#Like the fact that he's decently good at reading people - owed to or reason for his popularity? You decide lol

[sysig]

Eyesome propaganda (Patreon)

[underdark-dreams]

A gift fic for @catsharky featuring their beautiful bard Tav, Ember! Fueled by catsharky's mind and by the amazing art of Ember & blushy Rolan trapped in a closet 😳

Pent Up

"How long has it been?" As the new Master of Ramazith's Tower, Rolan finds himself short on personal time. Then he finds himself trapped up against the bard.

Tags: Trapped in a Closet, Tails, Touch-Starved, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4,383 [Read on AO3]

For all its wonders, Ramazith’s Tower offered a staggering lack of privacy. 

Perhaps few wizards had families; Rolan couldn’t think of another good reason why such a palace would have only one decent bedroom within its walls.

It hadn’t seemed like a hindrance the first days Cal and Lia moved in. They’d managed to find their alone time on the road from Elturel where privacy was nonexistent, hadn’t they?

After four weeks of Cal’s snoring and Lia’s constant tossing and turning in their beds beside his, Rolan felt like a bowstring ready to snap. Between the shared quarters and all of the newly inherited duties of managing Sorcerous Sundries, let alone cataloging the Tower itself, Rolan found himself…well. Out of time for his own needs. 

More bluntly, if Rolan didn’t get himself off in the next tenday, he feared he might actually burn down a wing of his brand new library from sheer sexual frustration. The thought didn’t even embarrass him at this point—that’s how absolutely desperate he’d grown.

And of course the dreams weren’t helping.

That made Rolan’s focus falter for a moment, and the books he was levitating to the floor above slammed into their shelf with far too much force. He cursed under his breath and concentrated fresh on the next stack of tomes beside him.

Of all the people for his subconscious to latch onto, why, why did it have to be Ember? He respected her and valued her friendship more than just about anyone’s. He looked forward to every moment he got to spend in her company, in fact. 

Yet lately, Rolan’s sleeping mind conjured up scenarios where he took her in every position on every surface imaginable.

Pressed into silky sheets—bent in half over his desk—on her hands and knees on the carpet, the wood floor, his own bed, Ember’s fists gripping the bedding beneath her as he—

“Hope you’ve got a good spot to hide up here!”

Rolan heard the jingle of bells behind him before he’d even turned from his work. Her voice sent a pang of mortification through him, as if she too might have glimpsed those images flashing through his mind’s eye.

Ember was dashing toward him from the Tower portal, still dressed in one of her stage costumes. She was barefoot save for a ring of little bells around each ankle, and her tail swung wildly behind her for balance as she ran into the room.

“What in the hells—” Rolan began, this time failing the final gesture of his spell. The tomes that he was carefully guiding upward lurched and crashed against the polished wood, toppling back down several floors. Rolan ducked aside just in time as they landed with a sharp thump at his feet.

“Explain,” he demanded curtly, knowing whatever story the bard had would be outlandish.

“That Aradin, remember?” Ember pulled up in front of him, clutching a stitch in her side. “Stupid bounty hunter? His crew’s downstairs. They seem very put out that he’s dead,” she added, letting out a breathless laugh. 

Rolan failed to see the humor. “You mean you led them here? From wherever you were doing your—” 

He tried and failed to find the right word, instead waving a hand around her figure. Ember’s attire revealed a strip of bare skin from her neck to her navel, and that sight had scattered Rolan’s thoughts around his skull like marbles.

“The Elfsong,” Ember supplied, not acknowledging his sudden fluster. “They didn’t recognize my stage disguise, but I overheard them planning to come here and shake you down for what’s owed them. You’re welcome for the head start,” she added, propping a fist on her hip.

Rolan tried to ignore the attitude as he bent to pick up his damaged books in a huff. “They do know Lorroakan’s dead too, correct? Whatever contract they had with him was never any of my business.”

Ember spread her arms wide in impatience. “I know that, Rolan, but they’re fucking idiots!”

“Let’s just call Aylin to stomp them to death,” Rolan muttered savagely, not altogether joking. 

Rolan had fended off Aradin’s rude threats for his entire apprenticeship, and now that he was Master of the Tower himself, he was in no mood for more of that lot barging in and demanding things. After watching the aasimar dispatch Lorroakan, Rolan suspected that Dame Aylin would share the feeling.

“Nice idea,” Ember allowed, “but unless you’d like blood on your new carpets, I suggest we make ourselves scarce. Like now. You know you’ve still got a portal down there practically labeled ‘Real Nightsong Hunters This Way’?” 

This brought Rolan up short with a curse; Ember had a terribly good point there. He could kick himself for not having the sense to fix that glaring security risk before now. 

Considering the slew of Gazette articles speculating wildly about how Ramazith’s Tower had fallen into his hands, perhaps it was wise not to add any other deaths to his first month as Master.

When he straightened, Ember was already casting around the cavernous interior for a suitable hiding spot. “There,” she pointed up suddenly. 

Apparently done trying to urge him on with words, Ember’s fingers clasped over his, and the next thing Rolan knew she was dragging him bodily up the staircase. The books under his arm tumbled again to the floor. 

Through his surprise, Rolan felt something wet between their palms. He glanced to find that her hand was spattered with blood.

“Did they hurt you?” Suddenly furious, Rolan nearly stumbled on a stair behind her. A handful of defensive spells sprang white-hot into his mind.

“Oh, no—” Ember dismissed the idea. “It’s not mine.”

That only raised more questions, but there was no chance to form them as she yanked him onto the open landing. When Ember made a beeline toward the narrow door between two ornate shelves, Rolan tried to object. “That’s only a—”

Ember threw the door open and practically shoved him inside. 

“—closet,” Rolan finished deadpan, even as the bard jostled in behind him, swinging the door to its latch behind her. The space was comically small with two people.

Or it would have been comical with someone else.

Instead, Rolan found himself suddenly pressed up far closer to Ember than he ever had been outside his own mind. Standing chest-to-chest, he was painfully aware of every spot where their limbs brushed together—especially when her hand accidentally swung against the robes at his thigh.

It finally made her pick up on the tension radiating around him. Ember cleared her throat, although her eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?” 

“No,” was all Rolan had time to say before the whirling sound of the portal below traveled up to their ears. The two of them froze still. Ember's eyes on his face went wide, as if it might help her hear behind her better.

Over Ember’s shoulder, Rolan could only see a thin vertical sliver of the lower dais through the crack in the closet door, but it was just enough. 

Into the room shuffled two men, one dark and one fair. Rolan indeed thought he recognized them from Aradin’s crew back at the Grove. They moved warily across the central floor with hands near their weapons, as if expecting an ambush. When the blonde-haired man turned slightly, Rolan glimpsed two fresh streaks of blood running from his nostrils. 

Almost as if someone with quick reflexes had jammed the heel of their hand against his nose in a defensive move, bloodying their palm in the process.

“I see,” Rolan whispered, partly to himself. “Any chance you instigated this whole thing?”

“He deserved it,” Ember whispered back with vehemence. “He called you a—” 

Their eyes met for a second, and just as Rolan’s heart began to pound at how close her face was, she glanced away.

“Let’s just say he had Aradin’s vocabulary,” Ember finished.

So she had bloodied a man’s nose to defend his honor? He should find it absurd, but at this moment, all Rolan could think was how pretty Ember looked with her jaw set in righteous indignation like that.

“I’m flattered,” Rolan told her, only half-joking. He glanced back through the crack in the door, partly to distract himself from her again. 

The two thugs had quickly given up any pretense of stealth in favor of searching the premises. Their unguarded footsteps were enough to track them, and after a short verbal exchange those heavy treads spread out to explore the floor below—far from Rolan and Ember’s hiding place.

“What if they steal something?” Ember whispered suddenly.

Of all Rolan’s concerns right now, that was by far the least pressing. “The stuff they’re looking for is all down in the vault. But I’d love to see them try, this place has enough defensive enchantments to flatten a troll, some my own magic. They’ll get knocked out if they so much as crack open a book. Though I doubt they can read,” Rolan added.

That made Ember laugh, a breathy and quiet sound—Rolan felt it against his cheek and hoped she wouldn’t notice the way he swallowed hard at the sensation. 

With the two intruders blundering about so loudly, it suddenly seemed like an unnecessary risk to keep the door cracked open to watch them. In one move Rolan reached around Ember’s arm for the doorknob, pulled it shut, and muttered a quick incantation. The lock glowed blue-white with a series of clicks, now magically secured from the inside.

It was a slight change, but it somehow made the cramped space feel far more intimate. The light streaming under the door was just enough for him to make out Ember’s face a mere foot from his own. 

Shelves packed with broken baubles of unidentified usefulness lined the walls around them, muffling the sound in the small space, everything but their breathing. Ember was close enough that Rolan felt her every exhale tickle his cheek.

“Now I guess we wait,” she said. 

Rolan nodded, then remembered she might not be able to see. “I suppose. Hopefully those idiots lose interest fast.”

“What about Cal and Lia?”

“They’re both at Alfira’s,” Rolan answered. Worry ran through him for a moment, but they wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. By any luck Aradin’s old crew would be long gone by then. Good gods, please. Rolan didn’t think he’d survive an hour in a confined space with Ember’s body brushing up against him without doing something immensely embarrassing.

There was another muffled pause as they both shifted on their feet. One of Ember’s bells gave a tiny jingle.

“So…what’s new with you?” Ember’s quiet voice shook with mirth. This whole situation was apparently all good fun for her.

Rolan found himself enjoying it for his own reasons, but not any he remotely wanted to admit. The slashing neckline in Ember’s shirt offered a very generous view of her chest from this angle, and it took most of his concentration not to stare. He shifted again in an effort to put more space between them—with little success.

“Nothing but the usual,” he told her, grasping at the distraction. “Organizing Lorroakan’s hoard of magical artifacts, putting the library in proper order. Preparing the Tower’s defenses for the army marching down on the city any day now.”

“Sounds stressful.” Ember frowned at him a bit. “Don’t you take any time for yourself? Have a little fun?”

“When exactly would I have a chance to do that,” Rolan laughed mirthlessly.

And that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it? 

As though Rolan’s subconscious hadn’t taken over after enough inaction on his part. As though exactly four nights ago he hadn’t experienced a dream shockingly similar to their current scenario, one where dream-Ember had instead dropped to her knees with lovely lips parted to take him.

As though Rolan hadn’t jolted awake at midnight, sweaty and tangled in his bedsheets, hard cock in his own grip—

That alarming line of thought was interrupted when one of Aradin’s men called to the other. This time, the voice came from just a few meters outside the door. 

Both of them froze at the sound. Rolan’s mind was actually distracted by the threat of a confrontation, though only for a moment.

Whether from nerves or something else, Ember’s frame shifted in closer against his. He thought he could almost feel the heavy beat of her heart through the muffled and dim space.

The motion notched their bodies together in a new way. With his next smallest of movements, Rolan felt one of her thighs nudging in between his legs.

No—no no no, not now—

Yet blood was already rushing south of his waist in a primal reaction to the contact. Rolan clamped down with all his mental training, willing his body not to do anything so humiliating while she was trapped up against him like this with potential danger just outside. He conjured up thoughts of death, and pain, and anything that might distract his touch-starved body from the destination it was already barrelling towards headlong. His tail tip flicked eagerly behind him, and he coiled it around his calf to hide his tell.

But she was so firm and warm against his groin, and despite his best efforts, Rolan felt himself stiffening against her under his robes. 

Ember’s eyebrows rose silently. Rolan felt the hottest blush blooming all over his face in response.

“Ignore that,” Rolan whispered curtly. Looking at any part of her only made his face burn even more, but it was hard to find anywhere else to look in their close quarters.

Ember bit and released her lower lip. “That’s going to be hard,” she whispered back. 

Her choice of words made him wish the floorboards would open up and swallow him. Gods, this was humiliating. 

“Do you always get this excited from the thrill of danger?” Ember continued in a teasing whisper.

“Now’s not the time,” Rolan hissed at her, trying to ignore the way she had angled herself slightly against his side. 

“Or maybe it’s the close quarters—”

“Hush—” Rolan was genuinely trying to listen, unsure whether the intruder had moved away or was close enough to hear their whispered exchange. He was in no state to concentrate on spellcasting at the moment.

As he strained his ears, one of his arms nervously bumped against Ember and actually grazed the soft curve of her breast. Her breath hitched against his ear.

Fucking hells. Rolan thought every bit of him could melt on the spot—all but the length between his legs, which was now hard as a rock against the side of Ember’s hip. Rolan tried to shrink back further against the shelving behind him, but there was nowhere left to go. 

Ember certainly made no move to give him space. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” she whispered coyly. “Honestly, I’m flattered.”

“This isn’t because—” Of you, Rolan wanted to tell her. But that seemed rather insulting, not to mention a bald-faced lie. He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve…not had much time to myself lately, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she replied. Rolan could practically feel Ember’s eyes on the side of his face. “Oh.”

A pause followed in which Rolan stared up at the dark closet ceiling and wished to disappear. Outside, there was a more distant crash and a yelp—one of the idiots triggering an arcane trap, no doubt. He felt a twinge of satisfaction. They were the whole reason he was stuck in this predicament.

“How long has it been?”

Rolan glanced down at Ember, whose face was tilted toward him sincerely.

“A few weeks,” he mumbled, then looked away again. “Almost four.”

“Damn,” Ember whispered.

“Yes,” Rolan said stiffly, continuing to avoid her gaze as prickling heat climbed up his neck. “So if we could just—wait here quietly.” 

Ember let out a low, thoughtful hum. Something about the sound made Rolan’s palms sweat where they hung at his sides. 

“How quiet can you be?” She asked him.

It took Rolan several moments to catch her meaning. He blinked at her in shock, certain she must be trying to tease him again. “What do you—”

“Because we’re alone right now,” she interrupted. She spread her palms to each side, as far as the cramped walls allowed. “And you've got nowhere else to be at the moment, right?”

She was so close Rolan’s eyes had to flick back and forth between hers. “That’s insane,” Rolan said hoarsely.

“Is it?” Ember sounded quite serious, though she kept her tone to a whisper. “Listen, Rolan, you’re not subtle. I’ve noticed, everyone who cares about you has. You’ve been impatient, and snippy, and Lia said you keep forgetting projects in the middle to start new ones.”

“When did you talk to—”

She didn’t slow for his question, and Rolan felt her hand actually curl up over his shoulder. His skin glowed with heat under her touch.

“For your own sanity, you need to get off,” Ember finished.

“I’m not going to—while you’re standing right here,” Rolan choked out. His mouth refused to repeat the phrase.

Ember was so close that he actually saw the color travel up her cheeks. “Rolan, seriously…you’ve been staring down my shirt every ten seconds. And you’re practically impaling me with that thing in your pants.”

All Rolan could do was squeeze his eyes shut with a small groan of humiliation. “I’m sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry,” she told him, and with his eyes closed, he heard a new note in her voice. “I’m telling you I can help.” 

As she spoke, a soft hand closed across Rolan’s mouth. 

His eyes flew open in shock to find hers. Ember’s luminous blue-gold gaze looked at him from under her lashes, sending a wave of heat rippling and licking across the skin under his robes.

With heart pounding in his chest, Rolan connected the dots. She could help. She could keep him quiet.

As his breath panted faster under her hand, Ember tilted her body slightly against his. Before he could think, she moved her free arm as if to reach between his legs.

Rolan shook his head frantically. If she touched him there, this would all be over. Not to mention…some small part of his mind admitted…he wanted to feel Ember’s hands there for the first time under different circumstances. Some night when he could take his time with her on even footing.

She had withdrawn her hand immediately at his indication, resting it gently around on his back instead. It was almost a sweet gesture—until she used the leverage of her pressed palm to roll her hips very slightly over his trapped thigh.

The small motion slid his hardness against her side through layers of clothing, and the simple friction made him throb. Rolan moaned at the back of his throat and felt the vibration stopped up by her hand. His tail had uncurled from his leg to shudder and flick in excitement again, nearly knocking something glass off the shelf behind him. Desperate to keep quiet, Rolan wound his tail up Ember’s leg with the tip brushing against her thigh. 

She bit one side of her lip in response. At that sight, had her fingers not been clasped firmly over his mouth, Rolan would have closed the distance to kiss her.

