#Its feels like a compulsion almost. Like inside my head

[siobhanromee]

Everyone: Its fine to have one B, it wont hurt your future prospects, it'll only effect your GPA a small amount. A B is a perfectly acceptable grade

My brain: I cannot get a B because B stands for "bad"

[mbsneur]

You‘re still the best

Cata Coll x Reader

Summary: cata lost against brazil

Warnings: angst

My Masterlist

please read this text before going to the story don't be so strict with me but rather write to me what I can do better or what you wished were different. also tell me if you find the story too long or too short.. Also write to me if you liked it. My requests are always open (and English is not my first language so don't be mad at me) and if you have any ideas for the future about who I should write please tell me… the topics I will choose by myself unless you have a request for one or two people I will Read everything.. in the next survey I will take a few ideas from the old survey and new ones…. now read and I hope you like it <33

(its a very short one)

your girlfriend missed out on the fight for the gold medal because of her mistakes

your heart stops you can't bear to see your girlfriend like this she runs off the field crying and takes all the blame for it

her little heart breaks into a thousand pieces it was her greatest wish to win this gold medal

a ball through her legs

a penalty because of her

an own goal

almost a fight

she didn't want to talk to anyone from her team her pained eyes you see in the stands and her tear-filled eyes meet yours

she looks at you and her look tells you that she is sorry she would apologise to you for everything although she has no compulsion to do so it will take her a huge effort to come into your presence

she runs into the changing rooms and can't bear to look at you again

you go down to the railing and wave laia over to you she also cries and comes over to you in displeasure

"can you please just give cata a big hug and tell her i'll wait outside the hotel please" you say and feel all your blood rush to your head and your eyes glaze over

"of course" tears roll down her cheeks and she tries to give you a little smile

none of the girls will shower there now they will all go to their nearby hotel to be by themselves and shower alone to rinse off all the pain

you take your bag and run to the exit to intercept cata as quickly as possible the way out was a torture everywhere people pushing each other and spanish people arguing with brazillians and a lot off drunk people

you've been waiting for her outside for a long time you stand around fidgeting and see the first spanish women coming out some of them hug you or give you a nice smile

until you see your friend she is still crying she comes running towards you and you try to take her in your arms by touching her shoulder but she pulls away from you

"let's go i have to take a shower" she says, wiping a few tears from her face

she runs ahead and you run tenaciously behind her she must be so hurt that she doesn't even want to give you a hug

you haven't exchanged a word all the way her body looks weak she opens the door to the room and pulls her jersey over her head and throws it in the corner her shoes find their place there too

cata's broken injured body is now on full display for you you slide up to her and place your hands gently on her shoulder blades and give her little kisses on the edges of her sports bras she relaxes into the kiss until she shrugs her shoulders and pushes you away from her

she turns around abruptly your body jerks and startles "can you just stop touching me" she says angrily and almost screaming you cross your arms embarrassed and take a step back she looks at you painfully and without saying anything else she disappears into the bathroom and locks the door behind her

slowly your tears are coming out that have been stuck inside you all evening cata has never been like this to you she has always met you with love

you crawl into bed and your feelings take over your thoughts go crazy and you hear your girlfriend swearing in the bathroom

//

an hour has passed and you mumble to yourself quietly the door of the bathroom opens and cata comes back in an oversized t-shirt and her boxers she is still crying " lo- lo siento amor" she says and tears stream down her cheeks

you sit up slightly and pull the blanket off your legs and nod to her your cheeks are blood red and burning from all your tears cata comes closer and her whole body lies firmly on top of you

you gently stroke her hairline and press her head firmly against your neck "it's okay i understand your pain it's okay" you tell her tearfully and her hands squeeze your body tighter

"i shouldn't have treated you like that i didn't appreciate you you're the only one who can take away my pain " she says and sobs

"it will get better you know how much I love you and that I will never let you fall" you say understandingly

"Will you promise me?" she asks, looking at you slightly

you have never seen cata so vulnerable she was always the strong one of the two of you "i promise you i will fix you and stay your home forever"

cata kisses your neckline lightly "you're still the best" you say with a slight grin

[neppttune]

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃 | toji f

𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇, 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃

↳ ⭒—warnings: nsfw, addiction, bit of angst, toxic relationship(ish), reader feels used, size kink, praise, teasing, creampie, reader has female anatomy, babytrapping if u squint, breeding kink, mentions of infidelity

↳ ⭒—synopsis: tojis addiction feeds the toxicity in your relationship

toji who is absolutely in love with your pussy, the pretty flesh on the outside and god- the soft, warm flesh on the inside as well. constant praises of

"ah- y-you feel soo fuckin good doll... keep squeezing me like that i might have to- fuuckkk, make you a mommy... yer fucking sopping,, gettin it all over the sheets too, 's so pretty..."

with clear desperation in his voice at the best feeling in the world.

toji who always kept your sex life interesting when you two would suggest ideas and play around with them, him being the one with many many ideas already thought out about you

toji who leads you to believe that hes whipped, but when it becomes a constant thing to have multiple rounds of sex, even asking at the worst times, is when you ask him if he's serious about your relationship.

toji who has been and always will be all in, even when his fantasies and need of your touch continuously go off in his head. whether its grocery shopping, out on a job, or having a serious conversation with you. its a constant need for the hot pleasure only you can give him.

toji who seems incredibly shallow to your friends when he only ever really wants to have sex, or have his hands on your ass or lower stomach, even trying to justify it while simultaneously ignoring the voice telling him somethings wrong and his compulsive actions aren't normal.

toji who goes to the point of convincing you to have sex in a public restroom at a restaurant or park, because "we have a few minutes, babydoll, cmon"

toji who when you decide you need a break from, due to him destroying the relationship, masturbates until it hurts thinking about you but unable to get off. he even tried chatrooms, pictures, and videos (some of you from his ideas he just needed to try).

toji who you love and ultimately buckle for, in a dramatic moment of crying and explaining your feeling to him. how everything is in-genuine when he suddenly needs to have sex, how everything to consumed by sex, and almost pressuring you into giving him what he wants. all you get to this is a tight hug and

"cmon baby, you know I love you... 's been a week lemme make you feel good, please, 'can make it better"

toji who wonders: does it make me bad?

a/n: finished at 3:56 am LMAOO enjoy

©neppttune

all rights reserved

do not plagiarize, repost, modify, or translate my work without written consent.

[magicalbats]

Situational Awareness (Dan Heng x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,928

Warnings: afab!reader, some gendered language, shower sex, intercrural sex, thigh fucking

A/N: I've been working here and there on a few different projects (including my long overdue Kinktober pieces, worry not!) but in terms of standalone fics I figured this one was done so I may as well post it. Am I doing so at six in the morning when no one is awake to see it? Absolutely. lol I'm not a plumber so please don't come at me about the shoddy pipe excuse btw, haha

⭐

The unmistakable evidence of all your fooling around is laying across the floor in the form of hastily dropped, rumpled towels. They’d hit the ground in a disarranged heap after the fall, but were still clean as far as you could tell. Not that you could really ask for more on the off chance that they weren’t considering the fright you’d just given the staff but … 

Hanging your head, you make the conscious effort to draw a deep, calming breath and come down from the strange high you’d slipped into. You were sweating rather profusely, you’re a bit surprised to find. What had gotten into you? Hotel devils? Surely that was about as absurd as someone climbing into an oddly inviting but no less strange closet as if they’d been personally summoned into its dark depths by some higher force, and yet that was exactly what you’d done. There must have been something seriously wrong with you. 

Perhaps it was the Stellaron inside your body causing problems with the electrical signals in its flesh and blood prison. Or maybe you’d hit your head somewhere along the way and the side effects were only now starting to manifest themselves. Your bet was on the tail end of that showdown with the Doomsday Beast back on the space station. 

Either way, you desperately needed to get it together. 

Straightening up, you send a wary look at the closet in question. Its doors were still thrust open from where you’d leaped out of its (frustratingly inviting) maw some moments ago and there was no denying the faint tug of invitation you could feel trying to coax you back inside but you refused to heed its call. This wasn’t the time or even really the place. You’d let it get the better of you once and that was already more than enough. 

“Relax.” You remind yourself as you inch closer to the closet. Resolutely, you reach out and shut the doors. The compulsion slowly fades to nothing and you’re once again left to your own devices. It comes as a great relief. 

A harried sigh escapes you as you bend to retrieve the fallen towels next. Perhaps you should leave a note of apology out for the staff. Who knows what they were saying about you right now, the strange girl who likes to hide in closets and scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting workers. On second thought, though, maybe you should just pretend like nothing at all had even transpired here today. Admitting to your own strange behavior in writing would rob you of any plausible deniability, wouldn’t it?

Turning that over in your head, you carry the small bundle of towels into the attached bathroom. Set them down on the sink and almost walk right back out before realizing that you should probably take a shower before bed. Not only were you covered in a fine sheen of perspiration from your time spent getting all worked up inside the closet but you were also freezing. You hadn’t noticed it when you were still running hot on adrenaline and nerves, but now you were gradually starting to shiver. 

Just how long had you been crouched inside the cramped dark like that? You really had no idea, as if that part of your memory were an empty cavernous void. It could have been only a few short minutes for all you could tell, or it could have been an eternity. It was impossible to say. 

Pivoting, you reach over the tub and wrench the faucet on. The modestly sized room is instantly consumed by the sound of running water as you step back to shrug out of your jacket and take off your gloves. A moment later you test the temperature with your fingers only to snatch them back with a hiss when you find it still ice cold. That certainly wasn’t going to do. 

In total you spend about twenty minutes fiddling with the steel knobs, trying them in this and then that position to no avail. No matter what you did the water never seemed to get any warmer, finally leaving you with no choice but to simply turn the damn thing off. You almost give up right then and there. In fact, you consider it very, very hard. 

But what ultimately stops you from crawling into bed with nary another thought to the matter is the shuddering chill that’s fallen over you without any of the fast pumping excitement to keep it at bay. You weren’t just cold in the way curling up with a thick blanket could help with. It felt like you were right on the verge of slipping into hypothermia. The thought of laying awake all night shivering nonstop did not sound like the best start to this Trailblaze expedition so you decide to try your luck next door with March. 

She opens up on the third knock, wearing her blue bunny pj’s. 

“What are you doing out here at this time of night? I thought you were room service or something!” 

“Sorry.” You offer her a weak smile, fighting to stop your teeth from loudly clattering. “I think there’s something wrong with the tub in my room. All I can get to come out is cold water.” 

March’s brows take an expeditious trip up to her hairline. “No way, you’re having problems too? I thought it was just me but I didn’t want to be a negative Nelly about it!” 

Her arm lashes out like a striking serpent, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you inside. 

The door bangs shut with a certain amount of indignation as she turns to look at you, worry flashing across her expression when she takes in the faint shudder making your shoulders bunch up. Standing this close to her, you can see that her hair is damp. 

“Were you able to take a shower?” 

“Not a very good one! The hot water only lasted for about fifteen minutes before it started to come out freezing cold!” Huffing, she crosses her arms over her chest. “This place sure does look fancy but I’m so not impressed. What kind of operation do they think they’re running here, huh? Belobog is way too cold for them not to have working hot water tanks!” 

You consider that for a brief moment. “Maybe that’s the problem? If a bunch of people are trying to bathe at the same time and using up all the hot water - -“ 

“Then they should’ve thought of that before they opened up a hotel! I mean, come on. That’s just common sense, right? And more importantly what’s up with you? You’ve been shivering non stop since I opened the door.” 

Don’t tell her about the closet. Don’t tell her about your exploits inside the closet. Whatever you do, do not tell her about that damned closet. 

“I think the chill is just starting to catch up with me.” You tell her, cool as … erm, ice. “I didn’t notice it too much at first but now I can’t stop shaking. I’d really like to take a hot shower.” 

“I bet.” She murmurs. Then, with more enthusiasm, “Come on, let’s see if mine wants to work!”

Taking your hand in hers, March guides you over to her attached bathroom where she flips on the overhead lights. You’re impressed to find it’s an almost identical copy of yours, just mirrored. Actually, they looked like they were directly adjacent to one another and situated along the same wall. But would that in turn mean … they were sharing the same series of pipes? No, that couldn’t be. Such an obvious structural design flaw would have surely raised some questions, wouldn’t it? 

Your attention thoughtfully drifts towards March as she bends over the side of the tub and smacks the faucet on. A  familiar sense of deja vu comes over you when the gurgling sound of running water rushes in to dominate the air but she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind so neither do you. A few seconds pass before she tests the water, clicks her tongue in annoyance and draws her hand back before trying again just another few seconds later. Truthfully March’s impatience had never been quite so glaring as it is right now.  

“Well, isn’t that just ridiculous!” She at last scoffs, evidently deeming the whole endeavor futile and turning the faucet off again. “It wouldn’t be such a big deal if this place wasn’t so cold. How is anyone coming in off the street supposed to get a good night’s rest if they can’t even have a warm shower?” 

You ponder that question with the same weight and consideration as the last one she’d posed. “Maybe they don’t get many visitors? Just think about it. How many times have we heard now that Belobog is the ‘last bastion of humanity’? They probably don’t get much in the way of tourism.” 

