned in medicine, especially in trauma medicine, is that you can’t help or save everyone, and to hold yourself to that standard can destroy you quickly if you have a certain temperament or lack healthy boundaries for your empathy.
“There are times when it may seem as though I view sick or injured people not as living, breathing humans with feelings and emotions and people who love them, but simply as cases, as problems to be solved. And that is absolutely true. It's not that I don't have empathy, but the hard fact is that as a doctor, and especially as a trauma surgeon, too much empathy can get in the way of your job and cause you to make decisions based not on sound medical judgment but on your own emotions. Sure, I've seen things that even years later can still make me choke up when I think of them: a little girl shot and killed, a shattered young Marine who shouldn't have died but did. But you can't choke up in the ER or the operating room. To be effective as a trauma surgeon, you have to put a layer of Kevlar around your heart.” —Dr. Peter Rhee, Trauma Red: The Making of a Surgeon in War and in America’s Cities*
Pharma may have learned this difficult truth earlier than Ratchet and developed a practical way of managing his empathy that comes across as “cold.” He may have always had an ability to put up walls around his spark. Or, he may have always had little to no capacity for empathy.
The fact that the morality lock on Tyrest’s portal prevented Pharma from passing through proves he felt guilty for what he’d done, and JRO confirmed this. Therefore, it’s safe to assume Pharma had some level of empathy for his former patients, suffering moral injury when he felt he had no other option but to start killing them.
Still, looking at Pharma’s psychological drives and his behavior throughout canon, it’s clear compassionate care and morality are subordinate to his other values and interests.
*I highly recommend this book, and learning about Dr. Rhee in general. He’s a huge inspiration of mine, and one of my main sources of inspiration when writing Pharma. Level-headed and capable, strong-willed, selectively empathetic, an excellent scientist, etc. He lives for the thrill of practicing medicine both on the floor and as an expert in his field who pushes trauma medicine to new heights through his research. He also takes great pride in his hands. Seriously—the man spent an entire paragraph and a half talking about his “good hands” and how they were one of two reasons he decided to go into trauma surgery. The other reason was that he “liked action and excitement, liked the feeling of being able to walk into a tough situation and take control.” (Sounds familiar…)
Delphi
First thing’s first: we don’t know how much Pharma did or didn’t know about the DJD before agreeing to take the Delphi assignment.
That far into the war, he would have known something about the DJD and their ways of terrorizing traitors and Autobots, but for whatever reason, he took the assignment anyway. Perhaps Prowl assured him the situation on Messatine would be monitored and that the security team would be enough. Perhaps he underestimated the DJD’s capabilities, or scale of territory, and thought he would be able to handle things on his own. Perhaps Prowl gave him no choice. Maybe it was all of these and more.
Whatever the case, according to JRO, Pharma didn’t hate Delphi before the incident with the DJD.
Word of god remains a touchy subject in fandom, but in this case, it’s important because it says two things:
The DJD left the Delphi medical team alone for some time.
Being on the edges of DJD territory didn’t automatically mean isolation and harassment by their hand.
On the second point, First Aid was free to come and go from Messatine as he pleased, seeing as he attended a medical conference at Kimia five years into his assignment at Delphi:
Five years ago [mid-Delphi assignment], the leader of the Wreckers had cornered him at a medical conference at Kimia, the space station that doubled as a weapons research facility. —from Bullets
And five years after that, he was able to not only contact Springer without delay about one of Agent 113’s bullets he’d discovered in an Autobot badge…
He raced upstairs to his computer terminal and typed in a certain frequency code for the second time in his life. A face appeared on the screen and grinned. “It’s me,” said First Aid. “And you're never gonna guess what I’ve got for you..!”
…but he was also able to meet up with Springer to hand off the bullet:
“Your friend has a funny way of making contact,” First Aid had said when he’d got in touch three days earlier, and he was right.
It’s not known if this handoff happened on or off world, but either way, the DJD didn’t interfere.
At some point, Tarn set his sights on Pharma and the Delphi team. Knowing the DJD, one can only imagine what Tarn used to show off his team’s capabilities and convince Pharma the best option was to cooperate.
In striking a deal with Tarn to keep the DJD away from Delphi, Pharma established his territory and ensured his continued security and the safety of his staff. As long as Tarn got his T-cogs, Pharma could continue on in relative peace. He could work his magic on bots that ended up at Delphi, carry out his management duties, and work on whatever projects or research he may have been conducting in his free time.
For whatever reason, after he first came into contact with Tarn, Pharma didn’t call for help. Communications were still operational, as Pharma wouldn’t have suggested contacting High Command about the Duobots if the team was aware of any comm malfunctions:
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Also, First Aid later confirms that communications were fine until the Big Bang (soundbomb detonation):
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It’s always possible the DJD was monitoring the radio waves, but secure subspace frequencies exist, such as the Datalog Network First Aid used to send the datalog containing the death statistics:
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Speaking of which, assuming First Aid sent the datalog with the statistics right when things started to get ‘weird,’ and before the Big Bang shut down comms, it only took—at most—a few days for them to reach Ratchet and Swerve on the Lost Light:
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But back to Pharma not calling for help: for all of Prowl’s intel, contingency planning, and fretting over the security of Autobot territories, I find it hard to believe he would have stuck an Autobot medical team on the fringes of DJD territory without giving them some means of securely contacting the outside in case of issues.
But even if Prowl didn’t give Pharma a secure way to contact him or anyone else, and even if Pharma was convinced the DJD was monitoring regular communications, there were other ways he could have reached out for help. After all, the team wasn’t alone on Messatine. Like Pharma said, Prowl continued to send bots to defend the nucleon mines:
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The Autobots had been mining nucleon for millions of years at this point, so I doubt the mined nucleon was just sitting in storage on Messatine; shipments of the stuff would have been sent off-world to wherever the Autobots needed it. Why not send a message for Prowl with someone leaving with one of those shipments? A message meant only to be sent over a call when absolutely certain they were out of range of the DJD’s potential monitoring.
Or, why not order in off-world medical supplies and send a message back with the delivery bot(s)?
There are two possible answers to this. One takes into account JRO’s word on the subject; the other is more intricate and speculative on my part, but it leads to the same place. So whatever your stance is on the validity of word of god, there’s an answer for you.
Answer one (word of god)
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Simple as that. Pharma was aware of the scope of the DJD’s capabilities and relentlessness, and determined he was trapped prey.
Answer two (no word of god)
There are a few possible reasons Pharma didn’t call for help right away:
He was convinced all his other options would take too long and/or would still lead to him being put under suspicion. After all, being found to have harvested even a single T-cog from an already-dead patient for the DJD could have raised concerns that would lead to Pharma being investigated and/or having a mark put on his record.
