#they barely even legally qualify

[hoperays-song]

The Gang’s Crimes

***WARNING: THIS BLOG DOES NOT PROMOTE THE ROBBING OF BANKS OR JEWELER’S. DO NOT ROB THINGS AND BLAME THIS BLOG.***

Can we talk about how the gang picked the hardest to execute but least damaging crime they could commit? 

Like bank robbing? Unless you use physical force and threaten people, no one knows you’re there. And we see the alarm start ringing after they break a window, an alarm which alerted the police. Bank’s typically have silent alarms that can be triggered without a robber being alerted if they do the whole ‘charge in the front, threaten people, and demand money’ routine. That clearly wasn’t the case or nearby police units would have been alerted. Meaning the gang did the much harder version of ‘sneak in, steal stuff, and sneak out without triggering extra security systems’. They never threatened people.

So, their crimes? Essentially victimless. Banks have insurance for money that was stolen, as do jewelers and other companies that would have been shipping that much gold. The banks and gold owner’s are large corporations that absolutely got their money back at least for the most part.

And if your bank is robbed? Congrats, you aren’t really going to be affected. You might have to wait to use the ATM for a few hours/days there while it’s being investigated, but you personally did not lose any money as it is all insured. And the money taken from the bank? It’s not actually your money since banks loan it out. It’s standard practice. You are not going to lose anything.

The gang decided to commit an intensively difficult crime with the least amount of victims possible. They were non-violent and bypassed security systems instead of just holding up said bank. They didn’t hurt innocent people.

Of course Johnny is an absolute sweetheart. Of course the rest of the gang turned out to also be ridiculously nice and good people. They picked a crime that doesn’t really hurt people. They’re highly moral about their crimes when you think about it, which piled upon their need for money, is probably what lead them to chose what they did and explains why we never see Johnny protesting about the actual robbery aspect itself.

[kxsagi]

helloo ! im the anonymous from before who requested bllk boys reaction to reader opening her new bikini nd it's js a piece of string 😭😭 can i req it again^^ ?

thank youuu !! also any character is fine but pls pls add sae 🙏🙏🙏

“𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲)”

a/n: thank you for requesting again!!! i was sad that i couldn’t do it because my requests were closed at the time, but you waited patiently and requested this funny idea when my inbox reopened! i appreciate the commitment lovey 🫶🏻

suggestive content inside! 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae, aiku oliver, karasu tabito, ness alexis, niko ikki

isagi yoichi

you’re sitting on his bed, all excited, waving a tiny shopping bag in your hand like it’s your latest victory. 

“yoichi, look! my new bikini came in!” 

he perks up immediately, abandoning whatever training video was on his laptop because his sweet girlfriend in a bikini? that’s his roman empire. 

but then… you pull it out. 

silence. 

he blinks. once. twice. 

“… where’s the rest of it?” he finally asks, voice cracking like a teenage boy who just hit puberty again. 

you hold up the two triangles and the criminally thin string that could barely qualify as shoelace material. “this is the rest.” 

isagi actually stares at it like it’s a bomb about to go off. 

he scoots back on the bed like it might attack him. “that’s not a bikini, that’s a… a dental floss cosplay.” 

isagi.exe has stopped working. 

“yoichi,” you grin, “you don’t like it?” 

he looks personally victimized. “i love you, but if you wear that to the beach, i’m legally required to throw myself into the ocean.” 

the poor guy starts googling full-body swimsuits with UV protection and built-in armor. 

itoshi rin

you excitedly say, “look what i bought!” 

and rin – stoic, cold, emotionally repressed rin – glances up from his phone expecting to see maybe a cute summer dress. 

no. it’s a string. a single, sentient-looking string that threatens his blood pressure. 

he stares. hard. 

his soul momentarily leaves his body. “what the hell is that.” 

you blink innocently. “a bikini?” 

“a war crime,” he corrects. 

he actually gets up and walks around the room like he’s processing grief. “i can’t do this. you’re not wearing that in public. you’re not even wearing that in a mirror.” 

you tease, “what if i wear it just for you?” 

he stops walking. the flush creeps up his neck like a thermometer in hell. “don’t say things like that, ever again.” 

you swear you see him whisper a prayer. 

man’s out here suffering and it hasn’t even touched his skin yet. 

kaiser michael

“liebe, what’s in the bag?” 

“my new bikini!” 

he smirks, smug and cocky, already imagining you in something glamorous and gold. 

then you pull it out. a thread. a thread masquerading as a swimsuit. 

his grin falters for a half second. just one. 

“… that’s your bikini?” he repeats, voice slightly higher than usual. 

you nod proudly. “isn’t it cute?” 

he chuckles, slightly unhinged. “sure, if you’re planning on getting arrested.” 

kaiser crouches down next to you, holding the bikini like it’s some rare artifact. “you’re going to cause a riot in this.” 

he gives it a little tug. “do i tie this? or just whisper my sins into it?” 

but the second you say “i’m wearing it to the beach,” he turns into a clingy, jealous guard dog. 

“okay, well, guess i’m canceling practice. and becoming your personal umbrella. and maybe handing out blindfolds.” 

suddenly he’s emailing ubers, “hi, can we change venues to antarctica where no one will see my girlfriend’s ass? thanks.” 

shidou ryusei

you pull out the bikini, and he is already doing backflips. 

“hell YES,” he roars, snatching it from your hands like you just gave him front-row tickets to chaos. 

he holds it up like he’s just won the world cup. “this isn’t a bikini. this is ART.” 

he’s biting his lip, already imagining the crimes he will commit just thinking about you in it. 

“wear it now. now now now now now–” 

you say, “it’s for the beach, dumbass,” and he gasps. 

“in public? oh, babe. we’re gonna get kicked out. i’m gonna get kicked out. i’m gonna kick myself out.” 

if someone stares? he’s already shirtless, barking, “you like eyeballs, punk? wanna lose one?” 

later at the beach, he’s sitting next to you like a guard dog with rabies, grinning as people trip over themselves staring. 

“yeah, she’s hot. yeah, she’s mine. yeah, i’ll fight you.” 

he’s loving it. and also ready to commit 47 misdemeanors in your name. 

mikage reo

he’s so excited when you mention a bikini. he’s got visions of you lounging in a luxury cabana, sipping coconut water, wearing something pink and cute. 

you open the bag. pull out a suspiciously small bundle. 

reo leans forward. then leans back. then stares at the material in your hand like it just insulted his ancestors. 

“… babe. are you punking me.” 

you hold it up proudly. 

he whispers, “that’s not clothing. that’s a dare.” 

he begins calculating how many islands he can buy to create a private ocean for you. 

offers to take you to a resort where the only other guests are penguins. he’s sweating and smiling at the same time. 

“you look amazing,” he says, voice strained. “but also… jail. i’m going to jail just thinking about this.” 

you wink. “worth it?” 

he slaps a hand over his heart. “debatable.” 

nagi seishiro

he’s lying face-down on the couch when you drop the bikini next to his head. 

“what’s that?” 

“my new swimsuit.” 

he rolls over slowly, squinting at it like it personally offended him. “… you’re gonna wear that? in public?” 

you nod, grinning. “yep. thoughts?” 

he stares longer. “i’ll have to stand up and fight people,” he says flatly. “that sounds annoying. you know i hate cardio.” 

but when you try to joke about not wearing it, he immediately whines: “wait, no, i didn’t say don’t wear it. i just– ugh. i’ll bring a stick or something. smack anyone who looks too long.” 

he pulls a blanket over his head. “wake me up when the swimsuit’s illegal.” 

itoshi sae

you pull out the bikini. 

sae looks up. and then… back down. and then back up again. slower this time. 

his mouth opens. no words come out. 

finally: “absolutely not.” 

you raise an eyebrow. “you don’t like it?” 

he doesn’t blink. “no, i love it. and that’s the problem.” 

he stares like he’s calculating every man who will be breathing in your radius. 

“what do you expect me to do, sit there like a monk while you parade around in dental floss?” 

you grin. “so i shouldn’t wear it?” 

sae sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “… wear it. whatever. just make sure your will is updated.” 

he’s grumbling the whole drive to the beach. “can’t believe i have to punch people for this. i have delicate hands.” 

aiku oliver

he hears the words “new bikini” and immediately beams like a new trailer for GTA 6 just dropped. 

“babe, let me see. i bet it’s sexy–” 

you hold it up. he pauses. he squints. then squints harder. then physically recoils like you just showed him a haunted doll. 

“... what the hell is that?” 

you smile innocently. “it’s a micro bikini! it’s trendy.” 

oliver stares at the thin straps like they owe him child support. “that’s not a bikini. that’s suggestive yarn.” 

he laughs, but it’s the nervous laugh of a man who knows he’s about to enter the gates of hell. 

“okay, yeah, real hot. super cute. very illegal. you gonna wear that in public? where other men have eyes?” 

you: “yeah!” 

oliver, five seconds from calling the coast guard: “cool cool cool. guess i’ll just stand behind you with a megaphone yelling ‘DON’T LOOK’ every five seconds.” 

he pulls out his wallet mid-sentence. “you want a cute cover-up? a towel? a parka? my entire body as a shield?” 

man’s about to go full defender just to body block ogling strangers. 

karasu tabito

you show him your new bikini while he’s mid-sip of his energy drink. he chokes. 

“is that a swimsuit or a shoelace?” 

you hold it up proudly. “this string is going to change lives.” 

he coughs harder. 

“change my blood pressure is what it’s gonna do.” 

karasu stares at the bikini like he’s trying to disarm a bomb. “i don’t even know how to tie that. is it origami? a puzzle? a lawsuit in fabric form?” 

he keeps trying to joke, but it’s masking how panicked he is. 

“are you planning on wearing that in front of people? like, real people? with eyes? and hormones? and no self-control?” 

you nod, smiling. 

he immediately starts pacing like a sitcom dad. “i’m gonna have to fight someone. i’ve never fought anyone at a beach before, but i guess i’m gonna find out how fast sand slows down a punch.” 

you: “you’ll be fine.” 

him: “oh, i won’t. they won’t. you might. i won’t.” 

karasu’s just dramatic enough to fake faint to get you to change. 

ness alexis

you call him over with a little grin. "nessie bear, look at my new bikini!" 

he turns to you, already smiling like a golden retriever with a crush, until you hold it up. 

his smile falters. “… is that the… full set?” 

“yeah! isn’t it cute?” 

ness stares. not blinking. his polite smile twitching like it's buffering. he looks at the two strings and one triangle you’re calling a "bikini" like it personally threatened his family name. 

“i-i love that you're confident. really. i do. but–” he gestures vaguely at the offending garment like it just insulted him in fluent french. “this is barely a swimsuit. this is... minimalist hazard tape." 

you laugh. “come on, it’s fashion!” 

he nods, still looking at it. “no, yeah. it’s nice. great. just enough coverage to keep from getting arrested.” 

his eye twitches as he imagines anyone else seeing you in it. 

then he gets very still. “… you’re not wearing that in public, are you?” 

you: “i was gonna wear it to the beach.” 

ness, smiling but clenching his jaw so hard it’s an olympic sport: “wonderful. i’ll just bring my shovel in case i have to dig a few graves.” 

you giggle. “ness.” 

he leans in real close, voice sweet, barely above a whisper: “i’ll support you wearing whatever you want, angel. but if a single guy even glances in your direction like he’s thinking sinful things, i will kindly ask him to meet me behind the snack shack and throw hands with a smile.” 

then he kisses your cheek and goes back to scrolling through his phone like he didn’t just make a passive-aggressive murder threat. 

he’s your #1 fan. but that bikini? public enemy #1. 

niko ikki

you pull out the bikini and niko immediately short-circuits. 

he stares at it for a full ten seconds like it’s a new species. “... that’s… that’s your bikini?” 

“yup!” 

“… where?” 

you hold it up again. niko’s entire soul flatlines. 

“no no no. you can’t wear that. what if it unravels? what if the wind blows? what if physics stops working?!” 

he starts to go down a rabbithole. “you’re going to the beach like that? where there’s sand? and men?? and sunlight??!” 

he’s panicking. visibly. “you could get sunburned! or worse… catcalled.” 

he’s now googling ‘how to stop time’ and ‘can i cancel summer.’ 

you laugh. “so you don’t like it?” 

he turns red. “i do! i just… don’t want to die of jealousy. or rage. or both.” 

poor baby’s trying to be supportive while having a heart attack at the same time. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[angel-z-xdx]

soap x reader

needy soap / breeding kink inspo from @soapysoapysoapysoapy

“Think I’m gonna die,” Soap muttered from the floor, arms flung out

“I think my balls are about to explode,” Soap groaned, collapsing onto the floor like a fallen warrior, one massive hand dragging over his face in frustration. “This is a medical emergency. I need relief.”

At first, everyone ignored him. Typical Soap — huge, intimidating, and apparently constantly horny. He’d been whining about it for weeks. After every mission, every briefing, somehow his thoughts circled back to his aching body like it was some kind of personal crisis.

You’d rolled your eyes so many times it felt like a reflex. But when he started describing the color, the shape, and even the emotional texture of his cum — “like very sad yogurt” — someth

like he was waiting for a chalk outline. “This is medical. I’m not even being dramatic this time.”

You didn’t even look up from your report. “You say that every time we come back from an op.”

“Aye, but this time it’s real. I’ve got… pressure. A build-up. It’s like a ticking bomb in my bollocks.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m a hazard, lass. A walking threat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to add ‘blue balls’ to your file under injuries sustained?”

“Serious question—if a man hasn’t come in three weeks, does he legally qualify for disability?” His voice dropped into a pained, breathy whine. “I need to put it somewhere. It’s not even horny anymore. It’s primal. Instinctual. If I don’t get it out soon, I might start humping the wall like a bloody terrier.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you with that dangerous smirk, “you’re still here. Still listening.”

That part was true. Against your better judgment, you were still here. Still listening. Still thinking, God, if he keeps talking like that, I might actually let him.

Something in your face must’ve slipped, because Soap’s smirk deepened.