Turning, March pins you with an exceedingly strange look. “I don’t think you’re wrong about that but … wouldn’t that mean they’re mostly just keeping this place running for the sake of it? What a waste of resources.” She gives her head a quick shake. “Wait, that’s not important right now. We need to get you warmed up and safely tucked into bed! Do you want me to go down to the lobby with you to check what’s going on?” 

“No, that’s okay.” You quickly wave that off, feeling more than just a little self conscious about causing her any trouble. “It’s already getting late and you need your rest for tomorrow.  It wouldn’t make sense to waste so much time helping me with this when you could be sleeping instead.” 

“Hey, now. The same goes for all three of us. We’re in this together and you’d better not forget that! I don’t mind lending a hand. We are crewmates after all! 

“Thank you, really. But I’m sure I can figure something else out.” 

“Fine, if you’re sure … but at least stop by Dan Heng’s room and see if he’s in the same boat as us. If not, maybe he’ll let you use his shower tonight?” 

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Consideringly, you start to turn and March follows hot on your heels as you step back out through the doorway. “He went into the room right across from yours, right? Since they’re on opposite sides, maybe I will have better luck.” 

“That’s the spirit! See, you just gotta’ keep your spirits high and everything will work out fine in the end. Isn’t that what they call trusting the process?” 

Pausing in front of the door, you pivot to look back at her. “I don’t think that particular saying applies here.” 

“Oh, whatever. Just go check in with Dan Heng and if he isn’t having any better luck come grab me again, okay? We’ll go down and talk to the receptionist together if we have to!” 

You smile, even though you try very hard not to. “Thanks, March. I really appreciate it.” 

Her voice follows after you as you open the door to see yourself out, a cheerful parting of  ‘good luck!’ following you out into the hall. Of all the warm welcomes you’d been greeted with upon boarding the Express, hers was easily the warmest of them all. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to properly repay her for that but you were certainly going to try. 

Out in the long carpeted corridor, you take a measly three steps to cross over to the opposite side and rap at the heavy wooden door. Dan Heng surprises you slightly when he opens up at the very first knock, almost like he’d been waiting just within.  

“Is something the matter?” 

The stark difference in your two companions' greetings makes something warm flicker to life inside your chest. You’d only known them and the rest of the Astral Express crew for a short while now but it was very much in line with what was quickly becoming comforting and familiar to you. March had been proactive and eager to know what you were doing while Dan Heng seemed to have concluded that something must be wrong if you were coming to his room like this. It was oddly reassuring, in a way. 

“This is probably going to sound like a strange question but have you taken a shower yet?” 

A vague look of confusion flashes across his face and then camps there. He was far from the most animated character you’d met on your journey thus far, but there’s no mistaking the look he levels on you now. 

“I haven’t quite gotten around to it yet.” He says slowly. “I was just jotting down some observational notes in my phone to input in the database later. Why?” 

“I don’t have any proof to back it up but I think March may have taken all my hot water. Our bathrooms are right next to each other.” 

Dan Heng’s expression shifts and settles into a perplexed scowl. “Is that why you’re shaking? You’d think a place like this would understand the importance of resource allocation …” Sighing, he steps to the side. “Come in. We can check it together.”

Feeling the pitter patter of hope skip across your ribcage, you step inside with him. He closes the door and turns the lock in place (paranoid or overly cautious?) before leading you over to the bathroom. None of these hotel rooms are particularly big and the two of you are soon crowding around the porcelain tub together. 

A steady turn of his wrist has the water gushing out, the same scene playing out for the third time in a row. Except it doesn’t take long at all for steam to start rising up from the faucet this go around and you feel like you could just collapse in relief. He still had hot water. You weren’t going to freeze to death after all. 

“There,” He murmurs, straightening to his full height again. “Go ahead and take your shower in here. I’ll be in the other room so just give me a shout if you need anything.” 

Dan Heng starts to turn, making your eyes go big and round with surprise. “But what about you? I don’t want to take up all of your hot water.” 

“It’s fine. I can just grab one after you're done.” 

“No, that won’t work.” You insist, reaching over to smack the faucet back off with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “March said she only had about fifteen minutes before the water started coming out cold. I’m not sure how long ago she took hers but when we checked it was still out of hot water.”

“Hmm,” He appears to hesitate at that, his gaze taking on the thoughtfully introspective look you were starting to recognize as the gears in his head turning. “Could it be that they get so few guests staying here that they just closed off some of the hot water pipes to ensure they don’t keep running? It’s not quite cold enough in the city for them to freeze so I don’t think it would hurt anything …” 

“Right?” You lift your brows in emphasis. “If Belobog is the only human settlement on this planet then what’s the point in keeping an entire hotel up and running?” 

“That’s a good point and I wondered about it as well. Unless this hotel was at one time meant to …” Humming softly under his breath, Dan Heng gives his head a slow shake. “No, there isn’t any point in speculating on that right now. We don’t have enough information to start making inferences. Figuring out what we’re going to do about the current problem should be our priority.” 

A quiet beat passes, loud in the absence of running water. 

“We could always shower together.” 

Dan Heng’s head doesn’t so much as move even a fraction of an inch but his gaze snaps up at you lightning fast. The sharp intensity in his eyes immediately makes you regret saying it. Were you being weird again, despite the absence of the closet to facilitate or otherwise encourage your odd behavior? Or was it really the Stellaron mixing up the radio signals in your brain? You weren’t sure what you would do if you managed to scare him off the same way you’d sent the hotel staff running and screaming. 

“Or,” He intones at length. “We could go down to the reception desk and ask them to look into it for us.” 

“March said the same thing.”

“But?” 

You breathe out a quick huff through your nose. “But that sounds like it might take a while. We’d have to explain what’s going on, have someone come take a look at it and then they’d try to fix it. We already agreed that we’ll have a busy day tomorrow so I don’t want to cause any trouble for either of you. Not if I can help it. This would be the faster solution, right?” 

To his credit, Dan Heng’s expression softens in as much as it ever does. Which admittedly isn’t a whole lot, but it’s enough to be noticeable. “You aren’t causing problems for us. Don’t even give it another thought and, please, don’t ever let March hear you say that. I don’t doubt she’d take it upon herself to personally show you just how untrue that really is. That being said though, I can understand the reasoning. Doing it that way would be quicker.” 

“But?” You volley it right back at him. 

“There’s not actually a ‘but’ here. If you’re sure about it then I suppose I don’t mind going about it this way either. It would certainly get both of us into bed far quicker than any other alternative.” 

You don’t exactly understand the eager thump your heart gives at his acquiescence but you allow yourself to smile up at him when the urge suddenly strikes you full force. “Then it’s settled?” 

A curt nod. “Yes, although I do hope you actually know what it is we’ve just agreed to. If you change your mind at any point don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll get right out.” 

“Don’t be silly.” You assure him, reaching for the hem of your loose fitted shirt. “I'd never kick you out like that, Dan Heng. Both of us deserve to go to bed nice and warm, and clean.”

He starts to open his mouth — to say what, you’re not sure, because it catches in his throat when you unceremoniously tug your shirt up over your head in one smooth motion. You lose sight of him for a brief moment through the soft knit cotton and by the time you get it pulled completely off he’s pointedly looking elsewhere. Anywhere but at you. 

“Is something wrong?” You quietly venture, a soft note of uncertainty creeping into your voice now. 

“No, it’s fine. Just … hurry up and get undressed so we can get this over with.” Decisively turning his back to you, he starts to shrug out of his long jacket. You hesitate, looking from him to the shirt balled up in your hands and then down at your own chest. A mild pang of relief comes over you at finding your plain black sports bra very much where it should have been. 

So you hadn’t forgotten to put it on. Good. That could have been rather embarrassing for you. 

In the same breath you abruptly realize that you were about to take it off and get naked in the same room with Dan Heng who was already working to get all of his clothes pulled off too. He seemed to understand that well enough. Perhaps even more so than you actually did. So why had he reacted like that when you’d taken off your blouse? Surely it wasn’t all that strange for someone to disrobe in front of another … was it? 

Pondering this conundrum, you carefully watch Dan Heng fold and set his garments aside on top of the sink one layer and one deliberate motion at a time. His coat and the bracer worn on his right arm make up the bottom of the pile, followed by the lightweight hip guards worn around his waist along with the belt that secured it all. The second skin of his tight black shirt comes off next, revealing a smooth back that flexes powerfully with the overhead motion he uses to get it peeled away. It doesn’t escape your notice that, through it all, he makes a point of not looking at you. All of his attention remains forward and locked on the task at hand, neither uninhibitedly baring himself at you nor stealing any lingering glances in your direction. 

It was almost as if in despite of the shared nudity that was inherent in an arrangement like this, he still wanted to give you your privacy. Or as much of it as one could possibly have when bathing with another person. 

Was that what it was then? The root cause of his reaction was … reticence on his part? You hadn’t stopped long enough to consider that or any of the other potential implications that came with it but it seemed Dan Heng very much had. If he was behaving this way then you probably should be too. 

With that decided, you turn away from him and mimic his actions of neatly folding your top. You don’t have anywhere else to put it though so you have to make do with setting it on top of the toilet lid. The following silence is surprisingly rife with some unnamed tension, interspersed only by the near constant rustle of clothes being removed. Your boots, socks, skirt and underwear are all soon discarded, and you have to try very hard not to look when you hear him shuffle towards the tub again. 

“Ready? I’m going to turn the water back on.” 

“Go ahead.” 

The spout turns with a soft creak and the faucet roars to life, loudly spewing water into the basin. Same as before, and much to your relief, it only takes a few moments for steam to begin wafting up from the noisy deluge and start creeping into your periphery. He quickly smacks the plunger down to redirect the stream to the shower head and the bathroom is suddenly at least two octaves quieter than it was before. You could hear yourself think again. Thank goodness for that. 

Silently, Dan Heng steps in first and you quickly scuttle after him. You weren’t keen on losing out on even a single drop of hot water but your refusal to look up from the floor makes actually getting into the shower a bit of an awkward process. You have to feel around with your foot to figure out how close you are and your big toe hits the side of the porcelain a bit too hard, making you hiss through your teeth. Quickly shaking it off though, you lift your leg and blindly step over the rim. 

Only to slip when you come down wrong on the other side, the slick surface ripping you off balance with a gut wrenching lurch. You collapse forward, arms flailing, but Dan Heng is quick to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Once all I said done, the only thing you’ve succeeded in doing is smacking your knee into the wall. 

“Owww …”

“What in the world do you think you’re doing? You could have seriously hurt yourself or broken your neck.” He snaps at you, his tone still as mild as it ever is but there’s no mistaking the sharp bite of reprimand lurking just below the surface. You feel vaguely like a troublesome toddler he’s been tasked with babysitting as he hauls you further into the safety of the tub before reaching up to pull the screen closed with a sound click of his tongue. “I was wondering what was taking you so long to get in but I didn’t expect you to jump without even looking first.” 

“I’m sorry,” You murmur, still trying to keep your eyes averted as you carefully work to get your feet situated under you. “I just — I didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

“My privacy?” He echos you, incredulous. “You should have considered that before you suggested us taking a shower together. It’s a little late for it, don’t you think?”

Cautiously slow, you bring your hands up to brace them across his damp chest and gently push. Dan Heng’s hold on you hesitates and then relaxes, letting you pull free so you can take a step back. That his fingers linger at your forearms as if to steady you, or perhaps catch you should you slip and fall again, does not escape your notice, but you decide not to comment on that just yet. Or maybe ever, depending on how the next few minutes played out. 

“Sorry.” It’s all you can think to say now. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for. While I do appreciate the consideration, there’s no getting around the fact we’re going to see each other naked in a situation like this. It’s okay to look.” 

“But?” You whisper into the steady stream of water coming down at his back. 

“No ‘but’s. I’d much rather you look than hurt yourself.” His hands shift, adjusting to loosely grasp your elbows. When he gently tugs you in closer to him, you acquiesce without a fuss. You hadn’t noticed how big they were until now and that makes for an unexpectedly convincing argument to encourage your compliance. “Here, get under the shower head. We should make sure you warm up enough before we run out of hot water.” 

You can’t exactly argue with that when the rising steam only seems to further highlight just how chilled your skin actually is so you let him get you spun around, trading spots. The steady, hammering rush of warmth hits you all at once as you’re directed into the spray and a violent shudder instantly races up your spine. Whimpering softly, you curl in on yourself as you bring your arms up to wrap them around your upper body. The resulting nudge against painfully hard nipples almost steals the air from your lungs but if Dan Heng notices the way you subtly jolt at the contact he doesn’t show it. 

Evidently oblivious, he reaches up to almost casually palm the top of your head. At first you think he’s merely petting you in an uncharacteristic show of doting affection but you quickly realize he’s helping to work the water into your hair, ensuring it’s thoroughly sodden. Still uncharacteristic, or perhaps unprecedented was the better word, but decidedly nice. 

Very nice, actually. 

