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fyodior · 24 hours

Text

FUCK YOU, FUCK ME!

pairing: toji fushiguro x gn!reader (no anatomy described)

cw: pegging toji !!!! reader uses a strap, toji is hesitant but goes along with it and ends up LOVING it. anal (m!receiving), missionary and doggy, minor orgasm control, etc. kind of glorified anal so keep that in mind. MINORS DONT INTERACT ILL BITE

notes: this is a sponsored fic for @ficsforgaza, and im so so excited to finally be posting it!! (other wips available for sponsor here) go check out some other great creators on the blog too!! and this is my first time back writing in a bit so pls be kind :") divider by @/cafekitsune!

wc: 2.8k

“Toji, sweetheart, you need to relax.”

“Fuck- I’m fuckin’ trying,” your lover grunts, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath. “I’m not fuckin’ used to things inside’a me like you are.” You choose to ignore that last quip.

Only half a very well lubed finger deep into his tight ass, you figure this is going to be a long night, but you know it’ll be so, so, worth it - for both you and him.

The day you first proposed trying anal to Toji, he was all for it - excited even. Until he found out that you meant he’d be the one receiving, and his face immediately fell.

“No. Nope. Nothin’s goin’ up my shitter,” he had responded, making you roll your eyes and groan. You swore up and down that a prostate orgasm could be life changing for males, but he flat out refused for months. It wasn’t until your birthday when you promised him he didn’t have to buy you a gift if he agreed to try anal just once - and then he was all for it.

He was hesitant as the two of you scrolled through sex toy websites to search for the best possible strap and dildo for him. Pointing out ones you thought he might like only made his face contort in discomfort, haunted by the thought of something going inside his asshole. The list of “hard no’s” grew and grew the longer you searched: nothing longer than 6 inches, nothing girthier than a circumference of 5 inches, no skin colors because that felt too real, and no balls. Toji Fushiguro was a hard man to please.

Finally, finally, after months of convincing, hours of online shopping, and a few more days following the arrival of the package, did you have your lover laid out in front of you, legs spread and hole awaiting. It was the sweetest fucking sight in the world, and you were so grateful you maintained enough patience to get to this moment. Good things really do come to those who wait.

The harness was already strapped around your waist, painfully eager to attach the dildo and get to it, but of course there was ample prep required, especially for someone completely new to anal. Per your request, he had showered prior to you getting home from work and had tried to clean himself out a little bit, which you were very grateful for. Now you were tasked with stretching and prepping his hole. Your mouth watered at the thought of it.

Instructing him to lay on his back, for no other reason than you wanted to see his face, you press his thick, sinewy thighs apart and settle between them. You had done your best to create a gentle, relaxing environment in your shared bedroom, with the lights dimmed low, a few candles flickering on the shelf, and soft music playing from the TV. Yet still, the man was as tense as a clenched fist.

The goal was to get him a little worked up and wanting it, so you start with a little foreplay. Kissing him softly, you jerk him off slowly, getting him hard enough that he wants to cum. His hard cock lays neglected on his belly as he rests on his back, propped up against a horde of pillows, and you could honestly cum just at the sight of him. Toji is fucking beautiful.

But now it was finally time. After dousing your fingers in a thick, goopy layer of lube, you press the tip of your ring finger against his puckered hole, and he immediately flinches.

“Baby, I promise I won’t make this hurt, you have to breathe, though,” you plead, using your other hand to massage his thigh. “Here - take a deep breath with me.”

Motioning for him to follow, you suck in air, watching him closely. After rolling his eyes and deciding he’ll finally play along, he mimics you. The second he releases the breath he was holding, his body deflating, you take the chance and slip in your finger down to just the first knuckle.

He immediately gasps, furrowing his brows and grunting. “Hey! You fuckin’ tricked me!” he accuses, indignant as a little kid.

You chuckle in response. “It got it in, didn’t it?”

You stay like that for a bit, wriggling the tip of your finger purely just to start getting him used to the feeling of something inside him, watching his expressions closely.

“Does it feel good at all, babe?”

It takes Toji a moment to respond, clearly chewing on the idea in his brain. “It… it’s weird,” he finally says, pursing his lips. “It just feels strange - not… bad, though. Yet.”

“Good,” you nod. “Good. Just hang in there, and you’ll feel good soon, okay? Promise.”

He just grumbles before gripping his cock, fisting it a few times before you smack his hand away.

“Hey!” he gasps, jaw wide open. “It’s my dick!”

“No. I said no touching yourself yet,” you bite back. When he looks like he’s about to pitch a fit, you decide to throw in a “please, baby? For me?” and he backs down. Toji is nothing if not a sucker for you.

After warning him, you push your finger in to the second knuckle. He sucks in a sharp breath, but makes no protest - a good sign. Soon, you have your whole finger inside him, and he’s panting a bit.

“See, baby? I knew you could take it,” you smile softly.

“Whatever,” Toji grumbles, avoiding your gaze. He can deny it all he wants, but he can’t hide the fact that his dick twitched every time you pushed your finger in a little further. “Let’s hurry this up and get it over with.”

Your eyes go wide at that, but you nod. “Your wish is my command, sir,” you smirk.

And just like that, your whole pointer finger has bullied its way inside him.

“Fuck!” Toji coughs, lurching forward. “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, but I can,” you grin impishly. “Just lay back and let me work you open, okay?”

Now that you have two fingers inside him, you can actually make some headway. Squirting some more lube around his entrance, you start to very slowly fuck him with your fingers, pumping them in and out at a snail’s pace. Toji stays silent, still refusing to meet your gaze, but his cheeks are cherry red and he’s gripping the sheets with a tight fist.

The quiet music coming from the TV hums softly in the background, and you hope it’s relaxing him at least a little as you slowly spread your fingers apart, trying to scissor them open to loosen the muscles and stretch him out. Toji’s breath hitches when you spread them even past when his hole starts to resist, and you smirk. You guess he likes the feeling of being full just as much as you do.

Time passes painfully slowly while you work him open with your fingers, aching to finally get inside him. To finally fuck Toji in the way he deserves. Finally, you feel like he’s prepped enough to adequately take the strap. It might hurt a tiny bit, but what’s the harm in that?

“Okay, sweetheart,” you start as you fit the jet black dildo into the O-ring connected to the strap. “You okay on your back like this, or do you wanna take it from the back?”

His face burns bright red at the thought of you fucking him in doggy, so he just shakes his head. “ ‘m fine like this,” he mumbles, and you nod.

Once again settling between his thighs, you wrap a hand around his cock and pump it lazily, offering him a small smile.

“You look so pretty laid out like this for me, legs spread and ass spread so wide, ready to take my cock,” you muse, mind in overdrive.

“S-st-stop,” Toji squeaks out, biting his fist. He won’t admit it, he can’t admit it, he’ll die before admitting how much that turns him on. He can’t admit how his ass has started to ache for something to fill it back up again, even though you’re more than willing to oblige.

“Can’t, baby boy,” you frown, leaning in for a kiss. “Not when I finally have you like this.”

The brief kisses seem to relax the tense man just a bit, melting against your lips and kissing back hungrily. You could’ve sworn you caught a just fuck me already under his breath, but he’ll refuse it until his deathbed.

When you make eye contact with him and he nods, you press the well-lubed tip of the strap against his hole, watching with stars in your eyes as it resists, but still tries to spread open. A cough can be heard from near the headboard, but no protests so far. Soft whines fight to escape Toji’s throat as you push in each centimeter of the silicone cock, face burning hot and red. About halfway in, you pause, giving the man a moment to breathe and acclimatize to the intrusion inside him. He’s grateful for it too, huffing and groaning and squirming as he tries to find a more comfortable position, but there is none. Not when there’s something hard shoved up his ass. You just stay as patient as a saint, massaging his muscly thighs and running your hands up his torso, trying your best not to lean too far forward and inch any more of the cock inside him. As a treat, you give his throbbing, aching cock a few tugs with your spit coated palm, and he lets out a sigh.

One more moment of eye contact, and more nod, and you push your hips a little farther forward. Suddenly, Toji lurches forward again.

“Gah!!” he cries out, eyes wide and heaving. “What- what was that? What did you do?” The accusatory questions only make you laugh, leaning in to kiss him sweetly.

“Must be your sweet spot - your prostate,” you chuckle. “Here - let’s try again.”

Pulling out a few inches and thrusting in again has Toji sputtering and groaning all over again. You can’t help but break out into a wild smirk. This is exactly what you wanted. Not only for yourself, as a perfect view to marvel at and take in, but for him - Toji deserves this, deserves to feel good.

Leaning forward, hands braced on either side of his chest, you muster up all your strength and thrust hard. This time his head is falling back against the pillow as he cries out with a call of your name, too.

“It’s all the way inside, sweetheart,” you smile, marveling at how the silicone balls are pressed firm against his ass. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he nods, gulping. “Just- let’s just do this- please,” Toji chokes out.

This version of Toji, one so vulnerable and desperate, is one you’ve never seen before. Not even when he’s fucking you - he’ll get desperate to get his dick wet, sure, but this is… different. Sweeter. His dark, unruly hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and his chest is heaving in anticipation. You simply have no choice than to give him exactly what he wants.

Inching your strap out to where the tip is almost dangling out of his hole, you thrust all the way back in, relishing in the way he once again moans. His reaction is so much sweeter than you could’ve imagined, and you simply can’t help the way you go fucking crazy. Your thrusts pick up speed, anchoring yourself by gripping the sheets hard as you erratically fuck your lover’s ass. The both of you are complete messes, groaning and whining and gasping almost theatrically, chasing a beautiful high.

“Harder,” Toji grunts, pulling you in by your cheeks for a messy kiss as his thick legs circle your waist. “Fuck! Fe-feels so fucking good, fuck, fuck fuck…” he blabbers, your face still in his tight grip. You couldn’t give less of a shit, just want to see him falling apart even more, so you give him exactly what he asks for.

Wet sounds of lube and skin on skin echo throughout the bedroom, mixed with the tunes of both your moaning and groaning. An ache is blossoming in your thigh muscles and you can feel yourself losing stamina but you refuse to give in just yet, using every ounce of your strength to piston your hips in and out of him. Toji can’t help but clench tight around your cock, you can feel it by the increased resistance, and you truly think you must have died and gone to heaven.

“Toji, sweetheart,” you call, trying to grab the man’s attention. “Get on your hands and knees for me, okay?”

For the first time likely ever, the man does as he’s asked with no protest. He hisses a bit as you slip all the way out of his tight heat, but scrambles to flip over and present his ass for you. There’s no way this is your Toji, not when he’s acting like this - but you decide you’ll allow yourself to indulge in this doppelganger, just for tonight.

Some adjustments to his stance are required, as he is taller than you, but you soon find a comfortable position so that your hips can be flush against his ass. His throbbing cock and balls hang heavy at this angle, dangling between his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to mind. At this angle, you have a much better view of his beautiful ass, using two hands to spread his cheeks apart and stare with a slack jaw at his abused hole, puffy and throbbing. It’s mind boggling that you were inside him. And will be again. With one languid thrust, you’re bottoming out again and pressing his face into the pillow, making him cry out.

This angle, while depriving you of your lover’s beautiful face, is much easier for your task. Having his ass presented for you like this makes fucking him a breeze - so you take, and take, and take, and take. Pump in and out of his tight, wet hole, both of your bodies trembling as you’re overcome with so much emotion and overstimulation. You feel like a bitch in heat with the way you’re rutting into him, bottoming out with almost every thrust.

“Fuck,” Toji spits. “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

Your eyes go wide at the realization. He’s going to cum? Just from getting fucked? Holy shit.

“Yeah, baby? Wanna cum? Feels so good getting fucked, huh?” you tease, continuing to fuck him hard and deep. “Want me to help you out, or so how long it takes for you to cum just from getting your ass fucked? Hm?” Your own words are lost on you, seemingly coming from a place of pure lust and not from your rational mind.

“Please help,” Toji chokes out. And he’s been so good, not touching his cock this entire time, taking your cock so well, that you decide to do as he asks.

Your pace slows down some as you wrap a hand around his aching, angry red cock, thumbing at the tip and using his tacky precum to lube up your hand some. It only takes one, two, three strokes before he’s gasping and spurting thick, hot ropes of cum onto the bed, whole body tensing as he cries out louder than you’ve ever heard before. He collapses onto the bed, and you take the message, pulling your strap out from his abused hole. No words come from his mouth, only heaves and gasps for air as he tries to come to terms with what just occurred. You don’t nag him at all, just flop down next to him and push his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.

“Did that feel good, baby? Hm?” you ask, smiling softly at him. That’s truly all you ever wanted. You truly couldn’t give much of a shit about your own desires and lust - all you ever, ever wanted in this world was for your lover to feel good.

Toji gulps. “....Yeah. Felt real good.” It’s obvious he’s exhausted, only moments from passing out. You can’t blame him.

“Did so, so good for me, sweetheart,” you coo, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Now get some rest. It’s hard getting fucked, isn’t it?” That makes him chuckle weakly.

“Fuck you,” he rasps, but he has a lopsided smile on his face. “Love you. Really. Thank you.”

Your heart soars and you smile widely. “Of course, sweetheart. Always. I love you. Now please get some rest so we can go for a second round.”

#toji x reader #toji smut #jjk smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji imagine #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader

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eclecticmiasma · 3 days

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I kept thinking what if Chilchuck or Laios had been kidnapped by the monster! reader, how the reader saw them hurt or mistook them for chicks and saved them from being killed by another monster.. Now the reader monster is taking care of him in his nest/house, as if they were his own chicks (reader is a gentle monster who doesn't want anyone getting hurt or dying), and the reader being a sentient monster where she knows the dungeons are dangerous...

Note: the reader's appearance is similar to that of a human but with some animal characteristics, thus confusing the adventurers, who may think that she is a human cursed by the mad wizard and thus has the monster part... But the reader is a cool and conscious monster

Large brained thoughts, honestly! Perhaps reader could be the ghost of a creature that lost its young and uses shape-shifting to lure dungeoneers and other monsters to her nest as replacements? I would imagine that she would become extremely protective of her targets especially once they have been tricked into becoming one of her offspring. We don't see any examples of monsters being benevolent per se, but there is a benevolence/kindness to reader's selfish desires.

I think reader would appear very different to Laios and Chilchuck, and their reactions would be completely 180 degrees. Some slight anime spoilers ahead! SFW, canon typical violence.

Laios

Reader appears to Laios in a form that's nearly identical to her original. She has thick claws and black, wet eyes. Her teeth are sharp but framed by soft human lips and her ashen hair is silken and braided like a Northern maiden. She might have a long scaly tale and feathers on her abdomen and thighs because, due to Falin's current condition, it's a form that Laios finds subconsciously comforting.

She lures Laios while the others are asleep. A monster that he's never seen before is too intriguing to pass up- the party is safe enough where they are. Just a peak, a chance to learn-

Before he knows it, Laios is somewhere wholly unfamiliar. The thick dungeon bricks lining the walls slowly give way to moss and grass. The air is warm and smells like petrichor.

