#there are people around you who are willing to listen

[portablecity]

where i grew up, the hangout spot was the mall, and it was bleak, folks! but it was more accessible than the playgrounds and parks (not allowed to be in them if little kids were in them; also not allowed to be in them after sunset) and it asked less from you than a coffee shop or fast food restaurant (seating time limit, minimum purchases) and it was more protected than the various parking lots outside takeout spots and coffee shops where teens would park their cars and just loiter. Despite the many signs with instructions not to loiter.

The thing about the mall, though, is that while you could walk around indoors with your friends the whole time it was open and never buy anything, and you could sit in the food court, or on benches throughout the mall, until the mall cops chased you out of that one corner into the next farther along, the problem with it really was that it was a fucking mall. I know we live in an absolutely advertising saturated age now, so it might be hard to sort of separate this out, but it's actually not a positive experience to do all of your socializing and relaxing in a space that is constantly selling you things.

one of the problems of being constantly sold to is that it can be difficult not to talk about the subjects that are being put in front of you, even if you have no risk of actually spending money on them. So in the mall we would find ourselves talking constantly about clothes and makeup and shoes and magazines - yeah I'm old enough for magazines - and maybe, if the mall we were in had relevant stores, books or music or video games. But you couldn't watch a movie or play a video game together in the mall, and eventually the bookstore staff would come and chase you out if you all sat on the floor to read anything. and the only music you got to hear was piped in over loud speakers.

actually like think about that for a second, if you do all of your hanging out in the mall, the only music that you get to hear with your friends is the music that stores play at you to get you in the mood to buy their stuff. When people try and explain why we got so fucking sick of nickelback, I want you to imagine a world where that is the most interesting music the mall is willing to play for you, and they are going to play it on loop.

The other thing about hanging out in the mall, though this maybe changed by age and location, was it was likely that a bunch of you worked in the mall. So you already spent a fair amount of your time listening to mall music, quickly eating food court food, and dealing with other mall patrons, including your friends, for minimum wage. takes the shine off pretty quickly, I think.

When I first started working at the mall I was really curious about what the mall was like when it wasn't open, if there was sort of a secret second layer to the mall of back passages to garbage bins or bank deposit slots, if there was an interesting layer to its liminal space. unfortunately I think the answer in most cases is a firm no. malls exist to sell you things, and they are very much optimized to do that, and they don't tend to have interesting misused corners while in normal operation. dead malls are different.

so yeah hanging out in the mall, I can definitely see how with the few other options on the table the mall can look pretty good but More than a lot of places, a mall is designed to convince you the that you're the sort of person who wants to spend all of their money on the things at the mall has, and people have worked for decades and decades to optimize the architecture, the visual design, the sound design and everything else towards that goal. it turns your friendships and your social life into a thing that happens explicitly at the site of spending money, of consumption, etc. I don't think it's great.

and I do think a lot about how the internet these days is so riddled with ads and so intensely about consumption, shopping, products. I think we've really found ourselves in a place where all we have is the mall, just, the shittiest version of it.

I understand that we're all mourning the death of public third spaces and feeling nostalgic for how things were in the 80s or whatever, but in terms of lost treasures of the past, I feel like people are losing sight of the fact that the go-to hangout spot being a shopping center/"mall" was already a pretty bleak expression of how (especially US) culture revolved around capitalist consumerism? Even before they started to ban teenagers from existing there.

Idk whenever I see a nostalgic aesthetic post venerating the lost magic of a shopping multiplex I just imagine in 30 years time people going "these were the good times... What we lost" and then just posting a screenshot of the Amazon.com homepage, pffff

When we rebuild society I feel like we should try to make the social centerpieces/hangout spots like, parks, and entertainment/community/leisure centers, rather than money extraction complexes

[kissyforkoo]

Ruin Me Softly - l. h.

pairing: heeseung x reader

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: smut

Wrote this while listening to “Be my Baby” by Ari

Y/N pushed open the heavy oak door of the dimly lit bar. A wave of warmth greeted her, mingling with the low hum of conversations and the rhythm of music that pulsed softly in the background. The faint scent of bourbon and cedarwood lingered in the air. She wasn’t here by accident she came for him.

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Heeseung. His broad shoulders leaned against the bar, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. He exuded effortless confidence, his posture relaxed but undeniably commanding. When he glanced up and saw her, his gaze sharpened, and a slow, knowing smirk crept across his face.

“Y/N,” he greeted smoothly as she slid onto the stool beside him. His voice, deep and velvety, sent shivers dancing up her spine. “Didn’t think you’d show tonight.”

“I like to keep you guessing,” she replied, meeting his smirk with one of her own. There was a challenge in her tone, one that made his dark eyes flicker with intrigue.

He raised his glass toward her. “You’ve got my full attention.”

────୨ৎ────

Y/N’s fingers traced the rim of her glass as she eyed Heeseung across the table. The air between them was heavy with anticipation, a silent tug-of-war neither was willing to lose.

“Do you always stare at people like that?” she teased, breaking the silence.

He smirked, his dark eyes locking with hers. “Only when they’re worth staring at.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the movement deliberate. “You must say that to all the girls.”

“I don’t,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of intensity that sent a shiver up her spine. “And you know it.”

She hated how easily he got under her skin, how his confidence wasn’t the kind that tried too hard—it was natural, like he knew exactly who he was. She couldn’t help but push back. “So, what’s your game, Heeseung?”

“No game,” he said, leaning in slightly. His proximity made her pulse quicken. “I just know what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

Heeseung’s eyes flicked to her lips for just a second before returning to her gaze. “You.”

The word hung in the air, bold and unrelenting. It wasn’t the first time someone had said something like that to her, but with Heeseung, it felt different. There was no pretense, no empty charm—it was raw, unfiltered.

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re going to have to work for it.”

His lips twitched into a grin, his confidence unwavering. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her heart raced as he reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. The touch was subtle, almost accidental, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity through her. She didn’t pull away, and neither did he.

“Careful, Heeseung,” she murmured, her voice teasing. “You might just get more than you bargained for.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb now tracing the back of her hand. “I’m counting on it.”

By the time they left the bar, the tension between them was unbearable. Every step they took side by side felt like a countdown to something inevitable.

────୨ৎ────

The door barely clicked shut before Heeseung’s hands were on her, sliding around her waist to pull her flush against him. His lips descended on hers, hot and insistent, capturing her in a kiss that stole her breath. She responded with equal intensity, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if anchoring herself against the storm he was unleashing inside her.

He broke the kiss for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers as he panted softly. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Y/N?”

Her lips curled into a teasing smirk as she tilted her head up to brush her mouth against his, barely a whisper of contact. “Show me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifted her, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. Her back hit the wall with a soft thud, and his lips were on her neck, tracing a searing path down to her collarbone. She gasped as his teeth grazed her skin, his tongue soothing the mark he left behind.

“Heeseung,” she breathed, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging slightly.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against her throat. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

He carried her to the bedroom, dropping her onto the bed with a controlled force that sent a thrill racing through her. He followed immediately, his body hovering over hers as his dark eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of her.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice reverent as his fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt.

Her breath hitched as he pushed the fabric up, exposing her skin inch by inch. When the shirt was finally gone, his lips were on her again, his hands following the curve of her waist before settling on her hips.

“Touch me,” she whispered, the plea barely audible.

He smirked, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts. “Patience, baby. I want to take my time with you.”

She bit her lip, the anticipation driving her mad as he slid her shorts and underwear down her legs in one smooth motion. His hands were everywhere—caressing, teasing, setting her skin on fire.

When his lips trailed lower, her legs instinctively parted for him, a soft moan escaping her as his mouth explored her most sensitive places. He took his time, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to unravel her.

“You taste like heaven,” he muttered against her, his voice sending vibrations through her that left her trembling.

Her hands gripped the sheets, her head thrown back as waves of pleasure washed over her. Heeseung’s name spilled from her lips, a breathless chant that seemed to spur him on. He didn’t stop until she was gasping, her body arching off the bed as she shattered under his touch.

He climbed back up, his lips finding hers again. The kiss was slower this time, filled with an intimacy that made her heart ache. She reached between them, her fingers brushing against the bulge straining in his jeans.

“Your turn,” she whispered, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

He let out a shaky breath as she pushed him onto his back, straddling him. Her hands made quick work of his belt, tugging his jeans and boxers down to free him. He hissed at the contact, his head falling back against the pillows as her hand wrapped around him.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as she moved her hand in slow, deliberate strokes.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “You’re so sensitive,” she teased, her voice dripping with seduction.

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice strained as he struggled to maintain control.

When she finally sank onto him, they both gasped at the sensation. Heeseung’s hands gripped her hips tightly as she began to move, setting a rhythm that had them both teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured, his gaze locked on hers.

The way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered made her heart race even faster. She leaned down to kiss him, their movements growing more frantic as they chased their release together.

When it finally hit, it was like a tidal wave, crashing over them and leaving them breathless and trembling in each other’s arms. uch igniting a fire that consumed them both. They moved together in perfect rhythm, the rest of the world fading into oblivion as they lost themselves in each other.

────୨ৎ────

Heeseung rolled them over, pulling her close as they lay tangled in the sheets. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

She smiled, her head resting against his chest. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So are you,” she replied, leaning up to kiss him gently.

As they lay there, their bodies still intertwined, Y/N realized she’d never felt so connected to someone before. Heeseung wasn’t just good at making her feel wanted he made her feel safe, cherished.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe this was something real.

────୨ৎ────

The sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting the room in warm, golden hues. Y/N stirred, the smell of coffee and something sweet pulling her from the remnants of sleep. She wrapped a blanket around herself and padded into the kitchen, where she found Heeseung standing at the stove.

He looked utterly domestic, wearing only his boxers and the apron she rarely used. A crooked smile spread across his face when he saw her.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, flipping a pancake with surprising skill.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched him. “So, you cook too?”

“I’m full of surprises,” he quipped, setting a plate of pancakes on the counter.

She took a seat, letting him pour her a cup of coffee. He sat across from her, his gaze soft and attentive. “What’s on your agenda today?” he asked.

She smirked. “I don’t know. Convince me to let you stay?”

He grinned, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss. “Challenge accepted.”