“I didn’t take you for the shy sort.” He eventually murmurs, more to himself than to you. No way were you about to pretend you hadn’t heard him though. 

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.” 

“Me?” His blunt fingers pause in your hair. You can feel him peering down at you through the steamy gloom that encompasses the cramped tub but you were still hesitant to lift your eyes and look. There was no telling what you might accidentally catch a glimpse of. 

You really had no idea, truth be told, but given his earlier reaction it seemed like one’s body wasn’t meant to be ogled or stared at. He’d looked away from you for a reason. It only seemed fair if you gave him the same courtesy. 

A terse, silent moment passes. 

Evidently realizing he wouldn’t be getting any further explanation, Dan Heng exhales a quiet sigh into the thickened air before directing his hands down to your shoulders. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

Not only did that sound like a rare, once in a blue moon offer you were sure to never hear again, it also seemed way safer than facing him the whole time. You were already having trouble keeping your eyes from wandering from the single strip of his bare arm you’d settled on, having had no other choice when you were standing so close to each other. 

So you gratefully pivot, giving him your back. Your shoulders start to relax from their defensive hunch now that the warm water is running down your front and slowly seeping into your skin. It seems to feed into the internal temperature of your core as he shifts behind you, reaching around for something out of sight. The next time his hands come up to touch your hair, it’s with a healthy dollop of shampoo coating his palms and fingers. 

A soft sigh of contentment slips out of you as he starts to work it into a nice lather over your scalp, keeping your neck tipped back so he could still work without having to deny yourself the comfort of the shower head. He’s as diligent with this as he is everything else, yet so incredibly gentle about it that you almost start to doze right there on your feet. It felt beyond good. It was amazing. 

“Gotta’ say I didn’t expect this Trailblaze mission to turn out like this.” He says at length, just when you’re starting to really drift off to la-la land. 

Blinking yourself awake, you fix your attention on the ceiling. “Neither did I.” 

“And to think, it’s only just started. You’ll have to forgive me if being I’m too rough by the way. I don’t often groom anyone else’s hair besides my own.” 

“No, it’s perfect.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh but refrains from saying anything further until another minute or two has gone by, and a nice, thick lather has accumulated over the circumference of your skull. “There, that should do it. Turn around again but keep your head tipped back so you don’t get suds in your eyes.” 

Obediently, you move to spin around but you seem to have forgotten something rather important in your drowsy state. Namely your close proximity to one another, how very near you were standing to him. But it’s too late by the time you realize your mistake though, and your tits wetly swipe across the lower half of his chest with a sharp burst of fleshy friction. Both of you draw a quick inhale in near perfect unison at the contact and your eyes pop open where they’d started to slide shut again, suddenly wide awake. 

For the first time since you’d stepped foot inside the shower, you find yourself looking directly up at Dan Heng. His startled expression must surely mirror yours because for a long time the two of you just stare at one another in mute silence. You aren’t sure what to make of this. Not the situation itself or the twisting knot low in your gut. 

You think you should probably take a step back and put some much needed space between the two of you but you don’t get the chance. Unable (or perhaps unwilling?) to find the presence of mind to make your legs move before he reaches up to touch your hair again, you soon find yourself trapped between his arms. He’s got you caged in like this while he dutifully scrubs the shampoo away, evidently too committed to the task at hand to stand down even when a distant note of unmistakable fluster has settled across his normally stoic expression. 

And as if Pandora’s Box had been effectively ripped open, like you couldn’t stop yourself now that you’d already looked once, your eyes start to wander. You take in his usually fluffy hair, now waterlogged and heavy across his brow, and the concentrated set of his mouth. Glancing lower, you can make out how well defined his chest and arms are, much more packed with muscle than one would expect from someone who, according to March, spent so much of his time in the databank room aboard the Express. You’d already seen him in action a handful of times though so it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. He was strong and his firm physique showed that. And even lower than that … 

Your eyes widen at the sight of your breasts squished up against him. No wonder you’d felt that brush of skin on skin in such stunning high definition, even for as brief as it had been. What strikes you more than anything though is how soft and pliable your flesh looks shoved up against his. Where Dan Heng was hard with muscle and unrelenting, your chest was soft and invitingly malleable. A distant part of you innately understood that this was the physical difference between man and woman, the biological indicators of sex. It sparks something in the back of your mind and you fumble to grab hold of it, to comprehend what it means. 

Your frantic internal grasping is interrupted when Dan Heng roughly clears his throat, prompting you to snap your attention up with a little jolt. 

“Just what are you looking at?” 

“N - nothing.” You stammer, suddenly embarrassed. You’re not entirely sure why you should feel hot with shame and something else you can’t quite put your finger on but there’s no denying it’s there. You couldn’t tell if you were about to wilt and wither, or bonelessly melt into him. 

“I think I may have to take back what I said earlier.” He grumbles. “It might be preferable if you don’t look.” 

“Wha - -“

You feel it then. A soft nudge against your lower belly that sends your heartbeat lurching into overdrive and your legs instantly turn limp like overcooked noodles. It’s an entirely instinctive reaction, one you don’t understand anymore than all of the other confusing happenings that have taken place in this hotel bathroom, but when you try to pull away to get a look at what’s tickling your bellybutton, he just clutches at you tighter to keep you in place. 

“Please,” His voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper as he bends his head close, wincing even while he presses his damp forehead against yours. “Don’t move. Just … stay there until it goes away.” 

His expression is wretched. Dark brows knitted to create a deep wrinkle between them, his eyes so pinched you could barely see the dull blue of his irises through thick lashes. It almost scares you. Almost makes you second guess the wisdom in sharing a shower with someone else. No, that wasn’t quite right. 

It was a man you were bathing with and you were … a woman. That was what made this dangerous and ill advised. That was why he’d reacted the way he had at the start of all this. Oh, how terribly you had miscalculated the full scope of the situation. 

It’s a struggle to swallow down your jittery nerves and find your voice but you finally manage, somehow. “Does it hurt, Dan Heng?” 

“No.” He hisses, contradicting himself and what your eyes were clearly telling you. “This isn’t your fault or your problem. I should have been more cautious, that’s all. It’ll go away in time.” 

You don’t think you very much like the sound of that. “But why? Why does it have to just go away if it’s making you uncomfortable? I can help you.” 

Dan Heng sucks in such a sharp breath you can feel it rattling around inside his chest where you’re pressed right up against him. “Don’t say that.” He croaks. “You don’t know what it is you’re saying.”

“I can learn. You could teach me.” 

“Dammit …!” 

He stiffly shifts his weight then, redistributing his balance to the full center of his body. You got the distinct feeling he was trying to angle his pelvis away from you, to pull it out of reach where he could flag and soften without the close proximity of your body heat there to entice him. You rock with the motion though, follow the movement. Stay pressed against him and reach down with one hand to blindly feel for what was causing him such obvious distress. 

Your wrist bumps against the stiff flesh jutting out from his body, making him groan very low in his throat. It’s easy to find now that you have a general idea and you carefully wrap your fingers around the width of him, surprised yet delighted to find the skin silky soft and smooth. He twitches in your hold and swells, getting harder. Rapidly filling the rest of the way out while Dan Heng holds himself so tightly that you think he might just shatter and break right before your very eyes. You can’t help it though. Not only was curiosity a very compelling factor here but you also cared about him a great deal. The thought of watching your friend and fellow crewmate suffer in silence right in front of you wrenches at your very heart and makes it hard to think rationally. 

And it must be the same for Dan Heng too, because his fingers stay frozen in place as you feel along him. They remain buried in your hair, fervently clutching at your skull, as if you could be the lifeline that would save him but he continues to hold himself back for some reason. It’s hard to say if he’s scared of letting you go for fear of what he himself would do or because he feared what you might do to him with that freedom. He doesn’t try to stop you or pull away though. Just quietly seethes into the scant space separating you as you locate the bulbous head and give it a brief squeeze. That makes a tense shudder work through him, starting in the general vicinity of his hips before racing up to the rest of him. Distantly, you realize that he wants to roll his pelvis forward into the touch, to seek out more and bask in it, but he won’t. 

“Why do you fight it, Dan Heng?” 

He manages to choke out a mirthless laugh, though not without a good deal of effort. “We only just met not that long ago, for starters. It seems rude to act on such impulses given our brief rapport with one another.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“Maybe I do.” 

You don’t think you believe that. If he really meant it he would have put an end to it by now, or at least made a greater effort to do so. But he just stands there, softly panting while you follow the length of him down to the base where a thick patch of curls brushes against your knuckles. The weight of him in your hand is surprisingly satisfying and you just can’t seem to stop yourself from exploring him. 

Twisting your hand downward, you find even more satiny soft skin waiting just below and you eagerly curl your fingers around that too. It’s incredibly pliant but he sucks in a sharp, gasping breath in response to being handled and your pulse erratically jumps with a start. 

“Gentle. Those are — sensitive.” 

“I’m sorry.” You murmur softly. “I could be a lot more careful if I could actually see what I was doing though.” 

A low rumble starts up in his chest, so faint you almost miss it under the constant spray from the shower head. Your whole body flushes, warming to the point of real discomfort but he doesn’t give you enough time to fully process any of it. Not the unexpected noise or the curling tendril of wanting low in your stomach. Not even the fact that you were currently holding the full weight of his manhood in the palm of your hand. 

To your genuine surprise, he starts to pull back. Extricates himself from you with exceedingly stiff motions that leave you fumbling for something to say. Another apology or perhaps a plea. You don’t know which and you never find out, because he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You have no choice but to comply as he guides you forward, pushing you almost right up against the interior wall of the shower and totally disregarding your mouse squeak protests while he does it.

“Stop hogging all the water.” 

You open your mouth to snap back in response but all that comes out is a tiny little squawk of surprise when he pulls you back against him, moulding your wet back to the firm planes of his front. His hands drop to your waist then, taking bruising hold of your hips to press your lower body equally flush with his. There’s no mistaking the press of him now, the way it digs up into your lower back and slides into place along the middle seam of your backside like it naturally belonged there. It's as if you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe when he stiffly rolls his pelvis and grinds into you, somehow hesitant yet eager at the same time, before forcing himself to go still again. 

“Sorry,” He says right into your ear, low and hushed, as the warm spray washes over both of you now. “I thought I could control myself better than this …” 

“It’s okay.” 

“It's not. You only just joined the Astral Express, not to mention you — the way we found you … it feels like I’m taking advantage of the situation but that was never my intention. I swear it.”  

You understood what he meant even if he was reluctant to say it in quite so many words. There was a Stellaron inside of you but beyond that your identity was a complete unknown to everyone around you. Even you couldn’t say for sure who you were or who you’d once been, if you’d ever been anyone at all. That didn’t mean you were without your faculties though. You could still make decisions for yourself and take control of your own life. If that weren’t true then Himeko never would have given you the choice to join everyone on board the Express. This you knew to be true. 

So you pointedly push back on him, meeting his next stiltedly reluctant thrust. Dan Heng’s fingers bite into the meat of your hips in return, clutching at you so desperately you half expect to find bruises blooming in the same spots later on. That doesn’t really matter right now though. What’s most important is not only helping him, alleviating the discomfort that so obviously pains him, but also proving your own autonomy. To him as much as to yourself. 

“It’s okay, Dan Heng. You don’t have to hold back.” 

Groaning softly in what you think must be relief, he huddles close and curls in tight against you. Nuzzles at your temple in a coaxing manner that makes you tip your head back towards him. Water runs down your face in heavy rivulets, matting your eyelashes together, but you pay it little mind. You’re much more interested in the way Dan Heng angles his mouth down and slots it against yours in a kiss that is equal parts tentative and demanding. The heightened state of his emotions is blatant in the hard press of his lips, the hungry pull that makes you want to submit and give him everything he could ever need or want. There’s a distant note of domination lurking under the surface of that heated exchange though, like he was innately drawn to claiming what he wanted for himself, but his level headed manners were still keeping him in check. That wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. 

You quickly make your choice and bring your hands up to take firm hold of his blocky wrists, making sure he doesn’t try to escape. Not that you actually thought he would when both of you were already in this deep, haltingly moving in tandem against one another, but you didn’t want his polite niceties to get the better of him. He either doesn’t suspect a thing or he simply doesn’t care though, because he just keeps kissing you even when you go up on your tiptoes to make his cock drag down your ass. The height difference makes it a bit awkward, a bit unrefined, but you manage to successfully raise up enough to leave him nudging at the space between your legs. 

And when you come down again, trapping him in the soft squeeze of your thighs, he gasps like you’d just electrocuted him. The sound rattles inside his chest where it’s pressed into your back but, still, he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t tell you to stop. Rather, he drags his palms lower to grab two big handfuls of your upper legs and press them more tightly together around him. You nearly lose balance and tip over in this unnatural stance but a quick hand slapped against the damp wall steadies you. 

“Careful. If you continue to push this much further …” 

The warning in his voice is clear as day but you don’t really care. Not when you could feel the faint pulse of him between your thighs and he was lined up so perfectly with the seam of your cunt that you could feel your own internal pressure ratcheting up another notch. This wasn’t exactly familiar territory, this pulse pounding excitement that makes you dizzy with a need you don’t fully understand, but the instinctive urge to nudge your hips back and forth feels much too natural for you to truly question it. So you just do it. 