“Oh?” he drawled, voice low now — a little too low. “You thinking about it? Bet I could split you in half, bonnie. You want that, yeah?”

Your breath caught.

He stood, slow and deliberate, towering a little too close. “Want me to fill you up so good you can’t walk straight? Pin you down and make you forget your own name?”

He waited just long enough for you to stammer something — maybe a protest, maybe a challenge — before he had you backed against the wall, large hands gripping your thighs and hoisting you like you weighed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” he growled against your neck, breath hot. “I’m a generous man. And I’m done being patient.”

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours — biting, consuming, owning. Everything about him was heat and pressure and pure, restrained power.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.

He took his time getting you open for him, whispering filth the whole way through — how tight you were, how much he’d thought about this, how he was going to make you take it.

By the time he finally rolled his hips in and filled you to the brim, your head was already spinning.

“You feel that?” he rasped, one hand at your throat now, firm but careful — just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter. “That’s mine now. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And he did.

Every thrust was sharp, unrelenting, punctuated by dark promises. “Gonna breed you so full they’ll see it in your walk. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Filthy little thing.”

Your nails left marks. Your moans turned to cries. He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down when you clenched around him, begging for a break.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “You started this. And I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you proper.”

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 2 to the dpxdc AU where Danny is a Forever Teen.

[Pt 1 here][pt3 here]

The Justice League and Justice League Dark were confused when the Bat Clan called for an all hands on deck meeting. Usually only one section of the JL was needed, but no one questions it because, HELLO, IT'S THE BATS. If they think everyone is needed, then everyone is needed. Especially when even Nightwing, the sunshine friendly Bat, looks serious.

"Thank you for all coming on such short notice, but something has been brought to my attention, and I believe it's imperative that we get a handle on it before more people get hurt." Batman glances towards Red Robin and suddenly a PowerPoint is pulled up on the projector. "Anti-Ecto Acts" is in bold at the top and frankly scary bullet points are underneath it. Nightwing politely asks Flash to help him past out papers, which he does. "The Anti-Ecto Control Acts are a law that makes it legal for the government to experiment on and terminate anyone or thing that produces or requires a substance called Ectoplasum to survive."

A commotion breaks out with all the magic users in the room. There's choking, terrified shouting, and an irate John Constantine blowing a fuse.

"It also allows anyone who is caught harboring one of these beings to be arrested for treason." Batman mercilessly continues once they quiet down enough for him to be heard by most people. "It was passed into law in XXXX with the help of Dr.s Fenton, a Mr. Masters, and a now disbanded government agency called the GIW or Ghost Investigation Ward."

There was gasps at the agency's name. It's no secret they killed "The First Hero" who was just a kid helping his town survive from attacks of "ghosts" and human alike. The Child Hero was mourned by many, most of whom didn't personally know him.

"I shall begin with what ectoplasm is exactly for those who do not know." And he does. He explains everything Danny informed him of about ectoplasm, as well as explaining its connection to Lazarus Pit Water. He points out which heroes in the room would qualify as an "ecto entity" under these acts. Red Robin jumps in to explain how the entities from the Infinite Realms (que the magic users having another fit) work and how to safely deal with most of them if you do come across them, while emphasizing how unlikely it is to come across one (JL Dark demands they be called if an infinite realm being is found, not trusting the rest of the JL to not get them all killed). The JL/JL Dark are so confused by the Bats having pictures of different levels of Ecto Entities (Danny had some on his phone. He found it again by chance and didn't want to lose his pictures of his family.)

The second half of the presentation is much darker. It dives into the legalized crimes of the GIW and the government agency that became their successor. The Bat Clan spent a month breaking into different government buildings to get all the classified documents they needed to prove the unethical experimentation on ecto entities and contaminated beings was still happening 30 years after the bill passed. They spare no details.

"We would like to introduce you to one of the victims of these acts." Red Robin pipes up once the presentation is over, but before everyone can start talking or try to leave.

"Please tell me you didn't bring an ecto entity on this death trap!" Constantine protests, and Red Robin can't help but smirk.

"Okay, I won't say it out loud then." Red Robin snarks before waving to an "empty" spot near him. "I'll just introduce you to Danny."

A thin child bleeds into view, and the heroes gasp, realizing this particular child. "Hi.."

"Phantom?"

"That's Phantom, right?"

"Oh my stars! That's Phantom!"

Danny flinches when he hears his old hero name. He instinctively turns invisible again.

"QUIET." Batman demands, silencing the heroes. "To answer your questions. Yes, Danny WAS Phantom. Due to the amount of trauma he suffered while baring the name, he would like to be called Danny until he finds a new name for himself. Understand?"

There's muttered apologizes and murmurs of agreement. Danny bleeds back into view, standing an arm's length away from Batman now.

"Good." Batman is still glaring at the heros while softly saying, "Share when you're ready."

Danny's lips press into a thin line before he pulls off this shirt, exposing all of the scars on his upper body. He explains how he got his "powers", showing off the lichtenberg scar. He explains his parents, the portal, and their legacy of death and horror. He explains all his surgical scars. He explains watching less stable people and creatures End going through as little as a third of what he endured before escaping. He explains how he doesn't age anymore, that most things won't kill him now, and how tired he is of never being safe enough to even nap. He's tired of being scared.

All in all, it's very effective. The JL and JL Dark are up in arms and dismantling anything that has anything to do with the Anti-Ecto Control Acts and it awful ideals. Danny feels free and mostly safe for the first time in decades.

[mikaylathenerd5]

ACTIN UP | Roman Reigns Smut One Shot

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Pairing: Roman Reigns x Cyrus (Black OC)

Inspiration: "ACTIN UP" by Tommy Richman

Summary: They broke up six months ago. She told herself she was done begging for his bare minimum.

But tonight, he walked in.

And suddenly, every reason she left was fighting to be remembered while her body begged to forget.

One bathroom. One night. One last chance to say everything they never did—with their hands, their mouths, their silence.

Rating: 🔞 Explicit

Genre: Smut | Toxic Romance | Emotional Whiplash

Warnings: Rough sex, semi-public sex (bathroom), mirror play, face-fucking, choking (consensual), degradation + praise, overstimulation, creampie, toxic breakup tension, emotional vulnerability, filthy language, jealousy, possessiveness, past argument flashback.

Word Count: 4k

As always, every like, comment, reblog, ask, even time just taking to read my work is greatly appreciated, love! Love you guys to infinity 🖤✨

“You only come back when you’re lonely. And I only let you in when I forget how bad it hurt.”

Six Months Ago

It started the same way it always did—with a text left on read and silence that screamed louder than any fight. But this time, it cut deeper. Cyrus wasn’t just mad. She was exhausted. Tired of holding up the weight of a man who only seemed to show up when it served him.

She’d spent the entire evening pacing Roman’s penthouse like a ghost haunting her own body. Dinner cold on the counter. A glass of wine untouched. The silence in the room stretched thin, pressing against her chest like a weight. Every tick of the clock mocked her waiting, her hoping. She’d set the table. She’d lit the candle. She’d made his favorite meal, hoping it would be enough this time to bring him home like a man who remembered what love looked like. But the food sat untouched. And so did she. Her phone buzzing with messages from friends she ignored—all of them asking the same thing: “Where’s Roman?”

She waited. Hoped. Lied to herself.

She thought maybe—maybe—this time he’d walk through that door and act like someone who gave a damn.

But he didn’t.

When he finally came home the next morning, there was no apology. No explanation. Just a shrug, a quick glance, and the glow of his phone screen lighting up his face more than her.

She saw it then—what she had refused to believe.

He loved her body. He didn’t love her.

"You don’t listen, Roman. That’s the problem."

Cyrus stood barefoot in his penthouse, eyes glassy, voice trembling with rage that had fermented into heartbreak. Roman leaned against the wall, arms crossed like armor, jaw locked, expression blank.

"You say all the right shit when you're inside me. You know how to fuck me like you love me. But when I need you to show up? You vanish. You love me when it’s easy, Roman. And I’m tired of bleeding just to make it easier for you."

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

She laughed. Bitter. Broken. “Exactly.”

Her fingers pulled his hoodie off her frame — the one she always stole, the one that still smelled like him. She dropped it on the floor like it was nothing.

"I'm done, Roman. I'm not begging for your bare minimum anymore."

And she walked out.

He didn’t stop her.

Not even then.

Present

Cyrus should’ve left ten minutes ago. Maybe twenty. The house was too packed. The drinks too sweet. The music had long since turned from sexy to loud, and her patience was thinning. She stood in the kitchen sipping a watered-down vodka soda, fingers grazing the condensation on her cup, wearing a dress that barely qualified as legal and heels sharp enough to kill a man.

And maybe she would’ve killed one — if he hadn’t walked in.

Roman.

He didn’t sneak in through the door. He entered like he owned the whole block. Tall. Broad. All black. No gold chain tonight — just that low-cut tee that framed his chest tattoos and those jeans that had no business clinging to his thighs the way they did.

He looked… angry. Or turned on. Maybe both.

She caught his eye. She didn’t mean to — but her body always noticed him before her brain had the sense to look away. His jaw clenched the moment he saw her.

She turned back to the bar as if unfazed, though heat pooled between her thighs.

But she felt him the second he crossed the room. The air shifted. Her pulse jumped. Her skin betrayed her.

He didn’t even speak until he was behind her — close enough that his chest brushed her bare back.

"You out here actin up, Cy?" That voice. Low. Sin-soaked. Dangerous.

"Didn’t know you were coming," she murmured.

Roman stepped closer. "Guess you didn’t check who owns this house."

She blinked. Shit. She should have known. The party was at Jey’s place — and Roman and Jey had been tighter than ever lately.

"You look like trouble," he said, nose dragging along the shell of her ear.

"You always were," she shot back.

He laughed — dark and amused. "You really show up to my party with your ass out and think I won’t say something?"

She turned, fire in her eyes. "I wore it to remind myself why I left."

"Liar. You wore it hoping I’d fuck you in it."

She slapped his chest. He caught her wrist mid-air. Not tight. Just firm.

"You want this over?" he asked. "You wanna leave it like it is?"

Her throat bobbed. "We already did."

His jaw ticked. "Nah. You did."

Then he grabbed her hand, dragged her through the hallway. The crowd parted like they knew something was about to go down.

He slammed the bathroom door shut.

And all the oxygen left the room.

Cyrus’s back hit the wall the second the door slammed shut. The music from the party dulled behind them—still thumping through the walls, but distant now, like a different world. Her breath hitched as Roman turned, eyes black with whatever had been eating at him since she walked out.

He stalked toward her. No smirk. No grin. Just hunger. Anger. Heat. His hand caught the side of her neck, thumb resting on her jaw, the other cupping the back of her head as he leaned in and kissed her like he meant to take her last breath with him.

It wasn’t tender. It was war. His body pressed against hers, all broad chest and thick muscle, pinning her with a control that made her legs shake.

Her hands fisted in his shirt. Nails bit through fabric. She kissed him back like she wanted to fight him and fuck him at the same time.

“Still actin’ up,” he muttered against her lips. “Still don’t listen.”

“Still talk too much,” she shot back, and he growled, biting her bottom lip as his hand slid under her dress.

He found nothing but bare skin.

“No panties,” he rasped.

“You always liked it that way.”

“Still a fuckin’ problem.”

Then he dropped to his knees, eyes dragging down her body like he was about to pray and sin in the same breath.

“Say it, Cy.”

“Fuck—”

She didn’t get the rest out.

His mouth was on her pussy before the curse finished leaving her lips.

He didn’t just eat her—he feasted like he was starved for her, like it was the only way he knew how to make her stay. His tongue dragged upward, slowly, deliberately, then flattened and pressed hard against her clit. He did it again and again until her hips jerked with every pass.

He groaned deep into her, and the sound vibrated through her core, warm and dirty. The way he moaned—like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted—was filthier than anything he said.

“Look at you,” he murmured between strokes. “You’re fuckin’ dripping. Missed this pussy on my face.”

He spread her lips with his fingers, tongue darting into her, nose bumping her clit while she writhed. He didn’t just lap at her—he devoured her. Tongue-fucking her like it was his job, one hand splayed across her stomach to hold her down while she shook.

“Fuck—Roman,” she gasped, panting, trying to close her legs.

He growled. “Keep ‘em open, baby. You wanted this. Now take it.”

He sucked her clit into his mouth, wet and messy, spit dripping down his chin and coating her inner thighs. The room was filled with the sound of it—lewd, slick, shameless.

He didn’t give her a second to breathe. His hand dipped low, two fingers sliding inside her while his mouth stayed latched to her clit. Curling. Stroking.

Her moans turned frantic. High-pitched. Wrecked.

“You close?��� he rasped, voice vibrating against her.

“Y-yes—oh my��don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He worked her like he knew every inch. Like he’d mapped her out and filed it under mine.

She came hard. A scream. A full-body quake. Her legs locked around his shoulders, grinding into his face like she was trying to climb out of her skin.

He let her. Let her break apart all over his tongue. Let her soak his face like it was a prize.

And then he kept licking. Soft. Gentle. Just enough to make her twitch.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, standing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still so fuckin’ good.”

When he kissed her, it wasn’t sweet. It was possession. Her taste was still on his lips. Her knees nearly buckled.

He didn’t stop right away. He licked her again, slower this time, like he was tasting the aftermath. Her thighs shook when his tongue dragged up her slit, when he kissed the inside of her thigh like she was something to savor, not just fuck.

“You’re shaking, baby…” he murmured against her skin, hot breath brushing her folds. “But you still want more, huh?” She whimpered.

“You want me to ruin your mouth now?” She nodded frantically.

He chuckled—low, wrecked, satisfied. Then he stood up, lips slick. “Then earn it.”

“On your knees,” he ordered, voice shot to hell.

And she dropped like her body had been waiting to obey.

Roman didn’t give her time to adjust. His hand wrapped tight in her hair, tugging her chin up so her eyes met his as he unzipped his jeans. His cock was already hard—thick, veiny, flushed dark with need.

“Open up,” he growled. “You know what to do.”