He underestimated the severity of Tarn’s addiction, and was certain he could keep up with the T-cog demand without resorting to other means of harvesting, not realizing Tarn’s quota would increase later on.
He was already paranoid as a result of whatever mind games Tarn had set in motion at their first meeting, making Pharma think escape was futile.
Word of god or no word of god, there are clear reasons as to why Pharma ended up trapped. Most likely, it was a mix of all of the above.
Whatever was going on in Pharma’s mind before, he ended up in deeper trouble. Tarn increased his demand for T-cogs, and Pharma couldn’t keep up. By the time this happened, even if he had wanted to call for help, it was too late to do so without implicating himself. He reasoned his only option was to start killing patients to harvest their T-cogs.
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Soon, Pharma was so consumed with fretting over whether he’d be able to meet Tarn’s next demand that he didn’t have time or freedom to do anything else except worry and feel guilty. His whole life revolved around Tarn’s addiction; he was no longer in control, and could no longer enjoy whatever it was about Delphi he’d previously enjoyed. Perhaps the facility itself enabled Pharma to research cures and perform scientific miracles of medicine.
Being at the mercy of Tarn—convinced the DJD would find him no matter what—would have been pure psychological torture on its own, but also knowing that any small chance he did have of getting help would end in him losing everything would have added to his suffering. Pharma became desperate to reclaim control over his life and began planning an escape.
Now, JRO has said that Pharma didn’t originally plan to use the rust plague on the DJD…but canon says otherwise:
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Of course, Pharma could have been lying to make himself look better in Ratchet’s view, but based on everything he’d been through up to this point with Tarn, it’s more likely he was telling the truth and had tried to eliminate the source of his suffering first. After all, wiping out the DJD would have been the simpler, cleaner option.
When the Duobots refused to detonate the soundbomb near the DJD, Pharma’s objectives shifted. He had to get Delphi shut down in a way that would:
Convince the DJD the shutdown was legitimate.
Pharma knew chances of escaping the DJD at all were slim to none, but he was desperate. Getting Delphi shut down would cut off Tarn’s supply of T-cogs and allow Pharma to escape Tarn’s immediate control, but the shutdown had to be “legitimate” to prevent Tarn from retaliating and hunting him down later. Leaving Tarn even the slightest chance of regaining control was too risky, so Pharma had to make sure his plan was as airtight as possible. 
Cover up the patient murders.
If the truth got out about Pharma killing patients, he’d lose his medical license and most likely be put away for life. Being cut off from the practice of medicine and his intellectually stimulating work as a doctor would mean losing more than a job and a reputation. It would mean losing everything in which he’d anchored his sense of identity and life’s meaning. His refusal to consider any other options wasn’t just about ego and preserving his image as an excellent doctor; it was about preserving any kind of meaningful future he saw for himself.
Pharma needed a plan that would fulfill all of the above. Turning the engineered virus on the medical facility was the most effective and efficient solution. Anything else would have made him suspicious in the view of either Autobot High Command or the DJD, and neither of those would have ended well for him.
Because of his goal to preserve his reputation and future in medicine, he couldn’t even risk revealing anything to First Aid or Ambulon, who would have seen to his ruin. They became nothing more than loose ends that had to be tied up, and based on the fact that Pharma only prepared one vial of the vaccine, his original plan involved him being the only survivor:
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He probably would have had no problem making more of the vaccine for anyone else who survived, but he wasn’t counting on it. He wanted a totally clean slate; in letting his staff die with most of his patients, he would be getting rid of any and all evidence and reminders of his failures. He may have cared about First Aid and Ambulon before things got bad, but somewhere along the way, he decided either it wasn’t worth it to go through the trouble of finding a way to save them without raising suspicion, or he didn’t want to risk them putting together the pieces later on.
Of course, when Ratchet showed up, plans changed.
Ratchet
Ratchet is not the kind of person who seeks first to understand or be understanding. He’s inclined to trust what’s in front of him over anything abstract, and tends to look at the results of someone’s actions over trying to find any kind of ‘why’ behind them. Also, unlike Pharma, he operates from a strong moral sense, and reacts quickly and strongly when something or someone goes against that internal moral sense.
Ratchet’s reaction to finding out what Pharma did may seem hasty and harsh, but it makes perfect sense on a human level. There is no such thing as unconditional love; everyone has personal and moral lines (boundaries), and they’re different for each individual. When the most rigid of lines is crossed, that’s it; walls go up and the offender is cut off, no matter how strong the relationship may have been.
Ratchet obviously knew Pharma well enough to think he could try talking some sense into him, but then Pharma revealed that he’d crossed one of Ratchet’s lines: murdering patients. Any willingness Ratchet may have had to try to understand vanished. By the time Pharma started trying to provide a ‘why’ for his actions, Ratchet’s moral judgment had already shut down any chance of understanding what could have possibly led Pharma to kill patients. It didn’t help that Pharma seemed totally unapologetic and outright proud of his plan. For Ratchet, the ‘why’ didn’t matter anymore. What he saw was what he trusted, and what he saw was a friend who’d become his idea of a monster.
Now, Ratchet and Pharma’s relationship is one of the most confusing IDW relationships I’ve had the pleasure and pain of dissecting.
It is notoriously difficult to determine the depth and strength of a relationship from the outside. However, I’ve decided to go ahead and address it anyway because it has the potential to provide insight into Pharma as an individual.
If I were to sum up Pharma and Ratchet’s relationship in a single word, I would use “ambivalent.” The first time I read MTMTE, the thing that stood out to me most about their relationship was the drastic differences between how they each perceived the relationship.
In one sense, there’s the idea of Pharma basically being Ratchet’s crazy stalker ex, which is tossed around in fandom a lot. While I personally dislike seeing it regardless of context (yes, even as a joke), I do see how JRO’s writing choices set things up in a way that makes it easy to superimpose that trope.
In another sense, there’s the idea that Pharma and Ratchet were always close friends, and that what happened at the end of the Delphi story was a betrayal of both sides that came out of nowhere and whose consequences were taken too far.
I disagree with both. Personally, what I see at the end of the Delphi story isn’t an obsessed ex gone mad, a sudden betrayal, or a badly executed backstabbing. What I see is a breakdown of an already-complicated and poorly-maintained relationship: true feelings being revealed, long-repressed bitterness being forced to the surface, carefully-hidden cracks being split wide open.
Most people don’t have an accurate understanding of how much or how little they truly know the people in their lives, often overestimating how well they know a person until something surfaces and blindsides them.
According to JRO, Ratchet was oblivious to Pharma’s romantic interest, and throughout canon, it’s easy to see Pharma was more invested in the relationship than Ratchet ever was.
The question is, did Ratchet ever care about Pharma at all? And if so, to what degree?