And oh, how you’re rewarded by the simple slide of him along your slit. Hot, blinding sparks flash behind your eyes and you almost swoon right there in his arms, but you know you have to keep moving. Need to chase that pinprick ember of satisfaction just as much as he does, and Dan Heng only reinforces that when he pulls you back to meet the next enthusiastic thrust of his hips. 

A gasp catches in your throat at the wet, meaty smack and lodges there as you tip your face down to look at yourself. Some of your hair slips forward with the motion, wet and clinging, but you hardly even notice it with so much of your attention focused on your own body. Your nudity hadn’t felt so stark before, when you were simply focused on bathing and occupying space with him wherein the two of you just so happened to be naked together. It’s so different now looking at it through the hazy lens of intimacy though, the sight of your tits bare and wet stoking the flames within you to even greater heights. Beyond that, over the soft curve of your stomach and lower still, you can just make out the thatch of hair covering the cradle of your pelvis. And beneath that his cock head nudges out from between your legs, blooming for but a brief moment before retreating back into the tight squeeze. 

It was enough to nearly make your knees buckle and give out. 

“Oohhn,” You hiss into the constant spray, swaying in his hold. “Dan Heng … that feels - -“

“Incredible.” 

You let out a soft moan in agreement, rocking in time with his steady thrusts. The height difference was a good thing, actually. It ensured he stayed pressed up tight against you, constantly knocking your cunt with a fleshy jostle whether he was pulling out or pushing in. It was a continuous cycle of pleasurable shockwaves that quickly leaves you panting just as heavily as he is, and you eagerly writhe against him when the pressure just continues to build and build. You felt like you were going to implode in the most literal sense. What exactly had he done to you? 

Had he even done anything at all, or was this just a natural result of your own needs mingling with his and feeding into one another? You couldn’t be sure. It was impossible to think straight when your cotton stuffed head was starting to spin alarmingly fast, but you decide that it doesn’t really matter either way. The drag of him against your cunt was enough. His possessive grip on your body was enough. There would be time to figure everything out later, after you’d properly taken care of each other, and you let yourself rock back into him with an accompanying groan that subtly rises in pitch at the tail end, basking in the litany of sensations.

“Can I —“ He suddenly blurts, choking on it. His fingers sink into your flesh so hard it starts to hurt and you let out a faint whimper while he struggles to reorient himself. “Can I … touch you?” 

“Nnghn, ah - aren’t you already touching me?” 

“More. I’d like to touch more of you, if you’ll permit it.” 

You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing. He certainly wasn’t making it easy. “Ooh … please, please touch me, Dan Heng. I feel … I feel like I’m - -“ 

His hands immediately fly up off your hips and greedily latch onto your breasts instead, lifting the weight of them in his palms. You suck in such a haggard breath you feel like you just might pass out on the spot as you arch against him, throwing your head back into his shoulder. Water from the shower head mercilessly pelts against your face now but you can’t be bothered to lobby any complaints about it when he’s cupping your tits as if they were meant to fit right there in his hold. It’s perfect and sublime, and it just ratchets your own excitement up another notch, making you impotently shudder. 

This pulse pounding feeling of cresting pleasure may have been foreign to you, but you could already see yourself becoming irreversibly addicted to it. Perhaps this was even more dangerous than you’d first realized. 

“Oh! If you do that …” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“I — I don’t know.” 

He noises a faint sound of confusion at your quiet whimper, his hands loosening around your chest. You’re acutely aware of the odd little look he gives you through the swirling steam but can’t quite bring yourself to turn your face away. Whatever this was, whatever it meant in the long run, you wanted more of it. Needed more of him. 

“Don’t stop. Please.” 

A small frown graces his lips. “But you just said - -“

“I know. But I don’t want you to stop.” Carefully, you lift your hand — the one not currently braced against the wall — and cover one set of Dan Heng’s knuckles with your fingers. They seem dainty resting against his like this. “It feels kind of funny but I don’t think it’s bad. I don’t really understand what it means but … I want you to keep doing it. Please?” 

Groaning like you’d just sucker punched him right in the gut, Dan Heng leans further into you until his weight presses you down into a half stooped position. His skin sticks to your back and clings but this too feels good. His body heat bleeds into you, warming you up far more than the shower ever could have, and you eagerly squeeze the muscles in your legs to keep them locked in place. This time when he kneads your breasts it’s much more tentative and slow. He takes his time with it, just savoring the fleshy give, and you keen very softly when he at last nudges one index finger up to brush it over your nipple. 

You can feel yourself sinking deeper into that hazy fog as he starts to move again. The restrained power behind his thrusts sends fresh bursts of static energy coursing through your system, further highlighting the sensitivity of your aching teats as you rock with him, luxuriating in the fleshy drag of his stiff length against your cunt. 

Pap. Pap. Pap. 

He keeps the rhythm slow and even, but so vigorous that it pushes you forward and makes your tits bounce in his hold. You experience everything in stunning high definition from the slick dampness that oozes out of you to smooth the glide of him between your legs right down to the simple sensation of water running across your skin. It’s overwhelming and somehow still not enough. You couldn’t even think straight let alone formulate a semi coherent sentence, your tongue lolling heavily inside your mouth as you shudderingly rear back into him just to feel that delicious friction again. And he takes it in stride, never faltering no matter how wild you get or how hard you shake as the tumultuous waves crest a little bit higher each time. The firm, unyielding planes of his pelvis meeting with your backside, harder, faster. The distant tickle of coarse pubic hair digging into the vulnerably soft flesh of your ass. Even the low, guttural sounds he makes against the side of your face. You were so close to drowning in all of it. 

His thick, callous worn fingers curling up to finally pinch at your nipples is what really sends you over the edge though. The sudden jolt of pleasure so intense it rides the line of being painful almost makes you collapse right then and there, and you throw yourself back into him with mindless desperation. Your hips seem to move on their own even as you cry out for him, judderingly grinding yourself down on that rock hard length pressed up into you. 

“Ooh, Dan Heng!” 

“Please don’t say my name like that.” He quietly wheezes under his breath, still pinching at your breasts. Still pulling and tweaking, using his thumb to brush over them and flick the tightly coiled peaks back and forth. Your body was a livewire just waiting to detonate, and it doesn’t seem to escape his notice. It’s apparent in the way he’s so insistent with his ministrations, encouraging you to keep moving your cunt back and forth, back and forth against him with nothing more than the attention he gives your tits. He takes his time rolling them between the two pads to reward you for your efforts and he gives them a slow, encouraging tug any time your pace falters and you start to slow down. 

It’s a vicious cycle that perfectly feeds into itself a hundred times over and keeps you balanced right on the precipice of some great, harrowing free fall. The world could have come to a sudden, fiery end at that very moment and you never would have noticed. All of your attention, your entire being, was for Dan Heng and only Dan Heng in that moment. His hands, his lips brushing your neck and your cheek when he nuzzles into you. The constant motion of his thighs flexing behind you, driving himself unendingly into the hot, damp spot between your legs. His taller, wider frame trembling against yours with all the pent up tension running through it that so perfectly mirrors your own. 

You’d never felt anything like it before, and a very small voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’ll ever feel it again. Was this a once in a lifetime experience? A fleeting mercurial high that would disappear in a flash bang of white noise the second you tipped over into the awaiting abyss below? 

If that was the case, if you were destined to bask in this dwindling euphoria once and only once in your lifetime, then you were determined to milk every last drop of enjoyment out of it while you could. 

So you drop your hands and reach back, grabbing two biting fistfuls of Dan Heng’s narrow hips. Use the leverage to draw him in against you at a quicker pace, forcing him to snap his pelvis into your backside with greater ferocity. He issues a wounded, faltering grunt into the air but he doesn’t fight it. He hasn’t truly fought anything you’ve offered up to him on a silver platter, not once telling you ‘no’ since you first stepped foot into this bathroom together, and that knowledge sparks a simmering ember deep within your gut. It’s the taste of victory. Of conquest and self assured confidence that can only be achieved through the meeting of two compatible bodies. 

You’re sure of it. Innately, or perhaps intrinsically, you just know that’s what it is. 

“Oh, gods,” He rattles out, gritting through tightly clenched teeth while he fucks himself between your thighs, pistoning in and out of the tight squeeze like a jackhammer. “I’m so close — so close, I - I can’t hold it back anymore.” 

You would’ve voiced your agreement if only you’d had the ability to do so. The breakneck speed at which he ruts into you effectively steals the air from your lungs though and it’s all you can do just to hold on, clutching at his powerfully flexing hips to ground yourself rather than to encourage him. He didn’t need more encouragement anyway. That one little nudge from you was more than enough and now he couldn’t quite seem to remember to be polite and gentle with you. 

The wet smack of his pelvis slamming into your ass is now loud, almost defeaning, and it comes in rapid fire succession to damn near down out even the constant spray of the shower head. It just amplifies the already searing friction against your cunt until it seems to blur into a single, persistent tingle that just grows and grows to the point of delirium. He can’t help himself and neither can you. Not anymore. 

“Dan Heng - -“ 

A truly bestial snarl snakes out of him. His fingers falter, slipping and sliding against your wet teats before adjusting to latch onto the bouncing meat of your breasts instead. What little bit of control he’d still been clinging to dissipates like dust in the wind, and he clings to you so hard it brings tears to your eyes. The demanding press of his fingers sinking into your flesh sends you over the edge with a sudden, lurching jolt as your pussy clenches up and squeezes uncontrollably against his length. Even when you wail out in high strung relief, trembling violently in the throes of your release, he just keeps humping into you like he’d die if he doesn’t chase his own pleasure quickly enough. That continuous drag over your slit just draws out your own involuntary spasms and you can’t help but cry out in oversensitized bliss even as you somewhat awkwardly twist in his arms to look down at yourself. 

Numbly, you watch his flushed glans appear between the fleshy press of your legs, quickly disappear and then immediately reappear again just a split second later. He’s pounding into you so fast and so hard that the resulting shockwaves make your thighs jiggle slightly under the force. It’s incredibly fascinating to witness though and you stare at it in a trancelike stupor, barely even registering the pitchy moan he lets out right against your temple. 

The next time his cock appears it’s with an eruption of creamy white discharge that shoots out to splatter across the floor and the wall, some of it smearing over the skin where the two of you are connected. Hissing like his soul is actively trying to leave his body, Dan Heng haltingly slows to a stiff roll of his hips that makes his length nudge back and forth just enough to drain the rest of his explosive release. Another healthy spurt rushes out of him and then a savory dribble quickly follows, thickly oozing from the tip to drip onto the floor between your feet. It’s over, just like that, and you blink rather owlishly down at the evidence of your illicit encounter as he heaves a deeply satisfied sigh of pleasure. 

It’s a little hard to wrap your mind around what had just transpired, especially when you were still floating in the afterglow and well satiated, but you snap back into the moment when he carefully starts to straighten up. You hadn’t even realized he’d dropped into a partial crouch to better accommodate the height difference, and you turn in his hold to look back at him. 

“Dan Heng … are you - -“

“We need to get out.” He cuts across you, back to being the same mild and polite Dan Heng you were used to, but at the questioning lift of your brows he sheepishly glances away. “The water is beginning to turn cold so we need to get out before you start shivering again. Otherwise that would completely defeat the purpose of doing this in the first place.” 

Oh. You hadn’t even noticed, truth be told, but you shift to the side when he reaches around you to smack the faucet off. The room goes suddenly quiet, save the dull drip of water droplets running from the spout and two sets of deep breaths coming from you and him. You’d been so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t noticed that either but your heart was indeed pounding a wild rhythm against your chest, and you reach up to idly touch over your pulse. Wild and erratic, just like you’d felt leading up to that mind numbing crescendo. 

What the hell had all that been? 

“Let me get you a towel.” You hear him say, and you bring your head up in time to watch him flick the screen open with a sluggish motion. 

“What about you? You didn’t even get to wash your hair.” 

Dan Heng looses a soft bark of laughter as he steps out onto the waiting mat, giving you your first real look at his nude body. He’s all lean and svelte with a perfectly tapered waist and broad shoulders, and — he abruptly turns to face you without warning. You’re suddenly looking right at him. The cut lines of his pelvis and the perfect little bellybutton stamped right in the center of it; the damp mess of dark, dark hair crowning his softened cock and the unmistakable weight of it … 

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel vaguely faint even as you smack a hand up to your mouth and quickly look away in embarrassment. You’d never seen one before. Or at least, you’re pretty sure you haven’t. That doesn’t exactly stop your body from reacting to it though and your knees turn instantly wobbly again to accompany the instinctive urge to touch him, taste him. To feel him moving inside of you with the same keen ferocity he’d shown your thighs. Gods, you were like some kind of pervert! 