[acupofinkedblood]

One-sided Coil x trainee reader [Why Not Me?]

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“…As expected, and the champion of tournament is no one other than the infamous Hellhound!”

Glory to the Hellhound, victory in his grasp like always

Looking down at his current opponent who has been knocked out cold on the ground, Coil smirks before raising his fist up to the air, in which the spectators immediately roar in chaos. In the midst of it there might be some complaints or just some annoying pests like usual, yet the acclamation that brings them to their feet soon overwhelming those insignificant numbers instead

For someone who relies heavily on muscle to declare his dominance in the situation, it isn’t surprising to claim that Coil knows his game as a self-proclaimed professional. Left and right, people shower him with praises and shouts in which he doesn’t even bother to listen closely — all he knows is that he is the center of attention, the reason why people are so worked up at the first place — because he knows damn well he deserves all of it. Every opponent he knocks down, either demons or Biograft’s variants, Coil has his way to win fair and square in glory. His skills have spoken up for his name, the Hellhound of the underground isn’t someone to be taken as a joke. If anything, Coil dare say that he is technically invincible at this point, whether it is his cockiness speaking or not. As if someone can chase up to his level now

If Coil has to list all of the things that he is proud of thanks to his strength, he can go on all days and nights unless someone has to shut him up because oh boy does this man know how to keep his cockiness in the bag when he has the chance to show off to the fullest. But he is certain that there is one thing that will appear on the list no matter what: To have your attention

Perhaps it’s just his little crush blabbering nonsense, but Coil finds himself keeps looking at your direction like an instinct whenever you are around. He definitely does that also whenever you are there to see his match. You technically just fuel the fire that craves to win inside him even more. Maybe protect you while he is at it as well. Though he isn’t someone with a too stuck-up sense of justice, Coil is still aware of his need to keep you safe if you are around him. Not to mention that you technically know nothing about the tough battle to keep your head attached to your neck, so that leaves you quite vulnerable. But not on his watch. Coil can guarantee you that nothing will ever come to your harm, not when he is around. Although you don’t ask for it, he still defends his behavior as ‘looking out for a pipsqueak like you’ - a good intention, if you excuse his attitude

You aren’t the best for the fighter, everyone has to admit that. Your timid attitude makes it look like you can be blown away with a single wind passing by, that alone has screamed aloud on how defenseless you are in certain circumstances. If you have to stay at Playground for a long period without putting on your best flight card, you might as well start to write down all your wills before bid a farewell to everyone because you will be the prime target of the violence. Like a doe loses its way into the pack of hungry hyenas, you won’t stand a chance with them. But even that, you still have someone that will have your back no matter what. Hell, you have the privilege of troubling the one and only Hellhound, the seemingly king of the underground. Coil knows how much of a wimp you are, though sometimes he will tease the heck out of you for that, he means it when he claims that he will protect you no matter what

Coil and his insistence on keeping you safe, be bothered as much as you want, though you can’t deny just how much he has been there to fish you out from the hand of death. How many times have he saved you in the nick of time in the toughest moments you find yourself stuck in? How many times has he risked his neck to defend you like his life depends on it? Sure, it is worrying when you think he is too reckless for his own good. Yet Coil only acts like he is the best because he knows he is capable of doing it. He barks and he bites, that’s not something most people can do. Sometimes things do get too out of hand, for the worse or the better. Thankfully, the two of you are still alive and well. You have gotten used to having him as your scary privilege hound at some point, and the same principle can be applied to Coil. He doesn’t mind it really, if anything, it’s quite the opposite

“Do you feel annoyed when I keep coming back to you like this?”

Sometimes you ask him something similar to that question. To trouble him with such trivial matters revolving around you, it feels like such a hassle. It feels like you have been nothing but a weight pulling him back. Even when you keep telling yourself that it will probably be not that big of a deal, the guilt is still there, hiding in the pit of your heart

“No,” is always the answer he throws at you, “Not at all”

That has always been his answer: ‘Not at all��

‘Not at all’, because he understands the lack of strength in you. Enough to the point that he will be even more worried if you don’t find him soon when you are in trouble

‘Not at all’, because you have never been a bother when seeking him out. If anything, he feels proud that he is who you trust enough to even find him at the first place

‘Not at all’, because he has soon consider the task of protecting your well-being as one of his main responsibilities no matter what

It has always been this man’s instinct to find an excuse to give in to your aid. Besides, he is pretty satisfied with current situation. Bothering him as much as you like, then he will have more chance to stay near you. It gives him the perfect opportunity to stick around you more often after all. It’s not like you will suddenly rush away from his protection anytime soon, he thinks he knows you well enough to assume such things. You are still the little pipsqueak that he adores

“Teach me how to fight”

So just imagine his pure surprise when you suddenly come up to him and ask him to tutor you. Out of anyone he can think of that will need his aid in training — And for your information, not only does he not give a flying damn about those who are unfortunate enough to ask him that, but most of the time, he even tells them to screw off — he doesn’t expect it to be you. You, the chick that he used to take under his wings, the demon that he knows is pretty much has the shittiest fight or flight instinct he has ever known?

Coil almost drops the water bottle you just kindly offer while his eyes glued onto you out of curiosity. Maybe a hint of dumbfounded confusion as well. His face is just ridiculous at the very moment when you are in front of him. The reaction he has on his face now is as if as he is looking at an alien who just declares to invade Inpherno in the middle of nowhere: Absurd beyond the limitations in his mind

“Wait, where does this come from? Did you sign your ass up into Banland or what?”

“Be serious!”

“Well I’m being deadass serious here,” he barks out a mock laughter, “But you and fight? Those two don’t usually go together. Spit it out, what’s wrong?”

Seeing that reluctance visibly on your face, Coil raises an eyebrow curiously as he watches every single movement of your body language in attempt of figuring out where does the sudden request come from. And don’t get him wrong, since it is you, he is more than willing to spend a good amount of his precious time on training you. After all, it’s about time for you to stand up for yourself independently. Coil just doesn’t expect that to happen in the near future. At least not at the moment. Yet when he thinks about it, he can see the potential motivation behind your decision: You must have grown tired of dragging him into your mess too much. Maybe that’s why you want to learn how to stand up for yourself? To prove that you’re not a coward trembling behind his back? Not that he will ever scoff in disagreement if you ever decide to just stay behind him forever though. But at least give him a good reason for it. The last thing Coil needs to know is you sticking your nose into some serious bullshit that he can’t save you from

As for you, you know better than to keep him in the dark, don’t you? Coil is smarter than most people give him credit for, thanks to his loudmouth that makes people assume he is just showing off when in the reality he only acts cocky because he knows he has the situation under control. That is to say that Coil definitely has a good logical mindset running through his head behind all of that muscle. You know it yourself too. Otherwise how the hell will he be able to get you out of the hook without drawing too much attention to the both of you? Knowing Coil, he will definitely pester you nonstop until you give him a good reason to become your tutor. Huffing out a defeat, you click your tongue begrudgingly

“Can’t I just want to because I can? Besides, it’s for a good cause,” you still try to beat around the bush, “It’s not like I can just leech around you all the times”

“You know you gotta try better than that, right?”

“I feel like kicking your face immediately”

“You and I both know that you will end up kicking your own grave before you can even land a finger on me”

Your weak threat never fails to amuse Coil. You always have been quiet the troublemaker, bite more than you can chew, but then you always ended up dragging your sorry ass back to him for a favor. Countless favors, if he dares to add for better demonstrations. Keep begging him all you want, Coil is the master of playing dumb anyway. The more you insist on hiding your actual reason, the more he will just ‘La la la’ his way out of the situation like a smooth operator. Honestly speaking though, most of it is just him getting under your skin for fun. However, can you imagine someone like him as a teacher? Coil doubts that he has enough patience to handle the obvious rookie’s mistakes with proper instruction instead of shoving it into one’s face. He is more of a learner, not a teacher. There is a huge possibility that he might hang you by your feet upside down on a tree if he has enough of your beginner’s skill issues, and he can guarantee you that it’s not an exaggeration at all. Unless he feels like it, he doesn’t care about becoming a mentor like all those cliché dynamic that has been going around for SFOTH knows how long. This guy physically cringes at the idea of it, can you even blame him? Although yeah, he does take it easier on you, but you gotta convince him enough for it

If getting on all of your trillion nerves is a sport, you know for sure that Coil will gladly have a spot on the top three winners at least. Damnit, he will get a medal for that if the thought alone is possible in the first place. How does this bastard manage to spin you like a wheel based on how is the weather like in his mind: Sometimes he can be quite the nice guy to be at company, other time he will just go on straight asshole mood. What a guy. Just about your very own patience is starting to wear thinner every second passing by, you grunt out an ‘Ugh’ before raising both of your arms up in surrender. You can’t keep up with Coil in this, not if you want him to abide by your request. Maybe a bit of the truth won’t give it away too much. Just a bit will do

“What if I say that I want to impress someone I like?”

Now that definitely gets Coil’s upmost attention. You should have said that from the start, giving how quickly he turns his head over to look at you with his eyes opened widely. How many surprises are you planning on giving him? Hopefully a heart attack isn’t included in what you are going for because Coil definitely feels his heartbeat quickens more than it normally does

“Oh?” Coil mused half-heartedly, “Damn, whatcha got your eyes at there? That’s definitely something”

“Not gonna say. You in or nah?”

“What if I want to know who is this you are referring at? Huh? What are you going to do, bite my ankle?”

A part inside Coil’s stomach is doing the lambada out of anxiety. He hates to think that you have your eyes on someone else, he will probably bite the dust if that ever going to happen. But when he returns his gaze back at your face, he notices that unusual bashful expression that is definitely one of a kind for someone to have the chance to witness it. Maybe he just likes everything about you, both new and old facts. A small voice in the back of his mind has spoken a theory that he has never been so excited to hear before: What if it’s him? What if the person you want to impress is him? Sure, when he thinks of that himself, it does sound like he is being delusional. Yet despite that, Coil allows himself to believe in that fairytale he has weaved up within seconds. Maybe he does have a chance to be with you after all

He wants to believe, wants to hold onto that slight thread that you might actually feel the same way. Let him stay in that dream a little longer. No one is hurt in the process after all. He already considered teaching you once you state your intention clear. Coil’d love to see you try in the process after all. It will be endearing. Maybe it’ll be fun to push you a bit more—

“Teach me or else I’ll go to uh…Steampunk! Yeah, you better take the chance on tutoring me before I go to Steampunk for help instead”

—Oh hell to the fucking no

“Fine, don’t start bitching when you can’t keep up for long-term though”

Safe to say that you have never seen Coil and you reached for an agreement that fast before. Using Steampunk as your ultimate card is such a dirty move, but that’s the only way you can get Coil to stop the tease and to do business with you. It works like a miracle anyway. Poor Steampunk will probably sneeze somewhere else after being used as a shield unknowingly in questions. But hey, you still have what you want in the end!