While he panted and wished, Ember’s hand trailed down the back of his robes with no particular goal in mind. But when her fingers met with bare skin at the base of his tail, Rolan jerked involuntarily as a strangled groan rose from his chest. 

The fingers of her other hand clenched tighter over his mouth. Ember stared at him, eyes wide with surprise and something like delight. 

The last working bit of Rolan’s brain recalled her upbringing among non-Tieflings. Was it possible—could she not realize what a very sensitive area that was?

She appeared to be getting the picture either way. Without moving her hand from his lips, she curled four fingers ever so lightly to cup around the base of his tail.

“Wait,” Rolan managed to gasp out against Ember’s hand, and she slid it down to his chin. His length throbbed painfully against his trousers, pressing obscenely into her thigh, yet she made no move to adjust positions.

But Ember did hesitate as she watched him. “Does that hurt?”

“No, hells—” Rolan shook his head in a daze. “Far…far from it.”

Ember looked over his face with almost curiosity, and then her lovely fingers squeezed slightly around him.

“Wait!” Rolan repeated, and his tone shot up to a quiet whine. He was past trying to control his reactions, trembling and heated with weeks of pent-up desperation, but it felt vital to salvage what shreds of his dignity remained before she tipped him over the edge. And she had him very, very close.

“This isn't how I wanted—with you—but it’s been a gods damned month between everything, and Cal and Lia—and I’m master of the Tower now, and there’s the Absolute—”

Whether or not Rolan’s whispered and disjointed rambling made any sense, Ember had the grace to watch him from under her lashes until he sputtered out. In the next moment, she uttered the sultriest thing he’d ever heard. 

“Honestly, Rolan, I just want to watch you come all over your robes.” 

With that, her grip tugged firmly at the spot where his tail met his ass. 

If not for her other hand clamping over his mouth again in the same motion, Rolan would have let out the most humiliating whimper of pure relief. Instead the noise was a muffled strangle of sound as his body gave her exactly what she wanted.

With a full-body shudder, Rolan twitched and spilled inside his trousers. His fingers clutched and dug at Ember’s hips with a mind of their own, pulling her forward shamelessly, allowing him to finally grind against her thigh in earnest as he came.

The wave of long-awaited release shot all the way up his spine with an intensity that made his knees buckle. Ember pressed his hips back against the shelves with her own just enough to catch him, sending the precarious tinkle of metal and glass around the small space—but her hand pumped a few more times over his tail to tease every last wave of pleasure from between his legs.

Rolan’s limbs trembled and shook from the force of the most satisfying climax he’d had in years. As white stars behind his eyelids popped and cleared, hot, sticky spend pooled in the fabric between his legs…then rapidly turned cold and mortifying. All Rolan could do was hang his head over Ember’s shoulder and pant against her hand.

At this moment, he’d give half his tower to know a good Banishment hex.

But if Ember was put off by his loss of control, she certainly didn't show it. Instead she let out a sound like a satisfied purr; she finally released his twitching, oversensitive tail to wrap both arms around his neck.

Rolan felt drunk in his afterglow, too spent to do anything but loop his arms around Ember’s waist and bury his flushed face into her shoulder. He realized through the haze that he'd heard the portal activate a while ago, though it hadn't registered then. They'd been alone in the tower for some time.

“Feel better?” Ember asked, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

It was difficult to answer. On the one hand, he could sob from the relief. On the other, Rolan had just done the most unimpressive thing against the leg of the very woman he wanted to impress most.

But Ember hadn't pushed him away in disgust. She was even closer than before, the length of her body pressed up comfortably against his as she hugged him. If not for the cold wet stain soaking from his clothes into hers, the position would be quite nice.

Rolan cast a simple spell as his energy returned, and the fabric between them was instantly warm and dry again.

“I've felt worse,” Rolan admitted as he reluctantly drew her away. Ember had begun to feel a little too nice pressed up against him; he wasn't taking any chances on a repeat.

“Good.” Ember looked down to brush herself off a little, and Rolan wondered whether he was imagining the darker color in her cheeks.

Without another word, Ember wheeled to open the door and accidentally thumped up against the unyielding wood. “Ouch—”

“Sorry,” Rolan said hastily, releasing the arcane lock with another quick spell and a flash of light. The door swung open.

They both stumbled slightly on the way out, blinded by the daylight streaming through the highly arched windows after so long in a dark enclosed space.

Ember walked ahead first with a hand shielding her eyes. “Well, looks all right out here…they didn’t try to trash the place, at least.” 

Rolan glanced at her to respond, then stopped short.

He gaped open-mouthed at the back of her. From between the seams of her costume, Ember’s tail looped up in a perky and exaggerated S-curve. The sight was utterly adorable and incredibly tantalizing all at once. It also offered a very nice view of the curves of her hips, and Rolan could only blink and swallow hard as his mind whirred through several possibilities to land on the obvious one.

Had she enjoyed that?

Apparently unaware that her tail was curling and swaying at him in a come-hither motion, Ember turned back to him with a bright, unsuspecting smile. Rolan rushed to compose his face.

“You should come to my show this week,” she told him. “It’ll be fun. Bring Cal and Lia, relax a little. You’ve gotten all pent up in here,” Ember added, waving an arm around the cavernous tower.

He would say she had no idea, but in fact, Ember now knew intimately well. 

Thanks to the electrifying realization that she had some feelings of her own about the matter, Rolan was able to manage a shaky laugh. 

“I might just chance it.”

[newpathwrites]

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 2 - Affection

Ah , so that was the problem. Always an obligation or debt owed with him, and the debt to your affection was one he didn’t know how to repay, these actions not natural to him as they were to you. An occupational hazard of being raised a mandalorian, you guessed.

Summary: You unconsciously ramp up the physical affection. It might not be much by some people’s standards. But for Din, it’s a lot…

Notes: Din has very limited experience with physical displays of affection, and I think even if he doesn’t dislike it with this partner who he trusts so implicitly, he may need some time to get used to it. How will they navigate comfort levels and boundaries in this unknown territory now that the helmet is off?

Warnings: Very mild angst.

Read on AO3

———————————————————————

“Mando, my friend!  It’s been too long!”, Karga’s voice boomed across the large office space as he clasped Din’s arm.

  “Greef,” he returned warmly, by Din standards anyway, giving his signature nod.

  “How is married life treating you?”

  “Same as unmarried life,” was the monotone response.

  “Everything worked out all right with your partner’s lawyer?  And Bo-Katan is pacified for now?  Here, come to my office and take a seat.  I’ll get us some drinks.”

  “The inheritance wasn’t as much as we originally thought but still a decent sum.  Bo-Katan was pretty pissed off, but she finally stood down, for now at least.  Thank you again for your help with the legal papers.”

  Karga slid a drink in front of Din, who was lately willing to indulge with those he trusted.  As Din lifted the lip of his helmet to take a sip, Karga finally got around to the real reason he’d invited Din to his office for an alcoholic beverage.

  “Okay, now that we’re alone, tell me really… how are things with you two?”

  Din picked up on the not-so-subtle subtext immediately.  “Greef, I wasn’t lying when I told you this was a platonic marriage.”

  “But it’s clear you love her…”

  “I guess that’s true, but not the way you’re insinuating.  It’s really not like that.”

  “So how is it, then?  You’ve really never… you know…?”

  Din shook his head no as he took another swig. He was going to need it for this talk, apparently.

  “How do you live together and share a bed and never touch each other?  Isn’t it only natural?  I’m sorry, it’s just difficult for me to understand.”

  Din shifted uncomfortably.  He was going to regret digging in further to this conversation, but he needed to release the burden that he’d been carrying for the last few weeks.

  “I never said that we don’t touch each other,” he mumbled, “In fact, she touches me all the time, even more lately.”

  “Well if it makes you uncomfortable, why don’t you just ask her to stop…” Karga began, but Din cut him off.

  “I don’t really mind it, that’s not the problem exactly… and there’s something else…”

  “Go on…” Karga was practically vibrating with curiosity.  This was the most Din had ever shared with him.

  “She’s always… kissing me… “ he stopped then, embarrassment muddling his thoughts as his head fell into his hands.

  It took all of Karga’s will to suppress the laugh that threatened to leave his throat.  Good way to get himself killed, laughing at an emotionally vulnerable mandalorian...  “Huh… I have to tell you Mando, I fail to see the problem here, but clearly you and I are two very different kinds of men.  Do you not like it, or is it just overwhelming after a lifetime wearing that helmet?”, Karga questioned, amused by this fearsome warrior’s version of relationship problems but still wanting to help.

  “Neither… both…. I don’t know… I do like it, I think, but it is overwhelming.  I’m not sure what it means or how I’m supposed to respond.  The stress is killing me.  Kriff, I know this sounds ridiculous…” he huffed, exasperated with himself.

  Karga chuckled, clapping Din once on the shoulder, “Well, Djarin, I think you need to suck it up and talk to your wife.  I can’t help you with this one.”

  ——————————————-

  You had always been a relatively ‘touchy’ person, having grown up in a culture where physical affection was shared ubiquitously - hugs, touches, and chaste kisses were used freely with family and friends to convey care, much more so than words.  You understood that few cultures relied as much on physical displays as yours did, and since you’d left your home village to pursue bounty hunting and mercenary work more than twenty years ago now, you’d mostly grown out of the habit.

  But then Din came into your life, and as you became good friends sharing the same space, it was hard to resist the pull to touch him.  A friendly pat on the shoulder as you passed each other in cramped spaces, grabbing a hand to convey seriousness, a caress to the back of his head under the beskar to sooth him when he was injured, and very occasionally, a kiss to the cheek of his helmet when he’d done something exceedingly kind or saved your life yet again on a job gone sideways.  While initially he seemed surprised by your affection, more used to people keeping their distance, he didn’t appear to mind it at all, and you figured he was probably starving for nonviolent human touch under all of that metal.

  Though you were oblivious to the change in your own behavior, things had altered a bit since taking the marriage vows.  As the creed no longer applied in your presence, Din had taken to removing the armor more often and generally didn’t wear the helmet when you were alone on the ship.  All of the places normally covered by beskar were now available for affectionate  touching and that you did, however unconsciously.  But the biggest change was the availability of his face.  Without really registering what you were doing, you’d fallen back into old habits, kissing his cheek each morning in greeting, or whenever you parted, or whenever you thanked him, and so on…  And rather quickly a kiss on the cheek turned into a chaste kiss on the lips - several times each day.

  Unbeknownst to you, Din was suffering, not entirely sure yet if he enjoyed this type of intimacy, though it was definitely growing on him, and completely lost as to how he was supposed to behave in return.  At this point, he was going into full-blown panic every time you got close, terrified that you would eventually expect more from him than he would be able to give and simultaneously not wanting to hurt your feelings by pulling away.  He was beginning to fear that he was headed toward an implosion.

  ——————————————-

  You didn’t see it coming when the blissful little bubble of affection you thought were living in with Din suddenly popped.

  Something was wrong.  You had become adept at reading him, even with the helmet, but right now, he was blocking himself off from you, avoiding you.  He radiated discomfort and anxiety whenever you were near.

  You knew this man inside and out by now, and if one thing was certain, it was that he was never going to initiate a conversation about what was bothering him.  You would have to bring it up first.

  You found your opportunity when your most recent job, a missing child from an impoverished family for which you’d accepted a pittance to put your considerable tracking skills to good use, ended quickly and happily with the child (and the fee) returned safe and sound to his parents’ arms within a few hours.  The afternoon was now wide open to discuss your ‘marital problems’.

  “Hey, Din,” you tapped his shoulder, coming up behind him as he sat in the hull cleaning his blasters.  To your dismay, he actually flinched at your touch.  Oh Maker, this was getting bad.  

  You took a full step back to give him space as he turned to face you.  He tilted his head, a gesture you knew meant he was waiting for you to continue.

  “Din, it’s obvious you’re upset with me.  Please just tell me what’s wrong.”  Tears began to sting your eyes.  You were barely holding on to your composure now.  You took a deep breath and questioned him softly, “Do you regret the marriage?  I would never have pushed if I knew it would make you hate me.”

  He stood up then and approached so quickly you nearly fell backward.  He put a hand on your shoulder to steady you.  “Hey, no, I don’t regret it, and I could never hate you.  How could you think that?”

  “Then what is it, then?  Why are you avoiding me?  Why do you flinch when I touch you?” you questioned, as you wiped errant tears from your cheeks.

  He gulped and visibly steeled himself for the conversation ahead.  “Cyar’ika, you’ve been touching me… and kissing me… a lot . “

  Oh.  Things were starting to make sense.

  “Maker, Din, I’m so sorry… I didn’t realize…” you pleaded, but he continued.

  “It’s just… it’s not in my nature…” he trailed off, unsure how to explain himself properly.

  “Din, I don’t want you to go against your nature or force yourself to do anything for my sake.  But I can certainly go against mine and stop touching and kissing you if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

  “No,” he said quickly.  “Please, I don’t want you to stop.  In fact, it’s growing on me.  I sort of… like it… now that I’m more accustomed to it.  I just… doesn’t it bother you that I don’t respond in kind?”

  Ah , so that was the problem.  Always an obligation or debt owed with him, and the debt to your affection was one he didn’t know how to repay, these actions not natural to him as they were to you.  An occupational hazard of being raised a mandalorian, you guessed.

  “Sit,” you commanded, coming back to your senses and pointing to the small table in the kitchen area as you pulled two mugs out of the cabinet.  Though confused, he obeyed, and you placed a mug of hot instant caf in front of him, settling yourself with your own drink on the opposite side.  He looked at you expectantly.  “It looks like we’re dealing with a fundamental misunderstanding.”

  He huffed out a nervous laugh, apparently having expected this conversation to proceed differently.  “I… okay… then please educate me, cyar’ika.”

  With that, you launched into a surprisingly coherent monologue given your overly emotional state.  “Affection is not a currency, Din.  It is given freely to those we care about and without expecting anything in return.  And it can be shown in many ways.  In my culture, touching and kissing are commonplace, used with our partners, family, friends, neighbors…  That’s why it comes so naturally to me.  You don’t need to do those same things to show you care about me.  You show me through your words, your actions, your protection.  I never doubt it.  This is not something you need to worry about.  I’ll do it my way, and you can do it yours.”  

  Your voice carried an air of finality, but you quickly added, “I will try to tone it down, though, because I realize now how overwhelming it must be for you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize it sooner. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

  “That’s… thank you… I actually feel a lot better.”  He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.  “I should have brought it up weeks ago.  All of that panicking seems stupid now.  I’m always able to talk to you.”  He stood up and walked around to your side of the table, pulling you to your feet in front of him.  As you puzzled over his sudden and strange behavior, he took you by surprise for once, pressing his lips lightly against yours before pulling away.  “You know, it’s actually a lot easier when I don’t feel any pressure.”

  You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face - equal parts pride and affection.  And it was nice to know that there were still “firsts” to be had after so much time together.  You and your mandalorian were growing, and well in to middle age, too.  Who would have thought?