“After all that you’re finally getting shy?” He laughs, bemused, but you can’t quite bring yourself to lift your gaze again. The risk of jumping his bones seemed far too great for you to take that chance right now. But luckily for you, Dan Heng is much too conscientious to hold it over your head and you soon catch the sound of him shuffling for a towel just another moment later. “I’ll cover up if that will make you feel better but don’t think you’re going to get out of this without having a talk with me first. I meant it when I said I had no intention of taking advantage of you. This isn’t something we can just pretend never happened, you know.” 

Cautiously slow, you peek over at him from the corner of your eye just in time to get one last good look at his tight backside before a towel slides into place around his waist. You may not have been able to see it anymore but that certainly wasn’t going to stop you from thinking about it well into the foreseeable future. Curse him and his gorgeous body. “Are you … upset that we did that?” 

“Not at all. I only want to check in with you and find out what you want.” 

Now that manages to throw you for a loop. “What do you mean? I wasn’t expecting anything in return.” 

Sighing softly, Dan Heng pivots back around to face you again. “That’s precisely why. You obviously have no expectations in place and some men would probably try to take advantage of that to use you for sex. I’m not like that though. If you want to do this the right way then I would likewise be amenable to that possibility. If you want to keep things casual that’s fine too. And if you never want to see my face again … well, I couldn’t exactly blame you for that I suppose.” 

Confusion marches rampant through your mind until the lightbulb abruptly clicks on. He was talking about taking responsibility for his actions. Of giving you the proper respect and courtesy of having a choice. Dan Heng clearly had no desire to withhold an actual relationship from you if that was what you wanted but he also wasn’t going to force it on you either. How interesting. How very — chivalrous of him. 

Your heart gives a tiny little thump against your ribcage, and you smile over at him. Eager and pleased by this revelation, but a bit nervous too. Whoever would’ve thought something as benign as sharing a shower together out of necessity would end with talks of a potential future together. 

“Is everyone on the Express as old fashioned as you are?” 

He smiles back, gracing you with a small but no less frustratingly charming grin. “In this aspect, I’m afraid it’s just me. Think you're up for it?” 

“Yeah, I think I might be.” 

⭐

Crossposted: here

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Alexander Anderson x Santana Sangreal

🎨 artist is @mirthfulmoonshine ♡ please consider commissioning her, as you can see she is a phenomenal artist!!! She really brought this snippet of my fic to life!

The cathedral stood sleepy and silent as late-night London traffic growled and purred outside, abandoned by all save the Holy Spirit and the littlest of God's creatures scurrying undetected amongst the solemn, shadowy corridors. Whilst Santana and Alexander--- Alexander leading--- snuck in through the back door, the moon, full and heavy, peered inside the hallowed grounds with rapt attention via the stained glass windows to watch and bear witness.

Amongst the varying splashes of kaleidoscopic colour splattered precariously here and there as well as the crisp attention of the moon's silvery beams, motes of effervescent dust swirled dreamily, lazily, like refined ballroom dancers across the cool, cracked stone floors while the two carefully made their way inside and through its bowels to reach the heart of the building. Rows upon rows of winking, dancing candle flames, neatly aligned, stood watch by the front door, incessant in their mingling and dancing between whispers of wind within the confines of their ethereally glowing red glass holders, each born from meek entreating, each a living wish. They flickered violently with the draft of the door opening and closing before gentling and resuming their hypnotic undulating, their light casting Santana and Alexander's shadows along the far wall in one merged form.

They unanimously, silently, settled on a pew only a couple feet away from the confessional booths in the shadowy corner, the antique cherry wood creaking loudly under their combined weight but holding fast nonetheless before it's protesting cries mellowed out into a gentle groan before silence reigned once more.

Santana's throat tickled with a scratch they couldn't quite get rid of; they almost didn't want to speak in fear of whatever they would say being too croaky but it was clear from the way Alexander stared at their hands in their lap that he wasn't going to be the first if he could help it. Really, he looked halfway ready to spring up out of the pew altogether and bolt.

Several questions fought for dominance on the tip of Santana’s tongue, each as adamant as the next, some more confrontational than others-- why is your heart rate so high? Why are you acting so nervous? Why do I feel nervous? How do you know this place? Do you also think it's beautiful in here? Have you been here before? Have you snuck into a church with a vampire before, or is today special? Am I special?-- but finally, one took the plunge into existence.

"Why here?" She inquired breathlessly, flinching slightly as her own voice still sounded too loud in the heavy, reverent silence permeating the room.

Alexander flinched too and in the lowlight, Santana's slitted pupils grew round and wide as they noticed the skip of his pulse and the warmth blooming just under the surface of his sun-kissed cheeks, feline curiosity drawing them closer to him with a faint rustle of her dress and the gentlest groan of the hardwood.

Sensing her drawing near, Alexander turned his cheek to face her, silvery light reflecting into both of his glasses like twin moons. Santana stopped, fingers twitching as she stared at the reflection, irritated that he could see her eyes but she couldn't see his. Before she could give into her compulsion to pluck them off his face, he tilted his head and oh, there they were, those jungle eyes that never failed to make her think of home.

"I've a- a confession tae make," he whispered, voice a low rumble like that of the heavy lorries outside.

Santana tilted their head, enough to paint the side of their face in splashes of purple, red, and gold. "To God?"

"Nae." He corrected breathily, eyes dancing across their face, taking in every hue illuminating the inherent cinnamon warmth within their skin. "To ye."

Santana blinked and furrowed their brows, wine painted lips curling into a nervous half-smile. "I don't understand."

Alexander shifted closer, just close enough to feel the slightly rounded curve of her knee against the side of his thigh and when she didn't immediately pull away, he let out a brief bark of breathless laughter.

"I didnae understand it meself either," Alexander murmured, eyes never leaving Santana's face, "not for... well. Until recently, and when I finally did understand, it was too late to st--- no, I-" he bit his bottom lip and looked away, toward the row of prayer candles before whispering, "I didnae want to... to stop."

Santana froze as Alexander reached out and cradled their face, helpless to stop him, helpless to prevent the surge of unexpected warmth and hope from blooming in their chest. This was madness- whatever he was doing, thinking, saying, it was madness---

"I- I.... I..." Alexander trailed off, simply marveling the colours splashing across Santana's face, the way she let him touch her, how she didn't flinch, the richness of her wine coloured eyes peering up at him with such vulnerability.

"Ye are... ye- ye are exquisite, do ye ken that?" Alexander murmured, lips curling into a soft, wondering smile, blond lashes fluttering as gentle as dove's wings. "I've never met a creature quite like ye."

Santana looked away as they ran their tongue over their fangs. What was exquisite was the exceeding gentleness of his touch; they couldn't count the number of times they had felt these same hands wrap around their throat, slam them into walls, crack their ribs, all in the name of his God.

Now he touched them like this, like they were made of glass. Incredible, how two years could change everything. "Yes you have-" Santana began.

"Nae." Alexander, perhaps picking up on her thoughts, or perhaps simply adamant, shook his head. "Never." He repeated reverently. "Look at me."

Santana obeyed readily enough, always ready to look at him, the sound of his heartbeat lulling them into compliance. He sounded so sure, so earnest- his heartbeat echoed his words in a way they couldn't deny.

When their eyes met once more, Alexander let out a small, shaky sigh. "I love ye." His voice drifted through the hallowed halls like the last few lines of a hymn.

Something cracked inside Santana. Something they thought they had learned to hide better over the last two centuries. They stared at him, dumbfounded. "Don't do this," they whispered, hands drifting to settle atop his own, neither pushing him away or pulling him closer. "don't do this to yourself."

Alexander laughed softly despite the thunderous energy coursing through him. "It's too late," he laughed again, thumb idly brushing against her cheek, "I do. What are ye gonnae do aboot it?"

Santana closed their eyes. "Anderson-"

"Do ye love me?" He pressed, hands beginning to tremble.

Santana turned their cheek away. "It doesn't matter if I do or don't; this is going to have major repercus-"

Alexander carefully turned her cheek to face him once more. "Do ye love me?" He asked again, voice dropping into a faint whisper barely strong enough to blow out a candle.

"We couldn't come back from this-"

"Open yer eyes."

Santana obeyed once more, lost in the familiar hue of his eyes. They knew he could see all their thoughts jumbling and knotting up inside their head, knew he could see the despair and heartache, the longing, the one thing they swore they'd never give to anything with a pulse.

Indeed, Alexander saw it. But he needed to hear it. "Do ye love me, Zyanya?" He inquired, Santana's true name rolling off his tongue with practicised ease.

Santana's heart clenched at the sound of it paired with that question, eyes swelling with uninvited tears. They would be no Peter, but they needed him to understand their tears, the weight of their name, to understand what love from a creature like them meant.

"Do you know what the name 'Zyanya' means?" Santana whispered. "It means- it means 'forever'; 'always'."

Alexander leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, never once breaking eye contact. "Please-"

"I love you," Santana took a shaky, deep breath. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

[countrymusiclover]

3 - My Music Dream

Part 4

The Hybrids Bright Star

Tags - @melvia-ito @lover-of-books-and-tea @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @elenavampire21 @frost-queen

The fangs sank deep, a familiar, unwelcome pressure against my skin. Damon. Always Damon. He was a shadow I couldn't shake, a constant drain on my energy, both literally and figuratively. I tried to focus on the lyrics swirling in my head, the melody I needed to nail down at the recording studio. But the blood loss, the lingering compulsion he layered on me, it all made it so much harder.

"Damon, please," I managed to gasp, my voice barely a whisper. "I have to go. I have a recording session."

He pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Relax, Hallie. You're always so tense. Let Damon loosen you up a bit." He wiped a smear of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. "Besides, a little taste never hurt anyone."

Liar. He knew how much it hurt. How much it weakened me. He fed on me regularly, often leaving me feeling dizzy and depleted. And the compulsion... it was a constant mental battle. He'd compelled me to think he was a friend, a protector, but the truth peeked through the cracks in his carefully constructed facade. I knew, deep down, that he was using me.

I forced a smile, the one he expected, the one he'd woven into my very thoughts. "Thank you, Damon. I appreciate it. But I really need to go."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Go on then. Don't want you to miss your big break." He chuckled, a sound that grated on my nerves.

I stumbled away, the world tilting precariously. I had to get to the studio. This was my chance, my only chance, to break free from the cycle of dead-end jobs and forgotten dreams. To escape the shadows that constantly threatened to swallow me whole. The animal shelter was a haven in its own right, a place where I could connect with innocent souls who needed love and care. But it wasn't my destiny. Music was.

I barely made it to the studio on time, rushing through the door, my hair a mess, my face pale. Mark, the recording manager, greeted me with a weary smile. "Hallie! Glad you could make it. Thought you'd stood me up."

"Sorry, Mark. Had a... situation. But I'm here now." I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure.

"Alright, then. Let's hear what you've got." He gestured towards the sound booth.

I stepped inside, adjusting the microphone, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was it.

I closed my eyes, took another deep breath, and began to sing. The melody flowed from me, the words echoing the longing and hope I held inside. It was a song I'd written about finding strength in the face of adversity, about holding onto your dreams even when the world seemed determined to crush them. "Dust devils dance on the highway's gleam, A lonely road, a broken dream. But in my heart, a flicker remains, A stubborn fire that still sustains.

(Chorus) I'll keep on singing, keep on trying, Let my voice rise, never stop flying. Though the shadows fall and the wind may blow, I'll find my sunshine, watch my spirit grow."

The song continued, a story of struggle and resilience, of hope and defiance. But as I reached the second verse, a wave of anxiety washed over me. It was like a phantom touch, bringing back a memory I tried so hard to bury.

I was ten years old, small and scared, clutching a battered guitar that was almost as big as me. This was my fifth foster home in as many years. The Millers seemed... nice. They smiled a lot, but I'd learned that smiles could be deceiving. They had two kids of their own, perfect, blonde-haired children who looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"Go on, Hallie," Mrs. Miller said, her voice sweet but firm. "Show us what you can do. We hear you like to sing."

My hands trembled as I sat on the wobbly stool in the living room. All eyes were on me, the Miller family arranged on the sofa like a panel of judges. I'd been singing for as long as I could remember, but usually in the quiet of my room, never in front of anyone. This felt different. Exposing myself like this felt incredibly vulnerable.

I took a shaky breath and strummed the opening chords of a simple folk song my mom used to sing to me. It was the only thing I had left of her, this song, this memory. My voice was small and fragile, but I poured every ounce of emotion into the lyrics. I sang about fields of gold, about a mother's love, about a place where everything was safe and warm.

But halfway through the song, my voice cracked. The Millers' smiles seemed to falter, the blonde children fidgeted, and Mr. Miller cleared his throat loudly. I lost my nerve. The words caught in my throat, the music died in my fingers.

"That's... lovely, Hallie," Mrs. Miller said, her voice a little too bright. "Maybe you can practice a bit more later."

Later never came. The guitar was soon relegated to a dusty corner, and my singing was discouraged. I learned to be quiet, to be invisible, to not draw attention to myself. It was safer that way.

The memory crashed over me, stealing my breath, paralyzing my vocal cords. The fear, the shame, the feeling of utter inadequacy – it all came rushing back.

My voice wavered, cracked. I stumbled over the lyrics, my fingers fumbling on the guitar strings. I wanted to stop, to run away, to disappear.