Yes, Ratchet calls Pharma “buddy” and “friend,” but the former was sarcastic, and the latter means something different to each person. Also, in light of the circumstances, Ratchet could have just been saying “friend” in response to Pharma saying it—an emotional appeal more than anything.
However, Pharma must have been aware of Ratchet’s lack of relational investment because during the confrontation at Delphi, Pharma’s first reaction wasn’t to appeal to their friendship (ex: “But you know me!”). Instead, he appealed to their shared profession:
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Then there’s the exchange of insults: 
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This is what I meant earlier by “true feelings being revealed.” Ratchet may have just been trying to match Pharma’s insult, but it’s unlikely it was merely reciprocal because while Ratchet is snarky at times, he’s sincere in that snark. There’s almost always some truth in his verbal jabs no matter how unserious they seem, and he’s never cruel for cruelty’s sake.
So, if Pharma saw Ratchet as an inferior doctor, and Ratchet saw Pharma as an inferior Autobot…it’s reasonable to assume there was always some deep-rooted competition and conflict preventing them from being super close.
Possible suspicion surrounding Pharma’s conduct as an Autobot paired with a tendency to misjudge the nuances of relationships could explain why Ratchet was so quick to decide Pharma was a lost cause. Maybe Pharma’s actions at Delphi confirmed something from the past that Ratchet had brushed off for whatever reason.
In any case, Ratchet seems to have been largely unaffected by the Pharma he found at Delphi. While leaving Messatine, he emphasizes that he’ll miss Pharma’s talent.
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Not “who he used to be.”
Not “what we used to have.”
Just…“his talent.”
Later, on Luna 1, Pharma mentions that he and Ratchet were inseparable, but that could mean a few different things:
Best case scenario: Pharma and Ratchet sought each other out on equal terms.
Worst case scenario: Pharma followed Ratchet around.
Somewhere in the middle: the job forced Pharma and Ratchet to work in close proximity most of the time, and while Pharma intentionally ran into Ratchet more often than necessary, Ratchet also sought out Pharma every now and then.
Whatever the case, working with someone every day doesn’t tell you anything about who they are as a person, and the amount of time spent with someone doesn’t automatically correlate to how deep the relationship is or how well the people know each other. It’s not like either Pharma or Ratchet are shown to be good at expressing their personal feelings outside of extreme circumstances. 
Ratchet does bring up late-night conversations of the past:
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But while this indicates there was something deeper between him and Pharma, because neither of them were ever shown to be super open with their true feelings, it’s unlikely the conversations were full of touchy-feely talk. In all likelihood, the conversations were mostly medicine and war-related, with the rare spark-to-spark talk sprinkled in. Also, considering everything up to this point, one has to wonder if those talks ever meant anything to Ratchet, or if he was just digging for something that might stall Pharma’s torture.
Maybe those late-night conversations did mean something to Ratchet, but whatever the case, Pharma didn’t take the bait. He knew Ratchet was trying to stall by making an emotional appeal, and perhaps he was convinced the conversations hadn’t meant that much to Ratchet.
Looking at all of this, it’s hard to believe Ratchet ever cared about Pharma as more than an interesting work friend. But even if he had cared more than he let on, it wasn’t enough to overcome the doubts he had about Pharma’s character.
As for whether Pharma truly cared about Ratchet, I’m convinced he did, but in a mostly unhealthy way, and with a strong undercurrent of one-sided rivalry. At some point, Ratchet had been an equal and a source of challenge, and he probably listened to Pharma pretty often. It’s reasonable to assume Ratchet was one of the only people—if not the only person—able to handle Pharma’s intense temperament and challenge him in a meaningful way, providing some semblance of friendship for Pharma.
However, one last thing that stands out is that, when telling Ratchet why he’s torturing him, Pharma didn’t say anything like, “Because you hurt me” or “Because you turned against me—your friend.” Instead, he said it was for “ruining things at Delphi” and because “you declared war on my body.”
Either Pharma wasn’t being entirely honest, or Ratchet’s friendship didn’t mean as much in the first place as he’d previously implied. It’s possible the ‘Because you hurt me’ was implied in “for ruining things back at Delphi,” but why not say it outright? Perhaps it was a fear of vulnerability and admitting there was ever a relational need at all.
At the end of the day, it’s difficult to say for certain how close Pharma and Ratchet were, but it’s clear they were never on the same page and there were always barriers between them.
Luna 1
Revisiting the matter of Pharma’s morality taking a backseat to other priorities, his time on Luna 1 further underscores this. Again, Pharma chooses his battles and is unwilling to put himself at great risk for the sake of others, but a closer look at the situation with Tyrest reveals there wasn’t really anything he could have done for the Cold Construct population even if he had wanted to. It would have been him against Tyrest, an army of Legislators, and a bunch of Decepticons. Pharma knew his limits, and seeing as his goal was self-preservation, it was perfectly rational for him to go along with Tyrest’s grand scheme.
Besides, it doesn’t look like he was given much of a choice:
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Although, knowing Pharma, he still would have demanded to know beforehand what he would get in return for the pain, and evidently, Tyrest held up his end of the deal since Pharma had access to the Luna 1 tech collection.
As for Tyrest’s plan to wipe out the Cold Construct population, there’s nothing indicating Pharma’s decision to turn a blind eye to it was rooted in malevolence or bigotry—just rational apathy: ‘I can’t stop Tyrest, so why concern myself with the outcome?’
Again, you can’t save everyone; Pharma had all he could do to save himself.
But it wasn’t all horrible. I would even go so far as to say Pharma found some happiness on Luna 1. Tyrest didn’t care about him, but he didn’t need Tyrest to care. Everyone else there hated him, but he didn’t need to feel like he belonged or was admired. At this point, Pharma’s only interest was Tyrest’s Luna 1 tech collection, and that meant playing nice so he could keep his reward. Back at Delphi, he probably assumed he’d never again practice medicine the way he’d loved; being brought to Luna 1 was an unexpected, yet welcome, second chance.
Even so, Pharma had his moments of cruelty. Back at Delphi, he had easily-identifiable reasons to kill patients—both the ones whose T-cogs he harvested and the 20 more he tried to kill when he shot the life support machine. But on Luna 1, he had no reason to be cruel, yet he chose to be. By this point, he’d mastered the ability to almost completely ignore or subdue his conscience.
In the case of Ratchet’s torment, one could argue Pharma only drew it out for retaliation purposes; it was personal for him.
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As for cutting Ambulon in half, it was obviously meant to be as gruesome as possible, yet also quick. But personally, I don’t think it was about Ambulon; it was more about hurting Ratchet. Due to the fact that Ratchet’s identity is wrapped up in his compassion and his ability to be helpful as a doctor, one of the most effective acts of revenge would be to do something that makes him feel utterly helpless.