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

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 3

[introvertedlass]

Hiya I’m sending this to a bunch of blogs I check and you’re one of them. First of all I want to say thank you for all the entertainment and the safe space you have always provided. I became a fan of him around 2020 and in all honesty I never bought the whole Disney Prince image but I thought he was a decent guy and enjoyed his films and his persona. I understand that his job comes with a variety of different problems and requirements some which we will never be able to comprehend or understand so I’m not going to pretend to be an expert. Personally I’m team pr because of all the proof that’s been provided and personally it doesn’t seem real even the general public have agreed when making odd comments. After the article last night however I’m not a fan and ik I don’t have to announce this or make a big deal but I’m out completely. I wish him and you guys the best but they aren’t going to pull this bs. Ironically the podcast comment cemented it more to me that this is pr which I’m sure the purpose was the opposite. I understand plenty of fans have taken it far but this is unfair. They did the same thing with Jenny and that stuck with us. So if this is for a build up of a bua it’s absolutely disgusting. They are fine with us making him money, the dick pic situation us defending him and all the fans do for him but regardless it seems like they wanted to tar the fans with the same brush and ik Scott didn’t say anything but implied it and even then it’s a minority. He could’ve skipped over that’s why to me it doesn’t make sense. The privacy aspect was lost with his Instagram dumps. With the premiere with all of that. They aren’t private at all. With other relationships he has ALWAYS been private but ironically was seen with his exes. He uses the facade of being private to justify the fact that he doesn’t talk about her or isn’t seen with her and that’s because it most likely isn’t real. Let’s face it whoever he ends up with will get hate by a small minority but that’s every fandom not that I’m condoning it. Also she’s not being hated because she’s with him she’s hated because she’s shown she and her trolling cronies are not nice people and ik we don’t know them but we can only judge by what we’ve been given and those things aren’t good. I wondered the past few months because I’m ashamed to admit for some reason this really did affect me so I wondered what this pr was for. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s for her image I mean sure he can benefit from it in many ways and I’m sure he has for example the image shift in itself but the purpose of it was mostly for her. Whatever this is and however it ends I’m not interested anymore and I feel like this was the cherry on the cake. I’m annoyed at the situation because when I look back to the time I sort of joined the fandom and became a fan of him I’ve got a lot of good memories and it was during a time when things were difficult (covid etc) and I’m not really someone who cares too much about celebrities that’s why I’ve been confused as to why this situation affected me so much because everything seems to have fallen apart he was going in an amazing direction with knives out dj.  I even remember reading about a rumour regarding him and aly raisman I was sooo happy for him truly if that had been true. That being said he doesn’t owe anyone anything but neither do we. He’s not Leo dicaprio or someone of that calibre he’s an actor who relies on fans. Sure with marvel he got away with it but generally he can’t. I feel like I’m just completely done and I’ve wasted a lot of time with this situation but for some reason I really got into this whole thing I was a bystander I don’t really use social media never followed him or anything but this aspect of it affected me which is my fault and I’m not sure why I continued to care this much. Wish you all the best thanks for everything !

Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts. I appreciate you doing what you need to do to keep your peace.

Be well, Anon!

[pelibirdie]

Chaotic Elowen HCs because I can and I want more content for Elowen:

I feel like she would steal anyone and everyone's food before they even get to notice and refuse to share her food. It's a cat thing. She just has to taste what you are eating once so she can judge you and your tastes. However Elowen WILL slap anyone who even breathes on her food and that is a promise.

Likes lemons, citrus, sometimes bites it for fun. No one knows why but this is one more reason why people should be intimidated of her. Elowen just kind of,,,licks the lemon and makes a light face of bliss. Fun fact: she actually likes lemon cake!! Or cheesecakes with lemon sauce. Sour is a nice flavour in her opinion.

Dislikes summer bc it's hot and she has a hard time walking around in pleather and black colored clothes. That is like her iconic style. Fucking hell it leaves her sweaty in summer though.

Before befriending Tulsi she had to pay twice the amount for sharpening her twin blades. After some time, she decided to learn how to sharpen them herself but the work was not the best it could be. (She accidentally cut herself somehow) Thankfully Tulsi actually does it for a decent price.

The second sword she own always reminds her of Lucan :,(

Her love language is slapping. If she likes you a little she will slap your arm/back

If ur her lover she will slap your ass when she's drunk/ you two are alone.

"Ow Elowen what the fuck!?!" "..." *Slaps harder* *person falls over*

Chooses not to reply to Sage on purpose after he asks her something or call for her. She knows Sage knows she heard what he asked to her. Elowen instead just looks at Sahe straight in the eyes with a poker face to piss him off. >:3c

Likes👏going👏to👏plays👏

But specifically, tragedies, occasionally love stories with sweet ending but not too sappy ones. Just a good, well-built romance. Her standards are high asf bc of plays.

Somewhere back in her childhood house, all the way in Vair, lies a picture where a baby Elowen is sitting in a box. Lucan used to make fun of it so much she actually hid it away at some point. Now it makes her cry.

Proofreads and edits Felix's shitty fanfics and fives ACTUAL advice. It's the funniest shit ever that two goth-emo kids got together, read Twilight and in the light of it one of them wrote a Jacob x Self insert x Edward fanfic and the other edited the fic.

Speaking of which, Elowen and Felix have this bond where she let's Felix paint her nails black as they both discuss whether the book or the play was better.

Was once asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, only answer with a shug.

She was both socially anxious and sarcastic as a kid, like it would take her an hour to find the courage to talk to someone on the playground, but when she was reading a books and a kid approached her saying "Wow are you reading a book??" She would look at the child in the eyes and say "No."

She had social anxiety as a child, but now she just doesn't give a fuck about people or interacting with them whatsoever now. Occasionally gets the jitters when people with lots of energy approach her randomly, so actually meeting with MC after attacking them was a bit...intense in her head.

Doesn't realize she has a crush but shows all the symptoms of a crush. She probably fell in love before it's not like she doesn't know the feeling. It's just weird as if something is different when she likes MC tho

The reason why Annie doesn't like her is bc Elowen always tells her to pick up her mess. "Anisa get rid of that fucking dead plant." "What if I can revive it tho :,(" "what are you a necromancer? Put it in the trash before it turns out like Rime" "HEY-"

Shading on Rime is a conscious desicion, unlike Sage she finds Rime uncomfortable to be around. Sage is just a sad idiot but Rime? Kinda fucked she's not taking chances by letting him bother her.

She only shouts when is is mad or amused as hell. Radiates calm chaotic introvert energy but will also be the most feral person ever if she is drunk or you project a laser pointer.

Will beat anyone to catch the laser pointer. THE RED DOT IS HERS SHE CAUGHT IT FIRST-

[allalrightagain]

2, 17, 23 for ace ask game please :D

Thanks for the ask <3 Putting below a cut because I got wordy and possibly overshared.

2 . When did you first realise you were ace-spec? Ooh this is actually a decent story! So, I’ve known my best friend since we were in middle school, and, for various reasons that had nothing to do with our own feelings, were assumed to be the future high school sweethearts (straight) couple. This was not the case, owing at least in part to the fact that we were both working through several different flavors of queer at the time. (Also we would be absolutely awful together, but that’s neither here nor there) Anyways this all came to a head when he came out as gay when we were 17, very afraid he would be breaking my heart, and, to both of our surprise, I was not upset, and instead went home that night thinking that a) he was the only person I could have been attracted to and was, apparently, not, and b) I had previously assumed that he and I were the same in whatever non-interest and, apparently, we were not. I distinctly remember sitting in my bedroom thinking “ok well, if some people are heterosexual, and some people are homosexual, and some people are bisexual, then there has to be an opposite to bisexual like asexual or unsexual or something.” And then I googled it and found AVEN’s website and that was it.

17 How do you feel about sex/love songs? I don’t get/click with most of the sex songs, although I don’t particularly mind if they’re otherwise a good song, but a lot of particularly modern pop songs are designed to make you think about sex and that just doesn’t do anything for me haha. Love songs on the other hand I’m all for, especially if they can also be read as platonic or familial love, which many can.

23 What would you rather do/have instead of sex? Most things 😂? But if we’re talking like, close/intimate activities with another person, cooking or just talking with them about whatever are both pretty great. Celebrate Ace Week by asking me ace-spec questions!

[lostxndbroken]

FULL NAME: Remus John Lupin NICKNAME/ALIASES: Rem, Moony FACE-CLAIM: Xavier Samuel (young), Lee Pace (older) GENDER: Male AGE: Depends on the thread, but I write him mostly around mid 20′s BIRTHDATE: 10th of March, (original 1960, but depends on the verse) ZODIAC: Picses RACE: Werewolf/Wizard ALIGNMENT: Good SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English

HEIGHT: 5 feet 7 (Lee Pace is taller, but this suits my Remus better) WEIGHT: Between 160 lbs and 170 lbs (depending on his age) BODY TYPE: Slim/Skinny SKIN TONE: Pale POSTURE: Insecure and defensive EYE COLOR: Brown HAIR COLOR: Brown BIRTHMARKS: None TATTOOS: None PIERCINGS: None SCARS: Since the age of five, his collection of scars has been growing - the one on his side belongs to Fenrir Greyback to turn Remus into a werewolf

LIKES: Reading, good food DISLIKES: His affliction (being a werewolf) HOBBIES: to come HABITS: Stops taking proper care of himself around and on the full moon MORAL: Neutral good MOTIVATION: (depends on the thread) DISCOURAGEMENT: The fact that he doesn’t have much of a future CONFIDENT LEVEL: Insecure GREATEST FEAR/PHOBIA: Ending up alone

PARENTS: Hope Lupin (mother), Lyall Lupin (father) SIBLINGS: None OTHER RELATIVES: None PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT: His parents loved him a lot, it was one of the reasons why they wanted to shelter him from the world after he was bitten by Fenrir. Albus Dumbledore convinced them to let Remus go to Hogwarts.

OCCUPATION: Defense against the dark arts teacher, unemployed, Order of the Phoenix member CLOSE FRIENDS: Sirius Black, James Potter RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Gay-sexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Gay-romantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE: Submissive | Dominant | Switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE: Submissive | Dominant | Switch TURN ON’S: to come TURN OFF’S: to come LOVE LANGUAGE: Remus won’t repeat the ‘I love you’s’ often, simply because he’s afraid of those words. When he says it, he means it. He will show his love and care for taking care of the other with little things. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES: He tends to walk away before it becomes serious. Afraid that the other won’t be up to the fact that Remus is a werewolf, but he doesn’t want to burden the ones he loves either.

STRENGTHS: His compassion WEAKNESSES: to come PHYSICAL HEALTH: Poor to Okay MENTAL HEALTH: Poor to Okay

He is a very withdrawn person, especially before he got three amazing friends. He just didn’t want to get close to people and lose them if they learned the truth about him. But he couldn’t shake off Sirius, James, and Peter – for some reason, they stuck around and put up with his lies. The young man hates to lie, though – it makes him feel guilty and unworthy.

Remus is also a calm soul in general, unless he is in crowded places – Remus doesn’t feel like he belongs with the humans and the more humans there are around him, the less human he feels. It took the young male a while to realize what the problem was and he tries to work on it. As long as Remus knows that he’s going to mix in sizeable crowds - he can prepare himself and act more normal than when he isn’t prepared.

Yes, he lies to protect himself – but he wouldn’t lie if he doesn’t have to. He defends his friends as much as he can in any kind of situation, life-threatening, detention or just little fights among student - unless it involves bullying, that is something he says out of.

When older – Remus has even a harder time to adjust. He does everything to help out the Order of the Phoenix – but actually getting a job in either the muggle world or the wizarding world is rather tricky with his condition. In the muggle world, Remus is not suitable as he can’t even afford decent new clothes and in the wizarding world, they don’t really trust someone who isn’t entirely human. He tries to come by, by himself – Remus doesn’t want to owe anyone as he knows he can’t pay them back with his way of living. It keeps him in a spiral and yet tries to keep up the cheerful demeanor everyone is used to.

Before the bite: It’s almost painful to imagine seeing Remus differently than he is now – as the condition he carries with him has been there since the age of five. Still, Remus was a different kid before the mark was placed on him.

Young, vibrant, energetic, happy, curious, active and very good at making friends – he always had friends over as long as his parents allowed them. Remus was good at expressing himself for a five-year-old, and you could say he was truly innocent.

Why he was bitten: Lyall didn’t expect that someone could be cruel enough to attack a child, to harm one, kill one – or worse in this matter, curse a child with something that was truly incurable.

But that’s not where it begins – to know the entire story, we have to start at the beginning.

Lyall Lupin, a man who is specialized in dark creatures and he was asked by the Ministry of Magic to explain all about these so-called creatures, in the hope they would understand them better. Lyall was invited to join the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and he accepted it gratefully.

During his career – Lyall got rid of multiple dark creatures. The Screaming Bogey of Strathtully, a Boggart that had fed on the fears of a large number of local muggles and got as big as an Elephantine with glowing white eyes – Lyall was able to trap it in a matchbox.

In the early 1965’ when Fenrir Greyback was brought to the Ministry of Magic to be questioned about the deaths of two Muggle children – apparently after being caught with a werewolf pack. Fenrir being a werewolf himself but the MoM was uncertain about the condition because they didn’t update the Werewolf Registry often enough to be sure that Fenrir was indeed a werewolf.

Lyall expected Fenrir to be a werewolf – but couldn’t prove it right away. Which is why he suggested keeping Fenrir behind bars until the next full moon (which was twenty-four hours away). The committee laughed at Lyall for such accusations and Mr. Lupin lost his temper. He declared that werewolves are ‘soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death’. Lyall was expelled from the room, and they released Greyback. The Ministry wanted to erase his memory about the questioning – but with the help of two accomplices – Fenrir Greyback escaped.

Fenrir wasn’t going to let Lyall get away with his accusation – he plotted something to get his revenge. Greyback worked himself inside of Remus’s room (shortly before his fifth birthday) and attacked him. Lyall entered the room and saved his son just in time – repelling Fenrir with powerful curses, but Remus was already infected by the werewolf curse.

Being raised with Lycanthropy: Remus’s parents tried all sorts of treatments but in those days – before Damocles’ invented the Wolfsbane Potion, there was nothing that showed any effect. So – they took desperate measures to conceal Remus’s condition. From time to time they had to move away from their homes to find another when the neighbors started to notice the strangeness that the family brought along. Remus wasn’t allowed to play with other children and though he had all the love of his parents – Remus was marked by loneliness.

Eventually, Remus’s parents had found a way to keep the werewolf under control. Lyall locked Remus in a room and cast several silencing charms to make sure no one would hear the beast once turned. Just like every child – Remus grew and so did the werewolf inside of him. By the time he was ten years old – Remus was capable of knocking down doors and breaking the windows during his transformation. Forcing Lyall to use more powerful spells.

Lyall and Hope worried for their son who they love so much. If the Ministry knew about an uncontrolled werewolf – they could react severely and who knew what they would do to the child?

The Lupin’ were afraid that their son wouldn’t be able to join the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry because of his condition. Because of that, Lyall tried to educate his son at home. But before Remus turned eleven – Headmaster Albus Dumbledore came to visit unannounced. The couple tried their best to keep the older wizard out of their homes – but within five minutes Albus was inside. Albus knew about the attack of Fenrir (because Albus had spies planted among the dark creatures – and Fenrir kept boasting of his crime). The Headmaster promised the parents that Remus was in safe hands and that everything was being taken care of so Remus could transform unnoticed during the full moon in a safe environment.

At Hogwarts: Remus was alone – he always felt completely alone, even if he was with others around him. Eventually, he gained three friends and their names were Sirius, James, and Peter. The pair of them weren’t stupid – they started to notice a pattern when Remus wasn’t around when the excuses came to cover his absence. Quickly, they learned that their friend was a werewolf. Remus was afraid that they would leave him – but they did the opposite, they stayed.

The three of them decided to learn a very complicated spell – transfiguration, so they could become Animagi and stay with Remus during his transformations. Once they achieved that – Remus was no longer alone during the full moon and because of them that one time in the month wasn’t as unpleasant as it used to be. Together they created a map that showed the castle grounds and who was roaming around. It was a masterpiece that all of them were very proud of.

A werewolf only hurts humans – which is the reason that Remus’s friends are safe once they have become animals.

Once – his friend Sirius Black pulled a joke on a fellow student, Severus Snape (one who became suspicious of Remus’s behavior and suspected something). It almost cost him his life as Remus could have killed Snape in the worst-case scenario. After – Remus was angry at Sirius for what he had done, he started to realize that maybe his friends weren’t the friends he had hoped them to be. After all – James and Sirius once wished for a full moon, something that would hurt Remus severely. Yet – he couldn’t leave them either, they never left him and when they weren’t selfish - they were actually good people, or so he hopes.

As an adult: Many years passed and his best friend James Potter married a lovely girl he met at school called Lily Evans and the two brought a son to the world named Harry James Potter. Sadly, the parents died when the Secret Keeper gave the information to Voldemort. Peter knew how to play his game and Sirius got the blame for the Potter’s death. Remus believed that for a very long while.

Remus became a teacher at Hogwarts and started to teach Defends against the Dark Arts. Severus gave him one of his foulest glares every time they met. Not only because Remus had the job he wanted so badly, but Severus also didn’t trust Remus as he was very aware of his condition and that he believed he played a big part in the joke that Sirius had pulled on him. Though Severus hated Remus, he gave him the potion around the days that the full moon was going to show, the wolfsbane potion.

With this creation, Remus was able to keep a clear mind while he was turned into a werewolf and he would wait for his transformation out in the Shack. One night he forgot to take his potion, which was the night that Peter was once again found. Remus and Sirius were reunited, and the truth came out that Peter was indeed not dead, that he was the Secret Keeper instead of Sirius and that Peter was the one who betrayed Lily and James, which led to their death. Sadly, that night, Peter managed to escape and joined the Dark Lord once more.