Now you have officially signed yourself up to one hell of a training routine that Coil follows devotedly in his own way. And by that he means he will do things completely random based on what he feels like practicing. Did you expect a strict schedule of workout with certain times set up or what? If that was what you originally had in mind, then buckle up buttercup, you’re about to go on quite a wild adventure with how Coil trains himself to fight as a Hellhound. To say it’s hellish is a bit too much, but put of pocket? Yeah that’s definitely a good way to describe your training plan with Coil

Everything starts at baby steps, and same goes with fighting. Coil makes sure that you will get a hang of all the basics before showing you how things work. Time really flies when you pay attention to what you wish to accomplish, because it’s just the matter of time before you show Coil just how much potential you have. Left and right, you learn just from the best. Of course, he does mention building muscles by diet like how he used to do. You can skip that part somewhat, but don’t start passing out when you trying to lift the weights up. Coil lost counts how many times he has to take you out to eat properly before going back to training again. Is that a date? He’d like to think it is. This guy does give you quite the hard times without actually noticing before though, that explains some of your questionable situations that you drag both sides into. Still, Coil will be a terrible liar if he claims that it isn’t fun when hanging out with you in his expertise like this

And like the cherry on top, Coil is more than surprised to see how far have you gone this whole time. You pick up his words quickly, heck, you even make some of his skills yours to some extent so it will do you more of a favor in practice. He doesn’t expect you to actually perform so well, then going so far to give him a hard time while sparing with you a few occasions. Coil is satisfied with the outcome, and see your giddy smile makes everything even better. The motivations for the two of you to keep up are different, yet at some point, it’s all so you can make someone proud of the result: Coil takes his joy in seeing you shine, you enjoy the thrill in charging forward for someone you admire

Eventually, the day that you have finally made up your mind has come to a new dawn. Coil doesn’t know what else to teach you more at this point. Of course, he isn’t stupid enough to teach you all of his secretive movements, but just the general alone already makes a huge difference to you. Just look at you, can anyone see that this is the same wimp months ago that can’t even withstand a single flick on the forehead? Coil is pretty much positive that you can crush someone’s neck now. He did teach you the same ruthlessness that he relies on to survive the days after all. Nonetheless, you are pretty contented with the outcome yourself too. The last sparring session of the training routine in this week ends, and although it’s you who is on the ground, at least you still able to hold your stand long enough against the renowned Hellhound himself. Heck, at least you aren’t knocked out cold. Meeting Coil’s eyes again with a smirk, you wipe a sweat away from your face before he helps you getting up on your feet

“Having fun?”

He asks playfully before throwing a towel into your hands. Of course, judging by that wide toothy grin on your face, he already knows the answer. The thought of him being your motivation makes the whole thing even better. It fuels his ego, if he hasn’t made himself clear just yet. Even when you haven’t confirmed his theory, Coil still thinks that he understands enough to have some confidence in himself. If it isn’t him, then who else? Right?

“Hell yeah! I know damn well they will acknowledge my efforts”

“Yeah yeah, of course I—”

“Now I can finally confess to Steampunk!”

Wait, what?

If there is a hole, Coil will definitely jump into it and bury the light out of himself without a second thought. For a moment, it feels like he just got dunked by a bucket of cold water before being thrown out to the road like a pest while the circus theme is playing in the background. Coil freezes on sight if not immediately, the cockiness in his eyes slowly fades into shock with a hint of dread that is obvious to tell. All the neurons in his brain drop dead for a good few seconds before being revived in panic as they all try to process your words desperately like it’s the end of the world. Maybe it is the end for Coil’s words. He looks like he just go through the whole five stages of grief, though keeps walking back and forth between denial and bargaining. There is just no way— His ear is playing with him, that must have been the case. Yet he can’t help that terror swells within the pit of his stomach as he stares back at you. His voice is similar to the whisper to the wind, a contrast of his usual loud vocal

“What?”

“Yeah, thanks for everything Coil,” And here you are, blissfully unaware of the scenario that you just force the both of you into without a warning, “Now I can impress them with these sick moves!”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. The fuck do you mean she’s your crush?”

First of all, it’s already embarrassing enough for Coil to have the assumption that he is the one you referred to when you mentioned this person you held dear to your heart and wanted to impress them, only to be greeted with the harsh truth that it isn’t him at all. To say it’s humiliating it’s not too wrong, his ego is definitely bruised the moment he finished digesting the information you toss in his face. And second, Steampunk out of all people? Seriously!? You have a thing for one of his opponents that he stole the spotlight from in the previous tournament when he returned to the underground club? Coil almost forgets that Steampunk exists in same the picture at the first place. Looking back, he does recall you mentioning her a few times, though he didn’t give it too much attention. Oh how ironic this has turned out, from the ringleader back to the fool

“Coil, what do you mean? I mean, yeah?”

“All these time,” his hands curl up into fists, the strength he forces onto them is more than enough to draw blood through the messed up bandages he has on, “So all those time, I’m just a stepping stone for you to get to her?”

Those times when he save you from any potential threats, those times when he stays with you in your lowest depth of your life, those times when he looks at you in admiration — all of the sudden, it crumbles into nothing but vain attempt of an idiot. He has been running on a fool’s errand since the start. What does Steampunk have and he doesn’t anyway? Is it strength? No, that’s unlikely, he is pretty positive that he can overpower them easily without a broken bone. Is it look? No, maybe that isn’t the case. Coil keeps questioning himself with the compression between him and Steampunk: What do you see in them, and not in him? What do they have that he doesn’t? After everything he has done, why it isn’t enough?

On the other hand, you are still there and trying to turn the gears inside your brain to make out why your friend is so worked up all of the sudden. You can’t be that oblivious, can you? Yet it takes you quite the suffocating silence before you realize what in the hell of a mess is this is all about—

Oh

Oh.

—So that is what this all about. You can’t help bit look back at Coil to confirm the thought inside your head, and to your horrors, his hurt expression is clearer than any words you need to hear

Coil likes you. This entire time, he has been pining over you. That has explained everything he has risked for you. The realization sinks deep into your soul with pure disorientation as you have no idea on what to say or how to act in this particular situation

Noticing the acknowledgment on your face, somehow it makes him feel even worse than before. Coil fails to keep his temper in check as he chokes aloud bitterly like a wounded animal in distress

“What did she have that I don’t—?”

An awkward pause starts to fall onto the both of you like an invisible veil. Not enough to kill you too immediately, yet the suffocating atmosphere is eating Coil’s inside slowly. He can’t even bring himself to keep up eye contact with you like usual anymore. It makes him uneasy. Jealousy is such an ugly emotion. Even when he is jealous of Steampunk, he feels like taking it out on you instead since she isn’t here. If only he keeps it in the dark, then the truth won’t punch him directly right in the face in embarrassment at the time being. Despite his fight or flight instinct has always been titled to fight all of the time, this time, Coil just can’t. He turns away before rushing out of the scene without looking back. Everything just happened too fast, you don’t even have a chance to catch your breath when you realize Coil has ran away like that

What the hell has you gotten yourself into?

Coil doesn’t know what time is this anymore. Not like he ever cares, but the sunset indicates that it’s probably not the earliest yet the latest he can possibly be for the time being. He should have brought something else with him to kill the time while he is in this abandoned spot that no one even bothered to look at due to how ran down it has became. If his memory still serves him right, this place used to be a gym before it was wrecked by the typical Playground’s ways: Gangsters beating up each other ‘til death there and also ruining all the equipment at the same time. No one has been around here for a long while, aside from when those addicts want a quiet place to chill at night. Other than that and minus the broken pieces of glasses on the ground, Coil still thinks this is a good spot to have some peace of mind. He might or might not contribute to the messed up state of the place out of aggression earlier though. But can anyone really blame him? That’s all he can do to take the hurtful irritation out from his chest. Yet it doesn’t seem to help him blow of that much steam as he wished for. Slumping back on the ground with his back against the wall, Coil just buries his face into his hands, ignoring the stained blood of his own through the ragged bandages due to his outburst earlier

You probably are with Steampunk at the moment. Coil can’t help but grits his teeth in defeat at the mental image that keeps appearing in his mind. Again, why her and not him? Surely he can’t be worse than her. As much as Coil usually messes around with you in an unserious manner, he does love you genuinely. Can’t you see it? Or is his actions speak weaker than her words? Is that how it is? Coil feels pathetic when he keeps drowning in those words. He was really down bad for you, and he still is now, even knowing that you don’t feel the same

Small noise of footsteps pulls him away from that pitiful personal moment to keep his defense up. Who is the bastard that just chose this ungodly time to walk in on him? Technically Coil doesn’t mind spitting bars uncensored to chase unwanted visitors away, and he definitely isn’t opposing the idea of using violence in additional as well. But then his shoulders just drop like the marionette’s strings of his body have been cut off in that specific spot when he sees you

“Hey”

It takes Coil some time to think of an answer. But at this point, he doesn’t have enough enthusiasm to bark back a sarcastic remark out of confrontation anymore, so as he stands up, he keeps his voice down dully when he glances away from you subtly

“Hey,” Coil mumbles, “What do you want?”

“Check up on you. Is it a crime to do so?”