Despite a small, nagging anxiety, he presses further. The creature smiles as she leads him farther into the jungle atmosphere, a smile so sparkling and human that is makes Laios blush.

Before long, he's walked right into reader's nest. It's a cozy hovel carved into the base of a tree. Laios is delighted to find smaller monsters of all sizes in a daze, lounging around on the thatched flooring. As he steps inside, he feels a veil of calm close around him and vaguely realizes that its why the monsters aren't hostile towards each other.

Laios succumbs, at first. He lets reader take him into her arms, drag her long claws through his hair and sing a tune that numbs his mind into a pleasant mush.

Reader feeds him, gives him her milk (a high he'll never reach again until the day he dies), lays out the comfiest spot for her newest treasure and goes on her way to find the next target.

Genuinely, if Laios wasn't on a quest this would be his life for eternity. His own mother wasn't very loving, so a meld of monsters and mothers is more than a guy could ever ask for.

It could be hours, it could be days, but eventually Laios begins to remember that this isn't where he's meant to be. He sees a monster that reminds him of Falin, and all at once knows he reluctantly has to return to reality.

Once reader realizes Laios is gone, only killing her will end her crusade to get him back. While the others simply see a deranged monster, Laios sees a terrified mother desperate to drag him back to the safety of her home. Laios hesitates before killing her, too torn apart by the tears in her eyes. Marcille has to take the final blow.

Senshi and Laios briefly consider cooking the inhuman parts of reader into a sort of beef stroganoff as tribute, but Chilchuck's screeching reminder that they are not to eat humanoids leaves them to bury her instead.

Chilchuck

Is just off the heels of grumbling about being treated like a child when he spots what looks to be a small figure huddled in the darkness.

He calls out to the others but doesn't hear a response, only the soft whimpers of whoever has managed to get themselves into this state.

Chilchuck is much more on guard than Laios would ever be. He immediately assumes that it could be a trap or an illusion, so he calls to the figure from afar.

She answers, desperation coloring her tone as she sobs, relieved that someone has come across her.

"Th-they're dead, I don't know where they are but they're dead and I..."

As Chilchuck gingerly steps towards her, he realizes that what he sees is another half-foot. A small archer that's bloodied and bruised. Something about her reminds him immediately of his wife.

All logic leaves Chilchuck as he finishes approaching her, asking what's wrong and tearing off a piece of his sleeve to prepare to bandage the deepest of her wounds. When he goes to wrap the material around her forearm he stares in confusion. The wounds are gone.

He doesn't even have time to react before reader cups his small face in her. "You're lonely," She says, a matter of fact. The half-foot can't deny it, "It's time you stop doing these dangerous things. The only end for a half-foot in the dungeon is in the mouth of a monster. Let me take care of you."

Her words are like honey, her touch even moreso. Feeling the touch of a woman isn't a luxury Chilchuck had been afforded in many moons. But even in the fog of reader's touch, Chilchuck feels that something is off. Her hands are too cold, eyes too deep and dark- almost like black pools of liquid.

The sharp tips of her teeth set him off, and he knows he has to get away. She's no different than a mimic, he tells himself. Even if part of him desperately wants exactly what she has to offer.

Chilchuck mimes as if he is going to fall into her allure, cupping his hands over her own and giving her the most smitten look he can muster. All before kneeing her in the face and dashing at speeds only half-foots can muster to get away.

Reader chases him desperately, form filling the room as she wails in sorrow. "Can't you see they're using you? You're going to end up as bait. You're going to die down here, you'll never see your family again!" Chilchuck mentally bats away at each assertion even as they hook into his skin.

The others finally come running, proximity close enough to hear the commotion at last. With a few well-placed blasts and a slice to the throat via Kensuke, reader is felled and left for good. Even in death, she seems to be in mourning.

Chilchuck doesn't sleep well for weeks.

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide darker content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #laios #laios touden #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #dungeon meshi x reader #monster reader #tw: death #reader death #canon typical violence #chimera reader #shape-shifter reader #drabbles #a little angsty #sorry chil #laios x reader #chilchuck x reader

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mismatched-sockss · 10 hours

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You're my future, past and present

» Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader » Word count: 6,4k » Warnings: spoiler mentioned for 9x23 Angels / 9x24 Demons, Spencer's POV, exes to lovers, set after s15, anxious!Spencer, reader feels guilty at one point, language? (one 'bitch' from reader to reader), mentions of past fights, minor misunderstandings, random old lady plays cupid <3, fluff, kissing, how many phrases for being in love can one pack in two paragraphs? me: yes., » A/N: my brain is on strike for finishing bingo fics for some reason, it instead gave us this so yay!, i'm still working on those of course but i can't tell when i will get the next one done (in the words of one Penelope Garcia: Why do the last 10% always take the longest?), hopefully by the end of the week; it's lightly implied that reader can get pregnant in the beginning but it's not explicitly said (only mentions of kids), which is the reason i tagged it as fem but no mentions of anything body related or any pronouns (i think so, please let me know if i missed pronouns), so it might as well can be read as gn; no body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

He should have asked Penelope for a favour to look you up, before he came here. He had no idea how your life had changed in all these years he hadn't seen you or if you even wanted to see him again. It didn't particularly sound like it the last time he saw you.

You could be happily married with kids for all he knew. The thought alone almost made him turn around without even knocking on your door. He didn't know what he would do if this was the case. Or maybe you didn't even live here any more, you could have moved; to the other side of the city, to another state. Another country. You had toyed with the idea to move to Scotland back then, it very well could be that you had acted on it.

Too much time had past, five whole years – five years, three months, twenty-one days and eleven hours, forty-two minutes to be exact; but who was counting, right? – and there was too much history, too much heartbreak. Too many reasons why it hadn't worked out.

The main – and kind of only – ones being his job at the BAU and everything that came with it. The travelling and never being home, not even a free day or annual leave really meant not getting called in, the late nights, the worries that he could get hurt and may not be coming back home, the worries when he got hurt.

You had your reasons to break it off and he still thought that you were right to do so. He never held it against you, never resented you for leaving. Because he understood. If the roles would have been reversed, he may would have made the same decisions.

This whole idea was stupid. Why was he even here. He should just leave.

What did he think would happen when you saw him? That showing up out of nowhere – with no contact since the break up, not even a single text message – and having a 'new' job would change everything and would make you jump back into his arms in an instant like nothing happened? Yeah... Sure...

Maybe, deep down and in the tiniest crack of his heart, he didn't even want you to open the door; didn't want to see your reaction to him just showing up and the inevitable rejection that would surely come. He was sabotaging himself, really. And if he would be more honest to himself, he'd knew that. Maybe he did, but just didn't want to see it.

Spencer had been pacing back and forth in front of your door for an eternity by now; walking closer to it and already lifting his hand to knock, but changing his mind before his fingers even came close and he was walking a few feet away to leave, only to change his mind again and repeat the whole ordeal. Over. And over. And over.

He just couldn't make his mind up, he didn't know what to do. It shouldn't be this hard to knock on a door. Especially yours. But maybe it was this hard for him because it was yours.

At one point, he, a man of science, even asked the universe to give him a sign, to show him what he should do; if he should do it or if he should go.

That's when it happened.

Right after, as he was walking closer to the door again, he tripped over his own damn feet and he ended up kicking the door with his shoe; not hard, but audible enough.

Shit. Not the sign he was looking for. A pedestrian screaming something outside that he could twist into an answer, a car honking when he either was close to the door or walking away; hell, even a spam mail popping up on his phone that had a certain word in the subject line... No, it had to be this way.

Now he had to knock.

Taking a shaky breath, he hit his knuckles against the wood a couple of times and started fidgeting with his fingers as soon as he had lowered his hands. His heart was in his throat as he waited anxiously. His mind in a constant battle of 'please be home' and 'please don't be home'.

A moment later – both too short and too long at the same time – the door opened just a crack and it was really you standing there. Not some random person that would tell him you moved. You.

You didn't turn your head just yet, looking back over your shoulder instead, you held out your arm behind you and said “Stay there” in a soft voice to someone behind you. When you turned you blocked the entrance with your body and kept your left hand on the door.

Your eyes grew wide when you saw him. Spencer probably was about the last person you would have expected to see when you opened the door. He couldn't bring himself to break the silence first, didn't dare to speak.

“Oh, hey... Uh-”, you stammered looking for words, blinking in confusion. For a moment you opened and closed your mouth, and he knew you were hating that you looked like a fish out of the water, before you gave up and just settled for another “Hi.”

“Hi.” He hated how shaky his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes for a moment, looking down at his hands and the floor before he met your gaze again.

“Wow, it- it's been a while.”

“Yeah...”

“How long 's it been? Five years?”

“Five years, three months and twenty-one days.” Spencer pressed his lips together before he could blurt out the hours and minutes as well.

You laughed – not mean, but endearing – and the sound combined with the smile that spread on your lips made his heart leap. “Right.”

God, how much he had missed your laugh; how much he had missed you. Now that you stood before him, it became evident, that all the longing and yearning he had felt in the past years had been nothing more than a fraction of what he was really feeling; repressed by throwing himself into work and keeping his mind off you as much as he could.

His love for you never went away, never dulled even the slightest bit, and seeing you now was almost too overwhelming for him, his feelings for you crashing over him, nearly sweeping him off his feet.

“Uhm, I was just about to go to the park with Cleo”, you started, shooting a look over your shoulder and Spencer's heart dropped. He could have sworn it stopped beating for a few seconds as well. The Stay there hadn't rung any alarms in his mind, it could have been said to any person really. Going to the park with Cleo however...

He really should have asked Penelope to look you up before he came. You had a kid.

And since he could only see the heel of your left hand and not your fingers, he couldn't be a hundred percent sure, but there was a high chance there was a ring on your finger.

“Oh, I'm sorry to hold you up. I'll just, uhm-”, he stammered choked up and pointed his thumbs over his shoulder, taking a step back, about to turn away and leave.

“No”, you exclaimed, maybe a bit too quickly and panicked, as you held out your right hand like you wanted to reach for his arm; even making a small step out of the door. “You don't have to leave. You could- uh, you could come with us? If you want to.” If he wouldn't know better, he'd say there was a pleading look in your eyes, begging him to say yes and stay.

His mouth opened, but no words came out, no matter how hard he tried. He didn't even know what he wanted to say.

'Yes sure, let's go to the park with your daughter and rip my heart into pieces seeing and hearing about you living the life I dreamt of having with you, with another man'.

A plain 'No.' would be too rude, wouldn't it? Even if he would add a 'thank you' at the end, it didn't feel right.

“She uh- she likes meeting new people, she's really open; sometimes I'm afraid she'll walk off with anyone. Come here, girl.” You looked over your shoulder again and tapped your flat hand against your thigh a couple of times, then some clicking and scratching could be heard behind you on the parquet floor.

The speckled snout of an Australian Shepherd pushed in the space between your knee and the door, then tried to push through further after seeing Spencer. With a laugh you took a hold of the collar and held the dog back from running out.

“Cleo, stay.” You squatted down next to her, petting her head and scratched behind her ear. ”I have to warn you, she can be a bit rough when she gets excited.” A wide smile was on your face as you looked up at Spencer. “I've been trying to teach her to not jump up on everyone she meets, but it doesn't stick.”

Just like that, he felt like he could breathe again. Cleo wasn't your daughter but your dog and the ring you were indeed wearing on your left hand was one he recognized from your jewellery box.

A relieved chuckle left his lips and he mirrored your position. He held out his hand for Cleo to smell before he touched her. She really was excited; she was pulling against your hold and tried to get closer, her tail was waggling so hard her whole body moved in the rhythm and she nudged her nose against his palm hard after a short sniff, so he would pet her.

You did your best to hold her back, but after Spencer verbally said hi to her and was petting her on both sides of her head she surged forward; your hand slipped from the collar and Cleo threw her whole weight against him, making him loose balance and topple over.

With an outstretched arm he held himself up, laughing, as your dog rubbed her head against his torso and hand and was spinning around a couple of times between his legs, repeatedly leaning herself into him with every turn.

“Cleo!” Your voice had a warning tone to it that hadn't fully replaced your laugh though, not until she let out a small bark and started to lick over his face. “No! Stop!” You pulled her away and moved her back into the apartment; Cleo only reluctantly complied.

Before he could react, you shuffled closer on your knees until you kneeled right before him and in between his legs. You reached out and started to wipe the side of his face clean; the sleeve of your sweater pulled over your fingers. “I'm so sorry, she's usually not that excited. I have never seen her do this to someone that isn't me.”

He froze when you got close and he felt your touch, every soft stroke leaving behind a trail of fire, even with the thin fabric barrier between you. One would think his heart couldn't pound any faster in his chest than it already had since he had laid eyes on you again, but it did.

“It's- hu, it's okay”, he stammered as he was watching you intensely, with wide eyes.

“No, it's not”, you said softly and took his chin between your thumb and index finger, slightly tilting his head to the side as you tried to get everything off. “Do you want a wet wipe or something? You can come in and wash your face if you'd prefer that.”

Spencer couldn't help the smile stretching on his lips, his heart warming over the fact that you were still looking out for him, after all these years; after everything that had happened and all the things that had been said the day you broke up with him. His hand moved on its own accord and he wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Really, it's okay.”

You met his gaze, heat rising in your cheeks and it was like you only now realized how close the both of you were sitting and that you were touching him. For a second you froze, your eyes wide. Then, after a deep breath, you pulled back to bring some distance between you and cleared your throat, looking away.

He could tell there was an apology forming on your tongue, but you swallowed it down. You began to nervously fidget with the hem of your sleeve and cleared your throat. “So, uh, do you want to come with us? There is this coffee shop on the way that opened about six months ago and they're really good, we- we could grab a coffee and catch up...?”

“I'd really like that.”

It was easy, talking to you. The initial awkwardness and anxiety he had been feeling had quickly faded and the both of you were talking as freely and open as before, like no time had passed; and he was incredibly grateful for it. Neither of you had been going to personal topics for now though – the closest thing to personal in a deeper sense was when you asked about his mom –, the both of you had been talking more about everything and anything.

[..] Did you end up getting that book collection you had your eyes on? - When did you get Cleo? - Oh, do you remember my coworker Grace? All the rumours really were true! - Is your neighbour still vacuuming solely in the middle of the night? [..]

About halfway to the park you stopped at the café you had mentioned and while you were waiting in line, you told him about the different coffee varieties they offered; the flavours, how strong they were, how sweet, the seasonal ones. You had drunk your way through the list three times and until you decided on your Top 5.

He crinkled his nose in adoration as he was listening to you rambling about the coffee – what you liked about each one and why you didn't like another – totally engrossed by you; you had done this in the past as well and it made Spencer happy that you still were. It was adorable. He wondered, if you still wrote down your Top 5's in that little notebook you had always kept in your purse.

The one you recommended to him was really good, you had met his taste precisely; the perfect amount of sweetness just how he liked it, and with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon.