Also I wonder if, subconsciously or consciously, Pharma was attempting to recreate the sense of helplessness he felt back at Delphi under Tarn’s watch: “Do you see, Ratchet? Do you now understand how it feels to have control ripped out of your hands? To be totally helpless?”
Next, for some reason, Pharma was invested in the promised execution of Getaway and Skids:
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He had no personal connection to either of them that would give him a reason to be interested, so maybe Tyrest told him he could perform the execution and/or have the corpses for medical experimentation. Either way, Pharma would have had a chance to use some of the tech in Tyrest’s tech collection, possibly explaining his excitement.
Of course, any chance of an execution disappeared when the final showdown went wrong.
When Pharma tried to escape to Cyberutopia and discovered he couldn’t pass through the spacebridge forcefield, he gave up. He’d been caught; he would no longer have access to Tyrest’s tech collection; Ratchet and every other self-righteous Autobot would never forgive him; and the morality lock prevented him from escaping. By all appearances, he would never again be able to engage in that which gave him a sense of meaning. He had shrunken his world down to his obsessive interest in a specialized field and one significant, yet unrequited relationship. With both of these lost, his world collapsed. 
Yes, guilt played a part in Pharma’s despondency, but because he seems to have been in denial of said guilt, it’s more likely his despair was primarily due to the fact that he saw no future for himself. He had nothing left to live for.
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In light of this, Pharma’s flippant comments to First Aid make sense. He wasn’t being insensitive as much as he was goading First Aid. Pharma’s not stupid. First Aid had a massive rotary cannon on him, and Pharma knew exactly which emotional buttons to push to get him to pull the trigger.
Pharma wanted to die.
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Adaptus
First, let me emphasize that Adaptus did not take possession of Pharma’s body. Instead, Pharma was the unwelcome guest:
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How Pharma ended up in Adaptus’ new body is a mystery, but whatever the case, Pharma didn’t pass on to the Allspark. Whether or not he had a choice can only be speculated.
First Aid had blasted Pharma’s head clean off, so whatever happened must have been related to the spark. Perhaps some residual spark energy was trapped in a body part that Adaptus repurposed, leaving Pharma tethered to the new body unwillingly.
Still, Pharma managed to assert his will and override Adaptus for a brief moment. Considering Adaptus was basically a god, this is impressive.
Based on Adaptus’ surprise at being interrupted, it seems he didn’t know Pharma was there. Why Pharma hadn’t tried to assert himself sooner is a mystery. Maybe Adaptus’ scheme was entertaining; maybe Pharma actually liked the company; or maybe he’d been waiting for an opportunity to get revenge on Tyrest for everything done to him back at Luna 1.
Sure enough, just like with Ratchet back on Luna 1, Pharma’s vengeful streak came out as soon as there was an opportunity.
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Unfortunately for him, this left him vulnerable, and Tyrest took advantage of the confusion:
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Conclusion
When someone reduces their world to narrow personal interests and one or a few very special people, their grip tightens around what little they have. They often become obsessive and possessive of the few things that make them feel alive, and their view of the world becomes increasingly more subjective and detached from the outside world. Pharma seems to have fallen into this trap.
Even so, in the context of the circumstances, several of the decisions he made were rational—even if coldly so. Oftentimes, “extreme” rationality and self-preservation are villainized in fiction, and characters like Pharma who don’t automatically put themselves at great risk for anyone and everyone are villainized, or at least looked down on. Their choices are often regarded as less human, but rationality and self-preservation are just as human as compassion and self-sacrifice.
Ultimately, Pharma was trapped and pushed over the edge into “insanity” by Tarn’s cruelty, but his own choices made from a place of pride determined how he fell, and how far he fell. It was a perfect storm of Tarn’s mind games and Pharma’s intellectual arrogance, excessive self-confidence, obsessive nature, and stubborn grip on the kind of future he wanted for himself.
Pharma is yet another Icarus who flew too close to the sun and paid dearly for it, and while JRO/the narrative could have given this Icarus better wings, that doesn’t change the fact that he chose to fly so high.
***
Many thanks to anyone who made it to the end of this monster of a post.
-tosses a Rodimus Star at you-
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thecordelialetters · 10 months ago
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I’ll love you in every multiverse I Five Hargreeves x Reader
WC: 1,791
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Post Apocalypse Au! ( Yes Im writing another one )
Pt. 1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4
Summary: The Umbrella’s can understand jumping through time and all its rules, yeah fuck with the timeline and it’ll fuck you right back. But what happens when a portal opens up in the middle of the academy and outfalls a girl who claims to be Five’s wife from a different universe.
Disclaimer: This takes place after season one if Viktor didn’t blow up the moon.
The Umbrella Academy had saved the world from its supposed end. The siblings had lounged around the academy slowly letting reality set that they had avoided their demise. It was the next morning when each of them woke up to check their surroundings, making sure that doomsday wasn’t there.
Five went downstairs for his morning coffee when he saw Allison scrolling for flights on her phone and Klaus checking where was the next place he could buy drugs.
“Leaving so soon?” He questioned.
Allison looked up at him although happy to see her brother, guilty because he was right.
“I have to go see my daughter. After everything that has happened I need her now just as much as she needs me.”
Five nodded his head, understanding where she was coming from, although a little irked she wasn’t wasting any time running away.
A loud zap was heard and wind swirled toward the top of the room. A red portal had opened above the living room. The rest of the siblings (Luther, Viktor, Diego) had rushed down to see what the loud noise was. It was deja vu, like when Five had returned for the first time. In the portal, they could see a fight happening. Figures that had looked like them in a place that looked like their home. A woman’s back came close to the portal, they could see she was in combat but stood observing. Another man who they couldn’t identify, rushed forward and pushed the woman through the portal.
A girl who looked to be in her early twenties had fallen through. Her face was covered in soot, her hair black as night, and her eyes closed in pain. She was wearing a navy body suit that clung to her figure, and blood, not her own, stained the fabric.
The Hargreeves gathered around to observe this strange phenomenon trying to assess the danger. They were so used to people being against them, so why would this time be different.
You coughed loudly before sitting up, and each sibling tensed with adrenaline. The girl looked around the room with blazing blue eyes before she landed on the youngest Hargreeves.
“Five?” you questioned.
Everyone turned to look at Five.
Luther spoke up first, “You know her?”
“I have never met her in my life.” Five retorted.
The girl dusted off her suit before standing. “Well if you never met me, you either will meet me or I’m dead in this universe.”
“The names y/n , y/n Hargreeves.”
“I don’t remember our father adopting anyone else,” Diego said. He raised his knives, carefully ready to strike at any move she would make.