Coil is rather tempted to say that he agrees that it’s technically a crime to show up after the whole thing, but then again, he is a criminal. This guy knows better than to be a hypocrite. Plus, he doesn’t even bother enough to banter with you anymore. As he shakes his head uninterestedly, you can’t hep but feel like you should do something to him. The current state of his is just…messed up, both metaphorically and literally. And seems like Coil can read your intention at this point. He raises a hand slightly to signal you to not act rashly as he puts his effort in controlling his composure in front of you

“Don’t bother. I just- I need a distraction. Anything, give me a moment. This is just…Bullshit”

Coil sighs deeply as he wipes his face with his eyes closed. He has expected you to just stay there until he finishes collecting his thoughts properly, yet he seems to forget just how much of a deal can you be whenever that lightbulb on your head just lights up in the most unexpected time ever. When he looks back up, never in his dream did he ever think that he will be greeted by a front punch that actually feels more like a slap for some reason. That just makes things even more questionable in confusion when he realizes you were the one that just give him a free ticket to fix his jawline even when he doesn’t ask for it

���Ayo what the fuck!?”

“You say you want a distraction!”

“Yeah- but that’s not what I—!”

Before he can even make out a protest against your actions, he immediately has to pay attention to when blocking an uppercut coming from you. Despite just being over his previous adrenaline rush — and sulking like a kicked pup for an aftermath — his inclination still does him a favor when selecting fight back before you tackle him down to bite the dust. A fight breaks out between you and Coil, though he mostly just figures his way through your attack to neutralize you without hurting you too much. But that plan quickly backfires when he knows damn well you aren’t going to hold back. Fuck it, he will just apologize later, because it sure as hell looks like you are trying to kill him as your way of ‘distracting’ him. It looks like a messy cat fight: He has a swollen jaw, you spit out a tooth; he has a bloody nose, while you get yourself a new bruise on the face. If anyone unlucky enough to walk into the scene, they will be more than certain that you and him are paying back a blood debt at each other’s throats. The fight goes on for who knows how long before Coil has to headlock you to fall back with him on the floor to put this into an end

You and Coil just staying on the ground beside each other to catch a break after an attempt of stomping each other into the curb. Though you have good intentions, and he will admit that it does work to keep his mind off the pool of doubt, but goddamn give him a warning before you slam the hell out of him like that. After you nudge, or more like pinch, his arm, Coil removes his arm from you yet still let you rest on it. You two look like shit. But at least it somehow makes things less tense than before

While lying there, you both have different things that are begging to be spoken, to clear up the knots between you and him. Yet none decided to speak up first because of personal reasons, mostly fear, at least that’s what you feel like you both are going through now. After somewhat like half an hour, you groan a bit before break the ice first out of nowhere. There is one thing you want to confirm with Coil, even after what has happened

“Is the door locked now because of me?”

You ask out of guilt, patiently waiting for his answer. Coil seems to be surprised as he doesn’t expect this, though after giving it some thought, he brings his other hand to ruffle your hair in a lighthearted way. His answer is as simple as always, since you know he isn’t one for riddle or anything despite his love for the thrill in the games

“No, not at all”

‘But the door is always open for you’ — those words stuck in his throat uncomfortably without the courage to let it be heard, not by you. If he has to force it back into his mouth then die to take it down with him, oh he will

If there is a next time, Coil wishes he will make it in time to be with you instead. Yet no one can make a guess about the future, and your heart already has someone else in it. He has missed out, that is a fact that no one can change. ‘Next time’ sounds like a luxury that he can’t afford. Coil knows better than to get his hope up. The least he can do is to wish you well, even when it is killing him inside

But little do you know, he will still be there, keeping his part of the mindless promise of waiting for you. The door is still open if you ever want a change of mind. Until Coil comes back to his senses to move on, he will still stay as the hound dutifully guarding the door for you. At least that’s what he finds peace in doing for the current moment

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Note: I was rushing this one slightly, so please forgive me for any inconsistent emotional damage 囧 Coil Anon will be responsible for it!

Note 2: Butch Steampunk she/they butch Steampunk she/they because I have free wills la la la~

[luminique]

hii hii lumii !! I ADORE your interpretation of lighter so far— I love him smm

anyways, I hope my req is okay but I was wondering if you could do a comfort fic ? maybe reader has been a lil distant lately and just in some feels and he gives them a lil talk after being blown off here and there to find out they were having issues w their mental health and not feeling good enough and maybe he’s caught off guard because reader is usually so out going and always has a smile on their face and to see them feel so small makes him wanna take care of them so much and gives them so much reassurance and gentle kisses and cuddles 👉👈

I hope it’s okay !! I’ve been in the feels lately

hi anonn !! im gonna answer this one first because i've been in the feels too and i think we all deserve some reassurance, especially after all of the sad lighter story.

i don't take lighter for the kind to be too intrusive. that's not to say that he doesn't notice the way you're staring off into the distance, as if always having something on your mind. or the way you left earlier than usual for the SoC's nightly hangouts around the fire. or the way you had just been distancing yourself from him.

maybe you just needed a day, or two, and so he waited. he waited, and waited, but it just seemed like it was getting worse. he was beginning to get anxious, coming up with possibilities and worse case scenarios. even his favorite grape-flavored lollipop couldn't reduce the anxiety that was building up inside of him as he followed after you one night.

he shook off his nerves, spending quite a bit of time at the front door of your lodging while in blazewood. mentally practicing what to say so that he wouldn't make things even worse than they already were. one step, two deep breaths, three knocks on your door. he cleared his voice, usually confident and smooth but now carried a hint of worry in it.

"hey, uh... everything alright?"

you could hear the ruffling of his jacket, the soft metal clinks of his gloves. he didn't dare open the door until you allowed him to, so he waited, just like he always had. "lighter? yeah, everything's fine," was that a slight crack in your voice? no, no, he had to have imagined that. he knew it was wrong but he had waited long enough. he turned the knob, opening the door just a little bit but still not walking in.

"you don't have to tell me everything. just... know that i'll be here, waiting for you." he wasn't the best at comforting, nor was he good at even navigating these sorts of things but at the very least, he wanted you to have the knowledge that you had him. it didn't take long for you to finally get up, opening the door that separated the both of you. you looked so... different. the light absent from your eyes, the edges of your lips normally turned upwards but now they weren't. if he couldn't say what you wanted to hear, maybe you'd understand through his actions.

his arms wrapped around you. squeezing you just a little tighter than usual as he somehow made the both of you waddle backwards into your room. he had kept his gloves in his pants, not wanting to hurt you even more with them. his embrace was a familiar warmth, like the fire during particularly cold nights in the outer ring. you could hear his heart racing, was it from nervousness? anxiety? fear? even he didn't know.

he took this as an opportunity to place soft kisses on the top of your head but then stopped all of a sudden. he turned around to the door and realized that it was still wide open. he kicked it close with his foot, feeling embarrassed at the fact that he had to stop because of something so minor. he wanted you to feel safe, to have privacy, to be able to breathe without others barging in. technically, he had invaded this space of yours but you were slowly melting into him, as if you had been waiting for this too.

every passing second hugging you, kissing you, it made his own worries disappear. he hoped the same for you as you slowly spoke to him about your own problems. as he listened, he'd pause every once in while to give you a deadpan stare. not because he was making fun of you or anything, but it genuinely baffled him how you could say such things about yourself. you felt so insecure about yourself and your image, about being with him, being with the SoC. he had to physically stop himself from just blurting "i love you" every time you said something so degrading.

instead, he chose to wait and listen. his calloused hands gently caressing yours, his lips pressing kisses on the side of your head as you nuzzled into him. he loves you for who you are, the person in front of him, not the image that you had made yourself out to be in your mind. but he waits for you to let it all out before he says anything else. he will wait, he will listen, he will always be there for you.

[sairenharia]

Honestly for a show all about monster of the week being based on people having a bunch of emotions they don't know how to deal with, Miraculous is absolutely allergic to ACTUALLY dealing with any heavy emotions, which is rather necessary for doing a damnation arc.

Sure! Sometimes you can have side characters have their own character arcs without a lot of big emotions tied into them. Find out the wimpy kid decides to become a firefighter! The wallflower becomes an manipulative witch! You can do that with side characters.

But Chloe is not just any side character even if they want to pretend she is. Outside of Marinette, Adrien, Gabriel, and Nathalie in later seasons, Chloe is THE character we know the most about and experience the most emotions with. We go through more hardships and developments with her than Alya, Nino, any of the alternative love interests. We see Chloe actually try to change and grow and struggle to figure out how to be nice. We see her try.

And then Miracle Queen rolls around and this is supposed to be the moment Chloe falls. She is irredeemable now! She worked with Hawk Moth and everything! Never mind Chloe wouldn't even work with him without her parents freed FIRST. That despite how angry and spiteful she was with Ladybug, she would not work with a man who was using her parents. You know, those self same parents who agreed with her when she said she didn't feel any love by saying she could only love herself. Her parents sensed love in her and said it couldn't be for anyone else.

Never mind we know Chloe doesn't really love herself much by her own admission of being useless.

A damnation arc could have WORKED with Chloe, but the only way to do that is to get into the heavy emotions. Get into the fact Chloe wasn't actually getting a lot of help in changing. How any attempts, even if humored, were still treated with suspicion. How no one ever took her attempts to be helpful seriously.

For a damnation arc to work with Chloe, they have to acknowledge that everyone around her FAILED her because the only way to damn someone is to believe they could have been better.

And the fact was, Chloe was working to be better, and only broke because she felt like no one believed in her.

And you know what? That could have been a great story! It could have been a powerful story! But that means saying Chloe isn't solely to blame.

Because the story as the show is TRYING to tell us it is (even if that's not what they're SHOWING by a long shot) is that once a bully, always a bully. Which wouldn't be a such a bad thing.

If Chloe wasn't literally the character outside the main duo and main villains we have invested the most time into. You give Dash Baxter from Danny Phantom superpowers, and he does some heroics, and then he does bully things the next day, and that's fine because we haven't spent literal episodes watching him having moral conflicts and trying to get better! You can tell that story!

But you can't do that with a character the audience has invested in. You have to give emotional payoff. Trying to tell the once a bully, always a bully story with Chloe doesn't work because we know why she's a bully, and we have seen her able to improve with a little help.

Now you could say 'she tried to be better, but found she couldn't get the will to do it' (which I think is bullshit because Chloe is arguably the most strong willed character in the whole series), but you have to EARN IT. And to do that, you need the heavy emotions. And you could have even done it in Miracle Queen.