There were many occasions he was about to reach for your hand, it was almost instinctually when you were this close to him. He didn't know if you would let him, if you would want it. So Spencer didn't. Instead he buried his hand deep into the pocket of his coat to keep himself from reaching for you, holding a tight grip on an old pack of gum he forgot was even in there.

Throughout the whole way from your apartment to the park, Cleo was happily dancing around you, just shy of making one of you trip over her. That she didn't circle around the both of you to wrap the leash around your legs – all '101-Dalmatians'-like – was all.

After you arrived at the park you walked a bit further in until you came to a fenced area that seemed to be reserved for dogs for them to freely run around without having to be leashed. As soon as you unhooked the leash from Cleo's collar she dashed forward, joining a group of dogs playing.

Spencer and you sat down on a bench and just sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching her. His hands got clammy as he got nervous because of the proximity, and he tried to wipe them on his pants as discreetly as he could. You were sitting so close to him, your thighs and shoulders were almost touching; he could feel the warmth radiating from your body and with every soft breeze the smell of your shampoo got carried over.

“So, uh... How have you been?”, you asked after a few minutes.

He huffed out a small laugh and licked over his lips. Where should he even begin. “Long story short? Not good then somewhat okay, bad, worse, better, okay.”

"Sounds like one hell of a roller coaster."

Oh you had no idea how much. And 'hell' sounded about right to be honest. "You could say that... How about you?"

"Wasn't much going on for me to be honest. I've been... okay? After some time at least...”, you admitted nervously, following Cleo with your eyes. “Everything alright at the BAU? How is everyone?”

“Good, they're good.” Spencer started telling you about all the changes within the team, but he left out all the bad stuff for now – he told you about Alex leaving, about Tara joining after practically a 36 hour long job interview for the open position, JJ and Will having a second child, that Morgan left and had married Savanah and that they had a son as well, Garcia vehemently trying – but ultimately failing – to hate the newbie Luke.

“Rossi got married last year.”

“Really? Again?” You let out a soft laugh.

“He re-married his third wife actually. They got back together after-” He had to stop for a second and swallowed hard as the spark of hope was reigniting in his chest. If Dave and Krystall had found their way back to each other after thirty years and made it work, five years didn't sound all that bad in retrospective. He tried to play it off like he was trying to remember the exact number of years. “Around three decades, I think.”

“Wow... That's a lot of time..”

“It is.” For a short moment Spencer didn't say anything more, trying to muster up the courage to tell you he left the team as well.

“And I- uh” He huffed out a small laugh, nervous, and let his gaze wander over the meadow. There he goes... “I'm not- I'm not with the BAU any more, actually.”

“...Oh”

For a moment you didn't say anything else and his heart beat faster. He couldn't a hundred percent gauge what your silence meant. What the oh meant. Did you care? Were you relieved or maybe even sad for him? Could – would – it change anything between you, even after all this time? Would you give the both of you a second chance? Him?

Hope started to rise up again in his chest and he tried to stop it and keep it at bay, so it wouldn't take over him; it would only crush him even more to lose you a second time if he'd let it happen. Spencer's breathing became more shallow and slightly faster as he waited for you to say more.

He could just turn his head to look at your face of course, study your expressions to get his answer without you saying another word. He didn't. Something held him back; maybe it was only because he was respecting your wishes from years ago not to profile you. Maybe it was fear of what he would see.

He heard you clear your throat and when you spoke, your voice was shaking, almost undetectable however. If you wouldn't sit so close to him – and if it wouldn't be you and he wouldn't be him – one probably wouldn't have noticed. “Why not?”

“Re-assignment due to budget-cuts or something like that. There were a couple of people higher up the food chain than Emily that had it out for us for a couple of years now.” His eyes followed Cleo sprinting over the grass, chasing and playing with the other dogs.

“Emily is back?”, you asked. The last thing you knew was that she had left for London not long after she came back from the dead.

“Yeah, she took over from Hotch after-” He stopped himself.

Telling you about Hotch and Scratch and why Emily fully became Unit Chief of the BAU, meant he had to tell you about everything else; everything that had happened to him. He just wasn't ready for this yet. This would have to be a story for another day; for both your and his sake.

“Anyway, I uh- I'm teaching now. Full-time. Mostly at the academy and some colleges here and there. But all in all-” Spencer took a deep breath. “Fixed work hours and no travelling for longer than a day.”

Only when he felt you tense up did he bring himself to look at you. You were sitting up with a straight back, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly pursed. Your eyes were darting around and he watched a muscle twitch on your jaw.

He quickly looked away again, concentrating on Cleo again, before he could read you more. He couldn't help it, it was hard not to and turn it off. By now profiling was in his blood, it was a subconscious habit he couldn't always control, it just happened. You didn't want to get profiled, so he did what he could do to not use his profession on you. If it meant turning away and not look at you, even if he was only looking just to see you, he'd do it.

Also, he knew that he was biased; another reason why he shouldn't. What he would see and read would not be accurate. Usually, this was not a problem, he could read body language and micro-expressions with a 99,42% accuracy, since he'd do it with a neutral stand. But right now it was personal.

What ever Spencer would see in your non-verbal communication, he was too involved to not let his judgement get clouded by his feelings for you, his hopes and his fears. He would only see what he wanted to see, or what he not wanted to see, depending on which part of his heart was winning at the moment; the confident and hopeful part, or the insecure and anxious part.

“That's... That's nice. Do you like it?” He wished, he knew what you were thinking right now. Your tone didn't give much away on how you were feeling, but you seemed a bit more relaxed to him.

“Yeah, it's fun. There are some key topics on the curriculum I have to cover of course, but other than that I have pretty much full reign over the subject matters. Learning is more fun when it is about something you're really interested in, so I take suggestions from my students for a lot of the lectures. It's been paying off already.” He smiled proudly. “They contribute more and most grades have gone up.”

Slowly, the longer you talked as the evening proceeded and the sun slowly began to set, he let himself go, allowed his heart to open up and he welcomed the prospect of having you back in his life – to what ever extent it may be, even if only as a friend if that was what you wanted.

His heart had leaped when you shared you weren't seeing anyone and it hadn't slowed down it's pace ever since. Both of you had been talking and asking about it in the most complicated and conspicuously inconspicuous ways one can ask 'are you dating someone?'.

Not only this, but you wanted to spent more time with him. Spencer couldn't believe his luck. It was almost too good to be true and he feared he might wake up from this wonderful dream any minute.

He could tell how nervous you were when you asked him; hands and voice shaking, fingers fidgeting with Cleos leash in your lap, your eyes not daring to meet his.

"Tonight is this big bonfire at the Benson's farm, you know, the one with the apple orchard? I was thinking of going and.. maybe if you- I mean, if you are free tonight and want, uh- Would you like to go with me?"

There was nothing he'd rather do, nowhere he'd rather be.

After a short stop at your apartment to bring Cleo home and for the both of you to freshen up, you made your way to the farm. It was a fairly short drive and the roads were mostly empty as it got later, a bright full moon illuminating the way now.

When you arrived, there weren't too many people present. It felt more like a large family gathering than a big event. At a decent distance were benches placed around the huge bonfire, there was a tent where various beverages and a few food options were served. Next to it stood a truck from the fire department and an ambulance; a precaution if the fire got out of control or someone got hurt.

The air smelled of smoke and burning wood, french fries, beer and Mrs. Benson's home made apple pie.

Sorry, Mr. Benson's apple pie as Spencer learned some time after you arrived. You introduced him to the hosts and you started to talk about a new recipe for the pie filling you had tried to make and Mr. Benson explained what he would have done different than the recipe you found had stated.

The Benson's were nice people – he had met them once when he had accompanied you to the farm to get apples and honey. You had gotten closer to them since then, dropping by to help them out from time to time, especially when it was time for the harvest.

He had to catch his breath as his heart fluttered, his eyes glued to your face as he watched you talk with old man Benson. The way your eyes wrinkled at the corners when you smiled and the excited glint in your eyes, how the fire painted beautiful orange patterns on your face as the flames danced high, fuelled by the soft breeze; combined with the silvery light of the full moon shining bright. You looked ethereal.

Spencer became increasingly aware of said man's wife and her three friends, who stood a little farther away. The women were whispering to each other and kept looking over, one of them not so subtlety pointing at the both of you. They weren't talking badly, not at all; they were smiling and giggling as they were talking, nodding at what the other ones were saying, swooning with their hands over their hearts from time to time.

It could only mean one thing – and he wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed about it, or not: that he all too obviously for everyone around looked as love struck as he felt; utterly bewitched by your beauty, completely head over heels, truly madly and deeply in love with you in every way, a total goner who was worshipping the ground you were walking on.

Thank god for the warm shine of the fire, or they would be able to see the blush rising up his neck in this moment as well... He just was glad that he had finished his piece of pie before this, otherwise he'd probably stand here with an open mouth and the fork frozen in mid air as he was looking at you. Now, that would have been a good picture.

What he didn't know though, was that they weren't just talking about the smitten look on his face, but yours as well. The longing glances you shot his way whenever he wasn't looking, how you were orbiting around him like the earth around the sun, a magnetic pull to each other that not even the both of you seemed to realise you had as you unconsciously stepped closer to the other when you stood too far apart. They talked about the fact, that you looked at Spencer with such a happy and beaming smile they hadn't seen on your face in a long time.

And that they could tell how hesitant and shy the both of you were about getting closer.

It's not like he didn't want to, believe me. The urge to hold your hand or wrap his arms around you – to kiss you – was still burning in every fibre of his body and it got more and more challenging to hold back, the longer he was around you. Leaving out the tiny part in him that was still afraid of getting rejected, he didn't want to impose on you by acting on it. He didn't want to possibly make you uncomfortable, so he left it to you to initiate any physical contact.

Admittedly, this was very much a bad plan if you were doing the same and were waiting for him to make the first move. However, the universe seemed to take matters in its own hands again.

Spencer had to remove himself from of the situation for a moment to restore some of his composure and not ogle you non-stop; especially not in front of all these people. He let you know that he would get the both of you something to drink and asked what he should get for you; when he came back, Mr. Benson had left.

For some time you stayed close to the fire, until he saw you lift your hand to fan yourself some air. “Too warm?”

You let out a small laugh and smiled at him. “Yeah, it starts getting a bit too much.”

He took the now empty cup from you and with a tilt of his head he signalled you to follow him. He gave the cups back to the person behind the make-shift bar counter and you walked a little farther away, putting some distance between you and both the tent and the fire. And the people too actually, the majority had gathered close around the flames in small groups.

“That's much better”, you sighed. “I like a nice fire as much as the next pers- oh.”

Before you could finish, you lost your balance when a body collided with yours from behind. You stumbled forward and Spencer instinctively reached out to catch you – he got a hold of your arms with a firm grip on them right above your elbows as you fell into him, bringing up your own hands to hold onto his shoulders.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry, I must have tripped over something. Are you okay?”, the voice of a woman came from behind you.

Neither of you let go of the other as you turned to face her. Spencer recognized her as one of the women that had talked with Mrs. Benson earlier and the look on her face told a whole different story than her words; that she wasn't sorry at all and that it had been deliberately planned to bump into you.

“I'm okay, no worries. Are you?”, you asked her and quickly scanned her for injuries.

“Ooh, I'm good. I'm good...”, she replied, almost in a sing-sang kind of tone and a wide smile on her lips. She snickered softly and walked away, her hand raised with a lazy kind of flick in her wrist as a wave good-bye.

The both of you watched her walk away, baffled.

“Okayyy”, you let out as you kept your eyes on her for a moment longer. “As long as she didn't twist her ankle or something.”

You turned your head, and just like earlier in front of your apartment, it seemed like you only just now realised the position you were in when your eyes met his. How close you were and that you were still holding on to each other.

Only this time, you didn't pull away.

The world around him seemed to fade away, time standing still, as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched and when his eyes flickered down to your lips, Spencer felt your grip on him tighten, subconsciously pulling him closer to you. His heart was in his throat and it beat so loud that he was sure you were able to hear it. He let his eyes wander back up and when he saw that you were looking at his lips as well, he threw all caution in the wind and just... did it.

He let go of your elbows, took your face in his hands and leaned in, hovering his lips over yours for a short moment to give you an out, to give you time to pull away, but you didn't; instead you closed the small space that was left between you.

A long and deep sigh rumbled in the back of his throat when your lips met and he pulled you closer; as you leaned into him, your hands moved higher until your fingers were tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it.

When you pulled back – more than reluctantly, but the both of you were still in public – , you were panting, your breaths mingling as your faces were still so close to each other. Spencer kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, not quiet ready to open them yet, afraid that when he did, he would wake up from an incredibly vivid dream.

“I'm sorry”, you suddenly choked out, which made him open his eyes in an instant. Tears were streaming down your face and you took a step back, keeping him at arms length. “I am so sorry, Spencer.”

“Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me, please.” Your emotions had changed so suddenly, he didn't know what happened, what made you cry. He wasn't sure what he should do, how he could help you calm down.

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, shaking your head.

“What for?” Did you regret letting him get close to you again; kissing him? Did you regret, that you hadn't just closed the door right in his face as soon as you had seen him this afternoon?

“Everything!” you choked out. “For how I acted all the time and for leaving like that, for leaving when I did. That I didn't contact you even once. For saying all those things, it wasn't fair. It never was. You didn't deserve it. I was so mean for no reason...” You sniffled and wiped the back of your hand under your nose. “I regretted every word the moment I said it, I didn't mean any of it. I couldn't stop talking and it was like I was losing control over myself and it all just came out and-....”

“Hey, I know...” Spencer took a small step closer to you. “In that moment it hurt, yes. And it took a lot of time until it stopped hurting; sometimes it still does. But I get it. You were scared. Some people get angry and lash out at the people around them when they are scared, especially directed at the person they are scared for; everyone reacts different. It's a totally normal reaction, I don't blame you.“

A sob came over your lips, your face twisting in pain. “Please don't be like that...”

His brows furrowed, a short and sharp pain in his chest. “Like what?”, he breathed out.

“So understanding... I acted like a total bitch to you! You should hate me... Why don't you hate me?” Your voice broke and got smaller with every word.

The corners of his mouth slightly raised to the whisper of a smile and Spencer closed the distance between you, lifting his hands to cup your cheeks. He wholeheartedly meant what he said next; there was not one thing he could think of that would change anything about it.

“I could never hate you.”

“You were shot. You needed me and left you alone and-”

“I've had worse. Before that day in Texas and certainly after”, he trailed off and softly shook his head when your brows furrowed even more, pain and fear so evidently in your eyes; he could tell that you knew he wasn't talking about anything related to the break-up.

“It's okay, I'm okay.” Spencer brushed your tears away, holding your face so gently in his hands as if you'd break into a million pieces if he wasn't careful enough. By the looks of it, you may very well would. Not a risk he was willing to take.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he stopped you from asking what had happened after, by placing his thumb over your lips. “Not tonight.” Gently, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip to the corner of your mouth. “We'll talk about it all and I will tell you everything, I promise. Just.. not tonight, okay?”