Remus resigned after everything that had happened because he believed that with his condition, he couldn’t keep teaching children the dark arts if their parents were aware of what he was. 

[nelyeoh]

// Everything and Anything goes wrong (2023.01.01) ...

Anything and Everything goes wrong.

The first day went very smoothly overall, with the exception of a few glitches that occurred when I was going through my normal routine on public transportation. I was hoping for something more satisfactory. Since I am currently in an area that is celebrating a national holiday, I've noticed that there are quite a few people milling about at the city's most well-known landmarks. Aside from that, I got up earlier than usual so that I could complete reading a chapter, and getting breakfast this morning was a snap. In general, I feel like I've gotten off to a decent start with it. I was not surprised to find that there was not a lot of good news in the news for the general population, since I do not anticipate that this will be the case. In the first place, China is easing up on its fight against COVID-19, and as of right now, in January 2023, they aren't doing that well in the fight; as a result, the surge in China is picking back up again. If the worry is ignored, countries all over the world will be hit with a new wave of problems ranging from health to social to economic, as the most recent COVID variation is even more contagious than any of the others that have come before it. The COVID virus has not yet completed its destructive cycle. Another excellent piece of news that caught my attention on the first day of the new year was about Elon Musk becoming the first person in history to lose $200 billion in net worth. To be clear, this figure refers to net worth and not gross worth. It should not come as a surprise because he was the wealthiest man on earth at a time when money was abundant, nearly free, and accompanied by interest rates that were close to or equal to zero. This was before inflation began wrecking havoc in major nations all over the world. Those with low or zero incomes do not benefit from interest rates that are low or zero. The wealthy are the only ones who stand to benefit from it. When one is financially strapped, trying to get rich by subsisting on borrowed money from others is not going to work. It will result in a reduction in your wealth. Because the world is still largely mismanaged in many respects, as I said, it is more prudent to concentrate inwardly for the remainder of this year rather than looking outwardly, because it is still beyond our ability to bring it under control. The global economy is in a highly precarious financial position, and it continues to rack up further debt despite the fact that it does not have the means or the intention to repay what it owes. There is no reason to believe that Mother Nature will make things any easier. Environmental catastrophes and infectious diseases won't go away just because this point has been reached. In the year 2023, which is known as the Year of the Water Rabbit, everything that can possibly go wrong will, causing the calm waters to become turbulent.

[clairecrive]

Hello beautiful person! Do you take requests which ask you to write a second chapter for your writings? If you do, may I ask a second chapter for "Rare"? And if you don't could you please let me know so I can be careful for another time when I ask a request?

I hope this is not something that disturbes or irritates you. I love your writing, it is beautiful and sometimes I read your pieces over and over again. 😁

Thanks for blessing us with your writing. Have a nice day.💕

A/n: First of all anon, thank you so very much for your sweet words! They mean the world to me <3 Also, your request could never irritate me! I love them and I love the fact that you consider me half a decent writer enough to send me your thoughts <3 I'm sorry it took me so long to get around this but I hope you like this and are still around to read it x

I've decided to pair it with a request for juicy time with Eddie. there's no actual smut but it's suggestive let's say.

Warnings: bit of angst, fluff,

Word count: 2.4K

Tags: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @fandom--0verdose, @shadow-of-wonder, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @for-bebbanburg, @crazyclownchick ( fill in this form to be added to my taglist)

Part 1

TOM HARDY MASTERLIST

You weren't exactly new to heartbreak. You had been a teenager after all but your experience with adult relationships had not been that good either.

You knew that you'd be over Eddie even if it may take you some time. It's true that you had only been dating for a few months but you had really grown attached to him. It was one of the things you hated about yourself: the way you got attached way too soon, way too much.

Especially, in this case, seeing as Eddie hadn't been 100% in it in the beginning you had hoped that the more time you'd spend together, he'd see that you weren't so bad and that he'd grow to care for you. At least a little bit.

Turns out you were wrong.

As much as you hated being wrong, the thing that hurt you the most was that despite your best efforts, Eddie still didn't think you were enough for him. And how could you be when the benchmark was perfect Anne?

You stood no chance. You had been a fool for even trying. And now you were experiencing the burn for your foolishness.

This had happened often enough that you had developed a routine for dealing with heartbreak:

1) crying your heart out and indulging your sadness with whatever helped (mostly comfort food and Friends)

2) enough with indulging, it was time to pick yourself up. No more overeating although you still allowed yourself to cry if you felt like it

3) "I don't need him anyway" phase where you'd make a mental list of how your life was before and after whoever you had broken up with to remind you that they weren't as important as you made them out to be

4)"put yourself out there again" phase where you started going out again with the intention of meeting new people or simply having a good time.

As of this time, you were in phase 3. You noticed that there were some of Eddie's things littering around your apartment. So, you picked up a box and collected them with the intention of returning them to him, effectively closing this chapter. As you did, you made that aforementioned list. This time, with the added reason for your break up, it was a bit easier to remind you why breaking up had been the right decision.

When your hands closed on your favourite hoodie of his though, you couldn't help the pang in your heart as a flood of memories hit you.

You and Eddie doing a Friends marathon every Friday night.

Eddie giving this hoodie when you were sick because he knew how much you liked it.

Eddie taking the hoodie off for a whole other reason almost ripping it...

No.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Enough of that. It was over.

It was only a week later that you finally got the time to come around Eddie's apartment. Sure, you could have called him, he could have come himself to pick them up or you could have dropped them at his job but that would have required you to call him. And recalling how that went last time you tried to reach him you decided you'd spare yourself the humiliation of him not ghosting you again.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and knocked on his door.

"Y/n." You were met with a dishevelled Eddie.

He looked like shit but what's new with him. He also looked very surprised to see you at his door and you also couldn't blame it for that. You would have reacted the same way if the roles were reversed.

"Hi, Eddie," you hated your treacherous voice that wobbled when you spoke. Clearing your voice, you tried again.

"Sorry to come here unannounced. I've found some of your stuff in my apartment and I thought you'd like to have them back." You explained as you handed him the box, his eyes taking it in for the first time.

"Oh," he paused as he considered your words. Was that disappointment in his voice? "Thank you, y/n. You shouldn't have." He smiled weakly as he took the box from you, your fingers touching briefly.

"It's not a problem, Eddie. I was just passing by anyway." You and Eddie actually lived far from each other. The truth is that there was no reason for you to be in this part of town if it wasn't for him. Eddie knew that but he was kind enough not to point that out.

He just nodded, accepting your words as he held the box close to his chest.

You awkwardly stared at each other for a while, you didn't know what to say but neither of you wanted to end this exchange quite yet. When you felt that you had been standing like a fool in front of your ex's door, you went to leave but Eddie beat you to it.

"So how have you been?" Your first reaction was to scoff at this attempt of small talk. Neither of you was very good at it. And truthfully, it was rich coming from someone who had not made any effort to keep in contact with you even before your breakup.

The scroll of your shoulders was the only answer Eddie got. You weren't in the mood to pretend nor did you want him to know how you were still suffering for him.

"I should ask that to you." You reverted the question to him. He really didn't look well.

"yeah, it's been a rough couple of weeks," he confessed scratching the back of his head.

"That, I don't find it hard to believe," you hummed as your eyes took him in, really took him in since you knocked at his door. You could also see behind him that his apartment was a mess.

"Yeah, don't have to worry about me though. I'm fine."

"Of course." You nodded at his dismissal, remembering harshly the situation you were in."Well, I'm going to go now. Take care." Cold but still polite you turn around, ready to put this -Eddie and this exchange- behind you.

"Y/n, wait!" he called when you were about to climb down the staircase. "Do you want to have a drink or something?" Stay for a while? he meant but didn't dare to say.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Eddie." You called over your shoulder, hand still on the railing.

"Please, I owe you an explanation." You didn't know if it was the desperate note in his voice or the fact that he really looked like shit but you turned around almost convinced.

"Don't you think it's too late for that, Eddie?"

"Maybe it won't change anything between us but you deserve to know." You knew Eddie and you knew how much he cared about transparency and honesty. This may not mean that you were going to get back together but he was right, you deserved an explanation.

"Okay," you agreed as you walked back and then into his apartment. Eddie closed the door behind him and set the box he was still holding down behind the coat hanger.

The sneak peek you had before was definitely right: Eddie's apartment was even messier than usual.

"Why does it look like a tornado hit your home?" You couldnìt help but point out. You knew Eddie wasn't that bothered by tidiness but this too much even by his standards.

"That would be my fault," a new voice answered you.

At first, you didn't register the difference in tone or accent even though you should have had because Eddieìs voice wasnìt that low or raspy. But then a black tendril entered your vision field catching your attention making you turning your head to better inspect it.

What.the.fuck??

"Eddie?" You asked perplexed, eyes fixed on this thing? even if you were addressing Eddie.

"Y/n meet Venom, Venom meet y/n." He gestured awkwardly with his hands.

"It's so nice to meet you, Eddie's always thinking about you, you know? It's a bit annoying." this time the voice didn't come from a tendril but a face. A fucking alien face with long sharp teeth and wide white eyes.

His words went straight over your head. How the fuck was this true? What were you even seeing? Did this thing come from Eddie's body??

"Fuck, I know I'm heartbroken but now I'm even seeing things?"

"Y/n," Eddie tried to get your attention. You thought you had only thought that but apparently, you had spoken the words. "You're not seeing things, this is part of the explanation I owe you."

"I think it's better if you sit," he said motioning to his couch when you did nothing but stare at Venom. Prompting by Eddie though, you sat down and listened as he spoke.

He told you everything. About Carton Drake about his project with aliens, about Venom and their rather troubled relationship. He even explained how Anne had got involved and how she and Danny had helped him.

It was definitely a lot to take in. But somehow, the thought that he could be lying to you never crossed your mind. The proof was right in front of you, wasn't it? Venom, as he had introduced himself, stood next to Eddie while he spoke. It had never spoken again and you were inwardly thankful for that. That he was giving you space to digest all of this.

"Why didn't you tell me when you came around that day, Eddie?" You asked once you thought you had wrapped your head around it.

"I didn't want you to drag you into this mess," he said with a shrug, head cast down he didn't meet your eyes.

You didn't know how you felt about all of this yet but you nodded anyway. Well, there was nothing you could do anymore, could you? He had already taken care of everything on his own and it wasn't like you had any right to worry about him anymore.

"Thank you for explaining, Eddie. I appreciate your honesty." Did this change anything for you?

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren't enough of if Anne meant more to me than you did. That's not true but I didn't know how to tell you that without telling you what was happening." He nervously fiddled with his fingers without meeting your eyes.

You could see his point now that you knew what happened. Still, it hurt you that he decided to just keep you out of it without a word. He could have at least told you that something was going on, that he didn't or couldn't tell you anything - not right now. You would have understood and given him space. Did he really act like this to keep you safe or was it a way to dismiss you?

"I don't know if this changes things, Eddie. You still turned up to her when a major life-threatening event happened. I think this tells me everything that I need to know." You point out after a while, eyes fixed on the end of your shoes.

"She has been involved from the moment we broke up, Y/n. Hell, this was the reason we broke up in the first place." Eddie's head snapped up at your words. He looked surprised at your words like he couldn't believe that you thought Anne's involvement had been something he had actively sought out.

"That may as well be true, Eddie but still, you didn't tell me even after everything settled down. If I hadn't come around to give you your stuff I still would be none the wiser."

"I was afraid, y/n. How could I come back to you after how much I had hurt you? 'Sorry if I went m.i.a. for a while, I was infected with a parasite who knows permanently with me?' Come on, y/n, I wouldn't take me back either." Now upset, Eddie started to gesticulate frantically to prove his point. His eyes flickered between yours, he leaned toward you, his hands a touch away from yours as if he wanted to touch you but was preventing himself from doing so.

"I'm not saying I would have believed you straight away but still- aliens are way better than self-loathing you know?" You scoff at him- why was he so upset? He wasn't the one who had been beating himself up since that fight for being a worthless piece of shit, was he?

"I know I've never done a good job at showing you but I do care about you. Deeply." Almost as if he couldn't bear to not be touching you any longer, Eddie now reached for your hands. His hold on them tightening as he spoke the words.

You looked at him for a moment. Aside from that fight, your relationship with him had been good. The start wasn't promising, seeing as he was still taken by Anne but Eddie had treated you good. He was attentive and caring in his own way. Looking back to it now, you realized that the period where you started feeling him pulling back from you was the time when this whole alien thing had started.

But now you had settled this, right? So, could this mean...

"If I give you one more chance to show you," you spoke tentatively, enthralled by the twinkle in his eyes, "do you promise me to be fully transparent with me this time around?"

"What? Why would you do that?" He looked shocked but his eyes were hopeful.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it, Eddie?" You challenged him, arching an eyebrow.

"Like hell I am." He scoffed, a smile on his lips. "Nono, of course I do. I swear, y/n. You'll never feel like you don't matter to me again."

"Good." You gave him a small smile at the gobsmacked expression on his face. Oh, Eddie...

He does nothing but stares at you for a while. Like he hadn't seen you in a while and now that you were in front of him, he wanted to commit to his memory every little detail of your face.

"So," you said after a while, "do you plan to stare at me or would you like to get a head start on your promise?" you provoke him with a suggestive tone.

Eddie's mouth fell a little at that, Venom said something to him but you didn't understand him. Shaking his head, Eddie smirks at you.

"I would like nothing more." And with that, Eddie's lips are on yours making up for the lost time.

[jackrrabbit]

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

[ash-mcj]

@softranswolves Isaac Lahey Appreciation Week: relationships

JISAAC | Teen Rating | 1026 words | read on AO3

“Do you wanna dance?” Jackson asked casually, as if it were a completely normal thing to suggest. As if they were friends, instead of two bastards that came from the same hell hole, who hadn’t spoken in years.

Isaac raised an eyebrow at him. “With you?”

“No shit.” Jackson rolled his eyes as he stood up straighter—making the diamond-studded mesh crop top he was wearing hug his torso deliciously tighter. “I mean, the last time we danced together, you were trying to stab me in the neck with a tranquilizer, so…”

“So, what?” Isaac chuckled, turning to face Jackson. “You think I owe you a dance?”

Jackson shrugged, coyly biting his lower lip. “I think that’s only fair.”

Isaac didn’t hate clubs, per se—but the list of ways he’d rather be spending his Saturday night was longer than the list of reasons why he had PTSD, which was really saying a lot more than it should have for a twenty-two year old. Unfortunately, when his roommate had proposed the idea of going to a popular club during their three day trip to London, Isaac couldn’t come up with a decent enough reason to say no. Apparently drunk, sweaty people being there was not a valid reason. He didn’t really see the hype, considering the best part of the place was the bar—which was infuriatingly useless to a werewolf, who couldn’t get drunk. Though, that didn’t deter him from trying.

He was halfway through his sixth whiskey of the night, when someone behind him suggested, “Thirty-two shots of tequila within an hour, then fifteen each hour after that to keep it going. At least, that usually does the trick for me.”

If Isaac weren’t a werewolf, he probably would’ve broken his neck by how quickly it swiveled to look over his shoulder at the familiar voice. His breath hitched in his chest as his wolf suddenly stirred, instinctually recognizing the only other one of Derek’s remaining betas, who he hadn’t seen in years. Jackson’s cocky smirk was unmistakably the same, but he’d definitely changed. He was still rather lean, though he’d filled out a bit— in all the right places—and grown his hair a few inches longer. It was messily sticking out in all directions, as if someone had gotten their hands in it at some point during the night, and preserved their work in glitter hairspray.

“Jackson?” Isaac asked dumbly, his mind not quite wrapping around the fact that he was actually seeing someone from his hometown for the first time since moving to France five years prior.

“Obviously,” Jackson snarked, but his tone didn’t hold as much bite as Isaac remembered from high school. “What are you doing here, Lahey?”

“Just visiting for a few days,” Isaac responded, his eyes roaming over Jackson’s face, almost mesmerized. His skin appeared to be glowing a bright cyan under the club lights, and the sparkles shimmering on his defined cheekbones and nose reflected the multicolored beams flashing around the room—creating an enticing aura of color that Isaac couldn’t bring himself to look away from.