She parted her lips and stuck her tongue out just enough to tease. He slapped the weight of his cock against it, groaning.

“Always had the prettiest fuckin’ mouth,” he muttered. “Made for this.”

He slid in slow, watching the stretch, the way her lips sealed around him. Her lips parted wide, lips already glistening from spit and need. She moaned low in her throat, and the vibration made his jaw clench.

He didn’t move right away. Just held her there, cock deep against her tongue, letting her adjust, letting her feel every inch. His hand gripped the back of her head, not rough—but firm. Like he was anchoring himself.

Then he started moving.

Slow thrusts at first. Controlled. Teasing. His hips rolled forward with practiced rhythm, watching her throat bob every time he sank in. He pulled back just enough to hear the suction pop off her lips, then pushed back in harder.

Then deeper. Rougher. Hips snapping now. His breath ragged.

Spit coated her chin. The lewd, wet sound of her choking echoed off the tile.

Her eyes watered as her throat took him inch by inch. It burned, stretched her past the point of comfort, but she welcomed the ache. She felt the weight of him in her chest, felt every sharp breath he took as he tried to hold back. Her nails dug deeper into his thighs, grounding herself while her mascara streaked lower, wet lines down her flushed cheeks.

The taste of him—salty, heavy, Roman—coated her tongue with every stroke. She gagged, not from surprise but from how deep he went, from how relentless he was. She loved the sound he made every time she choked, that rough groan from the back of his throat that said she had him unraveling.

And he knew it.

But it didn’t settle him. It didn’t feel like enough.

He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Every thrust into her mouth had been payback, possession, but it didn’t kill the ache in his chest. The one that started when she left. The one that hadn’t gone quiet since.

He told himself this was about control. About proving she still belonged to him. About reminding her what she gave up.

But the truth crawled beneath his skin — ugly, raw, real.

He missed her.

And that scared him more than anything.

He held the back of her head steady, hips rolling, watching her every reaction like a man obsessed. The sounds between them were filthy—wet, raw, rhythmic. Her throat clenched around him with every thrust and he felt it all.

“Fuck—yeah. That’s it. Just like that. You missed this?”

She gagged around him and nodded.

He hissed. “You better. I dreamed about this. About how you sound chokin’ on me. How you drool all over my fuckin’ cock.”

Drool did spill—down her chin, onto her dress. Her mascara ran. Her moans were swallowed by him.

He pulled out, tapped her lips again. “More.”

She opened wider.

He slammed back in, deeper this time, making her choke. Her hands braced his thighs. Her nails dug in.

“You take it so good, baby,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You know you were made for this, right?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

He fucked her throat like he had something to prove—like every thrust was punishment for leaving.

And when she whimpered, when she moaned around him so loud it vibrated down his shaft, his control slipped.

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast and rough, watching her tongue hang out, waiting.

“Fuck—look at you—”

He came with a groan that echoed off the tile. Ropes of cum landed across her lips, her tongue, her cheeks.

She swallowed. Licked the rest. Dazed and glowing.

And he still wasn’t done.

Roman didn’t let her move. He cupped her chin with one slick hand, thumb dragging through the mess on her cheek as he stared at her like she was the last sin he was allowed to make. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving, and still—he was hard.

“You like that?” he asked, voice low and hoarse. “Being my fuckin’ mess?”

She nodded, licking her lips slow. Her mascara streaked her cheeks, her mouth swollen, spit glistening on her chin.

“I should keep you like this,” he murmured. “On your knees. Cum on your face. Just how I fuckin’ like you.”

His thumb pressed into her tongue, slow and deep, until she moaned around it. The humiliation of it, the way he looked at her like she belonged to no one but him, set her nerves on fire. She hated how much she needed it—how much her body craved that brutal kind of reverence. Her pulse stuttered as her eyes fluttered closed, the heat between her legs building all over again.

“Get up,” he growled. “Turn around. I’m not finished using what’s mine.”

She turned slowly, legs weak, heart pounding, her hands bracing the counter as he stepped behind her. Roman dragged his fingers up the inside of her thighs, spreading her gently—possessive even in silence.

“Look at yourself,” he said, voice thick. “Look what I do to you.”

Her eyes lifted to the mirror. Her makeup was a mess. Lips swollen. Chin slick. There was no hiding what she’d just done.

He didn’t give her time to dwell. He gripped her hips, slid his cock through her folds, and slammed into her in one smooth, brutal thrust.

She screamed.

“Roman—oh fuck—”

He groaned, deep and guttural. “You feel that? Still wet from me. Still fuckin’ perfect.”

He set a rhythm, hips snapping into her, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the tile. One hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head up so she had to watch herself get ruined.

“Eyes open,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare look away.”

Cyrus whimpered. She couldn’t look anywhere else.

He fucked her deep. Controlled. Relentless. The mirror shook with each thrust. The counter rattled. Her thighs trembled.

“I should keep you like this,” he growled into her ear. “Bent over. Face ruined. You belong right fuckin’ here.”

She sobbed his name, knuckles white on the counter.

“You gonna come again?” he rasped, slamming into her. “C’mon. Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You will. You always do.”

He reached around and rubbed her clit, fast and filthy, and she broke.

Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Her body jerked. Her scream cracked in the middle. She collapsed forward, but he caught her, held her up, fucked her through every second of it.

And he still didn’t come.

Not yet.

The way she clenched around him made his vision blur. Every inch of her wrapped tight, hot, velvet, like she was trying to keep him inside and never let go. The feel of her body trembling beneath him, the way her slick coated his cock with every stroke—it drove him insane.

His control was hanging by a thread. His jaw was clenched so hard it ached. But he didn’t stop.

He slowed down.

Gripped her waist tighter. Drove into her deeper.

This wasn’t about punishment anymore. It was about feeling everything he’d tried not to feel.

“You feel that?” he rasped, voice torn and low. “That’s what you left. This dick you used to cry over—still yours, huh?”

Cyrus choked out a sob and nodded, unable to answer with words. Her body spoke for her—pushing back against him, meeting every thrust.

“Say it,” he growled.

“I—it’s mine,” she whimpered. “You’re mine.”

Roman closed his eyes, almost like the words hurt. His forehead dropped to her shoulder. He stayed buried inside her, grinding slow, deep, dragging every nerve raw.

The tension between them was unbearable. Too much need. Too much history.

Too much almost love.

His cock throbbed inside her, heavy with the need he kept swallowing down. He reached for her hand and guided it to the mirror.

“Look,” he murmured, voice gravel. “Look at what you do to me.”

Their eyes met in the glass. Her ruined reflection—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen—stared back at her with the weight of everything she hadn’t said. And Roman, behind her, jaw clenched, brow furrowed, looked just as wrecked.

She didn’t speak. But her hand reached back for his, laced their fingers together on her hip.

And in that silence, with nothing left to hide behind, he finally moved again.

Slow.

Deep.

Intentional.

This wasn’t about punishment or claiming or possession. It was confession.

Every inch of him spoke what his mouth couldn’t. Every deep, deliberate thrust said what he’d never admit out loud—that she still owned him, haunted him, hurt him in ways no one else ever had.

She felt it in the way his hands trembled slightly where they held her. In the way he kissed the curve of her neck between each slow stroke. In the quiet sound he made, almost like a whimper, when she reached back and gripped his thigh.

Without words.

And she gave him everything.

She opened her body like a door he’d slammed shut months ago. She let him all the way in.

Because even though they were still broken, this moment made them feel whole.

He whispered her name like it was sacred.

For a second, her body went still—like something inside her cracked wide open. She hadn’t expected it to sound like that. Like reverence. Like regret.

She sobbed his like it hurt.

He moved inside her with slow, wrecking precision—like he wanted her to remember this rhythm in her bones. She felt it everywhere: the stretch, the fullness, the trembling of his thighs pressed to the backs of hers.

“Baby,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder, her neck, the back of her ear. “You ruin me every time.”

She turned her head, lips brushing his.

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.”

And then he let go.

He came with a broken groan, hips locked deep, her name tangled in his throat like a prayer.

And for a second, they didn’t move.

Just breathed.

Together.

Still trembling.

Still his.

He didn’t pull out right away. Didn’t speak. Just held her there, wrapped around him, forehead resting on her shoulder like the weight of everything they hadn’t said was finally catching up to him.

His hand slid over her stomach, then up to her ribs, fingers splayed like he could memorize the rise and fall of her breath. She was warm. Soft. Still pulsing around him.

She turned her head slightly, enough for her cheek to brush his. Her lips parted, a whisper of a breath about to say something—I love you, maybe. Or Don’t let this be the last time. But it caught in her throat.

And Roman felt it.

Felt her hesitation.

Felt her breath stall like it was holding something heavy. He didn’t move, but his arm tightened around her waist, just barely.

In that breath between what she almost said and what she didn’t, he let himself pretend—just for a second—that maybe this meant something more. That maybe she’d stay.

But he knew better.

He’d seen the look in her eyes when she first walked in. The armor she wore in the form of clear lip gloss and silence. He knew that even now, with her body wrecked and still trembling around him, she was already halfway out the door.

So he stayed quiet too.

He didn’t ask her to stay.

Because if he did, and she left anyway, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

So he held her like a man bracing for an ending. Like he was committing every second of her to memory.

Because deep down, a part of him knew… this might not be enough to make her stay.

Roman helped her off the counter without a word. No teasing. No smirk. Just quiet reverence. Her knees buckled, and his arm came around her waist like instinct.

He grabbed a clean towel from under the sink, dampened it with cold water, and crouched in front of her.

No part of this was rushed.

He wiped her thighs with careful strokes. Cleaned the inside of her knees. Pressed the towel gently between her legs, dragging it up slow, respectful. His eyes didn’t linger, but they didn’t look away, either. He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done to her. He just treated her like she deserved more than the silence they were both afraid to break.

Then he rose to his feet and wet another towel. Cleaned her face—her cheeks, her lips, the streaks under her eyes. His thumb ran beneath her bottom lip like a goodbye.

She still didn’t speak.

And neither did he.

He pulled her dress back down. Smoothed the hem. Fixed the strap on her shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times. Then stepped back.

Just enough to give her room.

She adjusted her curls in the mirror with shaky hands. Picked up her heels. Looked at the door.

He waited.

She told herself not to look back.

But the ache in her chest said otherwise. Her legs were shaky, not just from what they'd done, but from what they hadn’t said. Every step away from him felt heavier, like her body was trying to turn her around against her will. Her skin still buzzed where his hands had touched her. And when she reached the hallway, the air felt colder—emptier. Like she'd left something behind she wasn’t sure she'd get back.

Told herself it was just sex. Told herself not to romanticize something that still felt like a bruise.

But as she stepped through the door, sore in all the ways he used to love her, she glanced over her shoulder.

And he was already watching.

He stood there with one hand braced on the sink, heart thudding, jaw locked.

He didn’t leave the bathroom. Not right away.

The silence hit different once she was gone. Her scent lingered—perfume, sex, her skin. He looked down at his hands like they should still be holding her.

He gripped the counter tighter. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror, eyes bloodshot, lips parted. He looked like a man who’d survived a war.

Or lost one.

He didn’t know what the hell he thought would happen tonight. That she’d run back into his arms? That fucking her would make the past six months disappear? That it would fix what he broke?

His throat worked around something tight. His chest hurt.

He looked at the smudge her lipstick had left on the edge of the counter and ran his thumb over it.

He didn’t wipe it away.

Because he knew he wouldn’t get her back that easy.

Maybe not at all.

“Please,” he muttered under his breath, voice raw.

“Please don’t let this be the last time.”

🖤 author’s note:

whew 😮‍💨 if you made it to the end—first of all, ily. second of all, be fr… how are we feeling?? because Roman and Cyrus? absolutely no boundaries. no self-control. just heat, history, and hella tension. this one was messy, nasty, and a little bit too personal… which means I need to know everything. did y’all catch the double meanings? the way neither of them is over it? tell me what line had you kicking your feet. drop your fav moment. send an ask, reblog with tags, scream in the comments—whatever you do, just don’t be silent, cause your engagement is what keeps me actin up 😏

thank you for reading, babes 🖤

[tragedygroupie]

babysitter blues

cw: LEGAL age gap, fingering, praise kink, loss of virginity, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), daddy kink, blink and you’ll miss it dacryphilia, authority kink (???), imbalanced power dynamic kinda???, alexandria rick, kind of long winded buildup to the smut, brief substance use (alcohol), soft dom! rick… yeah that’s all i can think of rn.

your entire life had been colored by an overwhelming sense of inertia. tucked away in the mundane labyrinth of the suburbs, not even the advent of the apocalypse could blot out the pervasive sense of ennui that had followed you since childhood. the horrors of the newly established outer world, the grotesque undead and the occasionally more dangerous still living were completely unknown to you. the apocalypse had not annihilated your reality, it merely redefined the confines of your sequestration.

life in alexandria was largely a matter of finding a way to pass the time. girls that barely qualified as adults weren’t exactly hot commodities, rarely sought out for anything, so it fell on you to fill the hours until the end of the world.

sometimes it was reading, which slowly morphed into a project of creating a library for the community, almost entirely curated from your own collection, with some generous donations here and there from bemused older folks surprised that young people still cared about that kind of thing.

other times it was babysitting, which started largely as preemptive measure to get out of being assigned any kind of work that would require any amount of physical activity. sure it was lazy, but you enjoyed the company of most of the kids, and they all liked you, enchanted by the whimsical dresses you wore and the stuffed animal army you had at your disposal.

truly, the only visible sign that you were experiencing an apocalypse rather than another red hot american summer were the bags under your eyes, perpetually exhausted from the never ending parade of nightmares that left you jolting awake, violently gasping for air.

a girl like you had no business hanging around a man like rick grimes. perpetually tense, eyes wildly darting around like he was itching to drive the butter knife he spread his jam with into the throat of some unspecified assailant. a bloody splash of color in your grayscale world. he was unlike anything you’d ever seen, a Marlboro man, blue collar through and through, from the dirt that he could never seem to fully rid his nails of to the rough, calloused hands that secretly made your mouth water.