He wanted to stay in that little bubble you had created a little longer and ignore everything else but the feeling of having you back in his arms, being able to kiss and hug and touch you again, he just wanted to revel in your presence and your love. Everything else could wait; the guilt, the talking it out, the pain and especially all the bad stuff he had held back.

You pulled him closer by the collar of his jacket until there was no room left between you. For a second you fought with yourself, your eyes darting back and forth between his like you were looking for something in his gaze before you acted on what you wanted to do. Then-

“I love you.”

Before he could say, think or do anything else, Spencer dove down and pressed his lips against yours, smiling widely into the kiss. His heart was racing and he felt like a huge burden had fallen from his shoulders that he didn't even know he had been carrying. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “I love you.”

He couldn't hold back his own soft laugh when he heard you giggle happily before you said: “I can't believe you still want me...”

“It's you. It's always been you and it always will be you.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #ghosts can write #💜 s.r.#--- mismatched🧦

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sugoi-and-spice · 2 days

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Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days.

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head, “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person.

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.”

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same.

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief.

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair.

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets.

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all.

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck.

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met.

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed.

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

“Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice.

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form.

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—”

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something?

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest.

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last.

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach.

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed.

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills.

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping.

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came.

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly.

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

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writingquestionsanswered · 2 days

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Worried About Traction/Why Write?

Anonymous asked: Okay answer me this, so I've read how trad publishing is going to shit, but self-publishing I doubt I could gain any traction with. Then why fucking write, ya know? People say, "write for yourself," which sounds like a lot of goody bullshit. I want people to love my writing, I need some type of validation. So, how the hell do I get anyone to care about my stories?

Just a quick note that this ask came in off Anon, and I wasn't sure if it was meant to, so I put I'm posting it Anon to be on the safe side.

So, I don't want to get too much into the "is traditional publishing dying" debacle, because it's a conversation that's complex and nuanced and outside of my energy reserves at the moment. What I will say is that the traditional publishers--the Big Five in particular--still dominate the market, especially where print books are concerned. And although self-publishing can respond more quickly to trends and shifting tastes, traditional publishing continues to evolve.

Having said that, even if traditional publishing was stronger than ever before, that wouldn't guarantee you a book deal. Even in the best of times, the odds of being traditionally published are between 1 and 2%. Even if you get a book deal, that doesn't guarantee your book will be a best-seller. Hundreds of thousands of books are traditionally published every year, and far fewer than 1% of those books will become best sellers. Being traditionally published doesn't even guarantee your book will be sold in brick and mortar bookstores. I can point you toward traditionally published books that have been out almost a year and still have fewer than 10 reviews on Amazon. I can point you toward many more with fewer than 30.

And, while we're on the subject, I can show you self-published books with thousands of reviews (positive ones, btw...)

The point is, it doesn't really matter how you publish. What you write, how you write, and how you market is far, far more important. But the reality is, most of us aren't writing the kinds of books that are going to be best-sellers, BookTok sensations, Oprah's Book Club selections, or get optioned for film rights before the ink on the book deal is even dry. So, when you say you need validation, what does that look like for you? Does it mean seeing your name at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks straight? Seeing your book on eye-level shelves at an international airport? Hundreds of fans showing up to your book signing? A-hundred thousand followers on Twitter eagerly awaiting news of your next release? Or, does it look like someone... anyone... enjoying your book enough to leave a 5-star review... someone calling you their favorite writer, several fans re-posting your cover reveal because they're so excited for your upcoming book, or someone writing to say your book got them through a difficult time in their lives? Because, while I would never tell you not to dare to dream of achieving the former list of expectations, I will absolutely tell you the latter list of expectations is well within your grasp. So, if that's validation enough for you, write for those people. If it isn't, and it's not enough to write for yourself, then I think all you can do is try. Write the best stories you can write. Get them out there. Promote the hell out of them and see what happens. Maybe you will be one of those lucky few who see their book at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks in a row. Or, maybe you won't, but you get a two-page e-mail from a fan who says your story changed their life. And maybe, after all, that's enough. Here are some posts that can help you start building a following ahead of publishing, whatever route you end up choosing. Building a buzz on social media ahead of publishing and consistent promotion afterward can make a big difference. Even if you publish traditionally. Guide: Getting Your Writing Noticed on Tumblr Guide: Author Platforms-What, Why, and How? Guide: How to Promote Yourself as a Writer/Author via Social Media 12 Sites for Sharing Original Fiction

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 16 hours

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What is your hidden talent?

Hey, everyone! It would be super helpful if yall donated to my CashApp. I want to do this kind of work full-time. I have been told by people I read for that I am meant to do tarot reading. I am inclined to believe them because fr it has been so fun for me to see how much it helps yall. Way more fun than any retail/food industry job I've had. I feel like I am actually doing something substantial with my time. If yall want me to be able to continue to do this daily it would be so awesome if yall donated. Thank you guys in advance!

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The decks I am using today are The Tarot of the Divine, Believe in You Own Magic Oracle and The Healing Waters Oracle. Take everything that resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new experiences.

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PILE ONE

Astrology: Leo, Virgo, Scorpio

Song: I Set Fire To The Rain by Adele

Vibes: Teal, green, yellow/gold, shear white cloth, smelling smoke, burning house, swimming, mixed drinks, hot chocolate, braided hair, locked doors, house plants, deep skin tone, 888, shells, feathers, crayons, colored hair, ares

Cards: 2 of Wands, 9 of Cups, 5 of Wands, Mural, Gold, Cleansing, Into the Unknown

Welcome in, pile 1! You have two hidden talents. One that you use rather regularly but unknowingly and the other you have yet to unlock. The energy I am getting from the cards makes me think the two talents are intertwined. ALSO Trigger Warning for abuse in this reading. It is VERY HEAVY. Do not read if you do not think you are ready.

The first hidden talent is starting new from the ground up. I know to you it might not sound that interesting. You have no idea how hard it can be to start new things for others. Starting from the ground up is scary and intimidating. Organizing the chaos in your mind and project that chaos clearly into reality. I see you are probably an artist of some kind. You might paint, make clay sculptures, or hand-make intricate jewelry of some kind. I see you learned to hone this ability because of a karmic relationship. They made you feel adored and cherished until you were in their grasp. When you were trapped with them, they turned on you. It's giving love bombing. This person literally blew up on you over the smallest things. I see a shattered tea/coffee cup. You stayed with them for a long time even though you knew what they were doing was wrong. You had to completely shred the life you had with them. You had to start your life from scratch. Which is why you are so used to the idea of starting with nothing and building up. The pain that you felt from that past connection still hurts you to this day. You probably have PTSD from the situation you were in. I am so sorry you had to go through all that. You didn't deserve to be treated like that.

The second hidden talent is transmutation. I see that the reason you haven't unlocked it yet is because you fear change. What happened to you in that shitty relationship makes it way easier for you to start over than to change the situation. You are scared to see things to the end. I see that this fear reveals itself in your artwork. You probably have many unfinished projects because you view yourself as incapable of seeing them through. Which by the way isn't true you are so capable of anything you want to do. Heal the hurt part of you that thinks you are incapable. Your ex was the one who instilled that in you. Don't let that motherfucker get you down. Especially if they aren't in your life anymore. Don't let them have that power over you, love. You deserve to feel good. Face your fear of them being right. You and I both know they aren't. When you do unlock this ability you will be able to transmute all the pain that asshole put you through into beautiful art. You will be able to finish all of those unfinished projects. You will be able to find true love within yourself. You will find that you were never broken like that bitch said you were. You were always lovely, sweet, and accommodating. You were always creating love everywhere you went.

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PILE TWO

Astrology: Sagittarius, Gemini, Pisces

Song: I Love Rock n Roll by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Vibes: Navy Blue, white, peach, deer, horses, libraries, books, coffee, hot springs, scones, pillow forts, maxi-skirts, cowboys, mermaids, 333, wine, fine dining, tall trees, athena, artemis

Cards: The Hermit, 3 of Wands, Knight of Swords, Nostalgia, Stars, Water Codes, The Healing Lagoon

Hello, pile 2! You have one secret power but trust me it's a good one. You have the ability to pull information out of thin air. You are crazy smart. People might not think it when they look at you because you try not to flaunt it too wildly. You prefer to stay under the radar when it comes to intellect. This makes people underestimate you. I feel that some of yall reading like this for various reasons but others really fucking hate it. You have some insecurity around this skill. That's why you don't think it is a good skill tbh. You think a lot on the go even while in conversation which makes people see you as kind of ditzy. Even so, you absolutely obliterate at trivia night. Your friends come to you first when they need obscure information. You might have been a really lonely kid and spent a lot of your time reading away the time. For a big chunk of your childhood you found your companionship in novels. You may have been bullied for this. Don't let those people's words get you down. Honestly, they were just jealous of your intelligence. The friends you have now love to hear you infodump about your favorite books. They love to hear everything you know about sea creatures and astrology/astronomy. They ask questions not to mock you but because they genuinely are interested in what you have to say. You are magnificent. Your mind is unparalleled. How people perceive you has nothing to do with what is actually happening in your mind. It is just their projections of themselves onto you. Ignore them lmao. <3

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PILE THREE

Astrology: Cancer, Taurus, Libra

Song: Stay by Zedd

Vibes: All shades of blue, creeks, hanging flowers, 9999, faires, watermelon, paint-brush, rabbits, bird chips, car horn, pearls, lily pads, walking in the rain, lanterns, puppies, beaches, zues

Cards: Queen of Cups, Page of Cups, Ace of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Raindrops, Stagnant Waters, Light House

My dear pile 3, welcome to your reading. You have a hidden ability that I feel is only hidden from you. Everyone else seems to know this about you. You have the power of hospitality and refuge. You are a safe place for everyone you know to come to if they need it. You are the type of person to tell everyone you know if they need a place to stay for any reason, all they gotta do is ask. You have a motherly energy about you, even if you aren't a woman. You always have emergency snacks for occasions like that. You host parties and everyone always leaves feeling 10 times better than when they arrived. You are the friend that lends a hand when needed. You the kind of person to have a shoulder ready for anyone to lean on, even if you don't know them well. The most beautiful thing about this is that these actions are never self-sacrificing. You have an abundance of all that you need so you can be generous constantly to those in need. I see you resting when necessary and listening to your body. I see you volunteering in your community. I think recently you helped clean up a beach or something. Maybe you organized it? Your energy is so soothing. You are just amazing, my friend. Absolutely the softest heart on earth. I also see you might foster animals! You take in rescue animals and nurse them back to health until they can find a forever home. ;n; You are the definition of an earth angel. Please see how amazing you are and how big your heart is. I wanna be your friend so bad from hearing all of this. Never stop being this beautiful of a soul, my dear. You are perfect.

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PILE FOUR

Astrology: Aries, Capricorn, Aquarius

Song: Black Girl Magic by Londrelle

Vibes: Cyan, yellow, rusty red, iridescent, sake, 4c hair, magic, spell casting, curse breaking, singing, tea, pottery, steam-train, festivals, celebration, 963, small forests, mercury/hermes, lambs, Oshun

Cards: The Star, Ace of Cups, 2 of Cups, 6 of Swords, 7 of Wands, Tower, Spaceship, Thank You

PILE 4, WOW. Welcome. Your energy is just sooo woah. You are so indescribable. All that you have been through. Everything you have seen. All I can say is, wow. Your secret power is balance. It is a well-earned hidden ability. You have been through so much to gain the skills that I see in this reading. You have traveled so far. When I first looked at the reading I could not pin down exactly what skill you had because you are just so good at EVERYTHING. I legitimately out loud said, "Everything??? Everything." You know how to take care of yourself. You are an excellent lover. If you are a parent you are good at that too. You are chasing your dreams. I see you performing as a singer or a musician and your talent stuns everyone in the room. You are the best manifester in a 20 miles radius. You are a witch for sure. You have worked so hard on breaking karmic familial curses and you succeeded. You succeeded far past your soul's initial expectations. You are everything, my love. Like literally everything. Then it hit me. You are a tightrope walker. You are balancing everything perfectly. Have you ever heard of Rock Cairns? They are stacks of rocks that hikers add to as they pass by on park trails. You have turned your life into something like that. You have perfectly balanced every stone you passed in your life in a pile and you manage it all on your own. First off, I want to tell you what a good job you are doing. What a good job you have been doing since you were born. Second thing, PLEASE REST WHEN YOU NEED IT OHMYGODS. You don't need me to tell you that though. You are probably smoking a joint right fucking now while reading this or you just got done doing that. No notes, baby. You got this. I just think Spirit wanted to remind you of your magnificence.

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alphajocklover · 12 hours

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This is me currently and I’d absolutely love to be turned into the straightest, douchiest, big and beefiest jock you got! Thank you for the stories 🙏🏻.

So you want to be a straight, beefy, douchebag jock, right? Actually, scratch that, if I remember correctly you want to be the straightest, beefiest, douchiest jock possible? You aren’t content to be just a jock. You want to be the biggest, best jock around. A real alpha male. That's a good start. All jocks need to be ambitious, especially alpha bro douchebags. I can definitely help you. Well, more accurately, the Douchebag Revolution can help you. I checked a couple of things and I’m absolutely certain that you’re a victim of SAD, a douchebag jock that was turned into a gay nerd using time travel. I’ve talked about both SAD, the Society Against Douchebags, and the Douchebag Revolution before. The revolution are the people who gave me my time machine after all. So this is going to be less about turning you into a douchebag jock, and more about turning you back into the douchebag jock you were always meant to be. Now, there are a few different methods that the Douchebag Revolution uses to help those changed by SAD. One I showed in an earlier post is a serum that combats the effects of the nanobot SAD injected you with. It also includes a pretty strong dose of testosterone and some steroids from the future, so even if you weren’t already supposed to be a douchebag before this will definitely make you into one. Not that someone who doesn’t have those nanobots inside then should use the serum though, that could mess you up. Another is, of course, the time machine. This one is very complicated, because while using the time machine would mean they’d get the chance to stop SAD from changing you at all, if SAD noticed them your entire life would be transformed into a battle between the two groups, and trust me when I say that that can get messy. Time travel is already complicated enough without starting a time war, so usually they avoid that method. The final method would probably be best for you. It’s called Douchebag Rehabilitation. It’s not an instant fix like the others. It’s sort of a… program. How it works is that the Revolution takes you to a secret facility somewhere in the far future. They use a mix of drugs, specialized training, and seminars that could turn the nerdiest gay guy into a raging douchebag. It usually takes about a week or two, a month at most, and with time travel it’ll appear instant to anyone watching from the outside. They’ll take you away, and five minutes later, the new you will be back and ready to have some fucking fun. This method does take longer, but from what I’ve heard it's actually really fun. You get to spend a whole month working out, meeting fellow douchebags, and banging hot bimbo volunteers. So, let's get you on your way! If this is what you want there isn’t any point in putting it off. I hope you have fun at Douche Rehab!