Jackson nodded as he leaned against the bar counter, his arm just barely brushing against Isaac’s own. The proximity drew Isaac’s attention down to the shine on Jackson’s full lips, and Isaac realized he was wearing lip gloss. He’d never thought much about guys wearing makeup, since it wasn’t his thing and he didn’t know anyone who did, but damn did it look nice on Jackson.

Isaac probably should’ve been more taken aback by his attraction to Jackson Whittemore of all people, but he’d be a liar if he said he’d never noticed the asshole’s good looks before. Jackson had always been unfairly pretty, but Isaac didn’t have much time or energy to even contemplate doing anything about it back then. He was busy trying to survive Beacon Hills, and Jackson was even more insufferable than Isaac was.

“Your Insta’s been silent for like a year,” Jackson commented. “I kinda thought you were dead or something.”

Isaac nearly questioned why he was creeping on his social media, but instead said, “Not yet.”

“Looks like that makes two of us.”

The last two. Who would’ve thought? Isaac toasted his glass towards him, then brought it back to his lips to down the rest of his drink.

“Do you wanna dance?” Jackson asked casually, as if it were a completely normal thing to suggest. As if they were friends, instead of two bastards that came from the same hell hole, who hadn’t spoken in years.

Isaac raised an eyebrow at him. “With you?”

“No shit.” Jackson rolled his eyes as he stood up straighter—making the diamond-studded mesh crop top he was wearing hug his torso deliciously tighter. “I mean, the last time we danced together, you were trying to stab me in the neck with a tranquilizer, so…”

“So, what?” Isaac chuckled, turning to face Jackson. “You think I owe you a dance?”

Jackson shrugged, coyly biting his lower lip. “I think that’s only fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart,” Isaac reasoned, though his eyes fell hungrily down to Jackson’s exposed abdomen. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he eyed the dusting of dark hair trailing from his navel down into the front of his low-riding skinny jeans.

“No,” Jackson agreed, holding his glitter-covered hand out, “but it can be fun.”

Isaac scoffed and shook his head, but slapped his hand down onto Jackson’s nonetheless—who tightly gripped his fingers and yanked him up into his space just as aggressively. A slow smile stretched across Isaac’s face as Jackson provocatively looked up at him through his lashes, and he couldn’t help but ghost his hand along Jackson’s jaw to hook a finger under his chin and guide his face up towards his. Jackson’s confidence always made him seem taller in Isaac’s mind, but he had to be almost half a foot shorter than Isaac.

Considering that Isaac knew Jackson had moved to London before he’d even come to Europe himself, he shouldn’t have been all that surprised to run into him. However, there was no way in hell that he’d could've anticipated that Jackson’s hands would feel so amazing as they slipped under his shirt and left a rough trail of glitter up his stomach while they grinded against each other on the dance floor—or how sexy the combination of the whiskey on his own tongue and Jackson’s sweet lip gloss would taste.

And absolutely nothing could’ve prepared Isaac for how fucking gorgeous Jackson would look in the moonlight streaming in through his penthouse window as Isaac took him apart on satin sheets, or the way his wolf would feel so peaceful and safe and right as he finished inside of the other beta, both of their eyes flaring in the dark as they held each other.

[ragingbookdragon]

The Start of Something Great

Outlaws x Tamaranean!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence and Past Abuse

Author's Note: So this is technically the start of all those One-Shots with the T!Reader. In order, they are the one you're reading right now, then this one, this one, and this one. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She watched the group socialize from her position in the corner; she’d never been out and open like Kori was. She’d always preferred to watch in silence, to observe…the years she spent captive, formed her mindset of watching and waiting for moments of weakness. Speaking of Kori, she watched her step into the room with Dick; their hands tightly clasped together.

Fighting a laugh, she glanced out the window, turning her attention to the waves as they crashed against the rocks below the tower. She wondered why she was here. She wasn’t a part of the Titans…not really. Her animosity towards leniency on justice put her at odds with just about everyone within the group, and especially the Justice League. Well, except for Diana; the Amazon was the only one who truly understood her reasoning.

But as for letting criminals go free? It didn’t happen. Rarely ever, did (Y/N) allow a criminal to walk away from her, and her mind drifted to the memory of her first mission with the Titans.

***

She stepped out of the smoldering hole in the warehouse wall and strode to the criminal crawling from her. Placing her foot square between his pelvis and spine, she stepped down with all her strength and listened to his spine crack under the strain. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and she rolled him over with her foot, glaring down at him, watching as he begged.

“Please!”

A white hot star-bolt formed in her hand and she raised it, speaking coldly. “The women you assaulted and killed did not want to die either.”

The man began to cry as she flung the bolt, watching his body incinerate, and turn to ash; she turned and began walking away, ignoring the concerned look from her sister, and the angry looks from her teammates.

They hadn’t even gotten five feet into the tower when Dick was on her like a beast to a fresh kill. “What the hell was that, (Y/N)?”

She glowered, warning him darkly, “Watch how you speak to me, Richard. I am not Kori. And you should believe me when I tell you that what I feel for you is nothing short of loathing. And loathing is quick to turn deadly should I be pushed.” (Y/N) turned to leave when he moved in front of her again.

“It doesn’t matter what you feel! You owe us an explanation!” He shot back.

She barked a cold laugh. “I owe you nothing, least of all an explanation.”

“You murdered him!”

(Y/N) narrowed her gaze. “And the point you are trying to make is?”

Dick threw his hands into the air. “It was wrong!”

“Was what he did to those innocent women also wrong?” she countered and he all but recoiled.

“Of course! But that doesn’t—”

“But nothing. He was a despicable criminal, and he deserved to die for his crimes.” (Y/N) turned around and began walking to the door.

“We aren’t executioners, Kiyahnd’r.” Dick admonished.

She froze in her spot and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes frosty towards them. “Perhaps not you, Richard. But you were not raped and beaten repeatedly as a young child.” Her gaze narrowed. “My justice is absolute in the face people who do the same thing that was done to me and my sisters. Never forget that.”

***

(Y/N) blinked, dragging herself from the memory; it hadn’t been long after that, that she found herself tangled in combat with the Justice League. Apparently, she had held out against them far longer than anyone ever had, managing to overpower The Flash and Martian Manhunter. She had almost defeated Batman when Wonder Woman and Superman intervened, subduing her. That was a fun day for (Y/N), and she remembered how Batman had made her concede killing people…mostly anyway.

The years had been decent to her and she came to terms with her life, even branching out into modeling like Kori did. They ruled the runways. But the “lone wolf” style she’d developed while in captivity still ruled her, and she found it increasingly hard to keep continuing the team. They had all gathered in the room, and she rose from her seat.

Immediately, the talking stopped as everyone turned to stare at her; Dick smiled at her from his seat, Kori perched herself across his thighs. “You alright, (Y/N)?” She met his eyes before moving to the table and setting down a small metal piece. It clinked and their eyes moved to it, as Dick questioned, “What’s that?”

“You know what it is, Richard.”

He glanced over, looking at the item, and took in the realization of what it was. “Your key to the tower?”

(Y/N) nodded. “As of now, I formally relinquish my role as a Titan.” Ignoring the shocked gasps and stares, she continued. “I will be leaving at dusk.” (Y/N) made her way to the door. “Thank you…and goodbye.” She didn’t wait for their replies, moving to her bedroom.

She closed the door and sat beside the window, occasionally glancing at her packed bag. (Y/N) had money saved up over the years, from odd jobs to her professional modeling career worldwide and she still had big money rolling into her bank account from other various sources. She would be alright; she just needed to find a place to live on her own and thrive.

A knock tore her from her thoughts, and she turned to the door. “Enter.” In walked Kori and Dick, and she sighed knowingly. “Delivering the parting words?”

“Kiyahnd’r…are you sure you want to leave?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Very.”

They sat down on her bed, a couple feet away, and Dick leaned forward. “You don’t have to leave, (Y/N).”

“I am aware,” she noted. “but this is something that I want to do.”

“Why Kiyahnd’r?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flitted to Kori. “Because this is not where I belong.”

“Don’t say that, (Y/N). You—”

She raised a hand. “Do not try and cushion the blow, Richard.” She rose and stared out the window. “It has been plain to see all these years that you all will never trust me.” (Y/N) glanced at Dick. “Or accept me onto your team.”

Dick went silent, and Kori nudged him. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? She’s kinda right.”

“Dick!”

(Y/N) stopped Kori. “Do not be angry at him, Koriand’r. Richard is right.” She paused. “I am not you Koriand’r…I allow my past to define how I live my life.” Her eyes moved to her sister’s, and a hint of sorrow crossed her tone. “I cannot let go of our pasts. It will haunt me forever, and I need to find my own path…away from this place.”

The two of them went silent, then Dick said, “If you don’t have anywhere to go…Jason’s been in need of a partner lately.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “That moronic imbecile? Certainly not.”

Dick snickered as Kori sighed. “Jason is not stupid, sister.”

“Truly? There have been a few times where he has fooled me.”

Kori sighed again, as Dick rose from the bed, moving to (Y/N). “Look…I know you think I don’t like you—”

“You do not like me.”

Dick rolled his eyes and corrected, “Wrong, Miss Know-It-All. I happen to like you very much. In fact—”

(Y/N) cut him off, turning to Kori. “Be cautious sister, you apparently have competition for Richard’s affections.” Kori and (Y/N) giggled as Dick raised his hands in exasperation.

He marched to the door with them still raised. “I give up! I came in here to wish you goodbye and good luck, and this is what I receive!” He was almost out the door when (Y/N) pulled him back, spinning him around to pull him in for a brief but heartfelt hug.

She pulled away and glanced at him. “For all you have done for me…and for all the times you have tried to help me…thank you, Richard.”

He grinned up at her and squeezed her round her middle. “See…you love me after all.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and picked up her bags. “Do not push it Dick. You still anger me.”

“You aren’t the first person to tell me that.” Dick shrugged.

She snorted and moved to the door, stopping and glancing at them. “And I most certainly will not be the last.”

***

The flight to Gotham City was quiet, and she remembered the first time she arrived.

***

The portal opened and she fell through it, still fighting off the Psions who followed her. They crash-landed into a building, and the rubble was lit up like the sun as she threw star-bolts at them. The fighting lasted for a few minutes, and in the end, she stood victorious among the scattered body parts. Her mind raced as she tried to remember where her sister had gone, and the next thing she realized, a Psion was on her back.

She cursed in her native tongue as it clawed at her, and gathered energy into her palm to kill it when it flew off her, landing a good distance away. She rolled to her side and coughed; a hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to see a man in black standing over her.

His lips moved, and she knew words were coming out, but it sounded like gibberish. The hand extended towards her more, and she took it, allowing him to help her stand. He kept speaking and she rolled her eyes, reaching out and grabbing his face; she brought their lips together, and words and languages flowed through her mind.

She released him and he simply gaped at her, too stunned to move; she snorted. “Apologies. My race learns by psychophysically connecting with one another. The most effective way is through oral contact.”

“…You just learned to speak English from kissing me?”

She nodded. “Is that what you call it? English? What a strange name it is.” The corner of his mouth rose, and she stood up straight. “I am Kiyahnd’r of…well…it does not matter.” She paused. “My name is Kiyahnd’r.”

He nodded. “I’m Batman.”

***

(Y/N) felt the corners of her mouth raise at the memory; it had been a very long time since she’d thought about it, and it reminded her of how lucky she’d been to learn the languages from Bruce. Kori only received a small amount from Dick; (Y/N) had received twenty-three different dialects, all fluently. The fleeting memories lasted only so long, and the plane began to ascend, signaling her arrival.

She stepped off of the plane and made her way to the baggage claim, picking up her bag and moving to the doors when she saw a familiar man. (Y/N) stared as he walked towards her.

He stopped in front of her and smirked. “Need a ride, doll?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dick called you then.”

“Called a few hours ago saying you were leaving the Titans and coming to find me and Roy.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “I was coming to Gotham. I was not coming to see the both of you.” She glared at him.

“Sticks and stones, (Y/N).”

“Go crawl into a bush, Jason.”

His hand curled around the handle of her suitcase and he lifted it, nodding his head to the door. “Car’s outside.” Jason moved forward, and (Y/N) was left with no choice but to follow him. She watched as he put her suitcase in the trunk, then turned to her. “You hungry?”

“Are you going to cook?”

Jason paused as he was getting in the driver’s door; he looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “Do you want me to cook?”

She moved to sit in the passenger seat. “So long as you make something good.”

He grinned as he sat in the seat, starting the car. “I always make good food.”

(Y/N) let out a ‘hmpf’. “We shall see.”

***

The drive to his apartment was slow and when they arrived, the sun was setting low beyond the skyline. They climbed the stairs and entered his apartment; (Y/N) hummed. “I wasn’t sure that your apartment would be as tidy as it is. It is rather shocking.”

Jason grunted as he moved into the kitchen, pulling out pans from the cabinets. “Sorry doll, the role of messy Robin is Tim.” He paused and glanced at her. “And sometimes, Dick…but mostly Timmy.”

(Y/N) snorted and motioned to her bag. “Where should I put my things?”

Jason nodded down the hallway. “Second door on your right. I changed the sheets and cleaned it, so you should be happy.”

She said nothing and walked to the bedroom. It was a little dull for her tastes, but nothing she couldn’t fix with a trip to the department store and IKEA. She walked back out and sat at the bar, watching Jason cook for them. When he was finished, they sat out on the balcony sharing a bottle of wine.

(Y/N) swallowed it, gagging, “Earth wine is disgusting.”

“Wine’s a peculiar taste,” he snorted, taking a sip. “You have to get used to it.”

She grunted and replied, “I do not want to be used to it. It tastes like…I do not even know what it tastes like. All I know is that it is disgusting.”

“You’re just a Debbie-Downer, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

“I do not know what that is but I can tell it is not positive.”

“Nevermind.” Jason chuckled and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, eating their dinner, and when they were finished, they climbed to the roof and watched the stars; Jason leaned over. “So, why did you leave the Titans?”

(Y/N) sighed quietly, murmuring, “I did not want to be within their company any longer.”

He eyed her. “And?”

“And I did not want to be ostracized anymore.” (Y/N) inhaled. “I am not Kori. She was accepted easily within the Titans because she is kind and sweet. But I? No…I was never one to be accepted. My attitude and stance on how I deal with criminals was not something the Titans were too keen on keeping.”

Jason listened silently, then tipped his head. “Dick told you to come find me then?”

She shrugged. “More or less.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “I assume he had an inkling that because we are so similar in our mindsets on criminals that we would get along and be able to work together.”

“Red Hood, Arsenal, and Supernova,” Jason grinned. “It’s got a great ring to it.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I regret this decision already.”

He scooted closer and slung an arm around her shoulders, ignoring the way she growled low in her throat. “Don’t be like that, doll…we’re gonna make a kick-ass team.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort when a light shone in the sky; she glanced at Jason, tipping her head to it. “Well…let us go and show what a team we will make.” She rose, holding out a hand. “Shall we, Red Hood?”

Jason glanced at her hand before taking it, smirking. “Hell yeah.”

[thesiriusmoon]

Harry Potter ships I truly hate

Disclaimer: I’m not telling you who to ship and whatnot, I’m just expressing how awful these ships are to me and then explaining why.

1. Harry X Draco

Now this is coming from a former drarry stan who before, hadn’t read the books. I thought Draco ‘had no choice’ and ‘just wanted love’ until I opened my eyes and saw the character for who he really was. That is a spoiled blood supremacist who hates muggleborns, and is loved by both of his parents. Draco bullied Harry. Although Harry fought back, it was because he was the victim and had to defend himself. Harry never went out of his way to hurt Draco, but Draco did it constantly. Draco and Harry would never work because Harry hated Draco just as much as Draco did him. You could ship Harry with so many others that wouldn’t be toxic such as, Ginny, Cho, maybe Hermoine (but I prefer Romoine), maybe even Ron if you want to. (I don’t ship Harry and Cedric because the ages are too weird). It’s so obvious throughout the entire book that Harry didn’t have romantic feelings for Draco, he only ever thought he was doing bad things, seeing as he was a bad person. Harry found love in Ginny in like the fifth book? Which is when the crush started, and no one else was in the picture for him once he began dating Ginny. In conclusion, Ginny is the one he married and had children with, not Draco, because he hated him and wanted nothing to do with him as he was nothing but a bully who hated muggles and muggleborns. Seeing as Harry is a half blood, and his mother was muggleborn, why do you think Harry would turn around and be like “oh he’s just broken I’ll fix him.” And ignore everything Draco ever said about his family???? That’s such a toxic thing to think... because believe it or not, in a relationship you’re supposed to be with someone you like as a person. Just because you may find Draco attractive, that doesn’t make him a good person!! Harry would never choose Draco over anyone for that matter. If it were between Ginny or Draco to be saved, you better bet on Harry saving Ginny.