It wouldn't have been great writing, but it was doable with a little more effort.

By actually having Chloe and Ladybug having a WHOLE ARGUMENT right there. Having Ladybug just go 'wtf, Hawk Moth is our enemy?' and then listened to Chloe go off and just did the narrative version of a SHRUG about it. Let Ladybug try to appeal to her and have Chloe so caught up in her own issues that she just utterly refuses to be reasoned with. It would be in character and show there was some belief in her so she COULD be damned.

But no. Ladybug is just 'yeah, okay, I guess Chloe can just be like this, I just want my jewelry back.'

And worse when Adrien does the same AND CHLOE IS HIS FRIEND.

And then the narrative just...not acknowledge Chloe was willing to work with Hawk Moth. Adrien doesn't rethink his friendship with Chloe after this, but because she was being a bully over a movie?! Adrien, you almost got thrown into the SUN, that's your breaking point?

Chloe can't have a damnation arc, because no one is even disappointed in Chloe having failed.

Because with the way the narrative treated it, no one was surprised she failed. Like they all EXPECTED it to happen, that's how much they straight up did not care she did it.

And what kind of satisfaction is someone supposed to get from a story like that?

The sad part about post-S4 Chloè is that it can make narrative sense: first there's the Miracle Queen screw up that, once she realizes what she did, makes her want to just leave the city and go to New York where nobody knows her, then her way out is snuffed out as a side effect of the same event that triggered Miracle Queen, then, while she's still reeling, her mom has her sister come in as an apparent replacement... Her life got completely upended, her lashing out at everyone and acting like a stupider version of her old bullying self while Hawk Moth and Lila manipulate her is actually good writing.

It's so close to being good writing if this was treated as intentional and tragic but no they hammer in how she's just dumb and evil

[the-red-hoodlum]

killing people who don’t get an animals consent before touching them &/or ignore when animals are visibly uncomfortable with being touched.

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

working on a gifset and can i just say phia saban the ACTRESS THAT YOU ARE:

the sharp fucking turn when he's like wubuwbwu its a lieeee, the withering looks she gave him. it was excellent.

[oddogoblino]

Ever get mildly irked at a take on how to respond to something bad only to realize you literally practice it yourself without thinking? Because you learnt from trial and error growing that revenge even on people who abused you just doesn't work and makes you feel stupid and evil?

[badgirlcoven-official]

Thinking about the takes I've seen that act like the Collector is a badly written character because he has a "complete personality shift" between King's Tide and For The Future and it makes me a little crazy cause it's just like... That is quite literally the point just cause you don't like it doesn't mean it's bad writing.

I think it's really well done that we saw the Collector as this intimidating and vengeful figure BECAUSE we only ever saw them from the perspective of people who were either afraid of him or manipulating him and then once we see him from a new perspective it becomes clearer that not only is this a scared child but also that this is an innocent kid who literally just wants to feel accepted and to goof around like yeah we got Belos' propaganda that the Collector was a terrifying/manipulative powerful god-like thing that's only motivated by their own needs and we sort of fell for it just because the other characters all did, they had no reason not to in the context of what they saw

Then we see them from a new perspective and the crux of his character is revealed and we see things from HIS perspective and it doesn't change his actions or what he's said but it recontextualizes what we've seen and heard from them before this point.

Like no the shift in how the Collector is portrayed was done very well imo it's just not done super obviously

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

And there you go. There's a leek is bee's

I love this latent implication that a bee derives a life directing joy from the passive production of honey

[medicinemane]

I don't know, those gifs of Andrew Garfield saying how to him the most terrifying thing is certainty... they resonate with me

The way people go around so damn sure that they're right about things, frankly I think there's very few things more dangerous than not even allowing for the possibility that you're wrong

Like you've just decided that you 100% know best, and from now on any evidence to the contrary is just something to be pushed aside because it's clearly wrong. The harm you'll do isn't real because obviously you wouldn't be doing it if there was harm. You're just right. That's the end of it

No, I agree with Andrew Garfield, I'd much rather stop and reassess over and over, as many times as I need to, to make sure that I'm still doing the right thing

I'll never be anything cause it just doesn't interest me, but if I was going to join a religion I know I'd become Jewish

Thought that since I was little with all the Jewish friends I had at school, and what's more it just seems to fit me best, all the elements of questioning. Hell... it even sounds like if I said "you know, I don't really believe in god", that there's a chance the rabbi might say "funny thing, me neither" (I've heard some don't), but if not that at least "eh, that's fine, why don't you come discuss why with us"

It's just funny the number of times I've related to something someone's saying, and then you find out their Jewish and this ties into that sense of questioning things, and that interview is an example

I agree with him, nothing scarier than being 100% sure you're correct... you can do a lot of bad things once you know for a fact you're right to be doing them

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

[kingkatsuki]

— my protector

Tengen needs your help in trying to locate his wives on a mission, and Sanemi is furious.

Get me a man who’s only soft for us, stat😫😭

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, reader is a fellow hashira, jealous Sanemi (for literally no reason), possessiveness, rough sex, slight degradation, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 4.2k.

All Sanemi could see was red, fiery red as he roamed the halls of the Butterfly Mansion, ignoring the pain in his right arm from the wound Aoi had just patched up moments earlier.

“Shinobu will kill you if she finds you drawing your sword in here!” Aoi called after him, but Sanemi could care less as his eyes sought out the Sound Pillar.

He had just returned from a three-week-long mission to find out that Uzui had enlisted you for help on one of his missions. Practically offering you up as bait to try and find his wives who had gone missing, like that was even your problem. And Sanemi knew you were always so eager and willing to help, it was something he loved and loathed about you at the same time.

The rage continued building inside him as he pulled open another sliding door aggressively, the wood gliding back from the force as he skimmed another empty room before continuing further through the mansion.

“Listen to me, Shinazugawa.” Aoi huffed, followed after him as one of the only people inside the mansion who weren’t scared of the white-haired man, “I told you Shinobu won’t be pleased to find out you’re breaking all her doors.”

“Fuck her,” Sanemi rolled his eyes, “Where’s Uzui?”

“If you would’ve actually stopped for five minutes to let me explain, instead of being such a jerk,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, “He left with her a few hours ago. Said it couldn’t wait much longer, that his wives may be in danger—”

“How the fuck is that her problem?” Sanemi growled, “So he isn't here?”

“No, but I would advise you don't follow him. Your wounds—” Sanemi ignored Aoi, already halfway down the hall as he marched towards the entrance, determined to find you on his own. It was when he stepped into the courtyard that he saw Uzui coming in by the front gate with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, my crow told me you were back!” Uzui made to step towards him to finish the conversation, but Sanemi’s sword was already drawn as he stepped towards the larger man, “Perfect timing, my friend!”

“You fucking left her there?” Sanemi barked, “Why are you back here?”

“I came to get you at the request of your lady love,” Uzui grinned as Sanemi curled his lip in irritation at the pet name, “She made me promise to tell you as soon as you got back from your mission because she wouldn’t be around. And I thought you'd prefer a personal greeting.”

“Why the fuck are you sending her on your missions anyway,” Sanemi continued, ignoring Uzui's grin, “And leaving her there!”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Uzui shrugged, standing in place even as Sanemi stepped towards him.

“That’s already twelve hours too damn long, you prick.” Sanemi drew his sword as he made to lunge towards his fellow hashira.

“She’s probably safer there than she’d ever be out in the field,” Uzui dodged a blow with the hilt of his sword, the guard barely protecting his hands as he used his body weight to push the Wind Pillar back.

“Probably?” Sanemi roared, “She’s probably got sick fucks like you all over her right now.”

“Oh,” Uzui’s lips curled into a cocky smirk at the admission, standing upright as he pushed some fallen hair away from his eyes, “So that’s it— you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous, you fuckwad.” Sanemi grunted as he attempted another slash towards Uzui, knowing it was serious when the wind user hadn’t even bothered to use his power.

“Sure seems like it,” Uzui scoffed, taking another step back to avoid his attack, “Nothing is stopping you from visiting her, you know. She’s only a few towns across and I'm here to take you right to her.”

“Oh, you’re taking me to her,” Sanemi spat, “Right fucking now.”

“Someone is asking for me?” You raised a brow suspiciously at the implication. Wondering if this meant the demons had realised that you were in fact a slayer intent on taking their head. Your stomach swirled in trepidation as you tried not to show any fear, smiling at the young girl by the door as you bowed your head.

“Yeah, and frankly I’m glad,” She clung to the belt of her kimono, “He looks scary!”

“I definitely don’t want to spend the night with him,” Another girl grimaced, “I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”

You frowned, worried that you wouldn’t have time to access your katana to holster it beneath your kimono. Instead, all you had was the small dagger strapped against your thigh, which you were certain wouldn’t be enough to protect you from the attack of a demon. But at least it was better than nothing, knowing he wouldn’t attack until you were at least secure back inside this room as you bowed your head. Following her down the stairs to the entrance of the establishment, feeling a cool breeze tickle your ankles from the open door and curtain flowing in the wind.

Your heart stilled when you noticed the familiar man standing by the entrance, glaring at anyone who dared look his way as you felt your chest swell with familiarity. You hadn’t expected to see him here this night, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be asking after you.

“Is this the girl you were asking after, my Lord?”

“Yes,” He grunted as the Madame motioned him to step forward and follow you back to your room.

You had to stop yourself jumping him in the foyer, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and cling to his broad shoulders.

Feeling the heat practically radiating from his body as you slid open the sliding door to your room, stepping to the side to allow Sanemi to follow before sliding it shut. And in an instant, his rough hands were grabbing hold of the fat at your hips to pull your body against his, your lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Your hands reached up to thread through his messy hair as the scent of the woods mixed with his natural sweat invaded your senses. He clearly hadn’t bothered to bathe when he returned from his mission, far more concerned with finding you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spoke against your lips when you finally pulled away for air, still holding onto you as your nails dragged against his scalp, “I had to come home to find out you’re helping Uzui?”

“Tengen needed my help,” You murmured, and Sanemi’s nose scrunched in irritation at the use of the Sound Pillars' first name.

“Tengen,” He mocked the pitch of your voice, “Has three fucking wives that can help him, I only have one.”