Ok. Yeah you… definitely had fun, didn’t you. I can tell from the cocky smirk on your face, and your now massive muscles, that the program definitely did its job. How long did you stay there, a month? You’re big even compared to most douchebags! I wonder how many girls you fucked. I hear most fuck at least 20 girls during their stay but I bet a stud like you got up to 40 or something. I’m glad I was able to help you become your true self. I kind of wish you and the other douchebags would stop referring to me as ‘that fag reporter’ though.

#muscle growth tf #muscle tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #nerd to jock #douchebag revolution #gay to straight

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i-heart-hxh · 1 day

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I was rewatching HxH recently and I’m kind of confused about Killua’s doubt about Gon’s friendship in the CA arc. Gon has told Killua multiple times that he is his best friend and even stated that Killua was part of his current life goal (meeting Ging but specifically introducing Killua to Ging). So why is Killua wondering if he’s a teammate or a friend during the palace invasion? Nothing actually happened up until that point to make it seem like Gon no longer considered him a friend so where is this doubt even coming from? I just don’t get where this “which is it” crisis even came from. Gon never suggested Killua was no longer a friend but now he has to pay the consequences of not knowing what’s going on in Killua’s head.

And on that note, I think it was unfair of Killua to part from Gon letting him think that his actions caused the separation. Especially when he is clearly contrite and was in the middle of a psychotic break when he snapped at Killua.

Hi! This is a great question, and something that confused me my first time through the series as well.

I actually talked about this topic here as an addition/extension to @tjlnn22's awesome post about how the aftermath of Gon's date with Palm and Gon's concern about Palm during the palace invasion played a role in Killua feeling uncertain about his role in Gon's life. I highly recommend reading the whole post because it makes the series of events more clear and understandable and lays it out with actual manga pages, but I'll talk about it a bit here as well. (Apologies if I end up repeating myself some--I sometimes I like to restate things in case it's helpful to someone!)

It is strange that Killua fixates on this friend/tomodachi vs comrade/nakama topic during Chimera Ant Arc, after Gon declared Killua his best friend in the whole world not long ago at all. As the audience, I think we're supposed to question this as well--after all, that declaration from Gon at the end of Greed Island was a major moment in the series, we haven't seen the two of them have any major falling out, and Gon hasn't directly said anything to Killua that might contradict them still being best friends. So, why this crisis all the sudden?

Killua's insecurity boils down to two major factors:

Gon wants to fight Pitou alone, and Killua defines himself in relation to Gon via acts of service--his self-esteem hinges on how useful he can be to Gon. (Remember when he nearly died and the last thing he said was apologizing to Gon for not being of more use?) Gon denying Killua the ability to fight alongside him in such an important mission likely feels to like a rejection to Killua, to a degree. Think of how much it meant to Killua to be relied upon by Gon in the dodgeball match. This is in conjunction with Killua feeling like he failed Gon when he fled from Pitou and left Kite to die, and also the needle's effects in general (causing him to flee when up against strong opponents) make Killua feel like a failure, someone unworthy of being at Gon's side.

His sense of his place at Gon's side is also disrupted by Gon's date with Palm and Gon being worried about Palm during the mission. There is very strong evidence (again, here) that the date and aftermath of it seriously impacts Killua, including over the longer term, and makes him wonder who he is to Gon, anyway. This idea gets brought up again and again, and when Killua has his sobbing breakdown in front of Palm, it's because he's thinking about the possibility that Palm means more to Gon than him.

It's both of these factors, not just one or the other.

Chimera Ant arc keeps circling back to questions around Killua's relationship to Gon and what the meaning of it is, specifically bringing up the concept of romantic love directly around it repeatedly. As the audience, many of us find it confusing that Killua is wondering if he's still Gon's friend when their status as friends has been so clear throughout the series and never seemed to fall into question. Even Gon choosing to fight Pitou alone doesn't explain the crisis Killua is having over this.

I personally think this crisis is really about Killua's romantic feelings for Gon, with the language somewhat obfuscated because ultimately this is a Jump manga and I believe Togashi knows people who understand the subtext will get it (keep in mind just how much subtext there is in this arc overall), and those who don't will just puzzle over it a bit and maybe consider the context the rest of the arc provides. Killua himself also might not have full awareness of or be unwilling to admit to himself fully why he's so upset about this situation and therefore mentally frame it as "friends or comrades," too. It's basically about how much he means to Gon, regardless.

If you remove Killua's romantic feelings for Gon from the puzzle, the conflict he's having doesn't entirely make sense, but when you do consider it, it suddenly makes a lot more sense. He's worried about whether Gon sees him the same way he sees Gon, and because he believes Gon is "dating" Palm and has feelings for her, he's struggling with what he sees as a mismatch in their feelings for each other. Is he Gon's beloved #1 person and partner, or is he just someone Gon works with to reach goals? Does Gon love Killua the way Killua loves Gon, or not? It's a common trope in romance, something you'd see in a shoujo manga. Taken in conjunction with all the other romantic subtext in the series, it's a conclusion that works for me. I think it's just lightly "coded" to keep it somewhat below the surface and have some plausible deniability.

On your final point, we actually don't know what Killua said to Gon about the parting because we never saw the full conversations between them on the subject. During the separation, Killua teases Gon about what happened during Chimera Ant Arc, but he doesn't blame Gon or say that Gon is why they're splitting up. If anything, he emphasizes it's because he decided he needs to be with Alluka and protect her. So, I don't think it's fair to blame Killua for something he didn't actually do, as far as we know.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #gon #killua #killugon #gonkillu #palm subplot #asks #anonymous #long post #meta #my posts #chimera ant arc

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 days

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I'm sorry for the way I acted and spoke.

No ifs, and, or buts about it. Not gonna try to justify the way I acted.

I was aggressive and uncouth, and I know I definitely hurt people, if nothing else, by being aggressive.

I didn't mean to start a "witch hunt" on any of the blogs involved in the screenshot post, including @soapskneebrace , @groguspicklejar and @glossysoap .

But I know that I *am* guilty of causing a commotion and causing people to view those blogs in a bad light.

I deeply regret the fact I was aggressive, that I caused a commotion/"witch hunt" and that I basically "broadcasted" a bad image of these blogs to my followers (and anyone else who saw my account/posts on the dashboard).

That was wrong of me and I won't try to justify it for any reason. I was blinded by my hurt, but that doesn't make what I did any better, nor does it suddenly make me innocent.

This makes me a gigantic hypocrite, because I did not realize, in my anger/revolt, that I was guilty of doing to these blogs the same thing I was accusing them of doing to Myka.

I apologize if my actions caused anyone to go harass any of the three of you and, especially, the ones that have had to turn off their anon asks, because I assume you got some hate as well. I didn't intend to encourage anyone to speak to you in a disrespectful way, if that was the case.

I don't think any of the blogs involved are bad people. I don't think they're evil. I only wanted them to recognize a bad behavior. Their behavior doesn't suddenly make them bad people. They made a mistake. And I don't want any one of them to think I believe they're a bad person.

My actions came from a place of hurt, worry, and, especially, frustration, at the belief that someone (Myka) who was already not doing well mentally was shown so much disgust and hatred that they were driven to a point of harming themselves for it.

Not just that, but it also frightened me, very much so, to see people be so callous about someone taking their life. I felt like those blogs should take accountability because realistically their actions still hurt another human being. But that doesn't mean they/you deserve harassment or to be treated poorly.

I would also like to add that Gaz erasure *is* a real thing and I whole-heartedly agree that there are plenty of situations of that in the fandom. Have seen them myself and even Activision often excludes Gaz from their own materials. I don't support Gaz erasure in any way.

My hashtag was in poor taste and I know it can and likely will be taken out of context. I enjoy Gaz as a character, love him, and did not intend to ever make it seem like I ever believed Gaz erasure didn't exist. My hashtag, however, spreads a harmful narrative and viewpoint that I don't believe. That is not what I meant when I used it but it is what ended up happening, and for that I'm deeply ashamed.

All I was trying to do with the hashtag was call attention to the misinterpretation of the original post, because it was never meant to exclude Gaz in the first place. The hashtag wasn't meant to say Gaz erasure doesn't exist.

I understand how disgusting that tag is and how easily it can/will be misconstrued, as well as the fact it will give way for bad people to say bad/toxic things about Gaz as a character. I will be deleting the hashtag off all my posts and I appreciate wholeheartedly that you all called me out on my use of that hashtag. You were all correct, and my behavior was wrong.

That being said, I try to be an honest person. I'm not gonna delete any of the posts I made, nor any of the asks I've answered, much less the first post I made explaining my actions. I don't think it would be fair or right of me to delete them and wash my hands of them or act like it didn't happen. I want to be held accountable for this. It happened, I'm sorry, and I'm not going to delete them and hide.

Finally, you're free to call me gullible for believing sheheal when it comes to Myka's death, and I will embrace that, because I'd rather have stood by them and have it be proven to not be true/be a hoax, versus not have stood by them and have it be proven true and feel like I was complicit in it. I know it's selfish of me to want to ease my conscious or feel less guilt, but I don't want to be a cynic about someone's death or pain.

I hope you're all okay, this was not an easy situation to deal with, for anyone involved and I hope you all have support systems in place and ways of clearing your heads. I hope you're all healthy and safe.

All of you are welcome to reach out to me if you need to. We can discuss it more because none of us acted alone and I don't want any of you to feel alone.

#ikea talks

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scullysflannel · 3 days

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hiiii apologies if i'm sending you too many asks lol, don't feel pressured to reply right away or at all tbh, but there's this thing ive been turning over in my head about the x files that's like... so in many ways it has these conservative ideas kind of baked into the premise and format of the show. these fears of monsters and monstrous others that have to be investigated and neutralized by our heroes who are these beautiful professional looking white people. and then there's the looming fear of alien invasion that comes up in the myth episodes. so theres a lot that could and should and does feel reactionary and conservative about it. but theres also such a palpable love for the strange and unknown? the "i want to believe" poster represents this so beautifully. i think this love tends to be expressed visually rather than in words so it's kind of hard to concretely describe but i'm sure you know what i'm talking about. and then the show also relies on us the audience having an interest in the paranormal and unexplainable, not because we want to see it defeated, but for its own sake. so i guess i want to ask how you square those two ideas, that the x files has all these anxieties about weirdness but also loves and yearns for weirdness? as i said ive been kind of ruminating on this for a while and having trouble reconciling the two ideas so i'd love to hear your thoughts!

Ooh I kind of just want to give you a reading list. Have you read “In the Dark” by Brian Phillips?? It’s a Grantland essay written for the 20th anniversary in 2013. It’s my favorite piece of X-Files journalism (actually my favorite piece of entertainment journalism in general) — kind of an essential text to me. It gets into all of this. But for me I don’t feel like reconciling the tension is the goal, or that it’s even possible. The tension is the show.

Likely thing for me to say, but I think the structure of The X-Files as a procedural is a big part of how and why it moves between fear and love. Phillips describes Mulder and Scully as representatives of a doomed but still operational status quo, “figures of a weird reactionary beauty, struggling to understand and then prevent the profound transformation breaking out across their world.” I’d say that last part (prevention) is especially true of the mythology, with the monster-of-the-week episodes giving space to sometimes complicate that.

The X-Files is traditional in its basic formula; it makes assumptions about who gets to be the hero and what kind of job they should have. There are some assumptions it doesn’t interrogate, like its default whiteness. But its critique of the government can be shockingly pointed, even if it holds itself back in later seasons by keeping Mulder and Scully in the Bureau well past the point where they should go rogue. (Not that I think the show actually could have done that.)

Does The X-Files love its boundaries or want to blow them up? Both. The appeal of a procedural is typically that it gives neat answers, so being a procedural that denies easy answers is the point, which is to say that both sides of the show are dependent on each other. The whole show is sort of an experiment in fitting some of the strangeness of Twin Peaks into a procedural. I think it’s meant to be a go-between, the same way Mulder and Scully are.

Phillips also writes, “In this show about not knowing, the agents confronted two distinct sets of frightening unknowns. On one side was the shadow government represented by the Cigarette-Smoking Man. On the other was the evil that lurked beneath the surface of every American hamlet. Often, Mulder and Scully’s role was simply to act as interpreters between their own antagonists, rendering chaotic eruptions of small-town horror comprehensible to men in marble corridors in D.C.” I think The X-Files works like that too — interpreting between what’s regimented and what’s odd — and in that sense it has to yearn for the same things it’s afraid of. And really, I prefer the honesty of that to something more ideologically consistent.

I always think about “Home” as an episode that sums up a lot of The X-Files’ attitude toward progress (more on this here): It isn’t immune to the romance of the myth of Mayberry, even as it’s aware that it’s a grotesque lie built on violence, and that people are committing perverse acts to hold on to it. The show allows for progress to be scary but insists that it’s not as scary as what people will do when they fear it. Weirdness on The X-Files isn’t perfectly analogous for righteous deviance only. I believe the show sees what is weird coming from all sides, past (like the Peacocks) and future, so what’s weird isn’t inherently good or meant to signify inherent goodness; it only can be good.

One of my favorite things about The X-Files is the way it respects the integrity of doubt. (I’ve written about this! But hold off on reading if you don’t want any spoilers.) I don’t think the show could be about the bravery of questioning your beliefs without letting those old beliefs be a little bit comforting to Mulder and Scully, even the ones that turn out to be lies. There’s a great New Yorker essay by James Wolcott written in 1994, near the end of the first season. He writes that in The X-Files, the Cold War-era obsession with UFOs and alien invasion gives way to the more inward-looking fear of alien abduction: “The X-Files is the product of yuppie morbidity, a creeping sense of personal mortality.” Later on, the mythology incorporates shapeshifters and alien colonization plans, but it never commits. That’s never the emotional core of the show in the way abduction is. The core of the show is personal annihilation: the fear of death and losing loved ones, and the fear of tearing yourself apart to get to the truth.

But some of the most affecting episodes are the ones that love and yearn for the weirdness in spite of it all. Like you said, it’s always in the atmosphere and the visuals (the poster, or Mulder looking up at the stars), but I think the show puts words to it pretty often, too, like “I guess I see hope in such a possibility” in “Quagmire” and especially all of “Humbug”: “Imagine going through your whole life looking like that.” There’s so much affection for peculiarity in that episode. Still, I love that ultimately it’s just a fact: “Nature abhors normality.” It doesn’t actually matter whether you like what’s “freakish” or not; it’s just nature. I think all of The X-Files kind of evens out into a neutral judgment like that, which is nice and even kind of radical in its own way. What is weird doesn’t have to be beautiful and desirable; it just has to be seen and accepted.

#lesbianmarrow #xf thoughts #sorry to take too long and say too much as always!!!#anyway just fyi 'in the dark' wouldn't spoil anything for you unless you click on footnote number 5

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wombywoo · 1 day

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Hello ☆ I was wondering if you have any advice for any artists who want to start creating fanart but are afraid to deal with the unfortunate circumstances that artists deal with on the internet? ): (theft, tracing, unauthorized sales, etc.). I know that's something thats inevitably gonna happen and that almost every creator is gonna have to deal with, especially within bigger fandoms, like CoD.