2. Hermoine X Draco

I genuinely hate this ship with my entire being. It disgusts me. This isn’t an enemies to lovers, this is literally bully X victim. Hermoine didn’t fight back, meaning Draco was the full oppressor and she was the oppressed. Draco is a blood supremacist who called Hermoine a mudblood constantly and hated her, and the feeling was mutual from Hermoine because why would anyone like their bully? Falling in love with your bully is a book trope, that doesn’t happen in real life. When Hermoine was being tortured in Malfoy Manor, Draco stood and watched because he didn’t care, meanwhile Ron, the boy Hermoine was attracted to and loved, was screaming and crying begging for him to take her place so she would be protected. That’s true love, something Hermoine and Draco will never have. I really will never understand why so many people love shipping victims with their oppressors... like do you get a sick kick out of it by babying the oppressor? Saying things like “oh he’s just unloved” or “he can change!” When none of that is true. Draco chose to be who he is, which is a blood supremacist and was loved by his family, and Hermoine chose not to ever engage with him because of his personality and attitude. Draco hated her, and everyone else like her because of their status, and overall, Hermoine just isn’t attracted to him. Hermoine is attracted to Ron and he’s the only person I can see dating Hermoine because everyone else would be a bit strange. Dramoine is unbelievably toxic, and all it does is romanticise abuse. “Oh Draco only bullied her for 7 years because he was afraid to love her.” Stfu. You’d never hurt someone you love. Draco bullied her because he thought he was ABOVE her, and she was nothing but dirt on his shoe.

3. Hermoine X Pansy

When it comes to fanon, I still don’t understand why it gets shipped because in order to do that, you have to change Pany’s entire personality to the point where it’s not even Pansy anymore. It’s just some nice girl with the same name. Because the real Pansy bullied Hermoine and made it known how much she didn’t like her. Not only that, but Pansy was head over heels for Draco. This isn’t an enemies to lovers, this is shipping the bully with the victim for some weird reason... because Hermoine didn’t fight back just like Hermoine X Draco. If they were both at each other’s throats I could see your enemies to lovers, but that’s just not what this is. If you ship them because you’re looking for a wlw ship, why not take a look at Ginny X Luna, Lavender X Parvati, or even Tonks X Fleur, rather than picking the toxic ship that would never ever work and would only hurt Hermoine. Ron Weasley exists for a reason. Again, shipping someone with their oppressor is a very weird thing to do. For example, Ron is a pureblood, but Ron wasn’t prejudice towards muggles or muggleborns, because he’s a decent and normal person. Pansy and Draco aren’t decent people, and they bullied people. Really there isn’t much else to say as all canon stuff about Pansy is about her bullying people, and encouraging people to capture Harry because SHE’S A BLOOD SUPREMACIST THAT’S ALL SHE IS. Hermoine is a strong and independent woman and would NEVER date someone prejudice like that, she has standards.

4. Lily X Snape

We have to stop with this “she can fix him” mentality, because women don’t exist to fix men. Either Snape was a good person, or a bad person. He should be able to choose that himself. Which he was actually, and he was very clearly a bad person. You can’t force someone to be attracted to another. Attraction forms on its own, and it’s something Lily never had for Snape, they were only friends. To say that Lily owed Snape something because he liked her... is so wrong and disgusting. If she doesn’t like him, she doesn’t like him and Snape should fucking move on instead of obsessing over her. But, Snape overall was a creep so you can’t say “oh he made a mistake” when that man knew EXACTLY what he was doing. Ripping Lily’s happy photograph of her with her husband and baby, and taking the letter she wrote for Sirius who Snape could pretend she did that for him. Literally disgusting. Even the friendship was toxic. When reading I realised that Snape played the victims card a lot when talking about the marauders as if he wasn’t doing WORSE thing to them. Lily knew that Snape wanted to join Voldemort, as seen in the books. ‘You and your previous little death eater friends — you see, you don’t even deny it. You don’t even deny that’s what you’re aiming to be! You can’t wait to join you-know-who, can you?” Then she says “I can’t pretend anymore, you’ve chosen your way, and I’ve chosen mine.” Lily PRETENDED that Snape wasn’t going to be a death eater because she didn’t want to believe that her own friend would hate her kind so much. Though once reality hit her she was gone and was never coming back. To ship someone who was oppressed with the oppressor is so weird and wrong, and I genuinely think you’re strange if you do that 😐. Snape already didn’t like Lily having other friends... so what does that tell you about what kind of relationship they would have? A manipulative one and an emotionally abusive one. James Potter was a pureblood, and not once did he ever bully someone for their blood status. He did things to Snape because Snape was a prejudice piece of shit and deserved it quite frankly. I would have done the exact same thing. Remember, the Potter’s were ‘blood traitors’ and Snape was a blood supremacist, of course the two aren’t going to like one another. But the difference is, Snape bullied innocent people (laughing at the fact Mary MacDonald was subdued to dark magic) and James fought back for those without voices. Getting revenge for people who couldn’t do it themselves. That’s the difference between a bully and a hero tbh. There’s no way Lily would ever date a death eater, she’s a strong woman who can make up her mind for herself rather than having people on the internet say things like “she was brainwashed!” And things like that. She became attracted and fell in love with a respectful man who would never cause her any type of emotional or physical harm.

In conclusion, I will judge you if you think shipping abusers/oppressors with their victims is ok in any way.

If you made it this far, feel free to comment or reblog with your own opinion. Just know that my opinion on these ships will never change because they’re all extremely toxic whether you like it or not. That’s just common sense. It’s canon that Draco, Pansy, and Snape were horrible people who liked to make fun of others. Fanon doesn’t mean a single thing in this because fanon isn’t real. If you have to change the entire personality of someone so they aren’t abusive... what does that tell you about their character? A lot of people do this because they like how a character looks, which is so tone deaf. If you think a victim should date their oppressor because of looks... I’m judging you heavily. If a character is wrote to be abusive, I don’t understand people do fan art of them with the people they hurt in a romantic way.

You might say I’m being over dramatic, but really it’s not that hard to understand that you shouldn’t romanticise abuse or say that oppressor X victim would make the perfect couple just because of their looks.

Would you ever ship Neville with Draco? No you wouldn’t. And it’s not for the reasons you would think. I bet if Neville was conveniently attractive (in the books, I love Matthew.) people would have shipped him with Draco despite Draco mercilessly bullying Neville for 7 years. A lot of people would have made excuses like “Draco was broken!” In order to be able to ship two attractive men together. (Which also plays into fetishisation of lgbt+ couples I think...) This fandom is rather toxic when it comes to this, and they’d rather ship a very abusive relationship with two conventionally attractive people rather than a loving one with two people that aren’t.

[timelesslords]

have my back, yeah, every day

Annabeth realizes that Percy started sleeping on his back, and she’s determined to know why.

or, a one shot based on this post 

Read on AO3

Annabeth had spent a surprising amount of her life watching Percy Jackson sleep. 

Not in a weird way. It wasn’t like she’d been sneaking into his cabin at night— at least, she hadn’t been before they started dating a month ago. It was just that the life of a demigod was inherently transient, and they’d spent a lot of time questing with each other, and questing meant sleeping in shifts. 

And sure, one could argue that the purpose of shift-sleeping was to watch out for threats, not watch your questing companions sleep. But in the absence of imposing threats it wasn’t like there was a lot else to do besides watch your friends sleep. And maybe Annabeth had focused on watching one friend in particular, so much so that she had picked up on a lot of his sleeping habits.

In the past month since they'd started dating, she'd only honed those observations to their minutiae: she could tell from the twitch of his fingers whether the dream he was having was good or bad. She could tell from his breathing whether he was in a deep sleep or a shallow one. She knew he ran hot and only slept with a sheet, if anything at all. 

So that was why Annabeth found it odd that Percy had suddenly shifted from being an adamant side-and-stomach sleeper to always, always, sleeping on his back.

Admittedly, she’d probably spent more time in the past two weeks watching Percy sleep than she had every other time combined, so her sample size had grown, which could somewhat account for the shift from stomach to back. Except that it wasn’t an occasional switch, something she could have caught onto earlier. It was every single time.

Every random nap (which he took a lot of, these days). Every time she snuck into his cabin at night and he fell asleep before her. Everytime she fell asleep first and woke up before him. Even right now, both of them on his bunk together, his head in her lap-- despite the fact that there was a perfectly good pillow not two feet away. On his back. Always.

Annabeth really wasn’t supposed to be here at all, but Percy spent a lot of time asleep lately, and she didn’t mind bending the rules to spend more time with him. Summer was starting to wind down, and that meant her time with him was starting to dwindle as well. She wanted to spend every possible minute they could together, even if it meant all she was doing was watching him sleep. And okay, maybe they’d spent some time making out before Percy’s nap, but still. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he was getting close. 

He looked so peaceful and relaxed Annabeth almost just kept her mouth shut altogether. But they’d both be going home in a few days, and she knew this was going to drive her crazy until she sucked it up and asked him about it.

"You never used to sleep on your back," Annabeth said, finally unable to take it anymore. 

Percy’s eyes fluttered open sleepily. Annabeth immediately felt a little guilty for depriving him of his nap, but he didn’t seem upset, just confused. 

“Huh?” he yawned. 

“You always used to sleep on your side. Or your stomach. And now you never do,” Annabeth said. She watched as recognition flitted across his features, but he still hesitated before answering. 

"Oh, yeah,” he said, unhelpfully. But Annabeth could tell that her instincts were right, and this was something going on, not just her being a crazy person who spent way too much time memorizing her boyfriend’s sleeping habits. 

Maybe she should leave it alone. He clearly didn’t seem all that excited to talk about it. But she’d already brought it up, and it was clearly bothering him, and well-- Annabeth was curious. 

“Why?” she asked. 

This time he glanced away, his eyes finding the ceiling instead of meeting her gaze. 

I guess after… everything, it just sort of felt exposed," he said, slowly. 

It took Annabeth a second to realize what he meant by "everything." There was the obvious answer, the one that went along with “exposed,” the one that frankly, she was already kicking herself for not guessing from the start. His Achilles spot was on his back, so no fucking wonder he didn’t want to sleep back to the world anymore. 

Annabeth could tell by the tone of his voice that it was more than that, just slightly. But she couldn’t even begin to parse out what that meant without acknowledging the obvious.

“Oh. Gods, I’m dumb,” she groaned, covering her face with one hand. 

He laughed, his shoulders shaking against her legs just slightly.

“You’re not dumb,” he said. His voice was affectionate, but she could tell his nerves about the whole thing hadn’t completely melted away. His finger had started tapping against the bedspread beside him, a nervous, unconscious gesture.  

“Yeah, but I should have…” 

Annabeth trailed off. She should have known. It was obvious. She was the only one who could have possibly known, because she was the only one who knew where his spot was, the only one he’d ever trusted with that information. And she hadn’t realized.

“What? Known?” Percy finished for her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, shouldn’t I have?” Annabeth asked, peering down at him through her fingers. 

Percy reached up, tugging on the hand that was still covering her face, pulling it away, down above his head, wrapped in his own. 

“Annabeth, I didn’t even know that you’d noticed I’d switched. It’s not a big deal.”

It had been so easy to forget about it all, the past month. Things had been normal, happy, better than normal, because now they were dating and the war was over and nobody was on the verge of predetermined death. And Annabeth had spent a month wondering why he’d stopped sleeping on his stomach and it hadn’t, not once, occurred to her why, even with the answer staring at her right in the face. She just hadn’t wanted to look. 

If she was honest, the curse scared her. Sure, it provided protection in a more general sense. He was never going to get a cut or a scrape or a burn from the lava wall. But it made everything so tenuous-- all of him was tethered to life through one tiny spot on his back. It could all fall away so easily, and Annabeth had been pushing that thought out of her mind for the entire past month. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Annabeth glanced back down at Percy, jolted back to reality by his voice. He was frowning, little worried lines etched between his brows. 

“The curse isn’t the only reason,” Annabeth said, ignoring his question, “I mean it is, but-- there’s more.”  

He grimaced a little, but didn’t drop his eyes this time. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, trying to cover up his frown with a smile, squeezing her hand. 

But then his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to her shoulder—where, under the fabric of her t-shirt, there was still a thick white scar from a poisoned knife that wasn't meant for her at all— and Annabeth suddenly understood everything. 

Percy could say what he wanted about the strategic placement of his Achilles heel; that it was small and hard to hit with armor on and all those other things. But Annabeth knew why he’d put it on his back maybe even better than he did. It was the same reason he’d always slept on his stomach, at least until now. Because even after everything he’d been through, all the fights he’d survived and all the betrayals he’d suffered, he was still a little too damn trusting. 

He’d put his weak spot on his back because there was some part of him, however small, that still believed people were good and decent and would face you head on, the same way he would. That they wouldn’t attack you when your back was turned, because even if it would give him the advantage, Percy would never win a fight that way. He’d banked on his own instinct, because that goodness was so built into his worldview he probably hadn’t even realized he’d done it.  

Obviously that hadn’t quite worked out, and Annabeth had almost died taking the knife that was literally and figuratively meant to stab him in the back. And Annabeth knew that that was what he meant by “everything,” not just the curse itself. 

Percy was still looking up at her, patiently waiting for her to be finished thinking, completely oblivious to her realizations. Annabeth bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him all that. For one, it was the opposite of “not worrying,” and for another she didn’t want him to worry about her. 

And she didn’t want him to be scared anymore. She wanted him to bear his back to the world as freely as he had before, because the thought of losing that part of him was painful in a way she didn’t even know how to describe. 

“Get up,” she said, nudging his head with her knee. 

“Why? Ow—” Another nudge and Percy was sitting up next to her, rubbing his temple. As soon as he was up, Annabeth laid down, pressing her back to the wall of the cabin. 

“What are you doing?” Percy asked, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Fixing it,” Annabeth said, patting the bed next to her, “Lie down.” 

Percy gave her a weird look, but followed her instructions, tentatively lowering himself onto the mattress next to her, back down. 

“On your side, dummy,” Annabeth said, poking him in the ribs for emphasis. 

Percy frowned, suddenly realizing what she was trying to do.

“But your—”

Annabeth didn’t even need him to finish his sentence to know that he was protesting the fact that her back would be uncovered this way, nevermind the fact(s) that a) the chances of them being attacked at camp in his cabin were slim to none and b) Annabeth was not the one with her lifeline attached to one very specific exposed spot on her body. 

“Wall,” Annabeth reminded him, kicking the cabin wall behind her with one foot, just to remind him that it was there. 

Percy sighed, but was either out of protests or too tired to use them. He rolled over tentatively, his back pressed against her front. Annabeth curled into him, wrapping her arm around his chest, tucking her chin into the crook of his neck.

She could feel him relax under her, something tense in his limbs melting away, his breath slowing and evening out. 

“Better?” she asked, quietly, suddenly a little self-conscious. 

“Better,” he agreed, finding her hand and squeezing it again, “Thank you.” 

Annabeth smiled into his neck, lacing her fingers more securely through his. 

“You’re welcome,” she said, snuggling a little closer to him. 

They spent a quiet few minutes like that before either of them spoke again. Annabeth would almost think Percy had fallen asleep, except that he was rubbing little circles into her palm with his thumb. 

“I could get used to this,” he admitted. 

Annabeth’s chest felt warm, and she didn’t think it was from Percy’s body heat. He was trying to sound casual, but Annabeth could tell he meant it. 

“Yeah?” she asked, softly. 

She could hear the smile in his reply, even if she couldn’t see it. 

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.” 

It was Annabeth’s turn to smile, then. 

“I’m always gonna have your back, Seaweed Brain. You’re going to have to get used to it.” 

[seijorhi]

Nothing Fucks with My Baby

The (not so) long awaited Hitman AU 👀

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

TW Blood, minor violence, referenced/implied murder, stalking, implied kidnapping

Iwaizumi has one rule. No kids.