this was the apocalypse, yet your sense of self preservation was as brittle as it’d been when you were sixteen. all your snark, that goddamn mouth that always got you in trouble evaporated when you were around him, replaced with an unfamiliar earnestness that made you cringe internally. you tried, really you did, to not follow him around like a lovesick puppy, to think of reasonable pretenses for your incessant need to be in his proximity, and fortunately enough, you quickly found an in.

no matter how adept rick was in this new world, he seemingly struggled when it came to childcare. when it came to his daughter, he was wildly protective yet somehow simultaneously clueless, and the first time you saw something approaching relief flash through his eyes was when you offered to look after her.

truth be told, rick didn’t quite know what to make of you. you were soft without being stupid, sheltered but not maddeningly clueless, and your eagerness to listen to him when everyone else dismissed him as paranoid endeared you to him in a way no one else in Alexandria quite managed. when you offered to look after judith, the last thing he thought was that you’d become a distraction. you were pretty, sure, but you were young enough to be his daughter, and if there was one thing rick grimes wasn’t, it was cliché.

but goddamn did you make it hard. his life in the new world had been characterized by leaving absolutely no room for error, every potential outcome identified and accounted for. yet in his brief respite from having to care for his daughter entirely by himself, he failed to consider that you wouldn’t just be a hot flash of want that pulsed through his veins whenever he happened to run into you, you’d be in his home. he was a stronger man than most, but he was still a man, and being in such close proximity to that kind of temptation was enough to drive anyone crazy.

every time he walked through the door it was something new. sitting on the floor with your hands outstretched, beckoning judith to crawl towards you, oblivious to your skirt riding up your parted thighs. bending over the cradle to kiss her good night, while the cotton of your already short dress just barely covered your ass.

you may not have been completely clueless about the dangers outside the walls, but you were downright brainless when it came to the effect you had on him, and it was that very lack of awareness that had him fucking his fist in the shower, coming with a groan to the thought of those pretty, naive eyes looking up at him as he split you open. it wasn’t enough, like putting a bandaid over a cut that sliced to the bone, but it was a safety valve, it kept him from doing something stupid.

today shouldn’t have been any different from the routine he had established. he got home as dusk started to settle, having made an extra effort to see judith before she went to bed. he tried to leave the frustrations of today at the door, determined to be a good father, to exact control over the flaming emotions that licked up his chest, stopping the spread before he became engulfed.

as soon as he hears your voice, with its lilting quality as you respond to judith’s babbling, the hard lines that have taken up a virtually permanent residence on his forehead soften. he walks across the threshold, into the living room where you’re sprawled across the couch, judith sitting on your lap. you get up, and he has a blissful few seconds to admire the dress you’re wearing, a little white dress with embroidered flowers better suited for frolicking in a garden than waiting out the end of the world, before you open your mouth to greet him.

“look who’s here judith! daddy’s here!”

fuck.

he knows you didn’t mean it like that, and a better man wouldn’t have thought anything of it. a clearly innocent comment shouldn’t have the blood draining from his head and rushing towards his dick, but the way that word rolls off your tongue is downright sinful. his face is an impenetrable mask of cordiality, concealing his desire as he answers.

“how’re my girls?”

it’s more forward than he’d be under any other circumstances, but he can’t help it, he needs to see if his words affect you the way yours do him. sure enough, a rosy blush blossoms across your cheeks as you hand Judith to him. the words rattle around your head, and you make a mental note to remember it for later, when you’re alone and twilight has fallen, so you can replay it in earnest.

“she’s been wonderful, we had so much fun today, didn’t we Judith?”

you go on, filling him in with details about the day, your voice becoming a pleasant hum that barely filters through, he’s too busy looking at you. all soft curves to his taut muscles, hands that’ve never seen a day of hard work. fragile things like you normally fill him with a vague sense of irritation, if not downright disgust, but with you it’s different, the overwhelming need to lay claim to the last bit of silken sweetness in this apocalyptic wasteland threatening to undo him.

dimly, he becomes aware that you’re asking if he wants to put Judith to bed tonight, and a dull panic sets in. you can’t leave, not yet, not until he’s gotten to feel you.

“i’d like to see how you do it. for future reference” he says, his voice cool and glacial, completely devoid of the growing desperation blooming in his abdomen.

you nod, secretly proud at the prospect of teaching him something. he’s so worldly, so knowledgeable in things you hadn’t even conceived, and the idea of him wanting to learn from you about anything makes you feel mature, no longer a lovesick puppy yapping at his heels.

you three go to judith’s nursery, and when he passes her to you, you begin to show him the routine you’ve established. it’s quick, nothing flashy, just getting her changed into her pjs, singing a quick song, and stroking her hair until she falls asleep. mercifully, she’s out like a light, and the two of you creep out of her room, careful not to disturb her. when you get into the hall, you avoid his eyes, unsure of what to do now. you see him so rarely, and without the buffer of Judith, you feel small again, all that newfound maturity fleeting, like it was never there.

rick has to suppress a smirk at your shyness, and after a beat of silence, he’s unable to resist making an offer.

“you want a drink?”

you look up at him, trying in vain to hide your excitement.

“sure.”

one drink follows another, though you never quite manage to get rid of the grimace that accompanies each swig. its endearing, he knows you’re only drinking this shitty beer because he offered it, trying to convince him that you can handle yourself. you’re sitting together on the couch, and the once respectable distance between the two of you has shrunk down considerably, your knee against his as you go on and on, talking about anything that catches your fancy. to his credit, he doesn’t seem to mind, nodding and trying to focus on your words rather than how soft and warm your thigh feels pressed against his.

“i know the whole library idea seem… frivolous, but you should come by sometime. i can recommend you something good.”

he smirks, his voice coming out low and measured.

“never said that darlin. i just don’t have a whole lot of time for reading.”

you shake your head, your voice earnest in a way that would leave you mortified if you were sober, trying to ignore the pang of need in your cunt at the pet name.

“bullshit. you’ve probably just… never read a good book. with the way the world is… who doesn’t need escapism sometimes?”

he nods, clearly humoring you. it’s nice to see you passionate about something, even if he shares absolutely no interest in it. he notices how you shift next to him, your thighs pressing together at the pet name, and makes sure to take note of it.

“amen to that.” he says, taking another swig from the bottle you’ve been sharing.

when he looks back at you, you have a dreamy, far away look in your eyes. he raises an eyebrow at you, his voice coming out teasing.

“have i got something on my face?”

you shake your head earnestly, your voice coming out achingly sincere.

“you have really nice eyes.”

he scoffs, amused by the observation. it’s something you’d normally be too scared to say to him, but the beer has clearly loosened your inhibitions, and goddamn if he doesn’t love it.

when you lean towards him, your lips meeting his softly, all unsure and sweet, it’s all he can do to not groan. this is wrong, you’re young enough to be his daughter, he should be the adult here, put a stop to this and gently tell you that you deserve better than him.

instead, he finds himself kissing you back, all those good, proper sentiments dying in his throat as he pulls you into his lap, his mouth never leaving yours. his hands are all over you, exploring every inch of the soft, supple flesh he’s been craving for god knows how long. you’re trying to keep up, your mouth clumsy and shy against his, but he’s relentless, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he kneads the plush of your ass through your white lace panties.

your dress is riding up your thighs, and it’s all he can do to not tear it off you. he knows he needs to be gentle, he gets the sense that you haven’t got much experience in this arena, even though his more primal instinct is to push you against the wall and fuck you till you see black. instead, his hands creep up your thighs, until he’s cupping your clothed cunt, your panties already dewy with arousal.

“fuck baby, all this for me?” he asks, his voice teasing as he marvels at how easily aroused you are. all this from a few kisses, it’s really just too easy.

you let out a keening whine, your hips instinctively rocking your cunt against his hand, desperate for any amount of friction. you nod desperately, too dumbstruck for words.

he chuckles, slowly starting to rub you through your underwear.

“use your words, pretty girl.” he says, his voice half joking, but with an undercurrent of seriousness, a warning that he’ll stop if you don’t comply.

your eyes flutter shut, the puffy sleeves of your dress falling down your shoulders as your hands go to grip his big arms.

“all.. for… you” you pant, your cheeks burning red.

it’s embarrassing really, how soaked your panties are. it makes you feel like a slut, but you know you wouldn’t get this way for just anyone. you couldn’t imagine being this easy for someone else, and if you were more clear headed you’d try to tell him, but all you can do is mewl pathetically, frustrated by how the lace of your panties dilutes the feeling of his fingers on you.

he chuckles, reading you like a book. he moves the lace aside, dipping his index finger into your aching cunt, biting back a groan when you gasp.

“that feel good, baby?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you let out a whiny mhmmm, and he allows it, pumping steadily while the rough pad of his thumb rubs circles onto your clit. when he curls his thick finger inside you, you swear you see stars, and your nails dig into the weathered muscles of his arms.

“oh fuck, daddy” you mumble, too far gone to notice or care that you slipped up, oblivious to how his eyes light up at your words.

“poor thing… those little fingers just don’t do it for you, do they? can’t reach that far, isn’t that right?” he says, condescension dripping from his voice.

you nod furiously, your hips bucking into his touch as your head lolls forward, letting him pull you closer into his arms as you whimper out a response.

“s-so close daddy”

he coos at you, that sweet desperation making him throb in his jeans. normally he’d make you work for it, make you respond to all his questions to build good habits (because there would be a next time), but he figures he’ll go easy on you just this once, especially when you plead so pretty.

“go on baby. make a mess f’me.” he says encouragingly, and that’s all it takes for you to come, burying your forehead into his chest as you ride out your high.

when you go limp, he starts stroking your hair, maneuvering your head so you’re facing him. he kisses you again, and it takes a moment before you kiss him back, your brain still partially fogged over from pleasure.

“you act like no one’s ever made you cum before” he says teasingly, and when your face flushes it just confirms what he already thought: you’re a virgin.

you avoid his eyes, your voice coming out all shy and flustered.

“i don’t really have much experience… is that a problem?”

he has to resist the urge to scoff, because no, that is absolutely not a problem. if anything, it makes him want you more. but he doesn’t want to scare you, so he just tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him, his hand cupping your cheek.

“it’s not a problem at all, honey. just wanna make sure you’re okay with all this.”

it takes all his self restraint to ask you that, because his jeans feel far too tight and all he wants to do is bury himself inside you before he preemptively blows his load, but he knows he needs to make sure you’re ready, that you want this too. despite everything, he’s still trying to be a good man.

you look up at him, and you nod, your pupils all blown out and hazy.

“ ‘m sure.” you say softly, before reaching up to kiss him.

he savors the kiss, giving you a moment before he stands up. you let out a small squeak, your thighs immediately going to wrap around his waist, looking at him in confusion.

“what, did you think i was gonna take your virginity on the damn couch? i’m not a goddamn animal” he grumbles, looking at you with fond irritation as you giggle.

he presses his lips to yours to keep you quiet, sloppily making out with you as he makes his way to the bedroom. when he gets inside, he lays you down on the bed gently, his mouth never leaving yours.

he gets you undressed in no time, not giving you a hard time about the fact that your white lace panties and bra are matching (almost like you were asking for it), and when your unsteady hands finally finish fumbling with his belt you get to see his cock for the first time. and fuck is he huge.

he looms over you, his arms caging you in as he presses warm kisses to your neck, trying to ease your worry. when he pushes in, he goes all the way, burying himself to the hilt. your eyes roll back in your head, letting out a soft cry as you snake your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as he lets you adjust.

when he starts to move, he sets a slow, steady pace, and the ache gives way to newfound pleasure, your eyes screwing shut as he goes deeper than you knew was previously possible.

“fuck baby. you’re so fucking tight.” he mumbles, sucking a bruise onto your neck as you let out a moan.

when he’s sure you’re not gonna break, he starts to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more pointed, earning whimpers and moans that seem to come from deep in your gut. tears start to fall down your cheeks, not from pain but from a combination of pleasure and being so overwhelmed.

“you cry so pretty, baby.” he says, angling his thrusts to hit that spongy spot inside your walls.

your face scrunches up as you get that newly familiar coiling feeling in your stomach, and you blearily open your eyes to look up at him, your bottom lip quivering.

“daddy… can i cum, please?” you whimper brokenly, and if he wasn’t almost there already, that definitely pushed him.

“such a sweet thing, asking permission on her first time. you can come baby, go on” he responds, his firm grip on your hips teetering dangerously close to bruising.

when you come, he can feel you pulsating around him, squeezing him like a goddamn vice, trying to milk him for all he’s got. it only takes a few more sloppy thrusts for him to join you, coming in you with a groan.

once you both came down from your highs, you turned to him, your body exhausted and spent. you weren’t exactly sure what he expected of you, you’d never hooked up with your employer before and all conventions about appropriateness were completely out the window when you had his spend dripping down your thighs.

“can i stay the night?” you ask quietly, your cheeks red with embarrassment.

to your relief, he just chuckles and pulls you closer, your head resting on his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

“sweet girl, i’d be a right asshole if i sent you home like this.”

you smile, quickly falling asleep in his arms. and for what feels like the first time in months, rick finds himself dozing off without much of a fight too.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

i've seen a lot of discussion of the issue with the book "daddy's little toy" and how the author was arrested in australia for csam. i haven't read it but it seems like a fictional romance novel based on grooming/pedophilia. from what i can tell, the romance takes place after the girl turns 18 but that the man had been interested since she was a toddler. to me, it doesn't seem like it qualifies as csam (since it's fiction) but the snippets have read def make me uncomfortable (not that that warrants being illegal or arresting someone...)

i've seen some arguments that the book goes too far and isn't pedophilia kink, and was wondering if you had resources on this kind of kink? i've done a lot of unpacking and educating over the past few years regarding kink, erotica, porn and censorship and i want to make a decision for myself, but i haven't researched pedophilia kink specifically.

since you're my most trusted sex educator on here, wanted to know if you had an opinion or had heard this story or any resources you have.