I'm not a very confrontational person to begin with which most likely doesn't help, but I really really really want to share my CoD fanart but seeing how shit the fandom treats artists, on all platforms, it's very discouraging ://

Hi there! I wasn't really sure how to answer this because truthfully--I still haven't found an effective way to combat all of the negative aspects you're referring to. Unfortunately, this is probably the most..ah...immature fandom I've been in, so there is a fair deal of nonsense occurring regularly, lol. Artwork is seen as 'content' which is meant to cater to any random person's wants and needs. As such, the average 19 y.o. tiktok user is just going to see a hot guy and repost it on their page with terrible techno music, regardless of whether you've put a watermark on your work or not. I can't say it isn't extremely frustrating, but personally, the main point is for me to create all of my artwork for *me* first and foremost. Don't get me wrong--I do enjoy getting to share my stuff in this community, and I've gotten some lovely responses more often than not. But I think it's better for you to focus on why you want to create something in the first place, rather than the anticipation of others' responses. It's awfully disheartening for a lot of artists to see their work stolen, and even worse, monetized without their consent. I do think a lot of that only happens when you've reached a certain status (ie. I only started getting reposted and harassed when I gained more popularity in this fandom) so I think if you start out small, you may be left unbothered, at least for a bit. I wish I could be more encouraging, but the reality is that the current online landscape for artists is a bit bleak. It's not even just the art theft and AI elements--more and more creators are under attack for the most inconsequential issues, and it's all a part of this ongoing fandom trend to weaponize morality, but I digress... One positive is that, for the most part, other artists will look out for each other, so if your stuff is being stolen, there's a shared response of retaliation, and I think you'll find most people are on your side. My best advice for this situation is: just post your stuff and see what happens. I'd say that the majority of people will enjoy and interact accordingly, and if you're met with any instance of theft/tracing/harassment, you can report the offenders wherever applicable. Don't let the negativity discourage you from creating what you want <3

#asks #wombat words of wisdom #tbh... cod fandom may not be the best to even get into if you can help it #I'd say find a few weirdos who appreciate the same aspects you do and just...ignore the majority 💀

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altocat · 3 days

Note

*gives Cloud garlic bread*

Okay so here's a Cloud question, how would you describe how Cloud feels about Sephiroth?

Just interested in perspective.

Like I'm pretty sure it changes a lot. How Cloud feels in FF7 is definitely from how he feels Post FF7 or even years later in AC.

I think Cloud's feelings for Sephiroth are simple in a lot of ways and complex in a lot of ways.

Firstly, I think he hates Sephiroth's guts and will never EVER forgive him. And I wouldn't expect him to. Sephiroth killed Cloud's mother, along with his hometown, Aerith, Tifa's dad, etc. Sephiroth has done so many terrible things to Cloud that Cloud has every right to hate him to the very end of his days. And it's no surprise that Sephiroth's presence triggers feelings of fear and trauma within Cloud.

There's the middle gray area as well with Cloud still feeling some measure of attraction towards Sephiroth. Especially whenever Sephiroth manipulates Cloud into being his "puppet". But this could probably be chalked up to the whole Reunion concept and likely not personal feelings. That said, the way Cloud vocally describes Sephiroth in the Nibelheim flashback also suggests that, personal feelings aside, Cloud might still find Sephiroth alluring. Or at least the OLD Sephiroth that was his hero.

Post-OG, things get interesting. Maybe it's just time or maturity that does it but Cloud seems to have "softened" slightly. I don't mean he's forgiven Seph--he still hates Sephiroth for everything. But he also seems to understand the nuance behind him. He was gentle towards Kadaj at the end of AC. And in Opera Omnia he acknowledges that while he and Tifa can't forgive Sephiroth's actions, he won't hold it against other people (Angeal, Zack) who still love and care about him. Cloud points out that even IF Sephiroth was being possessed by Jenova all this time, he still wouldn't be able to let the past go with what Sephiroth did. But he also sympathizes and seeks to help those close to Sephiroth who want to redeem him. It's a surprisingly layered reaction from Sephiroth's arch enemy. Cloud can move on from the past. But he won't forget it either.

It leads me to believe that, were Sephiroth ever to get "redeemed" in canon, Cloud probably would never forgive him or consider him a friend or a good person. But he also would have the nobility to recognize that Sephiroth is someone's loved one, someone worth preservation if it meant reconciling other people's relationships. If Sephiroth can't change, then Cloud's course is set--he's gonna keep killing Sephiroth over and over until he finally dies for good. But there is some measure of respect for Sephiroth there even after everything. It isn't love or exoneration. But there IS empathy.

And it adds a neat layer that suggests that Cloud is made of stronger stuff than Sephiroth will ever possess. He doesn't have to forgive or forget. And he WON'T. But he can still rise beyond the limitations of his own vendetta.

#ff7 #asks #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #sephiroth #crisis core #cloud strife #dissidia opera omnia #opera omnia #advent children #ffvii advent children #final fantasy vii #tifa lockhart #angeal hewley #zack fair

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tellmeallaboutit · 3 days

Text

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 6, In Which You Try To Look Away (It's Harder Than You Thought)

AO3

by the way, I saw today an art on twitter which is extremely Raul-coded

I am not a murderer, you thought as you ordered the ATM to give you another two hundred euros.

Even if I am, that guy deserved it, you thought as you re-inserted the card to give you two hundred more (damn those limits per withdrawal).

Even if he didn’t (and he did), nobody is going to miss him, and his fiancee will move on to the next lawyer in Oliver Peoples glasses soon enough, and besides, people die in freak accidents all the time.

Even if they don’t, well, if every death wish resulted in an actual death, humanity would be long extinct and that wouldn't be your fault, would it now?

With that comforting thought, you pocketed the last of your ten thousand euro goal, tired from having to repeat the same task for almost an entire hour. Anything can happen, Raphael could cut off access to his account on a whim, but cold hard cash was something you could hold onto even if you fell from his grace.

"Ms. Berger," came a voice on your phone with a strong French accent the moment you picked up. It was Raphael’s banker, Francois-something, who gave you the PIN in the first place. “Would it be easier if we delivered cash directly to you? Your withdrawals keep triggering our petty theft alerts."

"Oh no, thank you," you replied, trying your best not to sound like a petty thief. "I have enough for now... I think."

“As you wish,” came his slow reply.

"But uh... could you help me make two bank transfers?" You asked after a pause. "One to my mother, Franziska Berger… (how much how much how much?) ten thousand euro, I’ll send you the details… and one for the stray cats shelter... (how much how much how much?)… five thousand euro?"

Too much? How do you quantify the cost of accidentally-on-purpose getting some useless yuppie run over by a bus in terms of absolving your sins?

Five thousand felt somewhat stingy.

“The stray cats?” The banker repeated back at you as though questioning whether this was some sort of coded drug deal.

“Yes,” You replied firmly. “They do incredible work. Ah! The kids cancer foundation, too. Five thousand. No, ten".

That seemed about right for the guy’s life.

"Ah, you meant charity. Of course," Francois replied, relief and amusement in his tone. "Lovely, great for the ESG rating. Make sure to get an invoice for the tax refund."

It didn’t quite sit well with you to use stray cats and kids for tax refunds, but you still said yes and stashed the money deep down the rucksack. You got a bit of cash for now (soon you will go for more, because who knows), but it’s still not an income source.

What could be? Should you ask Raphael to buy an apartment in your name, or two? You could rent it. Or a company? Tenebris, for instance. Just imagine their gobsmacked faces - especially after they gave you the boot without even a severance package.

That was a delicious thought.

You let it simmer as you sat down in an tourist-trappy Italian restaurant in the city centre, just about to order an Aperol Spritz when your phone began to ring again. You are in high demand these days.

"Anya!" Your mum gasped on the other end of the line. “I saw you on TV!"

Sure, the accident was all over the news channels. Some blurred out the dead body better than others did. You would bet your last cent that the unedited version got more views.

"Yeah, gruesome," you grimaced.

"Gruesome? Why? Ah, you mean the guy. Well, that happens all the time; they really give driving licences to anyone these days. I do hope the driver rots in prison for what he did to this poor young man. Anyway, no. I called to say, I saw you and Raul on the news”.

She managed to infuse an uncanny amount of innuendo into the last sentence.

“Raul is such a handsome man, Anya”, she sighed wistfully. “Quite the catch you got there, huh?”

There we go again.

“What, way out of my league?”, you joked dryly. “I’ve been told that”.

“Oh, no, what nonsense! You are such a pretty girl!” Your mother protested. “More importantly, a good-hearted girl raised right; I am glad there still are decent men who still appreciate that. Did you meet Raul for a lunch?”

“Oh no,” You replied nonchalantly. "We actually… ah, we actually went to a church. He introduced me to his pastor."

Your mother sucked in an audible gasp like she'd won some kind of maternal lottery.

“His pastor, already? I am so happy for you, sweetie.”, she finally managed to say. “This is like a fairy tale come true”.

Yeah, a Grimm one.

“Sort of”, you chuckled. '“By the way, you will receive a bank transfer soon, ten thousand euro, don’t be afraid. It’s… well, take care of your health, okay? Get a decent dentist this time, a private one”.

“Where do you have the money from? Is it his?”, your mum suddenly sobered up. “Anya, what on earth is he paying you money for? I hope you are not doing anything… anything…”

"No," you cut her off and licked your lips, recalling the last thing that passed between them. “Mom, please! It's not his money, it's my company’s – long story.”

One that you haven't come up with yet.

Besides, if Raphael was giving you ten thousand dollars (thirty-five thousand in total with your other expenses for the day) for one blowjob, then you definitely had a successful career, just not in the field you had planned on.

“Okay,” your mum replied. “But still...you don’t need to...why don’t you buy some nice dresses instead? What on earth was that t-shirt you were wearing to a church?"

“I am hanging up”, You threatened half-heartedly.

You didn’t. You listened in the background to the story of how your mum’s school friend called her to say she saw “her Anya” with a very handsome man on the TV, nonplussed by the fact there was a scattered corpse in the background.

In the meanwhile, you opened Google on your phone.

You didn’t fancy doing that before - annoyed by that fake persona Raphael had created. But since he obviously put that much effort in it, it’s worth looking up what he had been up to and for how long.

Nothing good, for sure.

"…Raul D'Avergni, managing partner of an international law firm, inherited the private equity conglomerate, Avernus Capital. This transition was precipitated by the unexpected and tragic passing of his father..."

"…By December 2024, D'Avergni's high-profile liaison with Isabelle Arnaud, actress and socialite, had unceremoniously ended..."

No. Who? No. You didn’t need any ex-girlfriends.

"…Ms. Arnaud levied abuse accusations against Mr. D'Avergni…”

Oh, no…

“…she retracted her claims within a mere twenty hours and ensued a public apology for any harm inflicted upon D’Avergni’s reputation..."

Hmm.

"…her psychiatrist intervened on her behalf. Evidently, Arnaud was grappling with severe mental health issues that led her to make unfounded allegations..."

Raul likes them crazy, they said? Or makes them crazy?

"…Ms. Arnaud now resides in a high-end medical institution in Monaco, focusing on her mental health issues..."

What did Isabelle look like, you wondered, as your mum finished her talk and wished you a good day. You typed her name into the search bar, holding your breath in anticipation as you half-expected to see Hope's face staring back at you.

The woman clinging to Raphael's arm at some fancy film premiere bore no resemblance.

Your stomach sank as if it had plunged into the depths of hell.

She was exactly the type of woman Raphael should have on his elbow; a timeless beauty, but something more Renaissance like, the kind of faces humankind seemed to have stopped producing. She was in her mid-twenties, as well, but… hell, you could not hold a candle to that. Few could.

Not even the Tavs. She resembled her namesake, Isabelle Adjani, in her youth, maybe even better.

The pictures showed her laughing and looking deeply in love while gazing up at Raphael, while he offered only a very formal smile to the camera. So not Hope then. Nothing like their story. She was in love, he wasn’t.

Good.

Later snaps by paparazzi painted a different picture: a gaunt woman hidden behind oversized sunglasses and swallowed up by her hoodie, clutching to her coffee cup.

With a swift click, you banished Isabelle from your screen and plunged further into Raphael's (Raul’s) life story.

You found a photo of Raphael in his twenties (yes, just like the Tumblr post you hated, and no, you wouldn't have fucked him at that age), caught up in a minor scandal in Sankt Moritz (apparently his fraternity brother had pissed on the Swiss flag), more gossip, his philanthropic affairs for local theatres and art galleries, numerous articles praising his professional achievements, and interviews with Lawyer and WSJ and the like. There was mention of a brief marriage and divorce in his early thirties, but when you tried to Google the woman's name, nothing came up.

The whole thing left a sour taste in your mouth. This was someone's real life story, not a fictional character. Raphael wasn't just some wealthy corporate jerk; he was a half-devil from Avernus, which was infinitely better and more sympathetic.

You were well aware that Raphael wasn't exactly a good guy. But he had his rules; he had to have his rules. As for the whole thing with Hope though... What exactly was she? An idea? A person? The fandom barely discussed her, and what little they did, you didn't like; all horrible takes, every single one.

The whole plot felt half-baked.

Anyway, what seeing Isabelle did motivate you to do was to take a real stroll down the city's most expensive boutique street.

Now, the first thing you bought was not because you wanted or needed anything, but because Raphael expected you to. You were not much of a materialist anyway; you were ideologically opposed to consumerism. These things were overpriced, generally not worth it and, on a larger scale, represented everything that was wrong with society.

You decided to enter a Valentino store out of curiosity, as you had never been inside one before. The saleswoman's disdainful look at your T-shirt motivates you to buy a black dress with a white collar, not necessarily because you liked it, but because you want to prove that you can afford it, despite the price tag of two thousand euros.

Well, you liked it a little. The wool and silk blend was great to touch.

The details of the rest of the shopping trip became a bit hazy. You had your reasons; the consort of an Archdevil Supreme had to look really nice. If you couldn't be as pretty as Isabelle, you could at least dress as well as she did. So you started with some nice blouses and trousers, and a (just one) jacket. With that, you needed shoes. With shoes, of course, you needed a bag. Now that you had a bag (you closed your eyes as the price flashed at the till), you needed some jewellery (you needed to see what all the fuss about Tiffany's was about). And, of course, you needed make-up.

At each shop, the sales assistants smiled wider and wider as you piled more and more bags onto your arms. By the seventh stop, it felt like their smiles were entering uncanny valley territory.

Eventually, the banker would call you, right? But when exactly would that be? You tried to find out, but failed. It had to be over forty thousand.

The thought made you dizzy. In one day you had spent your entire year's salary. Now all you could do was hope that Raphael wouldn't make you work off the debt somehow. Unless it was the kind of work your mother suspected you were already doing for him.

You came out of the last shop with five bags and the feeling that you were a very shitty socialist. Since you couldn't carry any more, the shopping concierge (apparently it's a real job) offered to store the bags until your driver picked you up, and just as you were about to say which bloody driver, whom do you take me for, you remembered that you actually had one.