They could be the damn antichrist for all he cares, if they’re underage, they’re off limits. Anyone else is fair game - kind old ladies, rich corrupt businessmen, housewives, politicians. He doesn’t give a shit so long as he gets paid, and paid well.

You were fair game.

He never cares why. Iwa has better things to do than listen to meaningless justifications and vendettas. They make no difference either way - he’s being paid to kill, so he’ll kill, ruthlessly and without prejudice. All he wants is a name, a picture and whether or not they want brains splattered on pavement or something a little more refined. An address doesn’t go astray, but he’ll work with what he’s got, it’s the reason he can charge a fucking premium.

But you… you weren’t what he expected. He’s used to filth. Liars, cheaters, bottom of the barrel trash. Every once in a while some poor idiot gets caught up in something they don’t understand and ultimately pay the price for it, but good people don’t often end up in files splayed across Iwaizumi’s desk. He’s not used to innocence, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re as close as they come.

He supposes that things might have been different if they’d wanted you dead quickly. 

Publicly. 

But they didn’t want that. They wanted you to disappear without a fucking trace. It wasn’t a kindness - it just meant more work for him. It meant that instead of staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle perched in the window of an empty apartment across the street from yours, he’d have to get his hands dirty.

If you want somebody to blame, sweetheart, why don’t you start with them?

In hindsight, he probably didn’t need to go inside the little coffee joint you worked at. He could lie to himself and say that it was an excuse to get closer to you, to see if you had friends at your work who might try and get in the way, but the simple truth was that he’d been up since four in the fucking morning, and he might just have shot somebody out of sheer irritation if he didn’t get a hit of caffeine and soon. 

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

And it wasn’t like you were going to recognise him. Three days in, and as far as Iwa can tell, you don’t have the slightest idea that you were being watched, much less that the pair of eyes watching belonged to a cold hearted killer. 

People tend to be a little more scared when they sense he’s coming - there’s a kind of innate fear that seeps from every pore as they scurry about trying to hide, trying to put off the inevitable - but you, you’re just blissfully oblivious, flitting around with those wide doe eyes like you haven’t got a damn care in the world. 

He honestly doesn’t know whether he wants to envy or pity you for that sweet naivety. 

Currently though, he’s more concerned with whether or not you can make a half decent cup of coffee. 

“I asked for an extra hot latte.”

Or he would be, if the asshole with slicked back hair and an expensive suit hadn’t cut him off just as he was about to step up to the counter to shove the coffee you’d just made him back in your face. He watches your eyes widen for a split second before you smile - apologetic and demure before you can even open your mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it not hot enough?” 

The moment the words leave your lips, you all but flinch. Both you and he know that despite the fact you mean them sincerely (which kind of surprises him, considering that if your situations were reversed he wouldn’t have been nearly so generous) they’re a mistake.

The asshole sneers down at you like you’re nothing more than scum on his shoes. “If it was fucking hot enough, I wouldn’t be wasting my time complaining, now would I?”

Even before he found himself dabbling in his current line of work, Iwaizumi never considered himself much of a knight in shining armour. The world’s a shitty place, it’s not his job to go around fixing things and softening blows. He’s not a cold, emotionless bastard, as most people assume, he just has better things to do than run around playing a damn bleeding heart and sticking his neck out for strangers. It’s not his problem and as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe anybody shit.

Impassive olive eyes watch as you try and backtrack, apologising again, offering to make him a new drink, explaining that the reason the coffee wasn’t as hot as he wanted was because you were trying not to scorch the milk- for naught.

You in your naive little world don’t seem to realise that the asshole doesn’t actually give a shit about the coffee. He wants a power trip, and you’ve given him the perfect excuse. He wants to yell and scream and stamp his feet and take all of his repressed anger and feelings of inadequacy out on you so that he can feel like a big man. He wants to see you whimper and cry and bow down before him.

It’s pathetic, but Iwa’s content to watch it play out, drumming his fingers against the wallet in his hand, more irritated with the delay in getting his own coffee than the outburst itself-

Until the asshole reaches for his latte. 

Iwa’s good at reading people, predicting their movements before they’re even made. It’s a necessary skill in his profession, one that’s saved his skin more times than he can count. He sees the little vein in the asshole’s temple throb, his jaw tighten, and the moment his hand twitches towards the still steaming cup of coffee, Iwa knows that he fully intends on throwing it at you.

He moves quicker than a man of his size has any right to, an iron grip wrapping around the asshole’s wrist, squeezing. He glares, sneering down at the man who all of a sudden doesn’t seem quite so angry, much less imposing. 

“Get out,” he hisses.

It’s not a request.

But the asshole either has a death wish or he’s trying to salvage what’s left of his fragile ego, because his beady eyes narrow and he opens his mouth - no doubt to spew more vitriolic bullshit.

Iwa twists.

Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that it sends the man to his knees, whimpering like a kicked puppy, desperate to relieve the pressure on his wrist. 

“I said,” he begins, his voice colder than ice, “get out.”

Yet he doesn’t spare the asshole another glance, not even as he releases his grip and the man skitters away like he’s been burned. The cafe is deathly silent, and without even glancing around, Iwa knows that they’ve managed to draw the attention of most if not all of its patrons.

And for once, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

Iwa’s eyes, his attention, all of it is focused entirely on you - on the wide eyed, stunned look on your pretty face. It’s a violent outburst, not nearly close to what he’s truly capable of, but in the quiet little cafe on a dreary Tuesday morning, glaringly out of place.

Will you burst into tears, he wonders. Ignore it, brush it aside and pretend it never happened? Stutter out more apologies for causing a fuss, for making a simple mistake? He somehow doubts you’ll be the type to scold him for it. No, you’re far too meek for that.

You surprise him, smiling slowly instead, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

It’s a far cry from the contrite air you’d graced the asshole with earlier. It’s hesitant, nervous, but it’s very much real, and Iwa finds it difficult to stop the corners of his own lips from twitching upwards in response.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He inclines his head a fraction. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t charge him for the coffee, even when he practically shoves the bills across the counter into your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shyly parrot back at him, and he almost fucking snorts when there’s a warmed chocolate chip muffin waiting with his coffee when it’s ready.

He’s being paid forty grand to make sure you’re dead by the end of the week, and you’re here giving him free muffins. Oikawa would see the humour in that. Of course, Oikawa would have absolutely no qualms in charming the absolute hell out of you seconds before he pulled the trigger. Realistically, he shouldn’t either. It’s his job, nothing personal.

To say he enjoys killing is probably a stretch, but he takes pride in it. Iwa’s good at what he does. It’s simple. Easy - so long as he follows his own rules.

This shouldn’t be any different. You’re cute, he supposes, in an odd sort of way. Innocent.

Endearing.

It shouldn’t have an effect on him. 

It doesn’t, but-

He could have killed you two days ago. He’d be willing to bet good money that he could’ve walked right to your apartment, knocked on your door, made up some bullshit excuse on the spot and you would have smiled and invited him right inside. 

And it’s not like you’d stand a chance of being able to fight him off.

Over the past few days there have been at least twelve different moments that Iwaizumi could have stepped in and snuffed that pretty little life of yours out without making a fuss and it would have been easy.

But he hadn’t.

There’s a difference between surveillance and stalking - it’s a fine line, a blurred one maybe, but it’s there all the same. After yet another night spent camped out watching you move about your apartment - cooking dinner for yourself, zoning out on the couch and fiddling with your phone while the tv plays in the background before finally curling up in bed in the early hours of the morning - Iwa comes to the realisation that he’s crossed it. 

He wonders why it doesn’t bother him like it should.

The next day, he goes back to your little coffee shop. There’s no muffin this time, but your face brightens when he walks through the door and when he goes to pick up his coffee there’s a tiny, bite sized cookie sitting atop the lid.

“Don’t tell my boss,” you whisper, darting a glance back over your shoulder even as another pretty little smile graces your features.

Something unexpectedly warm and pleasant sings through his blood, and this time Iwa allows his own lips to twitch into the faintest hint of a grin in response.

You really are a truly awful judge of character.

Maybe that’s your downfall, that beautiful, naive innocence you just bleed. It’s a wonder that nobody’s come along to take advantage of you, especially when you are so very ripe for the taking. 

Well, nobody until him, he supposes. 

Iwa doesn’t know for certain why the men who want you dead do, he doesn’t particularly care either, but he does know that whatever their reasons are, it’s not enough.

Neither is forty thousand dollars.

It takes time, more than he’d like, to find the root of it all. It’s messy and he has to call in a few favours from old friends, but Iwa is nothing if not thorough.

He’s never particularly enjoyed killing, but there’s a certain satisfaction he gets from watching the light leave their desperate, pleading eyes knowing that he’s finally done his job. When he comes home, his shirt flecked with blood, his hands still dripping with it and coaxes your stricken, tear stained face up into a lingering kiss, Iwa feels content.

They wanted you to disappear entirely, he made sure that you did. 

[ac3id]

Plaything | 18+ | part i

plaything 1/ ?? | part 0

pairings: yandere! bully bakugou katsuki x fem! reader

warnings: [series] blackmail, bullying, dubcon/ noncon, filming w/o consent, yandere themes, no quirks au. ALL CHARACTERS ARE ABOVE 18 YEARS OF AGE.

↪ for chapter 1: dubcon, blackmail, humiliation, masturbation, filming w/o consent, boot grinding, a little bit of bakusquad + reader....this is filthy :D 

summary: by luck you get enrolled into u.a high the best school in your town. the only catch is that the school is filled with rich, spoilt and powerful brats who just seem to hate you and among them, a certain red eyed blonde dreads you the most

↪ for chapter 1: you bump into bakugou by accident, dropping your vanilla ice cream all over him, you try to apologize and run away but wants more...oh wait why are his friends standing there recording everything too? 

wordcount. 4k+

a/n: sooooo, it’s finally out! huge thanks to @sawamooora for proof reading this! helped me out a lot <3 sorry for making u sit through that mess x[

 this scene was inspired by that one episode of boys over flowers where the mc’s best friend drops ice cream on the main guy’s shoe and he asks the mc to lick it off...obviously that didn’t happen in the show but it really got me thinking...... 

alsO the netflix show elite,,, i just saw it and knew,,,,

taglist: @mocha-focha​, @erenyeagersbasement​ , @haribo-pop, @sunshine-fangs​, @kuremis​, @amazing-fandoms​,

dm/ inbox/ comment to be added/ removed. 

—navigation

It was a great opportunity. Never in your life would you have thought you’d manage to land a scholarship at the prestigious U.A Private Academy. 

The school was a dream, the best in your city, and only affordable for the rich. Graduating from such a school could have helped you with life in so many different ways. Not only would it open doors you could never touch before, but it would help you to form connections which would make your life undoubtedly easier.

Graduating from U.A. was a blessing, but obviously, it did not come easy. It was rather unfortunate. After your previous school building had collapsed, due to some accident, the board announced its year-long closure.

At the time, you were beyond lost and understandably frustrated - it was your last year before college and you simply couldn't risk waiting the year out. The whole situation was nerve-wracking, looking for decent schools which would allow you in. 

Honestly, you had no idea what you would’ve done if U.A. hadn’t called you that night. 

It was the last day of the summer holidays, a week after your school building had collapsed. Luckily, no one was hurt - but the damage on the campus was severe. 

You had been talking to your friends when your mother rushed into your room with exciting news. Apparently, the chairman of U.A was feeling generous. He had decided to offer four excellent students from your school a scholarship to U.A. 

You were overjoyed being one of the students along with your two other friends; Shinso Hitoshi and Izuku Midoriya. 

At first, the thought was a little scary - going into a completely different world than you were accustomed to. The kids there would be much different than you, you didn't want to be the   laughing stock, you didn’t want to be their silly little entertainment... The thought made you nervous, but when your best friend, Izuku, called you the next night explaining how he also won the scholarship; followed by Shinso, you were relieved. 

Yes, you were stepping into a whole different world but you at least had your two friends with you. 

And that brought you to the first day of school. 

You stood outside the huge gates of the even enormous academy all alone shaking in your little, expensive skirt they forced you to wear as the uniform waiting for your friends. You promised the two boys you’d wait for them, and besides, you weren’t planning on entering the building all alone. 

Your friends, Shinso and Midoriya, lived close to each other. They were supposed to meet you at the gates of the school that morning, but they were running late. Your anxiety grew the longer you stayed there, with students filling the place- arriving in their fancy cars with their expensive bags and accessories. It easily made you feel out of place.

“Hey,” you heard someone before someone tapped on your shoulder. You quickly turned around to greet the voice. Staring back at you was Uraraka Ochaco.

You remembered she was in your school too, Midoriya has a huge crush on her. 

“Yes, Uraraka? Right?” You weren’t close to her, nothing but mere acquaintances. But seeing her face - right here, right now - it made your day. 

Uraraka was dressed in the same uniform as you, there was no doubt that she was one of the four kids who won the scholarship. Both of you talked while you implored her to wait for Midoriya and Shinso. You didn’t fail to notice the way her cheeks turned pink when you mentioned Midoriya. The two of them were so obvious. 

Your friends arrived, they were late, but they came. 

Apparently, there was an accident that forced them to stay back a little longer, but they managed to make it before the first bell. 

“I actually have an old friend who goes there now,” Midoriya confesses out of the blue as the four of you enter the gates. You look at him in awe. 

During the three years in high school that both of you had spent together, he had never mentioned any friend of his going to the U.A. academy ever. 

“Why did you never tell us?” Uraraka asks. 

“well, we’re not on good terms. He used to live in the same neighborhood before his parent’s business took off. He left after middle school.” Midoriya says, a slight frown forming on his face.

“Who is he?” Shinso asks. 

Midoriya pauses briefly before explaining his entire history with a temperamental and rude blonde. Bakugou Katsuki, he calls him. His childhood friend. But from what you managed to gather, Bakugou was anything but a friend to Midoriya. 

Bakugo was once just a simple boy, living a simple life, destined to do great things - but once his parent’s clothing line ‘Dynamite’ blew up and became mainstream, he started drowning in wealth. Bakugo moved out of his old neighborhood at the starting of high school before enrolling in U.A., just like all his rich friends.

“Maybe you should say hi,” Uraraka suggests. Midoriya’s expressions turned sheepish.

“About that…” he started. “I called him yesterday, got his number from mom, and-” he stopped. 

“What did he say?” Shinso asked.

“He told me to get lost and die,” Midoriya said with a slight frown on his face, looking down. 

That was your first impression of Katsuki Bakugou. For a man you had not even met, you sure loathed him. 

School went smoothly for a week, everything was going great. The four of you kept your profile low, didn’t talk until spoken to, kept your distance, and everything was okay. 

People often starred and whispered amongst each other when they saw you in the hallways, but that was about it. Everyone seemed to be decent but… there’s always a but. 

Everything took a turn for the worse when you managed to piss off the wrong person, Bakugo Katsuki himself. 

It was an honest mistake, not even that big of a deal - especially for his standards Yet, for some reason, Bakugo wanted to get under your skin. 

It happened after your lunch break, you were on your way back to your classroom with an ice-cream cone fasted tightly in your hands. You mindlessly dashed through the hallways, trying your best to get back to class as fast as possible - you don’t want to be late. It’d earn you a bad reputation. You don’t need that- you don't want anything which could jeopardize your scholarship. 

You walked straight and took a turn. Just by fate, you bumped into a stiff, hard chest making you wobble on your feet and sending your ice cream from your hand flying straight to the ground.

“Shit,” you cursed, looking down seeing what you had to work with. 

The ice-cream cone splattered on the floor, the white creamy liquid flushed all over the floor along with staining an expensive-looking, black leather boot. A snarl comes from above you along with a group of chuckles. More expensive shoes come into your line of view as you realize you’re not alone. 

You slowly bring your gaze up, ogling at who you just pissed off. 

Staring back at you is a furious blonde, glaring at you with such intensity that it makes your stomach drop. It’s the infamous Bakugou Katsuki, you don’t want to deal with him. 

-

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you don’t give him a chance to complain as you take your flight. Quickly, you try running away but a large hand grabs your forearm, stopping you dead in your tracks. 

You look to the side, deep red eyes stare right back at you. 

“Where are you running off to? Don’t you think you owe my friend here a proper apology?” Kirishima says, his grip on your arm growing tighter. He towers over you, his huge body trapping you with intimidation.