“That’s because I wasn’t adopted into this family. Married actually.” And with this, she held up her left hand, a beautiful diamond ring shone in the light with a gold band beneath it. The diamond was embellished with 2 smaller emeralds on the side, perhaps representing her lover’s eyes.
“Married? To who.” Viktor questioned.
“To him.” She looked back at Five.
“Well not to him, an alternate version of him. We met a few years ago and got married, nice seeing the family again,” she nodded her head towards the siblings.
“So what are you saying you guys are married in a different timeline?” Klaus asked.
“No, not a different timeline, a different universe.” She sat down on the couch.
Your brain felt like it was rattling against your skull, and your body ached. You took a minute to think. Fuck, it was going to be difficult to get back to your Earth, and to make things better you had no idea where to start.
“Alright before you all start firing questions at me, someone get me a cup of coffee, black please.” You threw a jacket that hung over the couch on you to hide the state of your clothes. "Allow me," The alternate of your husband said. Five quickly blinked the two of you into the car and began to drive, leaving his brothers and sisters dumbfounded. "So you and I, are married in another multiverse."
"Correct." "You look to be about my age, how come I haven't met you yet here." Surely he would remember someone as beautiful as you. "Well it's as I said, my version here could be dead or you might not have met her yet. That being said although 18 out of the 20 multiverses I have visited, we are together." "And the other two?" "In Earth 216, we are strangers, never have crossed paths, and never will. We simply live our lives with other people." Five's eyebrows furrowed. For some reason even if he didn't know you, he didn't like the idea of you with someone else. "In Earth 894, we were madly in love but our egos destroyed us, and we were never the same since." Five could tell there was more to that story but didn't press any further. "So tell me about us, how did we end up together." "I was Diego's friend first, he and I met in the police force. Diego kinda took me under his wing as I was the youngest graduate out of the academy. Perks of having a high IQ." Five raised his eyebrow at that. "Anyways, he invited me over after your father's funeral. " "Long story short, you fell in love with my charms and I was the only one who could tolerate you. We got married not too long after. It was a small wedding but it's my most precious memory. Our families had gathered together at the church no too far away from here. You cried on our wedding day by the way." Inciting a side glare from Five.
"But...that's where we had some problems." "Do you remember when I fell out of that portal?" Five nodded his head remembering seeing a fight in the alternate dimension. "Well, apparently some of the 43 are not too happy about their powers, nor happy about living among the common people, they believed themselves superior and it became chaos." The two of you arrived at Griddys. Five walked over to the side of your door and opened it for you. "Thank you, darling." You said with a smile. Five's heart spiked at the nickname. He shook his head at the feeling, obviously, it's just what you were used to calling YOUR Five. The two of you sat at the counter and ordered your coffees and sweets. You signed before pulling out a small stack of photos from inside your suit. "This is us and your family." The photo was a picture of you and Five on your wedding day. Five had never looked so happy. Beside him was Luther who he assumed was his best man, next to him was Viktor, Diego, and a man who looked like you. You must have caught his staring, "That's my brother Damien." He nodded and looked beside you. You were wearing a long white dress with intricate lacing, the dress was strapless with a square neckline and had a small slit on the side. Your veil was flipped over your head and flowed down your back. Beside you, was Allison as your maid of honor and two other women who he assumed were your friends. You weren't looking at the camera but at him. The next picture you gave him was a close-up of the two of you. You were the one taking the photo. His alternate self was older and had longer hair and facial hair, but he faced your side kissing your cheek affectionately. "This is my favorite photo of you." You handed him another photograph but this one didn't have you in it. This one was a picture of just Five and in his arms a little girl. She looked like you. Five gulped, a million questions ran through his head. Could this... could this have been his future if he didn't make that stupid jump? You said that not all multiverses are the same, you and him could never meet in this one. But that didn't stop his heart from hurting at the thought of missing out on a life of happiness because of his arrogance. "Before you jump to conclusions, she's not ours. She's my niece that we were babysitting. You just looked so sweet with her. You had always told me you wanted kids before but I wasn't ready." You had looked away sadly. In your home, Five always wanted to settle down and raise a family of his own, but you felt like you weren't ready. Now you regretted not because you weren't sure if you would ever be able to get back home. The two of you sat in silence drinking your coffee, both thinking about the what-ifs. "So...how did you end up here. I've been able to time travel but I've never thought about the possibility of multi-dimensional traveling." "As I said there was a fight between us, your family, and some of the 43. They called themselves the Ascendants. Believe to be the superior race." You took a deep breath before continuing. "The Ascendants had a man who could travel the multiverse with his own power, no special gear or machine need. We had planned to capture him but miscalculated. He was ready for us and he aimed to take out me, his biggest threat."
You took another breath before looking into Five's eyes. "I can warp reality. It is essentially in the name. I can manipulate reality itself, altering the fabric of existence according to my will." "But not without a cost," you continued. "Each time I control something, and the bigger it is, the more of my life force I use." Five sat in silence. This was a lot of information to take in. "So what now. How do I help you get back home." "I have...no clue. You were always the smarter one of the two of us. You were the one who had built the machine, of course before it was destroyed when Viktor took out the house." You sighed. It was going to take a lot of research and time to figure it out. "Well, I'm newly retired and have nothing on my plate so let's start at the library." He hopped off the stool and made his way to the door. "You coming?" He said turning to look at you. You smiled, he was a great man. Even if this Five wasn't your husband you loved him no matter what. You ran up looping your arm in his making your way out of Griddy's. ⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆⋆。‧˚ Pt 2 of this story is out now!
Author's note: I got tons of drafts just full of ideas I've had and never gone through with. I've been rewatching the MCU films and Spiderverse so that was kinda my inspiration for this one. If you like my work check out my other Five stories here! I also always appreciate comments and feedback! It definitely keeps me going. She's my Angel Pt1. Shes my Angel Pt2.
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dontbesoweirdkira · 3 months ago
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Platonic Yan! Dick Grayson w/ batsis darling
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A/N: I'm sorry. I love crazy Dick. WHat can sayyy..
concept: You instantly don't take a liking to Dick. Something about him makes you uncomfortable. He's obsessed with being your favorite sibling and making you love him back...even if he has to wring it out of you. (Any version of Dick)
Warnings; Obsession, intimidation and possessive behaviors
Requests: always open. please read pinned post/masterlist
Masterlist
Yandere Dick is a good big brother. He still finds time out of his hectic life to spend with all of his siblings. He remembers all of their interests, a shoulder to cry on and an overall positive reinforcement for the bunch. When you first got in the family, everyone told you over and over, just how perfect he was. There was no better brother than he.
But would i be wrong to say i love the idea of Dick Grayson having a vicious temper? I mean it's hidden perfectly behind is charming smile and good-willed nature.