I'm gonna be super honest: this is the first I'm hearing of this book, so I really don't have much to say about it that's going to be interesting or insightful. the book also seems to have been pulled from any sellers' sites due to the legal controversy, so I can't even find a blurb to tell me much more; all I've got to go on are articles informing me that it's about a "barely legal" 18 year old and her father's friend.

not my cup of tea, if I may be honest. even if it weren't looking pretty impossible to get ahold of a copy now, I can't say this is a book that I'd have been seeking out to read for fun; an older character hooking up with someone they've known since that person was very young is a big ol' squick for me. (I mean, frankly, I can't even really handle romance novels about college undergrads, since I work with undergrads constantly in my day job and they seem So Incredibly Young to me. those are kids, they're not sexy.)

re: the author's legal trouble, I know very little about Australian law as it pertains to this. in America, sure, works of fiction don't qualify as child sexual abuse material, but I have no idea what the standards in Australia are, and since it seems the author has in fact been charged possessing, producing, and disseminating child porn I have to assume there's a difference, since there's been no mention of the police finding any actual material of real children being sexually abused in the author's possession.

I hope I've made clear on here that I'm staunchly in favor of prison abolition and against so-called carceral justice; I genuinely don't see what problems the author's arrest is meant to solve in this situation. she wrote something that I think is kind of yucky, sure, but yucky isn't a crime, or at least it shouldn't be.

I have very little to offer you in the way of information about actual child sexual abuse and grooming as a kink; understandably, I think, the spaces where that's discussed are not particularly public or open spaces, and I don't want to find them! where I'm comfortable is much more in the realm of age play and related kinks, where everything is taking place between adults who are solidly of the legal age of consent and everyone involved is well aware that they're playing a silly little game of make believe, which is, obviously, a very crucially different thing than child sexual abuse

[minheelovelee]

hii who do you think in zb1 (legal line ofc) is into corruption kink? do you think all of them would be into it? 😵‍💫 thanks xx

zb1 + corruption

thanks for requesting nonie!!! this is just gonna be some thoughts that came to mind when i thought of each member and a corruption kink. 🤔🤔 enjoy!

jiwoong

there isn’t a better example of someone with a corruption kink. he’s so much more experienced than you could ever dream to be. he qualified to touch you. you’re hardly even qualified to touch yourself. at least that’s what he whispers in your ear as he finishes you off on his fingers. he compares your hand sizes, asking which one you think would feel better. he’ll press a wet kiss to your cheek when you give him the answer he wants.

woongie who asks you to come to him when you get that special feeling in your tummy. he wants to be a reliable figure for you. but more than that, he wants to see you in ways no one has before. so he offers to teach you about pleasure. it’s the only way he can get what he wants without scaring you off. is it selfish? maybe. but is it mutually beneficial? absolutely.

hao

he very much gives me “rival who finds out you’re a virgin” vibes. you two have always clashed, but he can’t deny that he’s attracted to your bold personality. when one-too-many drinks turns into confessions of purity, he can’t help but be shocked.

he takes you then and there. not all the way- but far enough to have you fall apart on his tongue. far enough to bring you to tears. far enough to get the upper hand. when you’re coming down from your final high, he’ll tell you what he wants. keep meeting him like this, or pay the price. let everyone find out about your uncomfortable secret, with a phone camera quality video to drive the point home. he’ll leave you with your pants around you ankles and a deep feeling in your stomach. much like the one he made you feel mere minutes ago.

hanbin

he would be so so sweet. it’s hard to imagine him doing anything inherently negative. he’s not your boyfriend, yet. but he’s sure going to try to be. he’s just an upperclassman who you worked with for a project. he was sure surprised when you touched his thigh and asked him to kiss you.

when you saw his hard-on and asked if you did that to him, he almost died. replying sweetly with “yes, darling. did you want to see it?”. watching you nod “yes” sent him to the moon. a clearly inexperienced and barely pleasurable hand job was more than enough for him. he came anyway, as he watched you lose your breath from the new activity. his chest swelled with pride when you asked to touch him during your next working session. and the next. until he was making plans with you on a whim, not even bothering to bring his school work. you were getting so much better and much more confident. he couldn’t wait to teach you everything he knew.

matt

childhood best friend kind of deal. the tension between you has been thick for a handful of years. you listen to him jerk off in the bathroom and he watches you rub your thighs together when watching spicy movie scenes. he reads your texts to your boyfriend over your shoulder and you beg him to stay with you instead of leaving to see another girl. he always listens to you in the end.

one day, it just snaps. there’s nothing spectacular to push you to that moment. it’s just happens. you look at each other, then you kiss. then you touch. then you roll around. and suddenly, your shirts are off. you stop him with a hand in his chest. “matty, i’ve never done this before.” you’ve had more boyfriends than he can remember, how have you never done this? “you’re telling me this pussy has never been used before?” he asks, bluntly. you can’t help but laugh as you nod. “holy shit, baby. i’m gonna give it to you so good.” so you let him. he loves the shocked look on your face every time you find out a little more about who he truly is.

tae

you were just supposed to watch a new movie tonight. you were not meant to be touching yourself in front of taerae, on his bed. but somehow, you are. the movie had multiple scenes feature the female lead, bringing herself to a climax with screaming moans. you couldn’t help but shake your head and laugh at the acting. he nudges you with his head. “what? you think this is a comedy?” you stop. “it’s ridiculous. surely it can’t feel that good.” he scoffs. “well then you might be doing it wrong, little miss.”

and he leaves it at that. until the end of the movie. he grabs you wrist. “do you want me to show you how to do it. how to really make yourself cum?” and something in you made you say yes. maybe it was his smile. or a yearning within for true pleasure. he laughed when he saw you touch yourself. quickly, he guided your hands and taught you how to build up, and come down. as you lay in bed, breathless, he asks you one more question. “want me to show you how i would make you cum?”

ricky

he agreed to wait until marriage. you both did. he wears the famed ring on a chain around his neck to prove it. the ring loses its meaning as he loses his composure. you notice him growing more distant and increasingly agitated. when confronted, he breaks. “i can’t even look at you without getting hard anymore. it’s fucking ridiculous. i- i don’t even know what happened to me.”

there’s a pause. he freezes as you wordlessly reach around his neck. the light weight falls into your hand and into your pocket. he nearly faints as you shimmy the silver ring off of your right hand, slipping it into the same pocket. “baby, i-” he’s cut off when your lips touch his. he lets you kiss him while his hands stay occupied. he’s dreamt about this moment for weeks, imagining where he would touch first and what it might feel like. he finds that he was completely wrong, nothing compares to the feelings he experienced that night. and every night after that for a week and a half. he feels himself getting addicted to you and wonders if this is the very reason he was urged to wear the necklace in the first place.

gyuv

he’s very curious by nature. when he took your virginity, you took his. he asked you questions for hours after the event took place. “did my dick even fit in all the way?” “do you think i lasted long enough?” “next time should i flip you over?” he wants to learn more and more until he knows everything about you. it’s romantic, in a sense, but it’s eating him alive.

he thinks about it all day. getting flashbacks to your last session and daydreaming about the future. he spends more time hiding his erections than he has ever had to before. you jokingly suggest that he was possessed by a sex demon. he agrees. it seems like ever week he has a new idea to bring up in bed. “hey can we try…?” “would you like if i…” “can i….? please, just this once?” he’s not satisfied until he’s tried everything and made you follow suit.

gunwook

he thinks you’re adorable. the way you do your hair, how you dress, your mannerisms, he sees every detail. his favorite this to see is you being shy. it’s so easy to get you red and flustered. it’s almost too easy. knowing you were a virgin, he did his best not to push you in the bedroom. he was slow and careful. he was waiting. waiting for you to start initiating sex, so he could start playing with you how he wanted.

he started by making you ride his thigh. you were needy on his lap, so he told you to take what you wanted. you blushed and whined, but did as he told, because he had never failed you before. then he made you watch as he fingered you in the mirror. he held your chin and made you look at yourself, even if you cried. he pushed you further. he ate you out on the kitchen counter. he tied your wrists to the bed. he had you suck him off on a phone call. he played you like a fucking game. it’s was oh-so satisfying to him, and he can’t wait for the next round.

[eccentricallygothic]

Depraved Night's Watch Lord Commander!Jon Snow and Arrogant Noble Woman!You…

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, dark!Jon Snow, kidnapping, kissing, groping, forced stripping, manipulation, breeding kink, bastard shaming, humiliation. MDNI. 

Note: Can/Does this qualify for Kinktober/Halloween?

. . . 

His bushy lips that are akin in their roughness to his fingers that ‘gently’ move your hair away from your back that he further exposes by pulling on the harness that had been holding your blouse together feel harsh against your soft skin. He pushes the mass of your soft strands over one of your shoulders from behind and a beastly arm is wrapped around your waist to pull your body closer to that of your captive so he can press his deranged and lewd kisses along the length of your spine, the sickening sensation causing for your body to curl in disgust.

Jon Snow is a bastard in every sense of the word. 

Having meticulously crafted the persona of the gentle warrior full of valiance, endurance and better sense, you now understand with a frightening realization that he tirelessly worked for the construction of his present circumstances for years so he could perform a flawless execution of his plan that you are living now.

Although for reasons not particularly aimed at the shallowness in his facade that you can see through now, it is now that you know that you had always been right in your unyielding contempt of him. That your intuition that there festered something dark and twisted behind those ‘innocent’ eyes of his that were black as night and thus your accordingly treatment of him was justified. 

Jon had taken your unrelenting shaming and insulting of his origin, your humiliating rejection of his proposal to you and your vehement refusals of any and all attempts at any kind of an alliance between the two of you with a smile for years so as to portray you an unruly beast-like daughter of an influential man only so he could do this. 

Your chapped lips curl in fury and disdain that you feel for the thought as well as yourself. You had always considered your skills in self defense and swordsmanship to be on par with any other lad your age. 

Only for your mind to not even process your abduction when it was underway let alone your combative learnings to come into play. 

Your body stiffens when one of his hairy paws reach for your bare breasts and you almost smack it away but your stomach lets out a painful growl and the lining of your stomach painfully retracts into your organs at that very moment almost as a signal to make you stop and reconsider your urges. Your body freezes and you let your eyes wander to the object of your humiliation and assured desecration. The sight causes for your dry mouth to salivate in a way you had been a stranger to before this.

A steaming bowl of stew with a jug of water. 

That is the deal. Jon says he will not force himself on you. No. Rather, you will willingly surrender yourself to his touch and mercy. You are to welcome his acquaintance with your intimates, thank him for it, moan for him, let yourself loose to his touch and enjoy everything he plans to do to you. 

Water for every pinch and grope.

Fire and warmth for every move and sway of your body like the whores you've shamed your whole life.

Food for every adulterous act. 

A treat for every ‘experimental’ position in the bed that is currently a heap of carelessly woven straws.

A possible improvement of living conditions for every bastard you bear him.

He can easily bring the appropriate means down in this dungeon that he has built specifically for you in the undergrounds of Castle Black to marry you and legalize as well as religiously sanction this depraved dynamic he has devised for the two of you. 

But just why would he do that when he can easily get what he wants from you whilst torturing you to live through exactly what you have shamed him for all your lives? 

. . .

MASTERLIST

[beatrixst0nehill]

"Trying to stay healthy and positive although I'm a part of this dumb clinical trial. This sucks! I was all set to be the track and field star of my University, a bright career as an athlete, maybe I'd even go to the Olympics? Instead I get this email a few months ago stating that I've been selected to attend a clinical trial for a new breast growth drug. Like, there are a bajillion of these things on the market, why do they still bother with trials? It's ridiculous. I know, I know, horny wealthy men with an excuse to make pretty young college girls so big breasted it qualifies as a legal disability. Whatever.

Soooo as you might remember I had a perfect, flat chest, ideal for being a runner and now look at this. Look at these fat, sweaty udders of mine. They already started lactating. It's so hard to keep up with. Now I don't just run to the bathroom to pee or whatever, I run into the girls' room to remove my top and milk myself into the sink like a fucking cow. I stand there for minutes, the humiliation is excruciating. Other women come in and joke that that's what I get for sleeping around and getting knocked up over and over. I don't bother correcting them. I just agree, milking my breasts until they ache.

I'm apparently part of this trial for three years. I keep asking them how much growth I can expect by then and they just shrug, telling me if they knew they wouldn't need to do the trial. I looked up videos and joined a bunch of groups created by women who've gone through this. The short answer is I can basically expect my boobs to get so big I can barely walk, if at all. A common side effect, especially for really active girls who don't just cave and give into immobility, is for our spines to snap from the sheer weight of the breasts, leaving girls not just debilitatingly huge breasted, but paralyzed from the waist or shoulders down. Some of the girls act like it's this amazing goal to be jealous of, creating threads like, 'Guys it finally happened! After three straight weeks of intense exercise with my tits over 100lbs a piece, my neck finally gave out!' And it's them in the hospital, smiling and giddy, being hooked up to ocular software to post on social media.

I feel kind of insane for feeling the way I do. Almost all the girls love getting these massive, unwieldy breasts. I posted a thread talking about my future career and how I didn't want huge boobs and every post was just other girls (who're either immobilized by the sheer weight and size of their breasts or immobilized by paralysis) tell me to relax, not to worry, that I'm extremely lucky to be picked and I'll learn to love my new breasts, especially once they get to be over 50lbs each and I start having trouble doing basic things. A lot of girls told me I should remember that I'm just a womb with a pair of tits there for male enjoyment, and the bigger the more men love them. I can still fulfill my purpose and push out dozens of kids even if I'm paralyzed.

I guess I need to just give in and accept what I'm going to become. I'll still stay active, exercise and try to remain mobile as long as I can. But I guess it couldn't hurt to enjoy these things. Men already stare at them constantly and try to touch them. Maybe I should just let them grope me? Even though my clothes will be totally see-through from getting sprayed with milk. That's not such a bad thing, is it? It would be kind of hot, riding some guy's cock, seeing these fat, ridiculous-looking udders bounce and jiggle..... Perhaps I should even get pregnant? That would help my boobs grow faster and put more strain on my back faster..... Plus, all the other girls in the trial are pregnant so I feel a bit left out.