"Mrs Berger," the receptionist said cheerfully the moment she saw you in the door. "Nice to see you again! How can I help you? Oh, yes. The driver, of course. Yes, of course, let me put you through to Mr D'Avergni's personal assistant".

Oh, it's Mrs Berger and my pleasure? They were wondering if the rumours about you wanting the guy to be run over by a bus were already out there. The personal assistant's name was Camilla, her voice was the embodiment of professionalism, and she was the one who could take you to the driver, who was there in no time.

His name was Yuri and he was more talkative than you would have liked. Gruff, huge, way too big for the car he was driving (any vehicle known to man would be too small for him), with a deep booming voice and the face of someone who had spent half his life behind bars.

"Have you seen that poor bastard? All over the main road," he remarked as he passed the street cleaners. "Probably too busy fiddling with his phone to keep an eye out."

"Mghgm," you offered.

"So, are we stopping by your place first, Miss Berger? Boss said you wanted to get some things first. Are you moving in?"

"Am I?" You ask, surprised by the news yourself, and then think to yourself: "Why not?”

Why the hell not.

****

You didn't waste any time. With a tidy suitcase in tow, you were out the door of your apartment before Yuri could get too bored. You packed the essentials - toothbrush, laptop, documents - and a few other things that suddenly felt crucial to your life.

Out the car window you watched the cityscape change from urban jungle to manicured suburbia and finally to a small gated community. The driver talked politics (he had exactly the kind of convictions you'd expect), then about how amazing Raul was (and how extremely open-minded he was to give an ex-con a job), before returning to politics.

You didn't ask what crime Yuri did his time for.

You knew it was Raphael's house the moment you saw it through the car window. Who else would live in such a place? Not a house, that's too boring a term; a villa, all intricate stonework, marble and terracotta, such a flamboyant display of wealth that it should have been taxed just to exist.

Only a devil or a mafia don would call such grandeur home. So much, too much, theatrical to the point of grotesqueness; no real person could possibly live like this. You couldn't help but wonder if Raphael had been influenced by the films he had seen - perhaps he had developed a taste for modern cinema.

He must have liked The Godfather.

This place. The fountains, the statues (classical, Roman, as if sculpted by the ghost of Michelangelo), the gardens. You wondered how many souls it took to keep this whole thing running.

The gates opened and the car drove you into an underground car park that was already very busy and very Italian: Ferraris, Maseratis, Lamborghinis. You counted; eight. Who needed eight cars? Not even one for each day of the week.

The lift took you up; Yuri left your shopping bags and suitcase in the foyer and said goodbye.

You'd never set foot in such a house before; the closest you'd ever come was drooling over Sotheby's property listings.

Why would anyone need all this space? For just one person? It was at least six hundred square metres; and the guest and service house looked like another two hundred. The kitchen and dining area was three times the size of your apartment.

You could play golf here.

For what it's worth, the villa didn't remind you of the House of Hope. Firstly, it was completely empty; the servants, if they were in there, managed to make themselves invisible. Second, it lacked the baroque, replaced by the dolce vita and flair of a Lake Como residence. Thirdly, there were no self-portraits, not even pictures, nothing to suggest that the man who lived here had a face, a history, let alone a family.

The first floor was devoted to entertaining guests: the kitchen, the dining room, the library, the ballroom (you guessed this kind of rooms used to be called ballrooms, he even had a piano in it). The second floor was half-locked, except for the master bedroom (the bed easily could accommodate two orthons and a cambion sandwiched between them) and the dressing room.

There was also a basement - the entrance blocked by a number lock. You considered trying the PIN combination, but decided you didn't want to snoop down there... well, you wanted to snoop very badly, but you didn't want to face the possible consequences. Unless they resembled those in his private club.

So you roamed both floors twice before staking claim to your new sleeping quarters in the master bedroom by putting your suitcase down there. You checked everything else in the room: Raphael's bedside glasses, his choice of books (predictably, Machiavelli, but not The Prince, another book you had never heard of called Mandragola), even his dark silk pyjamas, which lay on the chaise awaiting their owner's return. You open his drawer: hand lotion, velvet sleeping mask, lubricant, two opera tickets (Götterdammerung) from about a month ago...

Then curiosity led you to look under his bed, where he indeed had something stored: a large black storage box.

Oh, you just had to have a look.

Just to get an idea of what’s on the evening programme.

Handcuffs, the real kind, the police kind, metal ones. The thought of all the women (and men) who might have been bound with them, as jealous as it made you feel, was titillating. A whip and a crop. Yes, that works for you. And what's this? Butt plugs? Only if they were still sealed in their original packaging (you were not into that kind of hand-me-downs) and way smaller. A chastity belt? Well, that's... intriguing, but probably not in your first month together. A hook? That can stay where it is.

At least nothing too extreme like needles or enemas or any of the other disgusting things you sometimes saw on weird porn sites.

Underneath all that, toys and accessories, lay another plain black box. Oh, a box in a box. Something was written on it..

GOOD EVENING CURIOUS LITTLE MOUSE

"Good evening," you said as you opened the lid.

Then promptly closed it again.

"No," you said. "No, no, no. It was just a fic I read and liked, I was very horny, but it's not really my thing. No, thank you. Just because I didn't have a father doesn't mean I have daddy issues. I don't care about the guy, he never cared about me, end of story".

You took a deep breath before opening the box again, hoping that the items inside had disappeared.

But to your dismay, they were still there: a velvet collar adorned with "Daddy's Little Mouse" in shimmering gold thread, a headband with mouse ears, red lace cobweb-thin lingerie and a tail-butt plug (thankfully still in its original packaging and on the smaller side). The tail was furry and tipped with white, so you must have been a dormouse.

All of the toys were top quality, handmade, and incredibly vulgar. Well, no surprise, having seen what Haarlep was wearing in his house.

You closed the box shut again.

"I'd rather cook us something to eat," you suggested, getting up. "Some pasta. I bet you like pasta?"

You definitely liked pasta and hoped that Raul (Raphael, Raphael) would not have you hanged on the hooks and tortured for your very non-Italian interpretation. You hoped in vain, because he chimed in and tried to stop you from committing a crime:

"Working late. Don't bother with dinner. Take some time to relax and enjoy yourself. R".

As you descended the stairs, ignoring his text, you wondered - did he ever cook? Or was his kitchen just for show, with the real work done in the servants' quarters (do they still call them quarters?).

You forgot that question the moment you saw what was lying on the marble kitchen counter.

The same box you had left upstairs, still with

GOOD EVENING DISOBEDIENT LITTLE MOUSE

on it.

You blinked and took two large steps back.

The box seemed to crawl forward in response.

You shrieked; this was a bit too much. Raphael's presence, the supernaturality of it, had been subtle before; now it was becoming a bit performative.

"I got your hint," you said, your voice a shaky laugh. "Don't scare me, please. Please."

The box stayed where it was, but it radiated an energy of impatience, as if it might jump at you if you neglected it any longer.

“Fine,” you conceded, coming a bit closer. “A little romance would’ve been nice but…”

"Setting romantic atmosphere," a cheerful female voice said.

who the fuck who the fuck who the fuck

Alexa.

Fucking smart home systems. The lights dimmed to a soft orange glow, the heavy curtains closed with a soft whoosh and a familiar tune echoed off the walls, the ballroom piano playing in the distance:

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

The melody was familiar and so was the voice behind it - smooth, silky and oh so captivating (the adjectives you would use to describe it could fill many romance novels). A deep, rich baritone. You chuckled - had Raphael discovered blues? It suited him.

You know I cannot stand it

You running around

You loved his interpretation of the song. It felt so intimate, him singing to you, so... very, very special. Your fear vanished in an instant; you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a luxurious sip.

"I'll put these on for you," you laughed, putting all the flirt you ever had in this laugh. "But don't expect me to call you 'Daddy'."

There was no protest; Raphael was too busy singing, pouring his entire soul into it. You made yourself busy too; stripping. You weren't very skilled (any skilled), but the thrill of being watched by him awakened something in you. You caught your reflection in the mirror and damn, you were hot.

Shrugging off your shirt and sliding down your plain black briefs, you swayed your hips at your reflection as the wine worked its magic on your mind. For once in your life, you felt genuinely attractive; he made you feel genuinely attractive. The sexiest you'd ever been.

Slipping into the silky red lace lingerie he had chosen for you (splurged on, because it was a La Perla) - you fastened the collar around your neck. A long golden chain dangled from it, wrapped twice around the hook and cascaded down your back. Then you put the mouse ears - not cartoonish, not Minnie Mouse ones, but real fur and incredibly lifelike - on your head like a headband.

You looked like...well, precisely what your mother suspected you were doing to pay the bills. But at least high-end. Very high-end. The only thing worse than being an escort is being a cheap one.

But there was one more item left in the box.

"Ehh," you said at the sight of the mouse tail, especially the part that was meant to be inserted. "I'm going to need... I'm going to the bedroom."

It had been ages since your last foray into such play; back when you were with that boyfriend who constantly pestered you about anal and found it somehow arousing to "accidentally" (sure, mate) poke you and mumble an insincere "oops, wrong hole".

You didn't stick around much longer after that.

Stretched out on Raphael's sumptuous bed, you slicked up everything - the plug, your pussy, your arse - with copious amounts of lube. First, some warming. So you began to rub yourself, two fingers finding their familiar way to your clit. You couldn't shake the crawling feeling of being watched, every inch of your body scrutinised by unseen eyes.

"Raphael," you called out into the empty room, desperate for some form of interaction or response. "I would love it if you would join me... or say something pleasant”.

Now would be the perfect time to call me a good girl.

But there was no response, just an eerie silence in the room. Feeling too naked and too slutty, you pulled the blanket over you, a makeshift barrier between you and his eyes. Under the fortification, tucking the tail in seemed less daunting.

Before you could get down to business, there was a jerk at the blanket, which fell to the cold floor, leaving you bare again. Then another tug on the chain attached to your collar, pulling you closer to the bedpost.

"I'm sorry," you gasped breathlessly, both hands instinctively reaching for your collar. "I won't hide."

The chain didn’t let go, making a point out of a slight pressure around your neck. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the task at hand, stroking your clit as you guided the plug inside you.

You told yourself to relax and take it slow; just imagine it's Haarlep. How many times had you dreamed of being squeezed and stretched between the two of them? It was always Haarlep who took you from behind; it just seemed more their style.

The plug slid in deeper. It didn't hurt, and the little discomfort it caused added to the excitement.

Damn, this is so dirty.

"It's in," you said as the plug settled inside you. "All the way in. What's next?"

The words were barely out of your mouth when the golden chain, suddenly a snake-like lasso, wrapped tightly around your wrists.

Pulled them towards the bedpost, stretched out and bound tightly to either side. Fear gripped you and you clenched around the plug, pulling your knees tight together.

Tightly. Very tight. A little too tight. You tried to wriggle, the metal biting your skin; you could move your hips a little, but no more.

You couldn't get out yourself, which was not good news when you were alone (well, almost) in a very big house. Your mind immediately thought of that girl in Gerald's Game.

"Raphael?" you asked. “It’s not that kind of game, is it? It’s a nice game? Can we play a nice game?”

He did not answer, but you heard footsteps. Footsteps coming down the long corridor. Confident, quick and very purposeful.

Stay calm, stay calm, it's him, it's him, who else could it be? Haarlep? The orthon? The driver?

The door swung open.

It was Raphael, and he was visibly surprised to see you in this state, which was absolute bullshit considering he was responsible for tying you to this very bed.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, covering the distance to the bed in two strides. "What a welcome home surprise, piccola."

Raphael gave you a lecherous, wet-lipped smile and knelt on the bed between your legs. There was something boyish about it, an expression you'd never seen in the game, as if he'd just found his first bike under the Christmas tree.

You searched for “piccola” earlier today: “baby” or “little girl” in Italian.

"I'm not going to call you Daddy," you repeated, and Raphael shook his head and laughed, not seeming at all horrified at the thought (and he should be).

"I have some compelling evidence to the contrary, Daddy's little mouse," he teased, his fingers playing with your collar.

"Anything but Daddy," you pleaded. "That's just... demeaning."

Weirdly incestual, too. You haven’t even seen the guy, not a photo, not a… (don’t think of him why the fuck would you think of the old bastard now).

“This is the whole appeal of it, is it not?”, he said. “How would you prefer to address me then?"

Raphael? Something told you that telling him that would make him very angry, and you weren't exactly in a position to want an angry man on top of you. Raul? No, that name just felt completely wrong and made you feel like you were in a Spanish soap opera.

Raphael began to unbutton his shirt one button at a time, revealing a white undershirt, which he then took off.

His physique was impressive for a man of his age; not those bodybuilder abs from bg3 but a well-toned body shaped by workouts and diets, which seemed to be very much at odds with his indulgent ways. Rough brown hair spread across his chest and lower abdomen against honey-tanned skin. Every inch of him seemed so put together, so perfectly groomed.

"Master," you finally decided (there was this one fanfic…) as you spread your legs wider in an invitation.

"Master?" Raphael seemed amused, his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the fabric. "Such flattery. So this makes you my slave girl? Tied up and ready for me to use as I please?"

Reading Raphael say such things was one thing, but hearing him actually say them in real life made you feel embarrassed. It was a bit, ugh...

“You get flustered easily for someone who waited for me dressed like this, little mouse,” Raphael raised an eyebrow at your see-through lace. “Topolina."

He wrinkled his nose and laughed, as if the word was funnier in Italian, and poked the tips of your mouse ears. You wanted him so badly that your lips caught his as he came closer and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. He kissed your back, his hands moving up and down your body.

"How the hell did you manage..." he mused aloud as he studied your bound wrists.

His fingers ventured between your legs, and the moment he stumbled upon your tail, his whole body twitched with excitement, his breath catching in his throat as he traced the soft fur to reach the base of the plug.

The playful gleam in his eyes was replaced by an intense, wild desire.

"Merda," he breathed out. "Look at that. Aren't you a dirty little girl?"

You cringed at how pornographic the line sounded (his suddenly much thicker Italian accent didn't help), but Raphael seemed to find it excruciatingly erotic.

In one swift motion, he lunged forward and forced your legs apart, his hands pulling your knees towards your chest, folding you in until your muscles screamed in protest at the stretch.

Without warning, he thrust deep inside of you. You gasped in surprise; no preliminaries, no foreplay, no taking it slowly, just raging, explosive lust.

Fortunately, your own fingers had done their job earlier, so despite the brutal force of his first thrust, pleasure surged through you, along with a sharp twinge of friction as his cock rubbed against the toy lodged inside you.

He seemed to relish the sensation and so did you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body arched beneath him; stretched and pinned by his weight, trapped, surrendering to the relentless pounding that followed - raw and invasive and yet so fulfilling.

You were so looking forward to coming again from his penetration alone. The mere thought made you pull harder on your restraints, craving the delicious pain of being bound. The furry tail must have tickled his balls because he tucked it under you so that it would tease you instead.

"Cross your ankles behind my back," Raphael rasped into your shoulder as he grazed it with his stubbled chin. "Yes, just like that... now tilt your hips."