From the moment you met him, you never truly felt at ease. There was just something off about him that set off alarm bells in your head. You didn't feel safe...you didn't want to be alone with him. It was a guilty feeling seeing as everyone else took to him so well. He was more than welcoming to you so you didn't know why you felt this way.
Dick could sense your unease with him, much to his dismay. He didn't like that one bit. It pissed him off really. In what world someone didn't like him? especially one of the little brats Bruce waddled in. You need to feel comfortable with him, he's a perfectionist that takes nothing less.
Yandere Dick Grayson is obsessed with being your favorite sibling. He's achieved it with all the others, you're no exception. But you avoid him at every single turn. Literally. You've rejected movie nights, dinner invitations, gifts, and other kind gestures. His self worth is rather outward and you're hurting him very badly right now. Why can't you see that? stop being difficult and love your big bro.
As time progresses you can see more cracks coming through. The others cannot possibly notice a flaw in him but you see it all. You know he's eager to be close with you but your body just won't let you. He terrifies you. Especially when you are hanging out with another sibling or texting them.
You don't ever reach out to him. You don't care about him like you did with the others. Why don't you care? You ghosted ever message he's ever sent you. He constantly asks if you're okay or if you want food but you just cannot be bothered to reply. To you it's a trap. You're scared if you give him an inch that he'll run a mile. (which he would)
He becomes visibly irritable with you. He'll grit his teeth through his stunning smile and his seemingly playful words laced with venom. They're soft enough that the others brush it off but you can read between the lines. Other times if you're eating family dinner, and he's upset with you chatting it up with someone, he'll serve you last and the least amount of food.
Dick's last resort was to just forcefully get you alone together for a brother-sister bonding experience. He tricked you in saying the others were meeting at a pizza place after their patrol and offered to drive you over since he was about to leave. You get there, awkwardly sitting at a booth alone with him. He's trying his best to strike up a conversation and patch things up but you're completely silent. You barely even look at him, your eyes are constantly scanning the room for your siblings expected arrival. Hoping one of them would come and save you.
To his glee, you had eventually spoken up but only to ask when the others were supposed to arrive. His smile dropped and the blood in his hands could’ve burst out from how tightly his fists were clenched.
This is his tipping point. You ignored him all this time and the second you decided to speak up it's about them? Something switched in Dick.
It was a strange sight to see. His eyes eyes were completely glossed over and dilated with a murderous intensity. They're wide as they shot through you. His jaw tightened as he thought about how he wanted to hurt you like you're doing with him. You wanna play mental games with him? So be it. He should torture his love right into you. He's got a perfect method aaaalll picked out. You're giving him a run for his money and he's all out of it.
"Jealousy is endearing, don't you think?" His tone was deceptively playful, you knew he was anything but happy at the moment. The unease in his demeanor was enough to cause you to shift in your seat and lean back against the plush of the booth's backboard.
You hesitantly questioned what he could've possibly meant by that to his reply of,
"I just understand your game now. You enjoy making me jealous, it's fun to you. This is all a playful ruse to get more of my attention?...Right?” He shook his head and let out a deep, twisted chuckle.
“You didn't have to do all of this, baby bird. I would've made more than enough time for you had you asked. But i forgive you, if that's all this was?" He leaned in over the table, inches away from your face. His brows furrowed and the intimidation from his eye contact was enough to make you crumble. He was a dangerous person, capable of so many things. He would physically hurt you or his siblings but he’ll find a way to make sure he was number one.
The honest answer to his question was No, this wasn't a game. You just didn't like him. That was all.
But you knew what this was. He was giving you a way out before he gave into the thoughts swarming his mind. There was only one right answer. Give up the gun, say yes, and embrace your brother. He only wants a relationship with you. He's the best there ever was at his job so please, stop being a hard-ass and love him back...
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mostlysignssomeportents · 24 days ago
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Nurses whose shitty boss is a shitty app
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/17/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point
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Operating a business is risky: you can't ever be sure how many customers you'll have, or what they'll show up looking for. If you guess wrong, you'll either have too few workers to serve the crowd, or you'll pay workers to stand around and wait for customers. This is true even when your "business" is a "hospital."
Capitalists hate capitalism. Capitalism is defined by risk – like the risk of competitors poaching your customers and workers. Capitalists all secretly dream of a "command economy" in which other people have to arrange their affairs to suit the capitalists' preferences, taking the risk off their shoulders. Capitalists love anti-competitive exclusivity deals with suppliers, and they really love noncompete "agreements" that ban their workers from taking better jobs:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building
One of the sleaziest, most common ways for capitalists to shed risk is by shifting it onto their workers' shoulders, for example, by sending workers home on slow days and refusing to pay them for the rest of their shifts. This is easy for capitalists to do because workers have a collective action problem: for workers to force their bosses not to do this, they all have to agree to go on strike, and other workers have to honor their picket-lines. That's a lot of chivvying and bargaining and group-forming, and it's very hard. Meanwhile, the only person the boss needs to convince to screw you this way is themself.
Libertarians will insist that this is impossible, of course, because workers will just quit and go work for someone else when this happens, and so bosses will be disciplined by the competition to find workers willing to put up with their bullshit. Of course, these same libertarians will tell you that it should be legal for your boss to require you to sign a noncompete "agreement" so you can't quit and get a job elsewhere in your field. They'll also tell you that we don't need antitrust enforcement to prevent your boss from buying up all the businesses you might work for if you do manage to quit.
In practice, the only way workers have successfully resisted being burdened with their bosses' risks is by a) forming a union, and then b) using the union to lobby for strong labor laws. Labor laws aren't a substitute for a union, but they are an important backstop, and of course, if you're not unionized, labor law is all you've got.
Enter the tech-bro, app in hand. The tech-bro's most absurd (and successful) ruse is "it's not a crime, I did it with an app." As in "it's not money-laundering, I did it with an app." Or "it's not a privacy violation, I did it with an app." Or "it's not securities fraud, I did it with an app." Or "it's not price-gouging, I did it with an app," or, importantly, "it's not a labor-law violation, I did it with an app."
The point of the "gig economy" is to use the "did it with an app" trick to avoid labor laws, so that bosses can shift risks onto workers, because capitalists hate capitalism. These apps were first used to immiserate taxi-drivers, and this was so successful that it spawned a whole universe of "Uber for __________" apps that took away labor rights from other kinds of workers, from dog-groomers to carpenters.
One group of workers whose rights are being devoured by gig-work apps is nurses, which is bad news, because without nurses, I would be dead by now.
A new report from the Roosevelt Institute goes deep on the way that nurses' lives are being destroyed by gig work apps that let bosses in America's wildly dysfunctional for-profit health care industry shift risk from bosses to the hardest-working group of health care professionals:
https://rooseveltinstitute.org/publications/uber-for-nursing/
The report's authors interviewed nurses who were employed through three apps: Shiftkey, Shiftmed and Carerev, and reveal a host of risk-shifting, worker-abusing practices that has nurses working for so little that they can't afford medical insurance themselves.