Going to U.A for over a week there’s a thing or two that you’ve learned about the rich, snobby brats who own the school. Not everyone is bad, a few of them are actually but the rest are just bad. 

Bakugou was the worst. From how Midoriya described him, you knew for a fact he’d be a horrible person. But hell, he managed to prove himself even worse. 

He was crude, mean, downright arrogant, and ignorant. Always screaming unasked opinions on top of his lungs, and gets mad whenever someone disagrees. He acts like the world revolves around him.

 Bakugo had a bunch of friends who he called his “followers” and they weren’t any better.

They just watched while Bakugou ruined everything, they were there to support him. 

Kirishima Eijirou the redhead, he was captain of the football team. He was a jock, brawns over brains kind of person. Girls cooed over him and his overly attractive, hot body. It looked as if he was sculpted by God himself. 

Next was Kaminari Denki. He was in the school band, dating the lead singer. And yet, he managed to find time to flirt with other girls. He was the goofball of the group, dumb and stupid But he always knew what he was doing. Even though it was barely noticeable, you could always see a devious glint in those amber eyes of his. 

Sero Hanta was famous for a lot of reasons. Most notably for having brought illegal drugs on the campus and skipping classes to go down to his junkie hangout spot to smoke weed. The man had no shame. Sometimes, he’d walk into the classrooms high as fuck. The teachers couldn’t do anything even if they tried, his parents practically owned the school; he owned the school. There was no going against the tall, lanky man who looked like he couldn’t even smash a bug. He held the most power and his friends sure knew how to abuse it. 

Last but not least was Mina Ashido. The one and only girl member of the self-proclaimed ‘bakusquad’. Sometimes, Jirou Kyouka, the lead singer of the school, would hang out with the boys and her boyfriend, but she wasn’t a permanent member. Mina was. 

In your opinion, Mina was a nightmare dressed like a daydream. With her short, pink hair and bright smile, she seemed like an angel. But she was the devil. Worse than even Bakugou, perhaps. 

She knew everything about everyone, she had leverage galore: screenshots ready to leak, videos ready to ruin lives. She had them all, and frankly- she scared you the most. 

Kirishima pushed you back, and Bakugo caught you by your shoulders. 

“That was fucking rude,” he growled, biting his fingers into your shoulder blades tight and hard making you squeal. “Are you fucking blind or something? Fucking extra.” 

“I said I’m sorry, let me go will you?” Even in such a terrifying situation, you try to remain calm.

“What do you think, Sero?” Kaminari began. Your heart sank, including Sero into anything was never a good sign. 

“She ruined Bakugou’s new shoes,” he continued. Bakugou’s hold on you tightened and you winced, turning back to him and returning his glare. 

“Okay, what do you want?” you give in, finally. A mischievous spark lights up in his crimson eyes as flashes a cocky smirk to his friends before turning back to you with a frown. He pushes you towards Mina and she catches you with an arm around your shoulder. 

“Those were expensive, right?” she looks at you and then back at Bakugou. He grunts, nodding. 

“Fuck yes, I’m pissed as hell. Some fucking extra managed to ruin it.” 

You look back down to steal a glance at his heavy, leather boot. The small, white stain melted away. 

“What will you do to make up for it?” Mina whispers your name and you cringe. They were teasing you. For their fun, they were making fun of you. 

“What can I do?” you say, sarcastically. Prying yourself away from her hold. The crowd goes dead silent before speaking. Sero is the first one to talk. 

“Lick it off.”

There’s a pause, no one speaks. Your stomach drops and your face pales at the look the five of them are giving you- it’s serious. Dead serious. 

Kaminari bursts out laughing followed by Sero and the others. The four of them get a great laugh but Bakugou stares at you head-on with his grave expressions burning through your soul. 

“Whatcha looking at? Do it,” he commands. 

The laughing dies down and Kaminari speaks, “are you serious? You want her to lick your shoe,” he can’t control his laughter, a chuckle breaks with every word. 

“Yes, I’m fucking serious. Besides, Sero recommended it,” he smirks. “Do you really want to say no to him? I don’t know so much about this but-“ he leans down close to your face, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, “it might complicate your scholarship.” 

There’s a twisted rhythm in his voice. He’s enjoying tormenting you. You still want to believe that they’re just messing around. That they’ll have their laughs and let you go, but the way Sero stares at you says otherwise. 

“You don’t wanna do it?” Bakugou asks. 

“Of course she doesn’t! That’s gross, oh my god.” Mina exclaims, earning a chuckle from the rest of the boys. 

“Hey, let’s hear it from Sero himself.” Kirishima pats Sero’s back, pushing him forward. The five of them have circled around you, coiling you inside their venomous nest with you in the center. You turn to Sero with pleading eyes, looking up at his huge form, begging. 

He smirks looking down at you, you look so tiny beneath bim. He wants to mess with you, even more, you look like a nice toy to him. He wants to play with it until he can’t. 

“I guess, I did say that-” your blood runs cold, heartbeat picking up in nervousness. “-but you don’t need to do it.” He finishes. Your face lights up while the others groan in disappointment. Bakugou looks livid. 

“Just know that, you’re the one who dropped the ice cream on Bakugou’s shoe and now you’re not even helping him out. That’s not very noble, is it? I don’t know if I even by mistake slipped that info back home- my parents might reconsider whether you truly deserve to be here or not. They don’t really like disrespectful kids who comprise the school’s name.” 

Sero ends his speech with a wide, ear-to-ear grin, followed by a pat to your head. 

“The choice is yours.”  

You pause for a moment and think. Where they were really going to make you do it, where they were really going to humiliate you like this. They were. But were you willing to do it? 

From Sero’s threat, you could tell he was serious, this was legit. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time the school expelled someone who had beef with Sero, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. They don’t care about anyone but their loving son. They wouldn’t even think once before expelling you.

“What’s your answer, princess?” Kirishima teases.

 Mina and Kaminari once again break into fits of laughter.

“What do you mean? She doesn’t have a choice here, kneel you extra.” Your heart hammers in your chest as Bakugou gestures you to kneel. You stop for a second, breathing unevenly- thinking. After a long, thoughtful sigh, you answer. 

“No, I am not going to do it.” Your voice is meek yet clear. Even though you’re trembling under the heavy gazes of five snakes, you choose to stand your ground. 

Bakugou glaring at you while the others boo. 

“Aw, c’mon you don’t mean that.” 

“Don’t be a little brat.” 

Bakugou stays silent while the others continue to throw insults at you -  calling you names and trying to make you regret your decision. You look straight forward into Bakugou’s cold, red eyes, searching for his next move. Your heart beats even harder in your chest with increased anxiety. After watching your torment for more than a few minutes, Bakugo decides he’s had enough of this game.

“Hey, shitty hair,” Bakugo starts. “Punch me.” 

“What?” Kirishima asks, vividly shaken. “Why do you want me to hit you, Bakubro?” 

“Punch me real hard, give me a black eye.” The confusion grows greater on everyone’s faces. You stare at him in awe, wondering what angle was trying to play. 

Kirishima raises his hands in defense. “Woah, dude slow down there. I’m not just going to punch you.” 

Bakugou clicks the roof of his tongue, letting out a sound of irritation. “You all are just dumb,” he starts.

“Imagine if this punny, little,” he leans down closer to you till his lips touch your ears and whispers your name with a crude chuckle. “Were to drop all her food over me, not apologize, punch and me then run away, that’d bring her into a whole world of trouble. Wouldn’t it?” 

Bakugo’s words are calculated and sly, he knows exactly what he’s getting at when he starts. His voice fills you up with dread as he makes his accusations public.

“She would be expelled on spot and Kacchan could also raise charges,” Kaminari adds. 

Your eyes widen in fear. 

“Yeah, I’ll fucking do that.” Mina giggles. “That would succck,” she cheers. Your lower lip quivers as you stare at them in disbelief, your eyes open wide only to be covered with fear. 

“Hey, c’mon, why are you doing this to me?” You feel them inch closer to you, their warmth leeching onto you the longer you stay surrounded by them. 

“Because you have no fucking manners.” Bakugou snarls. 

“Kiri, punch him. What are you waiting for? If you don’t wanna do it I will!” Kaminari cries, growing impatient. 

Kirishima laughs before he charges Bakugou. Your heart hammers in your chest. 

You think about your family, your future, and how disappointed everyone would be with you. Your dreams and aspirations, all were rooted in this school. 

It was honestly sad, pathetic even. Your entire future was just a joke to these spoiled kids. These kids who could control you, and everyone else,  with just a flick of their fingers. It’s unfortunate, but that’s the price to pay for a piece of the beautiful cake known as U.A... You resign yourself to your fate.

A piece of your mind. 

“N-no, don’t do that. I-I’ll do it,” you murmured, your voice timid and weak. The five paused looking at each other with an ominous glint in their eyes. Bakugou was the first to speak. 

“Well, then fucking get on with it. On your knees.” Obediently like a trained puppy, you got down onto your knees, not letting your eyes fall from Bakugou’s face. His red, fierce eyes barked at you with an unknown look, keeping you lost. 

“Holy shit, she’s actually doing this,” Mina squealed watching you lean forward, bringing your face next to Bakugou’s expensive boots.

“Kaminari, record this.” Sero taps at the energetic blonde, forcing him to take his phone out and hit ‘record’. As you lean further to the ground, your short skirt rides up behind you, giving the audience a clear view of your round ass and pastel panties. The sight brings a smile to Bakugou’s face as he scoffs. 

“Cute panties,” he remarks. 

You jerk, trying desperately to sit back, but Bakugo stops you. Smashing his other foot on top of your shoulder, he holds you there facing the ground.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” he growls.

You squirm, almost falling under his weight and as much you hate to admit it, a tingle of excitement runs down your spine. This was turning you on.

 A row of whistles flood in, the boys start teasing you and praising Bakugou. 

“Lick it off,”  he commands. 

You look down at his leather boot, the ice cream almost melted. There’s still a bright white spot of the sweet now liquid splayed out. Even though it’s not a lot, it still makes you cringe. You peek your shy, little tongue out timidly, forcing yourself to do the heinous deed. 

Bakugou watches you hesitate and pushes on your shoulder harder making you reach towards him. 

You give in after a final attempt, diving into his wishes. Your wet tongue touches the rough, cold leather. You cringe after a single touch, closing your eyes and scrunching your nose at the salty taste. “Clean it all off,” he commands.

You dive back in, this time letting your tongue glide across a larger portion. The humiliation burns through your body. It makes you uncomfortably hot, mostly from anger and but a little bit of arousal.

“Nice ass.” 

There it is. The excitement comes back the moment they start making suggestive comments, the attention riles you up and it’s horrible. 

“Kaminari are you even supposed to be here? Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Mina asks at the blonde pervert who was currently zooming on your ass. 

“Oh? We’re cool as long as I don’t stick my dick her,” he points to you. “That’s hella fucking tempting but I’m in love, dude.” He chuckles to himself, thinking about his girlfriend. 

They treat you like an object, talking about you like you were some sort of a toy. 

“Bet her pussy is tight,” Sero says. 

Kirishima turns to Bakugou, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Yo, Bakubro, can we touch her?” 

Bakugou looks on from watching you lick his boot and turns to Kirishima. A dark, unsettling gaze falls across his eyes as he speaks, “No. This one is mine.” he stares down at you. 

You stop lapping on his shoe and stand back on your knees, buckling your knees you try to get up but Bakugou harshly kicks your shoulder, throwing you back and making you cry. 

“Why did you do that?” you squeal, holding onto your bruised shoulder, glaring at him intently. 

The rest of the group goes quiet at the display of Bakugou’s sudden violence. 

He stands between your thighs, lazily resting his foot atop of your soft thighs. 

“You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?” the angle you were spread out in had your skirt flipped over hips, displaying your pretty, pastel panties to everyone in the room. 

Even though it’s subtle, masked by everyone’s fear of what Bakugou was planning, you still feel everyone’s gaze focused right on you and more specifically at your clothed cunt. Bakugou presses hard on your thigh making you cry. 

“Useless Deku’s friends are just like him. The fucking second you walked in here, I knew you were just another useless insect for me to stomp on.” He pauses, smirking, pressing his foot onto you even harder, twisting his ankle to increase the burning sting surging across your right thigh. “And I’m doing just that.” 

He steps off you for a moment, letting you catch your breath and recover from the burn. His eyesight travels lower down to your panties. He admires the cute pair you had on. Normally when he’d see girls naked, they’d dress themselves up the most luxurious to match his standards. But that’s not you, that could never be you. 

He rejoices at the thought of seeing your flushed, tear-stained face breaking down under him. You’ll never be like those girls, always a step behind. He can build you up and break you however he likes, you’d have no say in it. 

The power trip drives him crazy. 

He presses the tip of his boot over your clothed clothed cunt, pushing the hard material right over your sensitive clit. 

You gasp at the feeling, looking up at him with terrified eyes. He smirks down at you, moving his foot in a steady rhythm, rubbing the fabric of your cotton panties against your little pearl. 

“This turning you on? What a freak.” The rest of his group basks in shock. They watch intently as the scene spiraled out for them, too captivated to make any comments. They just keep quiet and stare. 

The way you squirm under Bakugou as he plays with your cute clit so unforgivingly makes them hot with excitement. Kaminari feels a little guilty but he blames it on his nature as a man.

Sero feels a little bad for you, they all do. But then again they wouldn’t waste the opportunity to be in Bakugou’s footsteps- literally. 

“You’re a little slut, you know that?” Bakugou sneers. 

Your gasps turn into whimpers as his simulation becomes harder. You clench your fists, desperately wishing it to be over. Tears brim in your eyes at the sheer humiliation of your corrupted form. This was just too much, too much for you to handle. 

“Please, stop,” you beg, knowing he wouldn't listen. “I’ll report you,” you cry.  A roar of laughter starts, shutting you up. 

“Go for it, you do that.” Mina comments. Kaminari walks closer to you, bringing the camera down to your face recording your horrified expressions. 

“We’ll just go ahead and post this online.” he threatens. 

A drop of tear falls down your waterline following a waterfall. You cry, leave all of your dignity behind and cry. You beg them to stop but as your pleas mix with your moans, it’s hard for anyone to understand what you’re saying. It’s not like they don’t know what you’re asking them for, they just turn deaf, simply because they can. 

Bakugou stops, he takes a step back, leaving you alone. You let out the tiniest cry when he leaves, ditching you just when you need his touch the most. 

“Feels like I’m doing too much of the work, if you want it so bad, do this yourself.” He says. Your body still burns with desire, your clit still hard and cunt salivating, you are nowhere close to being done... 

It’s as if something takes over and you are possessed by the dire need to cum, you do exactly as he says. 

You snake your fingers down your panties, deliberately rubbing on your swollen little clit before pushing your finger into your drenched cunt. You cry out as you clench around your finger, the pleasure becoming unbearable. Your legs shake and you close your eyes shut. 

You stay there on the floor, fingering yourself in the corridor, without any shame, while Kaminari records all of it. 

“She’s gonna give me a hard-on,” Kirishima says and you moan.

“She really is a slut, huh?” Sero comments. 

“She’s cute,” Mina adds with a smile. 

Bakugou scoffs, “does Deku know how much of a whore you are?” He asks. 

You don’t pay any attention to what he says, too busy bringing yourself to your climax.

“You’re getting all this right?” Mina looks over Kaminari’s shoulder and onto the phone screen which captures you beautifully losing yourself for everyone to see. 

“You close?” Bakugou asks as you feel yourself clench around fingers tightly, he bends down on his and pulls your panties down your hips, admiring your precious cunt. 

“Cute pussy,” he remarks before flicking your sensitive, hardened clit.

A rush of pleasure washes down your body as you cry while cumming. Bakugou pushes you right over the edge, a nasty grin screaming atop his face as he watches you. You curse at yourself for letting him see you like this, but there’s not much you can do but cry while you feel your juices gush around you before sliding down your thighs and onto the dirty floor. 

It takes a second for you to calm down and when you do come to your senses, dread fills you up. Tears shamelessly fall down your face as you realize what you just did. The others laugh at you, without feeling any remorse. 

Bakugou continues to stare at you with an unsettling look, while the others discuss the heinous crime you’ve just committed. 

Sero looks down at you and you catch his dark eyes staring at you. A toothy grin scavenges his face as he speaks. 

“Awesome,” he says as if he just finished some mediocre movie. 

Finally, you find the courage to get up and run. 

This was totally not awesome.