But then, I saw Mark's face through the glass of the booth. He was watching me intently, his expression a mixture of concern and encouragement. He gave me a small nod, a silent message that said, "Keep going. Don't give up."

I closed my eyes again, took a deep, shuddering breath, and forced myself to continue. The memory lingered, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the music, on the story I wanted to tell.

I finished the song, my voice shaky but determined. The last note hung in the air, and then silence.

I opened my eyes, bracing myself for criticism. But Mark's face was beaming.

"Hallie," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "That was incredible! You have a real gift. The rawness, the emotion... it's all there. That little stumble in the middle, that almost made it better. It was real. Human."

He came into the booth, his eyes shining. "You've got something special, Hallie. Really special. I think we could make a whole track out of this, maybe even an album."

My heart soared. This was it. This was the validation I'd been craving, the opportunity I'd been dreaming of. "Really?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Absolutely," Mark said. "Come back next week with some more songs. Let's start shaping this thing. Okay?"

"Okay," I said, a smile spreading across my face. "Okay."

I practically floated out of the studio, the weight of my past momentarily lifted. The air felt cleaner, the sky brighter. I was finally on my way. As I walked home, lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the figure watching me from across the street. He stood in the shadows, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

It was Klaus.

A slow, enigmatic smile spread across his face as he watched me disappear down the street. But there was something different about his expression now, something... possessive.

I reached my small apartment, a sense of accomplishment washing over me. I might still be working at the animal shelter, still haunted by the ghosts of my past, still trapped in Damon's manipulative grip, but I had hope. I had music. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to carry me through.

Unbeknownst to me, as I drifted off to sleep, Klaus materialized outside my window, his gaze lingering on my silhouette. He knew Damon was using me. He could smell the vampire's manipulative compulsion clinging to my aura. Damon was the monster I knew, the one who drained my blood and twisted my thoughts. But Klaus... Klaus was a different kind of monster, a more powerful, more dangerous one. And I had no idea he was watching, waiting, ready to claim me as his own.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[y3nze1]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.12

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / Navi.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: TW! Gun and mention of blood! tomorrow's the last chapter! What do you think, Darlings? Short chapter, so i apologize about that, yet, Happy Readings!

You heard soft knock on your door, slightly surprised since it's been a while since anyone decided to come visit. "Y/n?.. Y/n.. it's me, Loralie" You gasped, running to the door as your fingers frantically open the locks.

You open the door and see Loralie on the other side. Your heart skips a beat as you take in her appearance. She looks as beautiful as ever, her long dark hair flowing down her shoulders, her bright green eyes looking at you with a mixture of concern and affection.

"Lor... what are you doing here?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly. You eyes turned to the two other people behind her. Charlie smiled widely, almost pouncing on you. her arms wrapped around your body in a tight hug. "Oh my gosh! oh gosh! it's you.. it's really you!" You giggled, hugging her back. "Oh aren't you so sweet!"

You welcome the hug and feel a sense of warmth and safety wash over you as you feel Charlie's arms around you. You breathe a sigh of relief and lean into her, feeling the stress and anxiety from the past few days slowly melting away.

Your gaze darted to Loralie. "Oh my.. goodness, please, come in. come in" you guided charlie inside as she continues to hug you. Loralie and Angel followed behind, sitting by the couch in the living room in which charlie did so too.

"Y/n.. it's been a while, Moonpie, how have you been?" Loralie smiled, standing up as she headed over to you. "It's nice.. it's quiet as usual, but you know i like the silence.." You softly spoke. "You forgot to introduce me to your friends.." Loralie giggled, turning to the other two. "That's Angel Dust.. You know, the popular pornstar" Angel winked at you, "And this.. this ball over sunshine! is Charlie, princess of hell" You giggled as Charlie gave you a wide smile. You bowed. "Well i didn't know i was in a presence of such royalties"

Charlie giggled. "Oh no.. Y/n please.. you don't have to!" You chuckle as Charlie waves your compliment away. "Well, I couldn't help myself," you say with a smile, feeling a warm glow inside. Angel chuckles, taking a step towards you. "A pleasure to meet you, Toots." he says, his voice smooth and inviting. "We heard so much about you from Loralie"

You feel a twinge of nervousness at his words, but you try to hide it by giving him a polite smile. "The same goes for you," you reply. "It's nice to finally meet someone as popular as you." Loralie steps forward, breaking the tension in the room. "Okay, guys, let's sit down," she says, motioning towards the sofa. "We have a lot to talk about. Especially You"

"Yeah! I've heard so much about your love life from Loralie.. and she doesn't remember as much but we went here because.. well who knows your story more than you do.." Angel nodded then later on letting out a scoff.

"Plus, Even if we ask Alastor. He won't cough up any info. He's too busy in his business" Angel rolled his eyes, crossing his legs. "Alastor?.." You raised a brow, "Y/n. Please, Could you tell us what happened next when you left Alastor" Charlie pleaded, you left a chuckle. "Which part of my story are you all in exactly?"

Loralie spoke. "Doorbell part, Sweetcakes" You chuckled, sitting next to Loralie.

"Well.."

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

As weeks went by, Alastor was agitated, fiddling with his finger as he walked around the halls, anxiously waiting for the doorbell to ring. yet there was nothing.

Alastor spent hours each day pacing back and forth in the halls of his mansion, his hands fidgeting with whatever object he could find. No matter if it was a random paperclip or a discarded book, he would compulsively toy with it as he walked, unable to stay still for long. The house and its surroundings had fallen quiet, with only the occasional sound of a distant car or an irritated passer-by occasionally making its way into his mind.

Days seemed to drift by without any change in this pattern. Alastor's mind, normally sharp and focused, had become scattered and disorganized, his thoughts jumping from one thing to the next as he tried to find something to keep his mind occupied. He found the isolation of his house and his current situation suffocating, but any attempts to reach out and connect with others were met with rejection or indifference. He felt trapped, unable to move forward or find any sense of purpose or meaning in his life.

As time went on, Alastor's anger began to build, his frustration with his situation bubbling to the surface. He had come to the realization that his isolation and lack of purpose were both self-inflicted, and he struggled to find a way to change his circumstances. He longed for connection and purpose, but the fear of rejection and the pain of abandonment held him back. As he grappled with these conflicting emotions, Alastor's world began to crumble around him, leaving him feeling more lost and alone than ever before.

As for you, You're situation didn't escalate well as you wanted it to be, you found yourself arguing with Vox, going back and forth about him leaving, finding excuses to spend a week or two away from you. Till the topic about Alastor came up.

"Alastor?" He paused, clenching his fist. "You've been fucking with him when I'm gone? huh?" You gasped. "What? No!" you blurted out, feeling defensive. "Nothing like that happened." You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in the air. "We just talked, that's all. He's a friend, and we connected over something really important."

Vox crossed his arms, giving you a skeptical look. "Is that really all it was?" You nodded, feeling your heart rate pick up again. "I swear, it was just conversation. Nothing happened, I promise." You held your breath, waiting for Vox's response. "I'm gonna kill that bastard, i swear I'll kill him" He rushed over to the cabinets, frantically going through his things, searching for something.

"Vox... Vox, what are you doing?.." You felt the colors drain from your body as you saw the pistol in his hands. "Vox! Stop it! No!" you rushed over to him as he went over to his car. You followed behind him. Yelling from the top of your lungs. "Vox! Stop! come back!"

You watch in horror as Vox gets into his car, you running after him shouting for him to stop. He glances at you as he starts the engine and speeds off. You try to keep up as he drives away, but soon he is out of sight. You quickly entered inside your home, quickly grabbing your coat as you rushed out of the premises, hurriedly onto the street, waving your hands for any vehicled to come by.

A bus stopped over, quickly, you got in, saying your destination. You watched over the stores and houses you passed by, heart racing and pulsating at every second. till you reached over Alastor's home.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

Alastor stood by his balcony, watching over your home from just across the bay. He felt something unusual, He felt like he was going to be sick, That was when he turned around. A bullet hitting his forehead.

"NO!" you yelled out, rushing over to Alastor falling body, catching him before he fell. "Alastor! Alastor.. Wake up!" You felt tears roll down your cheeks. You hold Alastor's head in your lap, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood streaming from the gunshot wound. You know you need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, but the nearest one is miles away. You can't just leave him here to bleed, You felt him grab your hand, gently cupping your cheeks. "Don't cry.. m-my darling don't cry.. my b..eautiful.. daisy.."

You feel his body go limp in your arms, and you realize that he's gone. You scream out in agony, feeling like the world is crashing down around you. You laid his head down on the floor, running over to Vox who has the gun in his hand. you grabbed it from him. "Y/n.. Y/n! stop it-!" You rushed over to Alastor, placing the gun over your head, grabbing his hand. You placed your lips over his for the first, and last time.

You pulled the trigger, hearing a loud bang as your body falls onto of Alastor, Your fingers intertwined with his.

[eyelessjackspuppyshark]

LAUGHING JACK HEADCANONS? 👉👈

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 YES! Okay so my Laughing Jack isn’t 100% planned out due to him not being a main muse. But I have quite a few head cannons!! These may be quite messy so bare with me! :3

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack originated as a Angelic shapeshifter. He was made to be a “imaginary friend” to help sad and terminally children. Used to make children happy or enjoy their last moments. He was fairly weak during this period of time, feeding off the little emotions around him.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Although due to being trapped in his box for years due to Isaac leaving he began loosing his colour due to his box feeding off Isaac’s mothers negativity. And eventually watching Isaac torture people he was corrupted. LJ lost his colour turning him monochrome, and his body began only feeding off the negativity and souls that were in the house. Due to this he was corrupted and ended up turning into a demonic creature instead of an angelic creature.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack is a shapeshifter and has multiple different forms he takes. One of those forms being “Laughing Jill”, I personally headcanon them being the same person. He also will occasionally shift into child like versions of both of his forms, along with turning into animals for convenience. He’s Genderfluid!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack doesn’t kill children. He doesn’t believe children deserve to suffer. Although he kidnaps children after killing their abusive parents. He typically takes the children and drops them off in completely different states, and sometimes different countries in hopes that they’ll have a better life. Sure it’s strange but he just wants to help children get better.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jacks box is what keeps him alive, it’s like his soul to him. He often keeps it safe with Sally whenever he’s not helping another child. He can morph it into different things as well. He turns it into a small necklace for Sally to wear, Sally also feeds off of the energy from the Box to have a physical form; so without LJs box she wouldn’t be able to touch anything. If his Box is broken he’ll die with it.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Speaking of Sally. Laughing Jack adopted her almost immediately after they met. He felt bad for her due to her situation and promised he’d help and protect her. They’ve got a Father Daughter bound.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 The inside of Laughing Jacks box is like a huge carnival! It used to be colourful but unfortunately it lost all of its colour when he was corrupted. Although LJ is a Kleptomaniac and often steals things from his victims. He also has a compulsive hoarding addiction so his carnival is a mess.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack claims to be Pansexual but in reality he isn’t really attracted to people. He often finds himself accepting dates just for convenience and too have fun. Never being fully interested in people. He’s too busy being a Dad to care about others

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack sees nearly everything in black and white, although he sees the colour red. He’s often fascinated by anything red and will gravitate towards it to check it out. Due to this Him and my OC ARK have a fairly confusing relationship. LJ with randomly touch his hair and he’ll panic.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack often doesn’t understand personal space. He finds himself leaning against people and using them as shoulder rests. Or getting in their face without realizing.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack can sense people’s emotions and will often make his body admit certain pheromones to cheer people up or to make them feel other emotions.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack has a never ending pocket that he keeps candies and small toys in. Often handing them out to the people around him. If you need a fidget toy just ask him and he’ll give you one! He often will drug the insomniacs with melatonin candies just to get them to sleep.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack is only at the mansion due to Sally enjoying it. If Sally wasn’t with him he would continue to do his own work alone.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Laughing Jack can teleport, along with being telepathic. He knows almost everything and it’s scary.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 If Laughing Jack finds a love interest (although it’s very unlikely he would) he’d be obsessed with them and grow very clingy of them. He’d honestly do anything for his partner. Also he’s one loyal MF…

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[thatfriendlyanon]

march touches my lips like a butterfly's wing & a burning coal––a murmur of transformation, a scalding desire to finally be cleansed. every morning i enter the desert to see what company Jesus might provide. most days, i leave His presence with more questions than answers, more sand between my teeth than songs on my lips, but still, there is a breath of wind over the dunes that feels like the Spirit's touch. still, the sun keeps rising in a glowing rectangle across my still-bare wall. i spend my sundays lonely and in tears. i buy myself a bouquet of flowers because it does not need to be my birthday for me to still want something beautiful. i have dreams of friends i have not seen in over two years. i hear my brother on the phone with the man i hate, his voice drifting over from the living room. i ask God to take my hatred. i ask Him to take my bitterness & my selfishness & my doubt. i walk to the grocery store just so i can speak to someone, anyone, for the first time in two days. on the way there i beg God to give me a glimpse of His presence; when i help the man in front of me empty the groceries from his wheelchair's hand-bag, i hear Him reply that He lives inside my hands too.

as always, i am in love with sunlight & spring. unlike other years, i am hesitant for the arrival of april & the poetry it will require of me. i've been writing in circles for months now, ever since something broke in me on my childhood bed last november & kept unraveling for nine long hours on a train. i don't know how to respool it, how to mend whatever snapped inside before i hurt anyone else with these sharp pieces, how to gather up the pools that have been leaking from my heart. the one rule i have for my lenten journal is that i must be honest. the one rule i have for april is that i must keep being brave. birdsong helps with that, & the crocuses i pass on the uphill climb as i search for jobs.

i'm tired of my brain, as always, & the tears press at the back of my throat for no reason on a thursday afternoon when i'm trying to laugh with a friend. i don't know what i'm doing wrong & i still haven't gotten a list of what i'm allowed to want or need. but my tea is warm & the sun is my friend. i'm confused & hopeful & grateful & sluggish & steady & slow. &, maybe most importantly, i am almost actually content. that was the goal of this month, to inch closer to contentment. one night at a time, writing lists of gratitude in my head whenever the obsessions & compulsions play tug-of-war; one morning after another, watching the rectangle of light climb across my wall & daydreaming of all the photos i will soon frame & finally display.

i don't know all that's wrong with me, though i could come up with some educated guesses. i don't know what i'm doing here or why. but i also know i'm loved. between the lines of doubt in my journal are bible verses & hymns of praise. when the desert wind whips around me, tries to throw its sand into my eyes, Jesus shields my body with His own.