Take Shiftkey: nurses are required to log into Shiftkey and indicate which shifts they are available for, and if they are assigned any of those shifts later but can't take them, their app-based score declines and they risk not being offered shifts in the future. But Shiftkey doesn't guarantee that you'll get work on any of those shifts – in other words, nurses have to pledge not to take any work during the times when Shiftkey might need them, but they only get paid for those hours where Shiftkey calls them out. Nurses assume all the risk that there won't be enough demand for their services.
Each Shiftkey nurse is offered a different pay-scale for each shift. Apps use commercially available financial data – purchased on the cheap from the chaotic, unregulated data broker sector – to predict how desperate each nurse is. The less money you have in your bank accounts and the more you owe on your credit cards, the lower the wage the app will offer you. This is a classic example of what the legal scholar Veena Dubal calls "algorithmic wage discrimination" – a form of wage theft that's supposedly legal because it's done with an app:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men
Shiftkey workers also have to bid against one another for shifts, with the job going to the worker who accepts the lowest wage. Shiftkey pays nominal wages that sound reasonable – one nurse's topline rate is $23/hour. But by payday, Shiftkey has used junk fees to scrape that rate down to the bone. Workers have to pay a daily $3.67 "safety fee" to pay for background checks, drug screening, etc. Nevermind that these tasks are only performed once per nurse, not every day – and nevermind that this is another way to force workers to assume the boss's risks. Nurses also pay daily fees for accident insurance ($2.14) and malpractice insurance ($0.21) – more employer risk being shifted onto workers. Workers also pay $2 per shift if they want to get paid on the same day – a payday lending-style usury levied against workers whose wages are priced based on their desperation. Then there's a $6/shift fee nurses pay as a finders' fee to the app, a fee that's up to $7/shift next year. All told, that $23/hour rate cashes out to $13/hour.
On top of that, gig nurses have to pay for their own uniforms, licenses, equipment and equipment, including different colored scrubs and even shoes for each hospital. And because these nurses are "their own bosses" they have to deduct their own payroll taxes from that final figure. As "self-employed" workers, they aren't entitled to overtime or worker's comp, they get no retirement plan, health insurance, sick days or vacation.
The apps sell themselves to bosses as a way to get vetted, qualified nurses, but the entire vetting process is automated. Nurses upload a laundry list of documents related to their qualifications and undergo a background check, but are never interviewed by a human. They are assessed through automated means – for example, they have to run a location-tracking app en route to callouts and their reliability scores decline if they lose mobile data service while stuck in traffic.
Shiftmed docks nurses who cancel shifts after agreeing to take them, but bosses who cancel on nurses, even at the last minute, get away at most a small penalty (having to pay for the first two hours of a canceled shift), or, more often, nothing at all. For example, bosses who book nurses through the Carerev app can cancel without penalty on a mere two hours' notice. One nurse quoted in the study describes getting up at 5AM for a 7AM shift, only to discover that the shift was canceled while she slept, leaving her without any work or pay for the day, after having made arrangements for her kid to get childcare. The nurse assumes all the risk again: blocking out a day's work, paying for childcare, altering her sleep schedule. If she cancels on Carerev, her score goes down and she will get fewer shifts in the future. But if the boss cancels, he faces no consequences.
Carerev also lets bosses send nurses home early without paying them for the whole day – and they don't pay overtime if a nurse stays after her shift ends in order to ensure that their patients are cared for. The librarian scholar Fobazi Ettarh coined the term "vocational awe" to describe how workers in caring professions will endure abusive conditions and put in unpaid overtime because of their commitment to the patrons, patients, and pupils who depend on them:
https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/
Many of the nurses in the study report having shifts canceled on them as they pull into the hospital parking lot. Needless to say, when your shift is canceled just as it was supposed to start, it's unlikely you'll be able to book a shift at another facility.
The American healthcare industry is dominated by monopolies. First came the pharma monopolies, when pharma companies merged and merged and merged, allowing them to screw hospitals with sky-high prices. Then the hospitals gobbled each other up, merging until most regions were dominated by one or two hospital chains, who could use buyer power to get a better deal on pharma prices – but also use seller power to screw the insurers with outrageous prices for care. So the insurers merged, too, until they could fight hospital price-gouging.
Everywhere you turn in the healthcare industry, you find another monopolist: pharmacists and pharmacy benefit managers, group purchasing organizations, medical beds, saline and supplies. Monopoly begets monopoly.
(Unitedhealthcare is extraordinary in that its divisions are among the most powerful players in all of these sectors, making it a monopolist among monopolists – for example, UHC is the nation's largest employer of physicians:)
https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/its-time-to-break-up-big-medicine
But there two key stakeholders in American health-care who can't monopolize: patients and health-care workers. We are the disorganized, loose, flapping ends at the beginning and end of the healthcare supply-chain. We are easy pickings for the monopolists in the middle, which is why patients pay more for worse care every year, and why healthcare workers get paid less for worse working conditions every year.
This is the one area where the Biden administration indisputably took action, bringing cases, making rules, and freaking out investment bankers and billionaires by repeatedly announcing that crimes were still crimes, even if you used an app to commit them.
The kind of treatment these apps mete out to nurses is illegal, app or no. In an important speech just last month, FTC commissioner Alvaro Bedoya explained how the FTC Act empowered the agency to shut down this kind of bossware because it is an "unfair and deceptive" form of competition:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/26/hawtch-hawtch/#you-treasure-what-you-measure
This is the kind of thing the FTC could be doing. Will Trump's FTC actually do it? The Trump campaign called the FTC "politicized" – but Trump's pick for the next FTC chair has vowed to politicize it even more:
https://theintercept.com/2024/12/18/trump-ftc-andrew-ferguson-ticket-fees/
Like Biden's FTC, Trump's FTC will have a target-rich environment if it wants to bring enforcement actions on behalf of workers. But Biden's trustbusters chose their targets by giving priority to the crooked companies that were doing the most harm to Americans, while Trump's trustbusters are more likely to give priority to the crooked companies that Trump personally dislikes:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy
So if one of these nursing apps pisses off Trump or one of his cronies, then yeah, maybe those nurses will get justice.