“Technically,” You parroted his tone, giving him a cocky smirk as you felt his fingers press into the skin at your hips, “I’m not even your wife.”

“You’re as good as,” Sanemi scoffed as he stole another kiss, “And Uzui would do well to remember it.”

“His wives are missing,” You mumbled sadly.

“So does that mean he’s looking for a fourth?” Sanemi frowned at you as you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at his jealousy.

“No,” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “He hasn’t heard from them for a few days, the letters have stopped coming— and he thinks something bad may have happened to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanemi couldn’t lie that it had hurt to find out from someone else that you wouldn’t be there upon his return, whether it was jealousy or the fear of losing you he was unsure. But either way, it left him with that familiar sense of dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to boil over.

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much time,” You did wish you’d sent your crow to warn him, but Uzui had promised you that he would let Sanemi know. Especially since you were doing this for the sake of his wives, “He needed my help, so I offered.”

“You’re far too nice.” Sanemi shook his head, using his grip on your hips to pull you into another sultry kiss.

“I thought that’s why you loved me.” You teased.

“No,” Sanemi scoffed, “I love you for your perfect ass,” He spanked your cheek for emphasis, “Everything else is either a bonus or a crux on my life.”

“You pig.” You scrunched your nose as Sanemi couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he reached up to cup your face in a calloused palm. His thumb stroking gentle circles against your cheek as you leaned into his touch, “But you really should stop putting yourself in harm's way.”

“I’m a hashira,” You replied simply, “It’s what we do to protect others.”

“Protecting others doesn’t mean becoming a whore.” He spat, although you knew there was no malice there. The harsh tone covered up the fear and dread he felt in your gut at the prospect of something happening to you.

“And yet here you are, at the whorehouse requesting me by name.” You smiled back, relishing in the pink hue that dusted his pale cheeks.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” His tone sobered, resting his forehead against your own as he stared down into your eyes, “What a pitiful existence it would be.”

“You won’t lose me, Sanemi.” You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull his body against you, feeling his semi-hard cock press against your hip. The time without you made even more conspicuous when he's now surrounded by the comforting scent of you again.

“Did anyone touch you?” He immediately pulled back, concern evident in his features as he looked you over.

“No, I’ve been fine,” You shook your head, “They’ve mainly had me sitting down for tea with travellers passing through.”

“Good,” He pressed a kiss against your forehead in relief as he exhaled softly, “You have no idea how much I missed you, sweet girl.”

He peppered kisses along the curve of your jaw as you tilted your head back to give him more room. Your hands smoothed along his collarbones before dipping lower to trace patterns against the marred skin that scarred his chest, pressing your fingers into the ridges as you felt the tacky sweat clinging to his skin.

“I missed you too,” You whimpered gently as his teeth found your pulse point, biting down on the sensitive skin as his tongue lashed against it.

Sanemi bullied his muscular thigh between your parted legs to keep you steady against the wall as he shamelessly fiddled with the belt of your kimono. Letting the fabric fall open as he drank in the sight of your bare skin beneath, his firm hands immediately paw at your bare sides. Noticing the small dagger that you had holstered against one of your thighs as he ran his fingers over the handle of it in satisfaction.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, “Not planning to use that on me are you?”

He teased, pushing it back into the holster as he moved his hands back up the curve of your hips towards your chest. Truth be told, he was relieved that you had some form of protection in here. Especially when there was the chance that a demon was responsible for the spate of missing persons in the area.

“It depends if you’re nice to me or not,” You mused.

“I’m always nice.” The words coming from Sanemi’s lips alone were enough to have a melodic laugh rumbling in your chest, as for most, Sanemi and nice were complete contradictions.

“Liar,” Throwing your head back in a pretty laugh that had Sanemi’s heart rattling against his rib cage.

“I mean, I’m always nice to you, aren’t I?” Sanemi’s thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts as he delighted in the way your body responded to him, curving your back towards him as your bare cunt pressed against the flat of his thigh.

“We shouldn’t,” You murmured, “Not here—”

“Let me have this, sweetheart,” He hummed, leaning down to capture one of your pebbled nipples between his lips as he sucked hard, “I am a paying customer, after all.”

In fact, he was going to get that money from Uzui for his pure subordination.

“Why pay for something you can get for free at home?” You teased as he afforded your other breast the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as you let out another airy moan.

“My girl wasn’t there when I arrived home, and I had heard the girls here were beautiful,” He played along, “Apparently there’s one with the best fuckin’ pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” You gasped as you felt his fingers press against the indents of your thighs, dangerously close to your labia as you bucked against his leg. Giving your clit some slight relief as Sanemi continued forward, his thumb brushing through the wet slick that coated your folds as it drooled out of your neglected hole.

“Yeah,” He repeated, pulling away from your breast with a pop as he found your clit. Pressing sloppy circles against it with the calloused pad of his thumb as he watched you shamelessly grind yourself into his touch, “Apparently she’s already fucked into the shape of another guy though.”

“Must be a lucky guy,” Your eyes rolled back, knocking your head against the wall when you felt two of his thick digits slip inside your tight hole with ease. Scissoring them to loosen you up as he pulled back to watch you inquisitively through half-lidded eyes.

“The fuckin’ luckiest.” Sanemi grinned as he felt your walls throb around his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spongy spot inside you that he knew would have you seeing stars as he began to focus each roll of his wrist against it.

His name continued to spill from your lips as he kept his movements poised and focused, his rough thumb kneading circles against your clit as he worked you towards your release. No one knew your body better than he did, and he knew after being pent up for so long how little effort it would take to have you dangling on the edge of your release.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” You moaned, already feeling yourself dangerously close to falling, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.” He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and his blase tone immediately had your cunt clenching around him as you swan dived directly into your bliss. The pleasure surged through your body hard and fast as you came undone, his darkened eyes focused on your movements a he kept his fingers pressed against that same velvety spot. Following the wave of your hips as you rode out your release, unrelenting against the sensitive area as he already had you hurtling towards a second.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. Your pliant walls throbbed around his slick digits as you wished for something more, something bigger.

“‘Nemi, fuck me please.” You whined pitifully.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl,” He teased, but he pulled his fingers away from your sopping heat, lifting them up to the light to spread them as you noticed the silvery webs of your release clinging to them as he pushed them between your lips to taste yourself.

You tried to speak, but the pads of his fingers against your tongue muffled the words as you cleaned them off. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pulled them out of your mouth, dragging your glossy bottom lip down in the process as both hands immediately reached for his belt.

“When we get home I am fucking you like you deserve.” Sanemi spoke coolly, “Not some quick fuck in a whorehouse.”

“I deserve everything you give me, 'Nemi.” You smile up at him lazily before watching him tug his pants down, revealing his fat cock to your prying gaze.

You immediately reached for it, and he let you. Hissing when your smaller palm wrapped around the girth of him, giving him a teasing jerk that had his nostrils flaring and his jaw locking. Your thumb swipes over the swollen tip to gather the pearl of pre before smoothing it down his length, delighting in the choked grunt that rumbled at the back of his throat.

“Is that so?” He continued, “So bending you over the moment I get you home will be deserved,” His voice darkened, his own palm joining yours against his length as he tightened your grip on his cock, holding your hand steady as he fucked himself into your fist, “You tease.”

“Fuck,” Your cunt throbbed around nothing at his suggestion, as you instinctively spread your legs further apart, “Please, 'Nemi.”

Sanemi curled a palm beneath your thigh to hoist it up against his hip, spreading you open for him as you guided the leaky tip of his cock between you. Stroking it against your drenched folds as you coated him with your essence, moaning when the swollen tip nudged your puffy clit. Feeling yourself growing more impatient as Sanemi pulled his hips back to tease you, pushing your hand away from his cock as he wrapped himself in a fist. Pressing the head against your tight entrance as he felt your hole tremble against him, trying desperately to coax him in as he indulged himself with your reaction.

“‘Nemi, don’t be an asshole,” You pouted as you tried to can’t your hips forward, feeling the tip breach your entrance before he was quick to move his hips back. More than content with teasing you, despite being in such an open, compromising place.

“If I were an asshole I’d leave you unsatisfied like this to search for the demon myself,” He goaded, pressing his hips forward once more.

“Sanemi,” You whined in irritation, “Don’t tease me, please, it’s been too long.”

He didn’t give you a moment to think before he was bullying his cock inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls stretched to accommodate his girth as he moulded you to the shape of him once more, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The sensation stole the air from your lungs as you could do little but cling to his broad shoulders as he afforded you a moment to adjust to his size, dragging himself from your velvety walls before canting his hips forward again. Setting a languid motion as he slowly rolled his hips against you.

“Sanemi,” You sighed in satisfaction as you felt whole once more. Too many lonely nights were spent dreaming of this as you felt him finally bottom out, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your clit as you bit down on your bottom lip.

“We’re in a whorehouse,” He mused, still sluggishly rolling his hips into you, “It only seems right that I treat you like one.”

Your cunt clenched around his cock hard at the notion, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sanemi who grinned in satisfaction. His fingers tighten their grip around your thigh as he takes this as his answer.

Sanemi is brutal as he fucks into you, not sparing you a moment's peace as he uses you for his own gratification. The sound of skin against skin echos the small room as his balls slap against the curve of your ass with each forward cant of his hips. The ferocity of his thrusts has your breasts bouncing and your thighs crying out for some relief as you struggle to stand upright, thankful that Sanemi’s strong body has you pinned against the wall as he fucks into you.

“Oh my god,” You cry out, nails digging into his skin as he maintains his pace. His other hand squeezes at the fat of your ass as he angles his hips, the curve of his cock drags against the spot inside you that he knows will have you seeing stars as the blunt tip kneads your cervix.

“Look at me.” Sanemi growls, his warm breath fanning your face as he keeps a consistent pace.

Your eyes meet his and you’re certain you’ll cum under the intensity of his gaze alone, your cunt clenches in retaliation as he continues to thrust into your sopping hole. Each sultry moan he pulls from deep in your chest has him rolling his hips with more vigour, eager to have you repeat them as he works you towards your climax.