[lbibliophile-sw]

Terminal Velocity

Also on AO3 [810w] @ailesswhumptober - day 24: relapse @clonefandomevents - 501st bingo: chips activate AU Part of my Catching AU

The War has been hard on the Jedi. After three years, almost every one has Fallen, has had to be Caught a least once.

Anakin himself, well. Last he checked he was at twenty-three Falls, but he’s not convinced they didn’t lose count somewhere in the middle there; it was a bad campaign. By this point, the routine of Catching is comfortingly familiar, the process of drawing himself back to the Light becoming almost reflex.

As he is finding now.

It made sense to Fall, there in the Chancellor’s ­– Sidious’ – office. His mentor has always offered him advice when he is struggling. And he knows the power the Dark Side offers, is willing to bear another scar on his soul if it means Padme’s safety. He is exhausted and scared, and it was easy to lose himself in the false reassurance of the Dark.

It made sense then, but now that the initial rush of Falling is fading, now that he is away from Sidious’s stare and surrounded by his troopers, he can feel clarity returning.

And the first thing that he notices is that something about his troopers is wrong.

They are used to managing his Falls by now. They know how to direct his fury to where the destruction is warranted, and how to help him regain control when restraint is needed or when the threat is passed. When he draws on the Dark, he relies on them to tell him before he goes too far. Like…oh. Like marching on his home with intent to kill all those inside.

He stops, standing in the middle of the plaza and looking up at the Temple. This is wrong. Even from within the Dark, even with Sidious’s promises of knowledge and power ringing in his ears, he knows it is wrong.

And his troopers should know too. They should be stopping him or diverting him, not following his orders blindly, in silent lockstep.

Fully distracted from his mission, he turns to Commander Appo – not Rex, he’s off protecting Ahsoka – behind him. It is Appo, but if he wasn’t so familiar with his Commander’s Force signature he might have doubted. In the force, the man’s presence is flat, stilted, showing none of the uniqueness that usually shines so brightly in his senses. A quick brush over the minds of the other troopers arrayed behind him shows the same blank focus.

Turning his back on the Temple and its tensed guards, he places his hands either side of Appo’s head, delving deeper. Darkness calls to Darkness, and he feels something shift inside the trooper’s mind. No, not mind – head. It is not Darkness like a compulsion, but anchored in something physical. A physical object directing Appo’s thoughts, supressing his personality; the situation generating Darkness not feeding off it. Anakin wraps himself around the object – a chip? – and squeezes.

Buried so deeply in his mind, Anakin feels the moment when Appo wakes up. First there is confusion. Then realisation seeps in, followed by horror, helplessness, fear, anger desperationgshamepanic… Anakin’s grip slips, the torrent of emotion cut off as the glassy stillness returns.

Anakin carefully withdraws from Appo’s mind. Appo, and presumably the others, are still present beneath whatever it is currently controlling them; good. But they are also clearly going to have the mother of all breakdowns when they are freed, and he doesn’t have time to deal with that as well as the rest of this situation. Which is… for the first time he pauses to fully consider.

The situation is: The war with the Separatists is all but won, and Chancellor Palpatine is about to declare himself Emperor. Chancellor Palpatine has revealed himself as the Sith Lord, and claimed Anakin as his Apprentice. Chancellor Palpatine has declared the Jedi as traitors, and ordered Anakin to help apprehend – kill – them. And Sidious is the one who told him to use the 501st against the Temple, except someone has been tampering with his men leaving them weirdly brainwashed and compliant… And he’s doing all this because Padme is pregnant and Anakin knows she is going to die in childbirth, and Sidious is the only one who can help him save her, because unspecified Sith magic is better than the modern medicine they haven’t actually tried or investigated properly…

That sounds rather like Anakin is being manipulated, being used. Like they all are. Even with the single-minded focus of the Dark, he doesn’t like that.

 So. Anakin will deal with Sidious. And then he will find Padme and make her book a healer’s appointment. And then he will free his troopers. And then he will gather everyone together into a big post-Catching cuddle pile so he can know that they are all there and safe and he has protected them.

He nods to himself and begins leading his men back to the Senate Dome. First, Sidious.

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓: 𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

'𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩.' '𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬.'

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙬𝙣𝙚𝙧, 𝙉𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞 𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

0- 𝙋𝙄𝙇𝙊𝙏

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What a sinful sight intercourse is.

The two bodies pleasurebaly roll against each other. Their exposed and bare bodies emitting the heat and tension felt as the two work toghter to create a symphony. No matter how many times one attempts to deny it, the gratifying cries that filled the room, like an opera singer in a vast and endless theatre, were like music to ones ears.

Their skilled bodies would work in ways, that made the rush and feeling of this intimate ecstasy feel addicting, like sucking the sugar of one another lips.

Desperation; though it truly is compulsive.

In a dim, dark setting is where they find themselves. Her smaller figure repetitively lifting  up and falling back down again at a faster rate, as her hand rests on the man's large and broad shoulders, for support.

He penetrates deep inside her, pumping her and filling up a hole she never knew needed to be. She would roll her hips, and aggressively snap the back before whining breathy whines. Her moans would drag out as she would drop her head into his shoulder; no strength left within. All she could do was slide her hands down her faintly sweaty body and rub her overly sensitive clit that throbbed needingly.

Without and hesitation, the man would pick her up, sliding his dick in and out of her slippery pussy.

The amount of dependency the two have on one another, the vast amount of rhythm and synchronisation the sinners have within them should be applauded. Many should marvel at the ability they have to make others around crave for the intese feeling that builds up deep within them, the  high that they have to chase.

Is it really that gruesome?

The idea of it being looked down  upon, almost forbidden to engage with activities of someone higher up and of authority. The simple concept alone is enough to increase the tempo, and the vocal dynamics of the two. Its enough to cause legs to tremble and breathing shudder. Its enough to make them reach pure bliss.

Not shortly after, do the fnaikar ropes of tainted innocence, come leaking out if their stimulated sex organs. They coated each other in this sticky warm substance and painted the decorated sheet beneath.

No feeing in the world will ever compare to the overwhelming sensation of an orgasm taking over their bodies. At the end of it all, the sinners stay close, loving ach other in the aftermath.

It's a truly sensational act.

DISCLAIMER: this chapter's writing style was inspired by stqrlverr and their book 'sinful watchers' on wattpad. the words are my own, everything else is my own it's just the style of writing i wanted to recreate. thanks.

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝟏

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

[𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 . . .]

Name:Y/N L/N

Age: 23 Job: Personal Assistant Role: Main Character

Name: Naaila Khalsa Age: 22 Job: Social Media Influencer Role: Best friend

Name: Nanami Kento Age: 25 Job: Business Owner Role: Main Love Interest

and more characters .  .   .

Welcome to PERSONAL ASSISTANT

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ i do not own jujutsu kaisen, nor the characters! i only own the plot, and my OC Naaila Khalsa, Darios and Annalise.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ Strong language

Sexual Scenes

Started on 21/05/22 Kento Nanami x Reader ©All Rights Reserved

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫…

[ghostclangen]

Marshlily’s entire body trembles. It’s been doing that a lot these past few moons, small but violent jerks that the others have long since stopped pointing out for fear of a verbal lashing. That, too, is new. New and wrong on her tongue.

She bites down on that traitor of a tongue as she tentatively approaches the leader’s den. Charredtail, beloved Charredtail, is out on patrol, but Hornetstar, she knows, is curled up in her nest. 

What a lazy bitch. 

The thought, not only cruel but patently untrue, stabs its way into the back of Marshlily’s mind and makes her cringe. These things have been happening lately, too: bursts of overwhelming anger that isn’t her own, like something’s living in her head. She shakes her head to dismiss it, a compulsion that never really makes her feel better, and pads up to the mouth of the den. “Hornetstar?” she calls softly.

Hornetstar was, as predicted, curled up in her nest, but she raises her head at the sound of Marshlily’s voice. “Oh, Marshlily! What’s up?” she asks, a smile in her voice. Leave it to Hornetstar to treat her nicely when she doesn’t deserve it.

Forcing her muscles to stop shaking, Marshlily settles down next to Hornetstar’s nest. “Uh, so … I wanted to talk to you about something. I have been for a while.”

Hornetstar frowns and tilts her head. “Talk to me about what?”

Marshlily begins to tremble again, this time only out of nerves and not … whatever’s been going on with her. You should know; you’re a Star-damned healer. A failure of one. That thought isn’t some disembodied feeling; it’s all her. When she sees the concern in Hornetstar’s eyes, she shakes her head again and says, “It’s nothing important. I mean, it’s important, but it’s not bad.”

Hornetstar breathes a sigh of clear relief, then gives her a bashful little chuckle. “Oh, good. You scared me a little.”

Marshlily huffs a laugh as well. Yeah, me too, she thinks. “So … okay. This has been bugging me for a while. A long time, I guess.” Shit, I should have come up with a script. “There’s nothing you really need to do about it, I just figured I should tell you.”

Hornetstar twitches her whiskers in acknowledgement, but doesn’t interrupt.

“I, uh … I really like …” Marshlily shakes her head. “No, I guess I love Charredtail. And- and not just like a friend. And I promise I don’t-”

“You’re in love with Charredtail? You’re in love with my mate?” Jealousy flashes in Hornetstar’s eyes, and she straightens up to stand over Marshlily. “Is that what you’ve been acting weird about? How could you do that!?”

YOU WRETCHED BITCH!

Marshlily squeezes her eyes tight and says, both to Hornetstar and to the rage in her head, “No, stop! I just …”

“I can’t believe you would-”

WRETCHED! YOU WRETCHED BITCH!

“Stop it!”

“No! Not when you’re trying to steal-”

DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE D

“- my mate! Can’t you just-”

IE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DI

“- keep this shit to yourself? I don’t-”

E DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

“STOP it!”

Marshlily’s voice raises into a shriek, and the world blinks out. 

When she comes to her senses, Marshlily turns and vomits, first the actual contents of her stomach and then the sick bile of her empty insides. Her nostrils are flooded with the tang of blood. What she saw when she opened her eyes, she saw only for an instant, but it’s burned into the back of her eyelids now; closing her eyes again doesn’t help. 

Hornetstar lies in front of her, her throat sliced open, eyes glassy and blank. The fur of her neck is stiff with blood. She’s not breathing. 

A shiver goes down Marshlily’s spine as she hears pawsteps behind her. Breathing quick and shallow, she whips around to see a crowd of wide-eyed cats; her heart sinks as she recognizes Charredtail among them. He raises his eyes to meet hers, and the pain and rage in them almost makes her vomit again.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she chokes out, but she knows it is. The warm, wet feeling of blood still lingers between her toes. 

KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM ALL

The terror that kept her pinned to the spot whips around into the need to run, both for her own sake and for the others’. How many more loved ones’ lives would the voice in her head make her take?

Before any of the others can react, Marshlily pushes through the crowd and bolts toward the mouth of the Cavern. The pounding of her heart drowns out the sound of her paws on the rocky earth, but they can’t drown out the violence that clings to her: KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM! EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM DIE DIE DIE DIE!

She doesn’t stop until she physically has to, crumpling down onto some rock somewhere. Where is she? Is she even on GhostClan territory anymore? Well, it doesn’t matter—some cat will track her down. Some cat will find her, and some cat will kill her. Some cat will be right to.

Marshlily can’t keep back a heartbroken yowl at the thought, first for herself, then for Hornetstar, then for the clanmates she’s  betrayed. What’s wrong with me? What happened? Why is this happening?