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Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
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lovetei · 1 year ago
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AaAaaaHHHHHH I loved your “Things that the citizens of the Devildom witnessed that will prove that this Human have the characters at their beck and call” post lol :P
Could you plssssss do it w the side characters? Especially barbatos I love him. He’s my bbg lol
Sure, I'm actually just waiting for someone to request it :P
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Things that the citizens of the Devildom witnessed that will prove that this Human have the characters at their beck and call
Versions: Demon Brothers, Side Characters
Warnings: Slight yandere themes (Barbatos, Simeon)
Links: Masterlist
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DIAVOLO
He doesn't actually like going around
Sure, it's mentioned a lot of times that he want to visit this or that
But only if you or the others are willing to come with him
Otherwise it's as boring as doing paperworks
He won't even come out to meet important personalities
They need to come to the castle themselves because there's no damn way Diavolo will actually use effort to meet people he's actually not too close to.
But when it's you?
Damn, you better bet the moment you told him "Hey, Diavolo... I'm kind of stuck in the plaza and the brothers are surely too busy to pick me up so can you send me a driver..?"
How dare you ask for a driver?
When he's literally right there?
The moment the words "I'm kind of stuck in the plaza-" He's already in his most luxurious car starting it to get his future spouse
Hell, he'll even bought a flower before getting to you
And you two will make a scene
And you two will surely make it to the news tomorrow
He'll arrive to the place in something quite formal yet still casual
With a bouquet of flowers in his hands
Like the perfect future husband he is
And open the door for you to get in
And if you're asking why Barbados didn't do anything against him...
Well, he's got a few mouse friends there for help.
Anyways, enjoy the ride
And sign the marriage papers
Please
BARBATOS
His power holds such an important role for Diavolo
He's such a powerful "demon"
It would actually be quite nice if you were just a little more closer to him
But if you are...
He's willing to use this oh so important power for you like it's just a mere toy
You fell on the stairs and someone saw it? Reversed.
You failed a test? Reversed.
You made the wrong decision? Reversed.
If Diavolo actually saw how much he's rambling the time lines just for you he'll go insane.
Hell, he'll pass out when he knows that Barbatos is letting you use his power like he's some hourglass!
But Barbatos knows you
And he likes you
He knows that someone like you won't actually take advantage of his power like that
And would always choose to do things without it
He knows that he's your last resort
And he loves it
He loves that fact that you treasure his power so much
That you treasure him so much...
His power might seem to be the most important tool for you among the other abilities the brothers and the others gave you
And so that basically puts him above the food chain
And he'll stay there
He'll make sure you will view him as important as right now
For all internity
SIMEON
He treasures himself and the people around him so much
But mostly himself
Because that's what father told them to do
He treat his body like the temple of god
He'll walk around the Devildom with pride in himself
Not too much but not too less
He knows his worth
So when he met you
Such a wonderful human
He will also teach you how to put pride in yourself
And always be proud on what you're doing
And then he'll start to get drawn to you
The body he oh so treasured now treated like a toy for you
He once valued naturality but maybe using this makeup you love so much will make him appear more attractive?
"Oh, Simeon? Did you use some foundation and mascara?! That looks so good on you!"
Yes, MC.
Just look at him
It all started with dressing up more for you
Then it escalated
The body he once didn't let anyone touch is now open for you
Just for you
Hold his hand
Grab his waist
And use his shoulders
Ha...
God won't punish him for a little touch now would he..?
SOLOMON
He's shady and he knows it
It's been so long and he's been around may too many people
He doesn't know who to trust anymore
And who to be honest with
He always have to keep himself alarmed and ready
Because that's what the past taught him to do
And that's what the present is telling him to do
Oh, another human?
How nice...
He just hope you don't end up like him
Overly conscious
You know what... He'll help you
He doesn't want a human to fall to the same hole he is right now
He thought that he'll be the one to guide you
He didn't know that you'll guide him...
And now he's willing to do anything for you
He's willing to follow you anywhere
He's willing to give you anything
He's willing to be your loyal servant
Just like Barbatos, he's willing to use everything he have just keep you by his side
Whether it be human, demon, angel connections, money or power
It can be anything and he'll give it you
To the human who showed him the light once again.
MEPHISTOPHELES
He's a private person
That's why he has a whole ass room reserved just for him in the academy
It can't help but have his blood boiling whenever one of the brothers barging into his room unannounced
The sense of nervousness won't leave him whenever Diavolo came to visit him
And the mixed feelings when the other exchange students decided to drop by
But when you enter his room
The light started to get a little darker
And the atmosphere turned into something heavier yet more comforting feeling
Have you drank anything you're not supposed to drink human?
What's this atmosphere around you human?
Did you... Cast a spell on him human?
To be honest
It'll be better for him to know that you cast a love spell on him
Than for him to consciously know that he's falling for you
Falling for the human others already love
But he can't help but say "Why don't you stay a little longer, MC?" Whenever you drop by.
"You can stay and do your assignments or whatever here. I have a vast collection of books you might need."
It might be selfish but why don't you stay a little longer?
Stay inside this private room with him
And only him.
RAPHAEL
He's known as a hitman
And his job down here is to probably spy on Simeon or Lucifer
But this weird human caught his eyes...
Maybe he should spy on you too?
Hmm... Why are you so different?
Are you the premium version of human?
But either way...
He saw how tired you were after each day ends
It looks like this place have sucked any living hope and energy out of you
So he took this as a problem and decided to come up with a solution
He decided to help you run around errands and even take some of your work loads
Gosh... You're so busy
So tiring
Sometimes you two will just find yourself in the dark and unused alley of the school
Sitting on the floor with each others head on your shoulder
You'd mutter "So tired..." And he will pat your head to help you at least have a few minutes of nap between work.
And before he knows it
It became a habit for the two of you
Instead of going to the dark alley you decided to take some nap in the cafeteria and even on empty classrooms
The Brothers will not found you two scattered all over the academy sleeping on each other
And before he even noticed
Whenever the slightest danger occurs he's already jumping in front of you and pushing you back as he shield your fragile body
THIRTEEN
She's such a trouble maker
And you're an expert in keeping trouble makers in line
And Thirteen will make sure she don't follow that line!
She keeps on pulling pranks
Traps here
Traps there
Gosh will she ever stop
Then one day you got so busy that your usual scolding for her didn't happened
Not even once
She felt empty without your nagging voice I guess?
But that doesn't matter!
At least, now, no one will stop her from doing what she loves!
No one...
Will stop her?
But who will scold her when she's about to do an extremely dangerous prank where she might get hurt?
Who will treat her wounds when she accidentally scratched her with one of her schemes?
It's been just a few days without your nagging voice and she's already at your doorstep in the middle of a night on a weekend asking
"Are you ignoring me?"
"Why aren't you talking to me anymore?"
"Are you tired of me now..?"
It feels like she'll start crying if she says anything more so you just denied everything and said that your schedule have been fully packed
Even saying that you're a new member of the council so you became more busy
She felt so embarrassed after that
But she started to treasure your relationship more
And maybe...
Waiting in the line is not that big of a deal if it's for you...
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