It’s pitiful really, how easily he has you submitting to him as you already feel the telltale signs of your climax ebbing in your pelvis. The pressure builds up as it nears breaking point as Sanemi pushes into you with more ferocity, using your body for his own means as he works himself to his own release.

“I’m going to leave you pumped full of my seed,” He growls against your cheek, his chest heaving as he feels his balls begin to tighten, “Leave it drooling down your thighs when I’m finished with you. So that everyone knows who you belong to—”

You knew this was a direct attack on Uzui, and the fact that he’d handpicked you for his assistance on this mission. Even though there was nothing in it beyond securing the safety of his wives, it had Sanemi oozing with jealousy and he was intent on reminding the Sound Pillar that you were not his plaything.

“Do you also need a reminder of who you belong to, sweetheart?” Sanemi spoke lowly as he fucked into your pliant walls, slipping a hand between your connected bodies to press sloppy circles to your clit.

“No, ‘Nemi—” That familiar sensation throbbed between your thighs as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“No? Then who do you belong to?”

“You, ‘Nemi. You—” You choked out, leaving messy red lines against his chest now as he pressed harder against your clit.

“Louder.”

“You, ‘Nemi! It’s always been you!” You cry out, certain that the rest of the floor could hear you as you began to gush around his cock. Your hips bucked wildly as he pinned you in place, keeping his thumb firm against your clit as he watched you ride out your climax. Indulging in the debauched noises that escaped from between your pretty, bruised lips.

“Good girl,” He snarled before moving his hand from your clit to resume a damn near savage pace. Rutting hips against your own messily, working himself towards his own end as he felt the way your walls continued clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, “Such a good girl for me.”

He arched his back so he could look down at where your bodies were connected, watching the way his thick cock disappeared inside your velvety walls. And the creamy ring of slick that you’d left around the base of him, the silvery lines matting into his pubes as he felt his balls begin to seize. Certain he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before giving a few more sloppy thrusts and emptying his balls into your warm, wet cunt.

Sanemi stayed buried inside you, feeling the last spurts of his orgasm surge through him as he coated your walls in thick, white spunk. Cherishing the final few flutters of your walls around him as you both came down from your highs, peppering kisses against your face as you placed a palm against his chest to feel his racing heart, the dull thump of it soothing you as you felt your thick lashes begin to flutter.

“Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart.” Sanemi rasped, starting to pull himself out of your spent cunt as you whined in objection. Trying to tighten your thigh around him to keep his hips in position as he grinned down at you; pressing an apologetic kiss to the side of your lips before looking down to see the mess of your combined release stringing against his length as the silvery lines split apart, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta.”

You knew he had to go, Uzui was probably still waiting for him on a rooftop somewhere. Hopeful that you’d have some news to share with Sanemi about the whereabouts of his wives, but you felt the regret begin to pool in the pit of your stomach as reality settled back in.

“If you want to leave with me, I’ll take you right now,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world, “But if you want to stay in I’ll be watching.”

You didn’t have to tell him your answer, he already knew. Placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips as he held you in his arms, “Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I’m around.”

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[the-most-phenomenal-banana]

genuinely concerned that i’m turning into a crotchety old asshole at the ripe age of 23

[alg3a]

muffins

viktor x f! reader

3.8k, MDNI, no use of (y/n)

description: Viktor had been so kind as to agree to help you out with your midterm prep, so you thought baking him muffins would be a great way to repay him. However, an accidental secret ingredient gets in the way of studying.

warnings: Age gap, roomie smut, more story than smut, p in v, sex pollen/serum (with pretty explicit consent), overall jolly good fun, no harm no foul, yippee!

a/n: inspired by @the-hidden-pages story, Human Testing because it’s one of the first viktor x reader fics i ever read and i STRONGLY recommend!

Any student should feel lucky to have the smartest men at the academy as their roommates. Being an undergraduate biochem student who had to work to pay her own tuition, going to lecture wasn’t always an option. That’s when you’d bake a tray of brownies or do some extra dishes and call in a favor from one of your roomies.

It happened all the time, which made you incredibly thankful to have one people-pleaser in the apartment. Jayce was always willing to put aside whatever he was doing and help you out on your Arcane Studies homework or your Bioengineering project. Last semester, finals week consisted of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rug of the living room, paper scattered all over the floor as you tried to decipher the grading scale of your Organic Chemistry class to see what the lowest grade on the test you could get was and still wind up with a passing grade (something Jayce had done plenty of times in his undergrad years).

Viktor, on the other hand, had gotten somewhat tired of your constant requests for him to backtrack and dive into knowledge he hadn’t tapped for years now. He was never particularly rude about it, but you were very perceptive. When you asked him to repeat an explanation once or twice, you noticed the growing exhaustion on his face that bordered frustration and you stopped asking for his help going forward. It wasn’t to his own fault, you could be pretty needy sometimes, so more often than not, you just asked Jayce.

Only, Jayce was out of town for a Hextech press conference this weekend, the weekend before you had your Arcane Studies midterm. In a heartbreaking display, he had apologized profusely for not being able to help, inches away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. You assured him none of that was necessary, and that you’d just stay up studying in the library or even reach out to your TA (who you’d never even spoken to before in class or outside of it, and who you were certain would be less helpful than Jayce).

To remedy your situation–even though you pinkie promised him you didn’t need him to–he took it upon himself to ask Viktor to help you cram study on Sunday night, the night before your midterm. While Jayce asked, you did your best to listen from your bedroom, the next room over. You heard some grumbling from Viktor and a muffled, yet compelling “She’s our roommate and she bakes us nice things” from Jayce.

Apparently that last bit must have been very rousing, because shortly after, Jayce was at your door telling you that Viktor agreed to a maximum of three hours of cramming that would begin no earlier than eight at night.

You worked for all of Saturday’s daylight hours, and then finalized your experimental serum for your Advanced Biochemistry project. For the biochem class, you’d been studying methods of enhancing senses for the first half of the quarter and your midterm project involved making a serum that could temporarily improve the performance of one human sense. Around three weeks ago, you and your classmates drew topics from a hat and your fingers emerged with “arousal” on a piece of paper. Needless to say, you were concerned. You thought the serum project would be fairly straightforward, and had already brainstormed ideas for vision enhancing serums or hearing aid serums, but arousal? You had to think out of the box for that one.

When you finished up your last touches to the serum, you were left with enough time at night to get ingredients to bake Viktor some muffins as a sign of your gratitude. You got enough stuff for twice as much as you would’ve made for Jayce and actually stuck to the recipe this time. Keeping Viktor happy was a very delicate ecosystem and there could be no tampering.

It wasn’t that he was a grump or even that he hated you, he was just too busy to want to help and too intelligent to want to backtrack. Once he had even looked at what you were studying and said, “I’d have to go too far back to help you.” That was inspiring.

You poured the contents of your tote bag on the counter.

On your better days, you and Viktor actually got along quite well. Those were the rare days when Viktor got more than three hours of sleep and ate a full meal before two pm. In his best conditions, the two of you were good friends.

The best days were when he and Jayce both come home early enough for you to make them a home cooked meal. Then you’d all curl up on the couch and watch a movie. The last time that happened, Jayce picked some superhero movie you’d never heard of and you and Viktor both fell asleep. You woke up the next morning asleep on Viktor’s chest with four blankets piled on top of you both. Jayce said he knew both of you ran cold, so he took the blankets from your beds. You and Viktor never talked about that night.

The exhaustion of your stressful Saturday had leaked into your studying Sunday, and in a tired stupor, you whisked together all the ingredients for the muffins and poured them haphazardly into the mold. They might not look pretty, but at least they’d taste good.

You pulled the freshly baked muffins from the oven and rested them on the stovetop. The sweet aroma of warm blueberry filled the apartment. It must have roused Viktor from whatever he was working on in his room, because he emerged a full quarter of an hour earlier than your agreed upon study time.

“Hey,” you said. “I made you some muffins as a thank you. They’re still hot, though, I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fine,” he said, setting himself at the kitchen table and sipping from a cup of coffee that had been there since Jayce was still in town. “Would you like to begin now?”

You grab all your study guides and homework assignments and your assortment of chicken scratch notes and slide them over to him on the table.

“Are your midterms cumulative?” He asked, finishing the remnants of his cold coffee.

“No,” you answered. Thank God. If you had to remember everything that was in the last midterm you’d be losing your mind right about now. “Everything past Arcane History will be on the test.”

“Mm. I see.”

He scans your notes for another five minutes.

“I’ll quiz you,” he decided, standing up to check on the temperature of the cooling muffins on the stovetop.

“Uh, okay.” You didn’t typically study by being quizzed, especially when you hardly went to lecture and didn’t even know most of the material. But you didn’t want to risk arguing with Viktor and have him decide to take his muffin to-go.

“Tell me why the Arcane can manifest in such unpredictable manners?”

“Because…” you started to think that maybe going to your TA wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Your TA was just a random graduate student. The roommate that was helping you study now was one of the inventors of Hextech, the researcher responsible for some of the greatest advancements in Piltover’s modern understanding of the Arcane. “...it reflects the intentions of the user.”

“Correct,” he says, affording you a rare Viktor smile. “Would you like a muffin?”

You had intended for the muffins to be entirely Viktor’s, but you hadn’t eaten all day and gods, they smelled good. Plus, it was like a reward for getting an answer right.

“Sure, thanks.”

You watch as Viktor plucks two muffins from the tin and comes back to seat himself at the table. He hands one to you and sorts through the papers you’ve scattered on the desk as he brings a small chunk to his mouth. You do the same.

Something tastes slightly off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s possible the ratio is off, and in your tired state you added too little vanilla extract or too much vegetable oil. Regardless, they’re not bad at all.

“Your notes are a little bit difficult to–” Viktor stops before finishing his sentence. He pulls out a sheet of paper from the pile and reads it, his eyes widening a bit as he does.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“These notes are from your biochem class,” he says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a few seconds over the piece of paper. “This is an interesting assignment…”

“Oh,” you feel your cheeks growing hot. “Sorry, that’s not supposed to be in there.”