Oh well.... I tried to be an athlete and a role model to young girls that they can be more than the tidal wave of dumb bimbos and breeder hucows we see today...... But maybe I'm the perfect role model, though? That you should probably give up and embrace being a hucow anyway, it's futile to try and deny your body's destiny. Girls are meant to be dumb breeders with huge tits. It does make me horny, thinking about being completely stuck, unable to move cause my breasts each weigh 200lbs. I can only sit in whatever pen I'm being kept in at a government-run girl ranch. I sit there rubbing my big pregnant belly, playing with my sex, thinking back to when I used to be an athlete, running, winning awards, now I'm just cattle hooked up to milking machines, completely hopeless. Nothing but an object to be fucked, to make milk, and push out as many kids as possible until I wear out my usefulness. I can't wait until that's me, maybe my spine will even snap? Then I'll be truly helpless, I won't even feel my body go into labor or get fucked. I'll just watch myself be acted on, and all I'll be able to do is smile and offer lots of encouragement..... Kind of sounds like a dream come true. Once I'm done working out, nice and sweaty, I think I might 'accidentally' stumble into the men's locker room and see if these toxic gym bros can show me what my body is really for. ❤️"

[maxdibert]

What do you think would be a fair punishment for James and Sirius, considering the werewolf attack (murder attempt) and Snape's worst memory (sexual assault)? In real life, those actions are crimes and they could go to jail, but things are a little different in the magic world.

We know they didn't get any punishment because the school either didn't care or covered up everything. But if the truth came out, what would be the best way to hold James and Sirius accountable for their actions? To me, expulsion would be a start, but it's still the bare minimum.

Okay, we should take several things into account. First, we’re talking about 15-year-olds, so they are minors, which is always relevant when issuing a judgment or requesting any type of sentence. We’re also talking about different crimes, so on one hand, I would judge Sirius, and on the other, James. Perhaps, aside from these specific crimes, I would ask the judge to consider the fact that they committed constant bullying. And then we also need to consider that they are British, so we should base it on the legal system of that country, which I vaguely know. Let’s remember that we are not talking about normal criminal law but juvenile criminal law, which is different because minors are never really judged with the severity of adults, and I’m not going to deviate from that script.

I like this question because I’m a criminal lawyer but not specialized in minors nor am I British, so I’ll be guided by what I know about this type of law as well as the specific laws of the country.

The first thing, obviously, would be to separate the charges I would request for each because the crimes are different.

For Sirius, taking Snape to where Remus was during a full moon, knowing full well what could happen, that’s attempted murder or at the very least reckless endangerment. He was putting Snape’s life at risk with a dangerous creature, which is no small thing. Even if Sirius didn’t directly mean for Snape to die, the fact that he acted with such disregard for Snape’s life would qualify for attempted murder under reckless disregard for life.

James is a bit different. We’ve got him on assault, battery, false imprisonment (by levitating and holding Snape in the air), and indecent exposure (since he forcibly exposed Snape in front of everyone). All of these are serious charges, especially the public humiliation aspect of the SMW incident, which would be aggravated by the bullying nature.

Given that they were 15, they’d be tried in the Youth Court unless the crimes were deemed severe enough to move to the Crown Court. For Sirius, considering the gravity of the attempted murder charge, I’d push for a youth detention order, which could range up to the max of 2 years for the most serious cases. The court might also look at an extended sentence under the Youth Justice and Criminal Evidence Act, if they believe he poses an ongoing risk.

For James, we’d likely be looking at a community rehabilitation order, given the multiple charges but also factoring in that it’s not as severe as attempted murder. The focus would be on rehabilitation, but the court might also impose a youth detention period if they find the indecent exposure and public humiliation severe enough.

Both would have conditions attached, like attending counseling, educational programs, and possibly community service. The aim would be to rehabilitate but also acknowledge the seriousness of their actions.

That’s as far as general terms go. But if you’re asking me personally what I would do as the prosecution attorney and what kind of strategy I would follow, the answer is that I would go all out. Because I always go all out in criminal trials, and because I’m quite competitive and I like not just winning, but winning the best possible outcome for my clients. So, in a case like this, I honestly wouldn’t have much mercy, especially knowing that the defendants are rich kids. So, well, my prosecution strategy would be something like this:

argue that the actions of both Sirius and James were not isolated incidents but part of a prolonged campaign of bullying against Severus Snape. This ongoing harassment exacerbates the gravity of their specific actions — Sirius’s attempted murder and James’s assault and humiliation — and establishes a pattern of behavior that warrants harsher scrutiny.

Evidence and Arguments:

1. Constant Bullying: We would present evidence from witnesses, including other students and possibly teachers, who can testify to the frequent and targeted harassment Snape endured at the hands of Sirius and James. This could include verbal abuse, physical intimidation, and orchestrated pranks that go beyond mere schoolyard teasing.

2. Collaborative Nature: It would be crucial to highlight how both Sirius and James often acted together, using their power and popularity to target Snape, who was frequently alone and without allies. This demonstrates a systematic effort to harm and humiliate him, which should aggravate their charges.

3. Power Imbalance: We would emphasize the socioeconomic and emotional vulnerabilities of Severus. Coming from a less affluent background and dealing with family struggles, Snape’s isolation and lack of resources made him an easy target for the more privileged Sirius and James. This context would further paint the defendants’ actions as exploitative and cruel.

4. Psychological Impact: I’d call on psychological experts to assess the long-term emotional and psychological damage caused by the continuous bullying. This would show that the harm inflicted went beyond the physical, leaving lasting scars that justify a substantial legal response.

Of course i would also would show asistí on al charges.

• Aggravated Assault: For both, given the sustained nature of their actions and the mental distress caused to Snape.

• Harassment: Under the Protection from Harassment, showing a course of conduct causing distress.

• Public Order Offenses: For creating a hostile environment within the school, disrupting not just Snape’s peace but potentially that of others.

For Sirius, adding these charges could push the court to impose the maximum youth detention period, with a strong emphasis on rehabilitation programs designed to address violent tendencies and lack of empathy.

For James, the aggravated charges and public order offenses might lead to a combination of a longer community order, including mandatory participation in programs addressing bullying and its impacts, and a possible detention period if the court deems the public indecency and assault severe enough.

And of course I would seek financial compensation for Severus under the Criminal Injuries Compensation Scheme, which provides payments to victims of violent crime. Given the sustained nature of the abuse and its psychological impact, we’d argue for a substantial amount, citing:

• Medical and psychological treatment costs.

• Lost educational opportunities due to the hostile environment affecting his learning.

• General damages for pain and suffering.

This compensation would serve both as a recognition of the harm caused and a deterrent for similar future behavior in school environments.

And yes, I would demand a large sum of money from each of their families. I would also require a public apology from both of them, apologizing to Severus in front of their peers. And, of course, immediate expulsion from Hogwarts and a prohibition on continuing their studies in a standard school environment unless they complete and pass all reintegration processes and programs.

I think that covers everything lol.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Hi! I haven't had a chance to play Eureka yet, but having read it a while ago and following your posts further explaining some of the philosophies behind it, I just want to say that, as someone with multiple disabilities, what you're saying here is really cool and i appreciate it a lot.

I was really hesitant at first glance, probably because of how long I've felt the need to justify my existence by minimizing the accommodations and resources I ask for, even (and often) to my own detriment. The whole idea of being a burden cuts in to that and hits at the heart of the insecurity, so it was a little hard to hear spoken so plainly. Ultimately, though, seeing someone acknowledge that there is truth to that insecurity - I am, indeed, asking for a lot more from the people around me than a fully abled person would be - but that it in no way undermines the worth of my own life was really fulfilling. So yeah, thanks lol

Thank you!

(some links to previous posts about this topic that are being referenced)

I know exactly how you feel. I don’t want to speak for all disabled people, but the shame of being a burden is something that I think most of us probably feel to some degree or another, and something that we would be better off without, which is of course a big theme of Eureka’s monsters.

Hell, even “able-bodied” people need to be taken care of when they’re kids, when they’re old, and when they’re sick. The distinction “disabled” practically only exists to determine who gets minor legal exceptions in a society where you’re only valued by how much you can do particular kinds of work, and plenty of “able-bodied” people do have a lot of things about them that hinder them but just aren’t visible enough or quite bad enough to qualify for the legal distinction.

So really, it’s something I think a lot of people could stand to unlearn. A little bit of selfishness is okay sometimes.

Sometimes, people take offense to the part of the metaphor that involves the actual killing and eating of other people by monsters, and say that the disability comparison works for the monsters that don’t have to kill people, but not for the monsters that do have to kill people, especially with the fact that their targets will often end up being other vulnerable people and not cops or CEOs or something. I have a few thoughts about that.

For one, well, the cool thing about fiction and fantasy is that it can present a more extreme and entertaining version of the real life problems that the art is about.

Secondly, for some of those monsters that don’t have to kill their victims or even technically have to hurt people at all to avoid dying, well, structuring your life around personal deprivation to ensure that you never harm or burden anyone else ever is kind of the thing that this anon brings up, minimizing their accommodations and resource consumption to their own detriment. “Disabled people should go without as much as possible and subsist on the bare minimum resources to sustain them” is pretty much the complete opposite of Eureka’s themes and I feel like saying that the only acceptable disability metaphor monsters are the ones that have a slightly easier time subsisting on the bare minimum harm without literally dying is not good.

Then there’s the issue of who they eat. Really, they can try to eat whoever they want, but the “hunting tables” that provide opportunities when (and if) the monsters go out looking for victims are primarily comprised of pretty average, often pretty vulnerable people, including old people, young people, homeless or just obviously poor people, etc.

One of the reasons is because, well, non-vulnerable people aren’t vulnerable. When a healthcare CEO makes decisions that result in many poor people being unable to afford proper medicine and thus becoming disabled, the burdens that creates don’t fall back on them, they fall back on other poor people. When a politician makes policy decisions that result in more people being unable to get money for food without resorting to violence, that increase in crime doesn’t affect their fancy gated community, it affects poor people.

I talk about monsters in Eureka as a metaphor for disability a lot, but that purposefully isn’t the only valid reading. A lot of them can represent anyone whose needs are impossible to meet without taking from others.

Eureka isn’t a masturbatory CEO-eating simulator because it isn’t about wish fulfillment or power fantasy. First and foremost that burden will fall on the shoulders of one’s own community, not the rich guy causing all the problems. Eureka (and future A.N.I.M. games like Silk&Dagger) doesn’t present a world as it should be, it presents a world how it is. And Eureka says if being a bit selfish and burdensome to your own community is necessary for you to not only live, but live with any degree of happiness, then that shame and guilt isn’t helping anyone.

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[sammaggs]

3x08 Spy vs. Spy | Protection

So this is the true story of how Sports Illustrated came to Canada, and it was such a problem that the government shut it down.

Here’s the thing about being this close to America, and this small by comparison: Canada is at constant risk of having its culture entirely dominated and obliterated by the States. All of our music, movies, TV, magazines—we don’t have the money or the manpower to compete, so it’s all American.

It sounds kind of silly, but in 1991 Canadian magazines were operating on a profit margin of TWO PERCENT. It’s impossible to compete with glossy, expensively-made magazines from America. The government subsidizes our magazine industry now; that’s how magazines like Macleans can continue to exist.

In the ‘60s, to try and stem the cultural hemorrhaging, the government established what we now call “CanCon” mandates, or our Canadian Content laws.

Basically, about one-third to one-half of all the media we consume has to be written, shot, produced, published, created, etc. by Canadians, in Canada. That goes for music on the radio, books on the shelves, shows on the screen, magazines on the rack—everything.

It was codified into NAFTA in '92: Free Trade includes everything except cultural exports.

I mean… they barely tried

The Americans obviously think this is stupid, and also not their problem. We are a huge export market for them culturally—almost all media we consume is American, and that’s big $$$ for American companies. They would love to swallow us whole.

So on April 5, 1993, American publication Sports Illustrated rolls in and slaps the word “Canada” on the end of it. They include some references to Canadian sports teams (even getting some wrong) and try to call it a legal day, even though it was foreign-produced and really did not hit the CanCon marks at all.

And the Canadian. Government. Got. Furious.

The government basically tried to litigate and tax them out of existence entirely. It was a massive controversy through the '90s, which is why they're still bringing it up in this 1997 episode of due South.

And uhhh... yeah Canada fuckin super lost. We lost as fuck. Deeply unsurprising.

Many scholarly articles came out about this at the time, as you can see above, and if you want to know more you can read a great one for free here. But yeah, this is a real thing that happened.

Dave Cole, who wrote Spy vs. Spy, also wrote Perfect Strangers, which includes that perfect bit about the human tragedy that is the lack of arts opportunities for filmmakers in Canada so, he was obviously a big supporter of all this (and rightfully so).

Bonus treat! Because Canada is not real, here's how music qualifies as CanCon: It must fulfill two of the following four conditions:

M (music) — the music is composed entirely by a Canadian

A (artist) — the music is, or the lyrics are, performed principally by a Canadian

P (performance) — the musical selection consists of a performance that is: Recorded wholly in Canada, or Performed wholly in Canada and broadcast live in Canada.

L (lyrics) — the lyrics are written entirely by a Canadian

That's right... it has to fulfill two of the four...

MAPL conditions.

Quiet Canadiana in due South [more]

[liarom1ove]

Whispers of Ether

A regular girl trying to live her best life in modern London is surprised when she receives a mysterious box from a distant relative-especially odd since she's an orphan. Naturally, she checks the box for anything valuable and finds a ruby necklace and a strange book. Imagine her shock when she wakes up in a world filled with monsters, realizing she's more connected to this place than she’d like to admit.

A tale of a modern girl in Middle Earth.

2k

Warnings: none

~~The inherence~~

Y/N sank into her bed, the soft, worn duvet folding around her as she settled in with a satisfied sigh. The record player in the corner spun gently, filling the room with Adele’s soothing voice. A steaming cup of tea sat on her bedside table, its fragrant Earl Grey scent mingling with the warm vanilla and cinnamon notes of the candle flickering nearby. Everything about the moment felt comforting, almost perfect.