You responded with your most submissive “yes, master”, making his cock twitch inside you, and then sifted your hips to better accommodate his pleasure. Wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper, pain-pleasure soaring through you. You sniffed his hair.

His cologne (worn leather, cherry liqueur, bitter almonds) smelled so good oh so good.

He slid his arms underneath your arse, lifting you towards him at every thrust.

Raphael said few words after that, grunting and thrusting and thrusting. Something about him was different this time - something very human - from how his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead to his expressions of sheer lust that bordered on comical at times.

One thing remained the same - the pleasure his pounding brought you, the familiar hooks of approaching orgasm - not any orgasm, the orgasm of being with him, his sharp talons - sinking inches deep into your flesh again.

fuck does he feel good

rough or tender it just feels so good

his cock his tongue his breath on your neck

You screamed "fuck me", then once again, louder, not caring how obscene you sounded, and bit his shoulder without a second thought.

The scream that escaped you was higher pitched than you had intended.

do whatever whatever you want whatever you want with me

Raphael's face creased with annoyance as his strong finger pressed into your cheek. "Easy…easy… piccola... I appreciate…. a good performance… not …overacting," he scolded as he went at you harder, pushing you to the point of pain.

hurt me

fuck me fuck me harder

You would have protested at the implication that you were pretending, but you were too busy coming under him, his hand clamped over your mouth before your temporal insanity could drive you to actually call him ‘daddy’.

If he wanted you to why wouldn’t you he is so sweet to you oh so sweet to you

The scream was swallowed by his palm as an orgasm, brutal in its intensity and lightning-fast, ripped through you, whip-snaked it. You greeted your release with a wail, biting into his hand. Raphael paused mid-thrust, apprehensive of how your pussy convulsed around him and your leg spasmed uncontrollably - if this was a performance, you deserved an award.

"You weren't pretending," he panted, awe-struck. "My apologies. You were not".

The realisation frenzied him; he spilled within a minute after, rutting into you with intensity belying his age. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of you, his breath, cherries and tobacco, warming your throat as his cock softened within you.

"I may have gotten a little carried away," he said, sounding embarrassed and slightly apologetic as he lay down beside you. "But it seems you're more than content."

You eagerly and quickly nodded.

"Are you that... passionate with every man?" He asked as he helped you free your wrists - jealousy creeping into his voice at the mention of that mysterious 'every man'.

You couldn't help but laugh at the question. "No," you replied. "Far from it. You are not just any man. You are anything but."

Raphael let out a sigh of relief and kissed you, making no effort to hide how much your compliment pleased him.

When you parted, you hopped awkwardly off the bed - the odd gait one adopts when they have a plug in them (no way were you going to remove it in his presence, no way) and cum was trickling down your thighs.

Shit, the condom. Now you forgot to ask him to wear it.

Would he have?..

Ah, screw it. Google says Plan B is effective for up to 72 hours after unprotected sex, so you'll take it tomorrow - for tonight and last night. You'd never been this careless before, but hell, you'd never murdered people with a mere thought or slept with an Archdevil of Hell.

Raphael was still lying there, basking in the afterglow, when you returned.

"I have to admit, Anya... I'm seriously thinking of proposing," he murmured with such tenderness as you snuggled against him that you wondered if Raphael really was incapable of love.

"That would be quick," you replied, but made it sound like you wouldn't mind at all.

"Quick?" he scoffed. "A man knows what he wants in a woman the moment he sets eyes on her. Unfortunately, there are very few left in your generation."

You smiled, already dreaming of being the Archduchess of Hell, and half-dreaming in general from sheer exhaustion and satisfaction.

"They lied about you being bad in bed," you murmured as sleep began to take over. "I knew it was all bullshit."

"They?" He asked, his face contorting into a scowl at your sentence. "Who are they? Anya, for God's sake, stop reading those trashy tabloids."

You closed your eyes for a moment. When you half-opened them, you saw him on the balcony outside, in a black silk robe, AirPods in his ears and a cigarette in his mouth. Behind him you could see the smoke and fire of the Avernus mountain ridge, the fireballs cascading down from the sky. Beautiful.

Raphael gestured with his free hand, aggressively, and you listened a little closer; fortunately he was more than loud.

"...we will bleed them dry if they dare to break our agreement..."

"...they knowingly and willingly accepted our terms, they will choke on the consequences..."

"...all must pay their dues, sooner or later..."

"...an army? We have our own army..."

A yawn escaped your lips as you snuggled deeper into the plush pillows of the massive bed. Everything, except the AirPods, fit perfectly into the image of Archdevil Supreme.

You felt so chosen, so alive, so gloriously alive, and your life had just begun.

"Are you coming soon?" you called out as you tried to think of an appropriate nickname for him - something intimate, but not too cheesy. Darling? Baby? Sweetheart? Love? My favourite devil?

But he beat you to it before you could decide.

"Soon, my love. Rest," he blew you a kiss. With a loud click, he shut the glass door and cut you off from hearing the rest of their conversation. You let out a contented sigh and rolled over onto your side, drifting into a peaceful slumber.

"My love," you said in your sleep. "Raphael called me his love”.

****

The urgent need to go to pee woke you. The time was a mystery, but it must have been late enough for Raphael to have gone to bed too.

He was pressed close to you, his hand cupping your breast. You looked over your shoulder; asleep, peaceful, in buttoned pyjamas, and it was the one moment when he did not look threatening at all; vulnerable, if anything. You kissed him on the cheek and he smiled in his sleep and held you close.

When you came back from your short (not really, a good thirty metres to the toilet) trip to the bathroom, you snuggled closer to him, preparing to doze off again, and then you heard something.

You listened closer, thinking you had dreamed it first.

Soft, gentle whimpers. You recognised the voice. You didn't know how, but you did. Something childishly cheerful and slightly mad about it.

Oh, no. No. You were happy, spooning with Raphael, and you didn't need this shit right now, especially when things were finally going so well.

Hope, please, you begged.

You got all your happy endings, so many of them, wonderful endings where Raphael was killed by the player and you got to live and your revenge and whatnot. Can I have one too, please? Without you whining and making me feel guilty for something I didn't even do?

"My love," you asked Raphael softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his side. "Can you let her go?"

"Mmm," Raphael murmured in his sleep, "Sure, piccola. Whatever you wish for."

You waited for him to act, but he only tightened his grip on the blanket and shifted slightly.

"You have all the hells and the crown and everything (and me). You don't need her anymore," you tried again.

"Anya, let me sleep," Raphael mumbled into his pillow, away from your voice. You tried to hide from her voice under your pillow as well, but you could still hear the soft, painful moans.

Ugh.

They were very, very far away, but still there.

"She's still wailing," you complained, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him a little. "Raphael? Raphael?"

"Who is wailing?” he groaned in pure frustration, and then made a half-hearted attempt at listening. “Ah, merda, not that bloody bitch again! I swear, I will plug that hole myself!"

You tried to make sense of that sentence and couldn't, but what you did get was that it promised Hope nothing good and sounded vaguely vulgar, which was even worse.

"Don't hurt Hope," you begged, appalled by his threat. "She doesn't deserve it!"

"I don't deserve it either," Raphael retorted before turning away from you. "Please be quiet."

He should direct this request to his prisoner.

What had really happened between them? You didn't think his obsession with Hope was sexual because, well, because, for example, he fucked you and you both enjoyed it, so he was definitely into consent, and Hope was more like a metaphor, a concept, a point to be made, and some shitty fucking rushed Act 3 writing.

"You... you didn't hurt her like that, did you? There was some talk... With that boudoir line... It was misinterpreted... right?"

Right. He may be evil, but he is lawful evil. He believed in consent and seduction, not violence.

"I haven't hurt anyone, what in damnation are you talking about?" he growled through gritted teeth, and you let out a small sigh of relief. "But if I don't get some rest, I might."

He hadn't hurt Hope. He wouldn't lie. He cannot; devils can deceive, but not outright lie. You read it somewhere.

Okay, he's not going to let her go and he's not going to help you and Hope was certainly not going to shut up. You have to go to her. And say what? Say what? Sorry for your predicament and the centuries of torture, Hope, but could you please be a bit quieter, me and Raphael just had sex and are trying to sleep?

Let her go? And lose his favour, his credit card and the place next to him in his bed?

Yes, come on. It would be the right thing to do and you would do it.

Where was she anyway, you wondered as you walked down the stairs. In the cellar? Hanging from the ceiling? You still don't have the key to the cellar. When you reached the ground floor, the kitchen, you realised that the noises were not coming from the cellar - they were coming from outside.

Outside? Did he hang her on a tree on this cold April night?

You put on his trench coat and slipped into your sneakers. This was so unnecessarily evil, you thought, suddenly feeling much less happy about everything, especially as the pained whimpering got closer. Hardly human, you thought, more like a creature trapped and desperately trying to free itself.

Yes, definitely more of a creature.

In fact, it reminded you of a dog. You searched the darkness of the night, determined to find it, and there it was: a dachshund wedged between the ground and a large, weathered fence, whimpering into the still night.

The poor thing must have thought it was quite the burglar, trying to burrow under a hole in the fence to pull through. But it only managed to get itself stuck.

"Oh, poor baby," you said as you approached the dog. "Let's see if we can get you out."

You pulled on the fence to widen the opening and the cub was free.

It licked your hand in gratitude. Dogs love you. All animals do, and it's quite mutual. You had a harder time with people.

There were distant, panicked cries for Steffie somewhere in the distance; the owner was out on a rescue mission. You took the dachshund in your lap and went to meet her.

The woman was in her sixties, dark brown hair, a very aged beauty, and she looked a bit funny in her fur coat and slippers. She had tears in her eyes. Steffie ran to her as soon as she saw her.

"You silly little girl," she scolded the whining, complaining dog in her arms. She had a thick American drawl. "Why do you keep going back to his house? What's so special about him? I told you he was bad news!"

"Is he?" You asked the question when you knew the answer.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, forcing a smile to her lips. "I didn't mean it like that. You're Raul's new girl, aren't you? Samantha. I live down the road. Sorry about Steffie, she's very... adventurous."

There were exactly three houses on the street, a mile apart each.

"You meant it like that," you said. "If it's about Isabelle, she's apologised and withdrawn her accusations".

There was a pause, and Samantha's perfectly friendly smile cracked a little.

"Well, in that case," she said, before adding with forced cheerfulness, "thank you for looking after Steffie, sweetheart! You take care now."

She tried to walk away, but turned back; she was as curious as her little dog.

"I was walking Steffie when that French girl ran out of his house," she said, unable to resist the urge to gossip. "She was naked and babbling like a lunatic. She had blood on her, too".

"Did she scream something about the devil?" you asked after a pause.

"Devil? No. Not that I speak French," said the woman, making a last attempt to walk away, but failing. "Listen, I have a daughter about your age. And if some guy - ANY guy - tried to put that kind of crap around her neck, I would chop his arms off".

What did she mean?

The collar.

She meant the "Daddy's little mouse" collar you still have around your neck.

Oh, don't kink shame me, you were going to say, but that kind of talk sounds ridiculous in real life. She managed to shame you very badly, so you hid the collar under your trench coat and mumbled, "I put it on myself".

That actually made her look at you again. Steffie looked at you with the same expression.

Everybody's out to guilt trip you - Hope, the dog (the dog you saved!), the neighbour, the guy who got thrown under the bus, and you've done nothing but enjoy some devil sex.

The woman finally decided it was time to go, muttering "You need Jesus, sweetheart" before she left.

That's your God who kept women in collars and on leashes for centuries, not the Devil, you thought bitterly, and unlike the Devil, he didn't even fuck them.

Well, only once.

***

You were back in the en-suite bathroom, washing your face in the marble sink.

Who the fuck was this man, really? What the fuck was happening?

Your hand shot out, yanking open a cabinet door. An array of men's grooming products stared back at you - cologne, razor, facial moisturiser and scrub, deodorant, shaving gel, sleek, expensive bottles. A man took care of his looks.

Another cabinet creaked open under your touch.

Your eyes darted to the label on the bottle - Risperidon. You had no idea what it was, but you memorised it for a future Google search, repeating it under your breath like a mantra.

"Are you rummaging through my belongings, nosy little mouse?”

He was dead asleep last time you checked!

You jerked, closing the cupboard and stumbling back to the bathroom sink, gasping for breath. "No," you stammered, turning to find him standing in the doorway. "I mean... yes. I can't sleep. I thought you might have some pills."

His eyes were canny; he didn't swallow your lie and made no pretence of doing so. He bridged the gap and hugged you from behind - frighteningly strong and wanting every ounce of that power to seep into your bones. His strength made you realise just how much of a level 1 human NPC you were.

"You don't have to violate my privacy when I'm not around, Anya," he whispered against your skin as he began to trail soft kisses down your neck. "If there's anything that's bothering you, just ask me directly. I want us to be honest with each other."

What was in the cellar? What kind of work does he do for you? Did he rape Hope? Or was it Haarlep? Where is Haarlep, by the way? Why does Raphael want to play Raul?

"What happened to Isabelle?" you asked.

"Ah, I see. Is that why you asked me if I had hurt anyone?" he said. "Is that what the tabloids told you?"

You nodded.

"Isabelle had an addiction," he admitted, the crow’s feet showing themselves. "It spiralled out of control. She had… a bout of psychosis, a mental breakdown. Made false accusations to the press. She's now getting the help she needs, poor girl”.

"Why was she covered in blood?" you pressed, looking at his reflection in the mirror as an infernal light danced in his orange eyes.

For all the fire in them, they seemed icy, impossibly cold for a man who had called you my love less than an hour ago. "How did you come by this information? You seem to know more than one would expect of you, Anya. There are things about you that make me... wonder. I have been giving you the benefit of the doubt, perhaps foolishly."

Your breath caught in your throat. “The neighbour”, you said. “Your neighbour told me”.

The truth you’d spilled slaked him, but only a little. He looked at you, jaw hardened.

"Samantha? I’ll have a word with her. Very well, we were making love when Isabelle had a psychotic episode."

Making love? Really? He did not make love to you.

"She lashed out at me," he continued. "It was my blood, Anya. I would never hurt her or any other woman. Without their consent, that is."

But that couldn't be true, because there was Hope - and many others who owed him, and Raphael might have been many things, but not a liar, and yet here he was, lying right to your face.

He did hurt people. Whether they deserved it, whether they brought onto themselves, that was a different matter, but he did hurt them.

"If you need proof, you can take a look at the psychiatrist's report," he offered coldly. "The authorities got involved... unfortunately."

"I believe you," came your shaky reply.

You desperately wanted to.

Raphael’s eyes flickered.

"Trust goes both ways, Anya," he whispered in your ear, running a finger along your collar. "If you do not trust me, then I will be forced to ask some very unpleasant questions myself. Do we understand each other?"

Which questions? He knows everything there is to know about you. He knows your browser history.

“We do”, you said, still looking in the mirror. “Of course we do, my love”.

"Is that so?” he smiled. "I suggest we go to our bed and put that theory to the test."

#knock knock #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #raphael x player

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