You reach out to take the paper from him, but he pulls it back as you do. He’s still reading it. You’d really like him to stop reading about your own aphrodisiac serum, but your embarrassment is a bit unwarranted. After all, you didn’t make the serum because you wanted it, you made it because it was a graded assignment. Nothing more. So what if you did eventually garner interest in the topic. So much interest, in fact, that you did extensive research into the properties your serum could afford and spent long hours in your lab experimenting with it. Shamefully, yes, you had tried some of it. Mainly to test its efficiency but also out of plain curiosity. You had determined that it was safe, most importantly, but you’d also learned that it tasted horrible. To counter that, you’d added some–

“Oh fuck!” You shout as you scoot your chair so far back so quickly that it topples over. You stumble over your bag on the floor as you sprint to the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?” Viktor asks from his seated position.

“Don’t eat the muffin!” You exclaim as you run to the counter space next to the stove, your heart pounding.

You confirm your worst fear. The bottle of vanilla extract you picked up from the supermarket sits on the counter, the protective seal still intact. Your arousal serum, however, is halfway empty a few inches beside the extract.

You turn around slowly to face Viktor.

“It’s a bit late for that,” Viktor says, holding up the half of his muffin that remains. “Did something happen?”

You eye your own muffin on the table, half eaten as well.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you scrambled back toward the table where Viktor sat, the serum held tight by your hand. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No,” Viktor says, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

Come on, just get it out already. You have to tell him, it would be morally bankrupt not to.

“I accidentally drugged you.”

Okay, maybe not like that.

Viktor just stared at you, his expression unchanged. You sort of just wished he would yell at you so that you could get the encounter over with, but no such luck. He just sat, unphased, until he picked up the notes he was looking at earlier.

“With this?” He asks. Even his voice is still even. You knew that if the roles had been reversed you would be fracking out, absolutely bouncing off the walls.

“Yes, but don’t worry I’ve done lots of research on this serum,” you say, taking the notes from Viktor and looking them over. You read the list two or three times, scanning for any sort of antidote for ingestion. You saw none. “How could I have not included an antidote?” You mutter, mentally beating yourself up.

“It’s okay,” Viktor said and you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up at him from your notes. “It is safe, yes? It won’t kill us?”

“No, it won’t, but it’s a powerful aphrodisiac and I added half the serum to those muffins. If my math is right, you’re taking three times the recommended dosage.”

“But I only ate half the muffin,” Viktor counters. Again, you’re shocked by how unphased he is.

“Okay, then one and a half times the dosage,” you shrug off his comment as you look for anything in your notes that might reveal a way to undo this mess.

“I assume this means you no longer wish to study?” Viktor says.

“How are you so calm about this?” You finally burst out, slamming the paper down on the table to look at him.

Big mistake.

Once you see him, you become lightheaded and your knees buckle beneath you. You have to sit down to stop yourself from falling over.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asks.

“I-I’m fine,” you shake your head in an attempt to get some blood flowing to your brain. No luck.

“Since you’re obviously worked up about this, why don’t you tell me how it works and then we can go from there.”

“It’s a fast acting stimulant,” you say, burying your face in your hands. “The chemistry is irrelevant since I have no goddamn cure for it, but it works the same as any other aphrodisiac. It makes you susceptible to arousal and heightens it by three times at a normal dosage, and in our case… nearly five times.”

“Intriguing,” he says, eyeing the muffin that lays neglected on the table. “Such a strange class project. Aren’t there moral quandaries to be had for such a substance?”

“Yes of course there are, which is why I made it so that it only takes effect if there’s already a degree of attraction in place–”

You shouldn’t have said anything. Especially not when you’re so clearly affected by it in the presence of Viktor. Way to sell yourself out.

“So you’re saying…”

You groan out in frustration, but once you look at Viktor you’re reminded of why you had your face buried in your hands. Somehow every feature of his seems five times more beautiful than you normally regarded them. His perfectly angular nose, his narrowed amber eyes, his messy hair which fell in ways you could never recreate on paper…

“I have a feeling you know exactly what I’m saying.” You squeezed your eyes shut. If you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t torture you.

Or so you thought.

A tantalizing graze of his hand on yours shot shivers down your spine. You pulled away so fast that a few of the papers on the desk shifted from the shear force of the wind.

“Don’t do that,” you seethed, sucked your teeth as you pressed your eyes shut so hard that you saw stars.

“Because…it affects you?” His voice was raspy and slow, or maybe that’s just what the serum was making you hear. Every bit of what he was doing seemed five times as attractive as it would normally be.

You’d done such a good job at hiding your feelings for Viktor for almost a year now. Being roommates with someone you found incredibly attractive was no easy task. And now all of your efforts were thrown out the window because of a stupid baking mishap.

“You’re being cruel,” you furrow your eyebrows as you speak, your voice coming out whinier than you would’ve liked.

“I’m sorry,” he stifles a laugh. “Would you open your eyes?”

“I can’t,” you groan, shoving your hands against your face again. “It’s best if I just go to my room and wait it out. Thank you for trying to study with me but I’m just gonna have to accept a shitty grade tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and pulling them down from your face so that you had to look at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken biochemistry, and I certainly haven’t studied aphrodisiacs, but the effects should go away after the serum is put to use, correct?”

You thought back to your experimentation phase. All the nights you spent alone in your lab trying out the efficacy of the serum resulted in the effects dissipating once climax was reached. It had certainly been the least orthodox experimentation phase you’d ever undergone.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you say reluctantly. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to let your eyes explore Viktor’s face, then his long, narrow neck protruding his sweater, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep breath, then the sharp clavicle poking from–

Get yourself together.

“If you’re willing to retake the class–a class you should easily pass, given your access to the two most prevalent scientists in the field–then by all means, go to your room.” Viktor pulls his hands away from you, then picks up the muffin, peeling off the paper from the bottom. He picks off a piece and drops it onto his tongue.

“What are you doing? You’re just going to make it worse!”

He smirks at you, then sets the muffin back down. “It’s a very good muffin. You’re an excellent baker.”

Fuck.

“You’re playing with me,” you shake your head in disbelief.

“No, dearest, I am not playing with you,” he says, standing up from his chair, then moving toward you tantalizingly slow. He takes a seat on the table in front of you, then crosses his hands on his lap. “You’re smart enough to recognize the alternative I am offering to you.”

Your heart stops. You look at his half eaten muffin, although more than half is gone now with the addition of that last bite.

“You…” The idea is almost impossible for you to grasp, let alone put into words. “You want to expedite the process?”

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” Viktor laughs. He reaches for a strand of your distressed hair and pushes it behind your ear.

“But you’re not even attracted to me!”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor says, retracting his hand, only to place it over yours on the desk.

“Because if you were, you’d be much more affected right now. I mean, look at me!” You gesture to yourself with your free hand. “I’m a mess! I’m on the brink of breaking out in a sweat and my hands are clammy and you’re just sitting there!”

Viktor laughs to himself as if he’s in on some kind of inside joke that you know nothing about.

“I’ve had lots of practice in concealing my excitement around you,” he finally says, slowly, seductively, the words dripping from his chin as his cold eyes bore into you.

“What?”

You know what he said. In fact, you understand it perfectly, but you can’t be sure it actually came from his mouth because it seems so perfectly unreal. So dream-like, so idealistic, so fantastical.

“You’ve done a good enough job at hiding your attraction, too,” Viktor says. “I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for tonight’s incident. Which is exactly why I’ve felt the need to hide my own.”

“You’ve liked me?”

You still can’t wrap your head around the idea.

“I’ve admired you,” he smiles, rubbing circles on the back of your hand, reminding you just how potent your little sex serum really is.

In fact, it’s so powerful that you hardly have to put any thought into leaping up from your chair and pushing your lips against his. Before you can third guess his affection, his hands are interlaced with your hair, pushing you deeper into his lips as his tongue begs to be let into your needy mouth.

Now it was clear to see how much the serum had actually affected him. In mere seconds, his hands grabbed at your thighs and pulled you up onto the table to straddle him with strength you didn’t even know he possessed. His breathy little moans sent you further into madness and you yanked his sweater off of his head, forcing your mouth off of his for just a few seconds, but once that sweater was off, your lips clung together like magnets.

Deft fingers unbuttoned your long sleeve shirt and he pulled it off your arms so quickly that you worried for a second that he might have ripped it. But you didn't care. You couldn’t possibly be concerned with a silly shirt when Viktor was beneath you on the kitchen table like a meal.

The serum didn’t exactly allow either of your minds to comprehend much foreplay. You fiddled with Viktor’s belt and he pushed your skirt up to your waist. Once both of you were exposed, he didn’t waste any time positioning you above his cock.

“So wet for me,” Viktor whined against your bare chest. “Is that the serum’s doing or is it mine?”

“Yours,” you whimper as Viktor slides his tip beneath your folds. “If it were anyone else in the room with me when I took the serum, I’d be unaffected.”

“I’m flattered,” he smiles cruelly as he thrusts up into you.

“Oh fuck,” you whine as your rest your heavy head on Viktor’s shoulder.

He brings his hands to your waist and guides you up and down as his hips meet your core in long, languid thrusts. The serum sets every single nerve on fire, making it seem as if each of his thrusts has the impact of twenty.

You moan muffled strangulations of his name into his neck, which only urges him to persist with his cruel thrusts. The sound of your cunt being abused fills the kitchen and you’re wildly thankful that Jayce is out of town.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Viktor pants. “You have no idea.”

You really did have no idea. He hid it so well. You silently thanked whatever force had caused you to accidentally throw the serum into the muffin mix.

“So have I,” you whined against his skin. “Fuck…don’t stop…”

Each thrust is punctuated by the creaks of the sturdy kitchen table below you. His motions become quicker, shakier, and more intense and you can tell he’s reaching the end along with you. Your legs begin to shake and you feel that familiar tickling sensation in your core that the serum does a beautiful job at emulating.

“Viktor, I’m close, I’m so fucking close,” you moan as you lift your head from the crook of his neck. You bring your lips to his and he delivers his final thrusts. As he fills you, your moans echo on each other’s lips, a feeling you never thought you’d experience with your own brilliant roommate.

Your breathing steadies and Viktor wraps his arms around you, bringing you close to him as he tries to collect himself as well.

“You…” Viktor pants, “are forbidden from using that kitchen ever again.”

You laugh as you bring yourself off of him, pressing a kiss to his lips as you collect yourself. “That sounds fair to me.”