But her eyes kept drifting back to the mysterious box from Mr. Hawthorne, the lawyer. It sat on the bedspread in front of her, its intricate carvings catching the fading light in a way that made it hard to ignore. For a while, she just stared, uncertainty pooling in her chest. She recalled her brief, confusing conversation with the man, her curiosity now battling with the creeping sense of unease.

~~

Y/N wasn’t exactly living a glamorous life, but she had carved out her little niche in London—working long hours, meeting up with friends for a pint when she could, and binge-watching terrible reality TV whenever the mood struck. It wasn’t perfect, but it was her routine, predictable in a comforting sort of way. So, when a knock sounded at her door one evening, she assumed it was her elderly neighbour, Mrs Jenkins, needing help with her Wi-Fi again.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs. Jenkins. Instead, a man stood there looking as though he’d stepped straight out of a Victorian novel. His suit was immaculate, every line crisp, and his expression so severe that Y/N half-expected him to start reciting from a legal document on the spot.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" His voice was clipped, formal—like he was ticking off boxes in his head.

"Depends," Y/N said, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Who’s asking?"

"Kelvin Hawthorne, solicitor. I’m here regarding the estate of your late relative, Mrs. Aina Althariel." He extended a small, ornate box toward her, handling it like it was something far more important than it looked. "I regret to inform you that Mrs Althariel passed away last night, and according to her will, this is to be given to you."

Y/N blinked, thrown for a moment. She tilted her head, a frown forming on her face. "Right… you sure you’ve got the right Y/N? Last I checked, my family tree barely qualifies as a shrub.”

Mr. Hawthorne didn’t flinch. His expression remained as stony as ever. "There’s no mistake. According to the records," he said, his voice calm and precise, "Mrs. Althariel was a distant relative, and she made specific arrangements for you to receive this."

"Uh-huh," Y/N muttered, eyeing the box with growing suspicion. Still, she took it, surprised by its weight in her hands. It was heavier than it looked, solid and somehow… significant. "Well, this is new. I usually just get bills or the occasional postcard from someone who thinks London’s still exotic. So… what’s the catch?"

"The catch," Mr. Hawthorne said, his voice steady and clipped, "is that you need to sign this document acknowledging receipt of the inheritance." With a swift, practiced movement, he produced a clipboard with a single sheet of paper and a pen, offering them to her with a flourish that felt strangely formal, given the odd situation.

Y/N took the clipboard, raising an eyebrow as she skimmed over the document. Just a standard acknowledgement form—confirming that she’d received the box and, apparently, its mysteries. She let out a sigh, the weight of the moment settling on her shoulders.

"Fine," she muttered, signing her name at the bottom with a dramatic flourish of her own. "Signed, sealed, and delivered."

Mr. Hawthorne gave a brisk nod, his lips curling into what barely passed for a smile. "My job here is done. Enjoy the… memento. Good evening, Miss."

"Really? No cryptic warnings? No riddles? Just paperwork?" Y/N quipped, but he was already turning to leave, his back straight, every movement measured. She stood there for a moment, watching him head down the hallway, half-expecting him to vanish into thin air. He didn’t, but the click of the door behind her felt strangely final.

"Well, that was… weird," she muttered under her breath, glancing down at the ornate box now in her hands. "What in the world have I gotten myself into?"

~~

The carvings on the surface of the box were intricate, swirling patterns that seemed almost alive in the soft light. Y/N traced her fingers over them, appreciating the delicate craftsmanship. There was something oddly mesmerizing about the design as if the swirls were guiding her touch along invisible paths.

With a playful roll of her eyes, she leaned forward and flipped open the latch. "Well, Aina, let's see what kind of skeletons you've got in your box," she muttered under her breath. "Literally, I hope not."

The box creaked slightly as the lid opened, revealing its contents. The first thing she noticed was the nestled, on a bed of rich, dark velvet, ruby-red necklace. The jewel shimmered with an almost hypnotic brilliance, the deep red gem glowing faintly as if it had a heartbeat of its own. Y/N's breath hitched for a moment, a blend of awe and scepticism crossing her face.

"Well, this is definitely not your average heirloom," she murmured, her fingers hovering just above the necklace.

She hesitated only briefly before lifting the pendant from its velvet bed, the ruby swaying slightly in the air. It was set in a delicate frame of gold, shaped like a teardrop, surrounded by intricate filigree that caught the dim light of her room. As she turned it over in her hands, she noticed the same swirling patterns etched into the gold that adorned the box, as though they were part of the same ancient design. Even more curious, the ruby seemed to pulse gently in response to her touch, its faint glow intensifying for just a moment.

"Let’s see how you look on me."

With a small grin, she stood from the bed and crossed the room to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Holding the necklace up to her collarbone, she adjusted it, studying how the deep red of the ruby contrasted with her casual outfit. The gem sparkled against her skin, casting a faint, warm glow that seemed to enhance her features in a subtle, almost enchanting way.

"Well, aren’t you a stunner?" Y/N quipped, flashing herself a cheeky grin. There was something undeniably elegant about the necklace—it added a touch of mystery, an air of sophistication that felt at odds with her normal life.

Satisfied with the way it looked, she fastened the clasp behind her neck, the cool metal settling gently against her skin. She adjusted it once more, ensuring it hung just right. As she gazed at her reflection, a strange sensation washed over her as if the necklace was somehow more than it appeared. It wasn’t just beautiful—it felt… right.

"Regal, more like," she muttered, tilting her head as she studied herself in the mirror.

"Not too shabby for a piece of inherited jewellery," she mused aloud, twirling slightly to admire the way the ruby caught the light with every movement. "I suppose I should thank Aunt Aina for the fashion upgrade."

She returned to her bed, settling comfortably beside the box where old, yellowed parchments lay scattered. The pages were filled with strange, unfamiliar symbols—letters twisting and curling in ways her eyes couldn't quite follow.

She skimmed through the parchments, her brows knitting together in confusion. "A translation guide would be nice right about now," she muttered, letting out a wry chuckle. "Or maybe I should start brushing up on my Duolingo. Ancient rune edition?"

Setting the incomprehensible pages aside, her curiosity got the better of her as she reached back into the box. This time, her fingers grazed something solid—heavy and smooth. After a moment’s effort, she pulled out a thick, black leather-bound book. Its surface was aged but polished, and it held a weight that suggested more than just old stories.

With a breath, Y/N opened the book, and what she found inside made her eyes widen. The pages were filled with illustrations of creatures she had only ever seen in fantasy movies or read about in legends. Monsters with sharp fangs and claws, towering dragons with shimmering scales, and beings so strange they seemed to defy reality. Each creature was drawn in stunning detail, their lifelike precision enough to make her feel as though they were on the verge of leaping off the page. Beneath each illustration were notes written in what appeared to be runes—more indecipherable symbols that deepened the mystery.

"What in the world…?" she whispered, flipping through the book slowly. The drawings were both terrifying and mesmerizing, each creature a mix of beauty and danger, almost as if they belonged to some long-forgotten world.

As she turned another page, something even more remarkable fell into her lap—a large, folded map. She carefully unfolded it, revealing a vast, meticulously drawn landscape. Mountains loomed high, forests stretched endlessly, rivers carved their way through valleys, and cities dotted the map, all labelled with names she couldn’t begin to pronounce. The map was so detailed, that it almost felt as if she were holding an entire world in her hands.

"Middle-earth?" Y/N read aloud, the name scrawled across the top of the map in elegant, unfamiliar script. "What even is that? Some kind of theme park?" She scoffed lightly, but her curiosity deepened.

The book was filled with strange symbols and runes, their meanings elusive, as if taunting her to figure out the puzzle. Her brow furrowed, frustration starting to build as she traced her fingers over the intricate lines.

"Alright, Aina, you've got my attention," she muttered with a half-smile, the amusement in her voice mingling with genuine intrigue. "What the bloody hell is all this?"

With a sigh, Y/N absently traced the runes with her finger, running over the grooves in the ancient parchment. She was on the verge of tossing it aside when the impossible happened—the symbols began to shift and reshape right beneath her touch.

She jerked her hand back as though the page had suddenly scorched her. "What the—?"

The runes danced across the page, morphing fluidly into letters, then words. The transformation was graceful, almost as though the text had been waiting for her to touch it. Slowly, words in plain English appeared, as clear as if they had always been there, hidden in plain sight:

To the last Althariel who bears the name, your destiny lies beyond this world.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, but the words stayed, clear and stark on the page.

"This… this can’t be real," she whispered to herself, a shiver running down her spine. Glancing around her bedroom, everything remained as it was—the flickering candle, her steaming cup of tea, the soft hum of Adele from the record player. Everything was perfectly normal, except for the impossible message staring back at her.

Y/N was still staring at the shifting runes when a sudden clap of thunder echoed through the room, so loud it nearly sent her heart into overdrive. Startled, she snapped her gaze toward the window. Heavy rain now lashed against the glass, distorting the usually sharp glow of the city lights outside.

"When did that happen?" she muttered, her voice barely audible over the storm. The once cozy, calm atmosphere had shifted dramatically, the warm candlelight now flickering eerily as flashes of lightning turned the night into a chaotic strobe.

The tension in the air was thick, like something was building, waiting to burst. But the sharp sting of reality snapped her back. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and a wave of panic hit her like a cold slap.

"Shit!" Y/N yelped, jolted from her daze. She was 30 minutes late for work.

Her heart hammered as she dashed around her apartment, throwing on her jacket while trying to pull her hair into something vaguely professional. She could already picture the disaster awaiting her at the office. Y/N worked at a top-tier music production company—the kind of place that could either make or break an artist's career. It was her dream to one day be the one making the deals, but for now, she was just the assistant to Felicity Kennedy, a woman who could strike fear into the bravest souls.

Felicity Kennedy, Y/N’s boss, was as sharp as she was brutal, a woman who could reduce anyone to tears with a single glare. If there was one thing Felicity hated more than incompetence, it was tardiness. Y/N could already hear her icy voice, dripping with scorn, as she'd undoubtedly demand an explanation for being late.

"Felicity is so going to kill me," Y/N groaned, frantically throwing the last few items into her bag, barely managing not to trip over herself on the way out.

But just as she was about to rush out the door, her eyes caught on the black leather book, still resting on her bed like some ancient relic. For a split second, she hesitated. Something about that book—the way it felt in her hands, the mysterious writing that had changed—called to her. It had weight, not just physically, but in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Without really thinking about it, she reached back, grabbed the book, and stuffed it into her bag. Whatever this was, she wasn’t leaving it behind.

As she was finishing putting on her shoes, the shrill ring of her phone made her wince. She didn't need to look at the screen to know who it was.

"Hello—" Y/N began, but she was immediately cut off.

"Where the hell are you, Y/L/N?" Felicity hissed through the phone. The sheer irritation in her voice was palpable, even over the storm's howling winds. "You know we have the meeting with Styles today, and I need you here. Now!"

"I know, Mrs. Kennedy," Y/N replied, her tone as placating as she could manage while shoving the last of her things into her bag. "I just got a bit behind... but I'm on my way now."

She rushed out the door, cursing under her breath as she realized she'd forgotten her umbrella. The rain was relentless, sheets of water pouring from the sky as if the heavens themselves were angry.

Still, she knew she couldn't afford any more delays. Holding the phone tightly against her ear with one hand, she used the other to navigate her way through the downpour, bumping into people as she went. The rain blurred her vision, the city's usually vibrant colors reduced to a grey, indistinct haze.

"You better be, or I promise you won't have a job when you get here," Felicity snarled, her threat as sharp as a knife. "Or anywhere else."

"Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, I promise—" Y/N began, but her words were cut short, drowned out by the sudden, blinding flash of headlights.

She didn't have time to react. The world around her seemed to slow to a crawl as the bright lights of an oncoming truck bore down on her. The last thing she saw was the vehicle's massive grille, the rain glistening off its surface, before everything went black.

[drefear]

Hail to the King

Chapter 1: The Spider Man

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: smut, oral (m receiving) cursing, Miguel is a bit of a creep and a dick.

You stood outside the restaurant for a moment, staring at the dark night sky.

What just happened?!

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill over as you grind your teeth for a moment, practicing self control over your overwhelming upset and hurt. Was that even legal?

You sniffled and balled your fists. Fuck this guy, with his expensive looking suit and obvious God Complex.

You muttered obscenities as you walked home, not getting in the car and waiting like he ordered you to. Fucking ordered!

Two blocks down and you sighed, getting to the subway and finding a train to take you to your apartment, located in a less-than-safe part of Nueva York. But you didn’t care, you could take care of yourself.

Eyes tired from holding back your need to cry, you walked up a few flights of stairs to your floor, you convinced yourself it was good exercise. Twisting your key in the somewhat broken lock, you pushed into your doorway and slammed it shut behind you with the deadbolt.

That’s when the dam broke and the water works started. You’d gotten so lucky with such a great job, and now some power-drunk prick with a nice face ruined it without a solid reason.

He didn’t like you, so he decided to hire you? What backwards bullshit was that?

Not bothering to take your makeup off, you pulled off your clothing and slumped into bed with no plans of doing anything tomorrow morning. It was going to be a day to process and plan your next move.

Loud banging on your door made you fall out of bed, practically jumping out of your skin as the sudden thunderous sound was terrifying without warning. Grabbing your baseball bat from your coat closet, you tugged your hair into a messy bun and swung the door open.

“You’re late.” The big guy from last night? “And you apparently don’t answer your phone either.” His voice was unamused, blunt, and you didn’t care for it.

“How the fuck did you-“ you yelled, then remembering that apparently he was close to Peter, who had all of your information from hiring you. “You’re a sick fuck, now you’re stalking me?”

“Watch it, I’ll fire you.”

“I don’t wanna work for you, now leave!” You screamed and moved to slam the door, only to be stopped by a large hand holding it back. Miguel opened the door with a swift push and you stumbled backwards, caught off guard and off balance from his strength. It was like he was barely moving a cup, not even moving a muscle.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to work for me, and I always get what I want.” He spoke, stepping inside of your small apartment. “Now get dressed, so you can get to work.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You spit back at him with venom you didn’t know you hate. You hated him. “Go find some other girl to obsess over and creep out.” You continued and swung the bat, him catching the wood and staring down at you.

“Obey me and I’ll reward you generously.”

“I’m not your dog, I don’t need to ‘obey’ you!” You groaned out as you yanked the bat backwards.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year plus bonuses when you complete certain tasks.” He spoke almost too fast.

The words passed by your ears in a blurt as white-hot rage filled your mind. The devil and angel on your shoulder fought and you didn’t know which one was fighting for what.

“Fine. Three hundred thousand a year. Bonuses, access to our facilities, a new phone, and an apartment on the west side.” He added.

“What the hell will I be doing? You don’t even know if I’m qualified, or if I’m a normal person. I could be a murderer.”

“That’s doubtful, as you couldn’t even hit me with a bat, and I’ve seen all I needed to. You’re most definitely qualified.” He answered, still offending you in a strange way. “Now get ready. I’m late because of you, and if I weren’t the boss, I’d rat you out.” He fixed his suit and sat in one of your dining chairs, the squeak of its legs making him scrunch his eyebrows in annoyance.

You huffed and moved, accepting that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’ll call the cops.”

“That won’t work. La policía and I have an understanding.” It seemed like nothing was working and he knew it. “Are you done?”

Maybe if you played along for a bit, he’d get the idea and fuck off. Grumbling, you trudged into your bedroom.

“So what will I be doing?” You called to him as you went to your closet and pulled out a random blue dress shirt and black pants.

“You’ll be my right hand. Like an assistant but much more involved. You’ll work closely with my second, Lyla, and head operator, Jess.” He gave a full debriefing as you slipped on the clothes and moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll send a few of my men to help you move tonight, I don’t need you getting jumped out here in the slums.” He spoke with a certain disgust in his tone and you rolled your eyes.

“Your men? Second? Are we in a war or something?” You laughed, but he was quiet. No sense of humor, noted.

“Something like that.” His voice was lower, almost like it was a secret he didn’t want anyone around him to hear except you.

“Not that I care, but why me?” You brushed your teeth and waited for his answer, but nothing came. “Hello?”

“You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just know that I will not accept your refusal. You will work for me.” His speech was almost flattering, if he weren’t so infuriating. You dotted on some makeup and walked out to meet him. Slipping on a pair of low, black heels, he was already at the door. “Let’s go.” He nodded and opened your front door once more before walking ahead of you into the elevator. You hurried behind and almost missed the door as he stuck a hand through to stop them from closing. Your eyes didn’t meet him, avoiding having to thank him for such a small gesture of kindness after all the rudeness you’d endured. “And by the way, they call me Spider Man.” He said calmly as the doors shut and suddenly, your pounding blood was in your ears.

Spider man…?

As in… the most dangerous Mafia leader in Nueva York? The leader of the O’Hara family and the rumored Spider Society? A man infamous for murdering people with his bare hands, constructing some of the greatest hits on politicians and leaders all over the state?

Your body turned cold as you began to sweat. You were in the presence of a man known for being a brutal killer and a money-hungry demon who ruthlessly destroyed lives.

And he wanted you.

The trip to his headquarters was silent, sweating nervously as all of the rumors you’d heard about him came back to you. How he once almost killed a fifteen year old because he “ran out on a tab,” but luckily Peter paid it for the poor boy. Now, apparently, that same boy works for him. Peter told you the story on your first day, how some of the Spider Society frequented their restaurant, but it never occurred to you that this was him.

You remembered Gwen telling you over drinks after your first shift about how a lot of the staff of your restaurant had once been or still were low ranking members of the Society. You had said you just wanted to make your money and get on with your day, to which she laughed and said “that’s how I was too.” You left the conversation there and talked about other things, but now you couldn’t stop repeating her words over and over.

It was like the city was overrun by Spiders, all answering to the Spider Man himself. A man you were currently trapped in a moving vehicle with. A man you knew wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you even so much as messed up his coffee order.

Nothing felt real as your leg bounced with anxiety. Sure, you’d always been mouthy and stubborn, but the idea that those small flaws could have made you a target for him, it was almost too much to understand.

“Hello?” He called out and you turned your face to him. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about… what I have to pack tonight.” You lied, to which it was obvious he didn’t believe you, but he ignored it anyway.

“I was saying, when we get there, I have a meeting with a few of my subordinates. I need you to stay and listen. Lyla will be recording the meeting, but you just need hear it and start understanding everything. It won’t be hard, but it might be a lot so pay attention, entiendes?” He spoke and you nodded. “Once the meeting is over, I’ll introduce you to Jess and she’ll give you a tour of the building and your office. You’ll be working a room over from me. While that’s going on, I have an appointment, and once that’s over, I’ll start explaining the rest of your work.” His words felt unreal, like you were having an outer body experience. Nothing could have prepared you for this and now you were thrown into his web with no way out. Was the universe playing some sick joke on you? Throw you into the arms of a cold blooded killer and laugh about it later?

The numbness in your bones began to settle in and you sighed inwardly.

This was going to be a long day.

Walking into a bustling lobby, your eyes were overwhelmed with an excitement you couldn’t help to feel. The smell of clean air, the crisp modern design, everything screamed class and high end. Almost as if this wasn’t a den of crime and murder. Who would let a kingpin rent such a beautiful and upscale building? And didn’t mafia bosses usually do business out of their homes or secret offices hidden behind a bookshelf?

Ok, maybe you watched too many movies…

No, this was the next level of an efficiently run business. Everyone looked focused and intelligent, some seeming like they were educated at an Ivy League college or politically invested.

You followed the largest man and watched as everyone parted to make way for him, scanning him and then dropping their gaze to you.

You, who looked so out of place and childlike next to the refined crowd.

Your name broke you from your trance and you bumped into Miguel, who was no longer walking. “Stop looking around like a lost puppy. I hired you because of your fire and bite, now bring her back or I’ll toss you back out of here on your ass.” His threat was obvious, and you puffed up your chest after he turned around.

He was somewhat right. You belonged here, you got here by accident and that had to count for something. Other people around you seemed like they wanted to be here, strived for their positions and fought to climb up the latter. Meanwhile, you didn’t even want your position and you got it because of your loud mouth. As much as you hated this all, you knew that some of the roughest and cruelest human beings stood in this building, but he decided to pick you.

“But we will need to buy you new clothes if you’re going to work here. I don’t want to see you in anything less than a thousand dollars. Is that clear?” He said as you two walked into the elevator.

“And where am I getting these thousands of dollars from? You got me fired.” You grumbled, annoyed at his arrogance and assumptions.

“I’ll have Lyla put it as a tax write-off and give you a company card. Your limit is fifty thousand, and you’ll only shop at places from a list she’ll give you.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, barely even seeming like he was speaking to you. What a dick. You rolled your eyes and he glanced downward, a brow quirked upwards. “And save that attitude for the meeting. Everyone here is cut-throat, and you’re here to give them a humbling piece of your mind. I don’t do politically correct-ness. If you think it, say it. The only person you need to answer to is me, and I want you to give some of these sons of bitches a good verbal beat down. If they get out of line, I’ll give them something to really be scared of, so don’t hold back.” His words seemed to hold weight as the elevator doors opened once more and people separated like the Red Sea to let him and you through. Catching up to walk by his side instead of behind him, you kept a straight face and put your shoulders back.

Reaching your new office was exhilarating, seeing as you hated the situation, but began hating everything less and less. Miguel had been right about the meeting, ignoring what everyone else said as you sat and listened to him discuss plans for a new import deal and a possible new business venture. His words were sharp and sliced through everyone in the room, so there wasn’t much room for conversation as most of the people in the room didn’t want to pull the trigger and be the target. You nodded along and made mental notes, adding certain ideas to your cavalry and deciding between when to speak up or not to.

After that, he’d introduced you to Jess and Lyla, who both seemed too kind and cheery to be in this business. How could such funny and smiley women work for a man with so much blood on his hands?

Jess gave you a proper tour as Lyla followed and made snarky comments about certain people, places, and things. Often times, they were about Mr. O’Hara and every time, it made Jess snort with laughter. The three of you talked and laughed, even trading phone numbers with both of them. Lyla excused herself when she was summoned to the fourth floor for a call about a transport, and you and Jess finished the tour back at your office. She showed you briefly how to use your new computer and tablet, both of which had a schedule that you, Lyla, and Mr. O’Hara could see and edit.

“Alright, I have a gynecologist appointment in 30 minutes, so I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, but call me if you have any questions.” She waved and you gave her a goodbye before beginning to type up some of those mental notes from the meeting, sharing them with Miguel’s email to add him in and let him look.

An hour went by and you heard a ding on your tablet, signaling a private meeting in Miguel’s office that had started 20 minutes ago. You rushed, seeing as you didn’t get the notification earlier and now we’re late. Pushing open his office door, you blinked at the sight in front of you and gulped down a new feeling. Dread. Embarrassment. Pure fucking confusion and unshakable mortification.

A woman, thin and blonde, had her back to the door and was kneeling before Miguel. Hands on his thighs as he spread his legs, she bobbed her head up and down as he had both of his arms around the expanse of the couch, head back a bit in enjoyment.

The shock finally settled into humiliation and you felt your stomach lurch with anxiety. He must have heard you step backwards as his eyes opened to stare into yours, an unreadable expression on his face. You shifted your thighs, moving to take another step as your face burned with a blush that could rival most makeup brands. Eyes as wide as saucers, you kept eye contact with him to avoid watching the woman’s mouth move up and down his cock. And he didn’t dare look away either.

He slipped a hand from the back of the couch to her hair and shoved her head down a bit, making her gag, and as the sound reached your ears, you choked a bit in sympathy. He hissed out a soft ‘good girl’ and you felt drool pool on your tongue, closing your mouth before it could drip out. He fucked up into her mouth as his eyes stayed on yours and before you could register it, he was groaning with a tight jaw and finishing. She sputtered as he came down her throat and as the realization of what you’d walked in on had hit you, you’d spun on your heels and slammed the door shut behind you.

Hands shaky, you wobbled back to your own office and sat in your chair, hands holding up your head as if it were too heavy to stay upright on its own.

What the fuck is going on?

Prologue Chapter 2

[class1akids]

What’s the point being made when Midoriya commented “he’s getting called Endeavor’s son less and less” if Endeavor got zero legal consequences for abusing his family? Was Endeavor still considered a “bad hero” by the end of the war? I thought the citizens were mad because they thought he let them down as a hero because he failed to defeat the villain, not that he butchered his family. Dai even spoke about Endeavor still being thought as a great hero in the future. Maybe it makes sense as a reader for that comment since we know the whole family’s trauma, but with how the story is written it doesn’t work since, again, barely anyone cared about the Todoroki family (some even became Endeavor glazers.)

I know the family association thing is bigger in eastern culture, but was the intention supposed to be similar to if Todoroki went onto the field and was still associated with Endeavor just by being his son even without their history being exposed? As much as I hate the writing wouldn’t it make more sense if Dabi/Touya replaced or was at least added onto the association since the civilians didn’t seem to care about the abuse? I mean I don’t want Todoroki to be associated with his shitty father, but with how the narrative flipped back and forth on Endeavor the point became less impactful since he’s still treated relatively great despite what he did.

It's just an example of Hori's "wants to have his cake and eat it too" kind of writing.

On the one hand, Endeavor's "consequence" is the scandal, the public fall, being responsible for the rise of Dabi and his victims. And his atonement hinges on this consequence, because he's goal is to "catch the sparks" (even though we know he can't protect the kids, because Fuyumi already lost her job and the situation is so bad Natsuo is leaving the family registry to protect his fiancee from any association with the Todorokis).

As for Shouto's own situation, he's more in the public eye than his siblings, and it's kind of implied in some scenes how he's also a subject of criticism - like him being outside of UA with Endeavor and Hawks and when he talks about how he's being seen with concern. (Dabi also brought it up btw during their fight).

So I think from the perspective of Shouto's arc, the key sequence is:

"you are not bound by his blood, you decide who you want to be" -> "I want to be a reassuring hero" -> "people look at me with concern because I'm Endeavor's son and Dabi's brother" -> "you have to stop Dabi to become who you want to be" -> "work day and night for 8 years" -> "the citizens rarely call him Endeavor's son anymore.

So basically Shouto's narrative is about freedom from blood and free self-determination. But his story is actually about how his family ties keep hindering him from his goal and how he has to fight for his "honor" in a way others don't have to because of those ties. So Shouto's freedom comes with a huge qualifies and a huge price - where it's having to fight his own brother and stop him from causing harm to others is just the first hurdle. After that, he still has to work day and night for a decade to make people finally see him on his own terms.

So the "you can become who you want to be", just like "you can be a hero" come with huge qualifiers in the story.

As for Dai mentioning Endeavor - that list was really weird puttin BJ and Endeavor up there with All Might, and Deku being mentioned only like 4th place when in fact wasn't he the ultimate hero of that war?

I think that's Horikoshi's clumsy writing, where he insists glazing Endeavor because he personally thinks that he deserves brownie points for trying hard.

But I'm fairly certain that the narrative on the one hand tells us that Endeavor and the Todoroki family got a lot of public criticism for creating Dabi and Dabi's crimes (not for the domestic violence mind you, which is treated as a private matter) and Shouto had to fight against those prejudices. On the other hand, it's telling us that even if Endeavor is in hell, there are people who support him because he was a good hero.

Also, as an aside, even if Endeavor wasn't exposed by Touya, Shouto probably still would have had to fight for a long time to be seen not as a nepo-baby but as himself. Children of famous / successful people are often struggle against the public perception that all their success is due to the advantages that were given to them at birth - which is also true for Shouto who was introduced as the "boy born with everything" and the first thing he was known to the public for was being "Endeavor's son".