She’s been dreaming of the Dark Forest every night. Maybe this is just a continuation … another bad dream. It has to be, right? She’d never do that. That’s what she tells herself, anyway, over and over, trying to drown out those disembodied feelings that still haunt her. Some cat’s fury sits beside her devastation. What she would give to get it out …

“Marshlily? Marshlily!”

Marshlily doesn’t register the voice calling her name at first. It takes a few seconds to recognize it in her addled state, but then it clicks. “Hornetstar?” she calls weakly.

Another few seconds, and there’s a cat beside her—a real one. A good one. “It’s okay, Marshlily. I told everyone to stay back at camp. What’s going on?” Hornetstar’s voice is hardly audible, but even though it’s quiet, Marshlily can hear the concern in it—concern, oddly enough, for her.

She raises her head to look at Hornetstar, but changes her mind. She’s not worthy of looking her in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening, I …”

Her eyes widen when Hornetstar does the opposite of what she should be doing: she presses her forehead against Marshlily’s shoulder and purrs. “What are you doing?” Marshlily asks. “Why aren’t you …”

“We’ve all been so worried about you!” Hornetstar cries. “I’m sorry I yelled, I was just—I was scared. It doesn’t even matter, you can have Charredtail all to yourself for all I care, just …” She sighs, and her voice is choked with tears when she says, “I just want you to be you again.”

TOO BAD, MOTHERFUCKER! SHE’LL NEVER BE HER AGAIN!

As touched as she is, Marshlily pushes Hornetstar away, sending her stumbling backwards. “You have to get out of here,” she says, trembling once more. “I’m just going to kill you again.”

“I have seven more lives-”

KILL HER! KILL THE BITCH! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO! TAKE HIM FOR YOURSELF!

“Get out of here!” Marshlily shrieks as the twitching overtakes her. “You have to leave me.”

“Marshlily …”

“I’ll be fine! I just—I need to be alone. I need to …” She shakes her head. “Just … please.”

Hornetstar stands there silently for a moment, then takes a shuddering breath and says, “I’ll be back for you, okay? Celebi and Hubert and I, we’ll figure something out.”

KILL HER NOW! WHILE YOU STILL CAN!

“Okay, right,” Marshlily says hurriedly. “Just leave me alone for right now, okay?”

Hornetstar stares at her for another moment, then darts forward to press her forehead against Marshlily’s shoulder again. “We’re gonna fix you, okay?”

She’s gone before Marshlily can respond, bounding up the rocks back to the Cavern. Sitting beside the alien violence in her head, Marshlily watches her leave, then hangs her head. What’s wrong with me?

[daybreakrising]

@avaere: [ rain ] a romantic kiss in the rain ( you give me underwater, i give you water falling from the skies for kaveh and vautrin )

It is so rare to find someone who thrives under a downpour. Particularly here, within Fontaine, where rain is so common that the average local groans every time the skies darken with familiar clouds, and most rush for cover at the first gentle drops that fall. He has always been outside of the norm here, even when he was still merely human (as human as a Fontanian could be, that is). Rain has always been soothing to him - delightful to him. When everyone else dashed for shelter, he stood and let it soak him through.

Back then, he often stood alone. Now... well, things are different now.

The first time Fontaine had deigned to demonstrate the weather it is known for, Vautrin had expected the architect to react as most others - to dash for cover amidst complaints. When Kaveh had simply stood and turned his face to welcome the rain, Vautrin had felt something inside him soften with a tremendous wave of affection. Here was someone who saw the beauty in nature the way he did, someone who appreciated rain instead of scorning it.

It was but the first of many walks in the rain that he would share with the architect, and he treasured them all. Even amidst the dreary grey gloom the clouds cast upon the world, Kaveh shined. Sodden and dripping, yet still smiling - he had never looked more beautiful in Vautrin's eyes.

There are many side-effects of his 400-year swim - a more complicated one is the ripples of emotion and memory that become amplified through his connection to hydro. And whilst this is sometimes a curse, his head filling with voices and faces that are simultaneously foreign and familiar to him, sometimes it can be a blessing.

Like now, for example, as he watches Kaveh once more turn his face to the sky, raindrops peppering his skin like a gentle caress. He feels, instantly, the joy that radiates from the other man, feels his delight. Ah, so refreshing!, he hears as clear as if Kaveh had spoken aloud. His own heart is filled with warmth and bliss in turn, and just as with that first rainfall, he feels a swell of emotion rise within his chest.

Not just mere affection this time, but love.

It is like a compulsion, the way he steps forward, raises a hand (for once freed from the confines of his gloves) to catch Kaveh gently by the chin. He feels the thrum of emotion amplify further with the direct contact, and it only fuels the fire within him. He tilts the blond's face down, towards his own, and leans in to capture his lips in a kiss, right there in the middle of the street.

His hand moves to cradle a damp cheek, fingers threading into wet locks of hair. The other falls to Kaveh's waist, his touch warm against the sodden fabric of his shirt, and he draws the other in close as his kiss deepens, so consumed by emotion that he no longer cares for the public nature of this display.

It is almost overwhelming, the way his very being fills with the shared emotion between them - he is surrounded by Kaveh's bliss, his joy, his love, and he repays it all in kind, pouring every ounce of his heart into that single kiss. He feels light, as though every weight he carries upon his shoulders has been lifted aside, and he perhaps experiences, for the first time in his long, long life, true happiness.

He breaks the kiss, if only to gaze upon that beautiful face once more, the face of a man who has given him so much and asked for so little in return. If there was a reason for my return, perhaps it was so I could find you.

As primordial swirls meet sparkling maroon, there comes an awareness of something akin to a miracle - although the rain continues to fall around them in its steady rhythm, not a single drop touches the two men standing amidst the downpour, as though there is an aura that surrounds and shields them.

"We should get you into some dry clothes." He murmurs above the drumming of the rain. "Wouldn't want you to get sick." His fingers interlace with Kaveh's as he steps back, tugging the blond along with him as the downpour parts around them.

There are some side effects that prove useful - and if their shoes step atop the puddles in their path, rather than splashing through them, well... surely that was a mere trick of the eye, no?

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

I was wondering what Cabin in the Woods reminded me of and it finally dawned on me… Blond hair, artistic abilities, isolation from the world, parental manipulation…

IT ALMOST SCREAMS "TANGLED" 💃🌼

(I have no idea why you need this information and I just wanted to share it lol)

Lol I love Tangled. When will my life begin is my A.D.H.D anthem! And I’ve actually thought about this before and totally see the comparison, especially when I write scenes that are either super emotionally manipulative or centered around Spiders hair.

I’m super eager to share more Cabin in the Wood as I continue to write it so here’s a longer snippet with some context. In one of the endings where Spider has been with Quaritch for over three years he develops Trichotillomania ( compulsive hair pulling) due to the prolonged stress of his captivity. His dad catches on and gives him a buzzcut to get him to stop, so this is a chunk of that scene but from Quaritch’s perspective.

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

He made his way outside finding his son standing by the chair, shifting around nervously. Junior was smart. He definitely knew what was about to happen. Miles Sr took the clippers in hand snapping on the number two guard. “Well, sit down. The faster we get started, the faster it’ll be done.”

Junior paled at the sight. “Pa…that’s gonna be really short. Can’t I….”

His big brown eyes pleaded with him to not do this. Miles Sr felt guilt begin to creep its way in but he quickly snuffed it out, harshly cutting his son off, “Jesus Miles, I swear you're worse than a girl. It’s not like it won’t grow back.”

Junior took a small step back, clearly wanting to run. “But...aren’t I old enough to get a choice?”

“No.” The father said simply. Not when you hurt yourself, he thought. “As long as I’m breathin’ you'll never be old enough. Because I’m the parent and you're the child. What I say goes. Now stop arguin’ back and sit down.”

His son hesitated for a moment, scanning his surroundings for some kind of escape. Realizing there was none he finally sat down, gripping the arms of the chair for dear life. “That’s my good boy,” Miles Sr said gently, as he guided his son’s head to the side. Junior was already so tense and scared. Maybe this wasn’t the right course of action.

No, that was just his emotions talking. This was for the best. For Junior’s own good.“Trust me son, you’re gonna feel a lot better after this.” His bad habit will stop. He’ll be happy again. That’s what Miles Sr needed to believe. He tried to do it as fast as possible, having the right side of Junior’s head shorn in just four passes. His son had his face scrunched up as if he was in pain, holding his breath as the clippers moved from the top of his head to the base of his neck. About half way through was when his boy went numb staring off into the distance completely dead eyed.

He’ll thank me later when he’s not balding, Miles Sr thought as he tilted Junior’s limp head to the left to finish his task. This is for the best. “There,” he was done, piles of honey blond curls laying at their feet, “quick and painless.” Junior didn’t move. Miles Sr ruffled what was left of his son’s hair in an attempt to get a reaction. His boy remained as lifeless as a rag doll. “Y’a look good.” Junior was a handsome boy. He’d look good no matter what. But truthfully the father hated it. The cut made his son look older, and with his watery, shell shocked eyes he reminded him of the prisoners of war he’d rescued during his marine days. It tore him up inside seeing his once happy little boy like that.

[gumclones]

As a fellow Chicle enjoyer, I must ask for your opinion on my biggest and most beloved crack ship of Chicle and Simon. They both went through the whole "being trapped inside your own head as a debased form of yourself to only then be freed from that state nearly 1000 years later in a world completely different from the one you knew, causing you to both long for the past whilst also resenting it," thing (I headcanon that the main reason Chicle went along with/followed Gumbald, despite being betrayed by him was because he genuinely did think of him and Lolly as his family and that by going along with Gumbalds craziness he could regain some of the normalcy that was in his previous life.) Plus, their personalitys seem like they would mesh really well together

first off, thanks for the ask! always nice to talk to another Chicle appreciator. gonna put the rest under a cut because I have lots of thoughts:

I'd never considered the ship before! I definitely think that interactions between Simon and any of the gum family would be great - partly because they've got so much in common with Bubblegum, someone to whom Simon was drawn because of her resemblance to Betty, and partly because of what you mentioned about how they all have experience being trapped with mental alteration for so very, very long. plus, as we've seen in Simon Petrikov, after getting de-crowned Simon goes to the same tavern that Punch Bowl and Crunchy were seen at, so there's definitely opportunity for them to meet and bond.

there's an interesting difference between the gum family's situations and Simon's - while the crown actively pulls its wearer into the shape of Gunther's impression of Evergreen, the dum-dum solution seems to mainly have effects on awareness, demeanor, and memory. Simon draws a very sharp distinction between the Ice King and himself, while Gumbald treats his time as a punch bowl as a painful period of his own life and refers to Crunchy as Chicle to no protest from Crunchy or Lolly. Chicle in particular seems to have kept a lot of his sense of self as Crunchy, as shown in The Pajama War and The Dark Cloud. this perspective might help Simon out quite a bit - I have a lot of feelings about the amount of transformation in Adventure Time and how it affects identity. (relatedly, I think both of them should get to hang out with Sweet P!)

I think that Chicle and Lolly's reasons for allying with Gumbald are definitely multifaceted. their familial bond definitely factors into it - we see that on top of doing reconnaissance/sabotage work like in Marcy and Hunson Chicle has completed a lot of paintings for Gumbald's base, which seem to be done completely voluntarily, as when he runs away from working on the horse painting for fear of the base getting breached, Gumbald doesn't punish him or even look annoyed. there's also the way that Gumbald looks angry when Jake splashes Chicle with the dum-dum solution harmless contents of the celebration bucket, his sad expression when speaking with Crunchy, and his sending Crunchy away from the battlefield to safety.

I think that there's also an aspect of practicality - after all, when they first got reverted at the end of Skyhooks II they had literally nobody else but each other. even if nobody but Bonnie knew what they looked like, they still look so much like her that they'd be sure to grab attention if they went out undisguised. and Chicle does mention a "secret goal [to] never die" in Gumbaldia, so he must have decided that Gumbald and Lolly had the best shot of helping him attain that goal.

and now I'm thinking of the interactions that they could have, since I think they'd shake out differently depending on which form they'd be in. Chicle seems a lot more openly insecure about how he's perceived than Crunchy does - he's defensive about his laugh, for instance, and he cracks jokes almost compulsively - the mime comment, the "high standing" joke, the "oops, was that bad" taunt - and he’s intensely ashamed when he gets juiced. I'm not sure how Simon would react to that, to be honest, but I think the Ice King would be very validating - my mental image is kind of based on the Ice King's friendship with Abracadaniel. Crunchy's not devoid of insecurity - he looks very offended about being called "the new Cinnamon Bun" - but he seems to channel that into ruthlessness. this would make for really entertaining Ice King interactions and with Simon… well, I think that Betty's ruthless side is one of the things that Simon loves about her! also, on a more serious note, I think that if we're specifically talking about interactions that take place during the Fionna and Cake time period, Crunchy would be able to give Simon hope. after all, even though getting turned back into a candy person was something Chicle was terrified of, we see that he's still living well (and alive 1000+ years later, to boot. keep it up king at this rate you really will never die)!

again, thank you for the ask! I salute you in your shipping endeavors 🫡

[mywifeleftme]

321: The The // Soul Mining

Soul Mining The The 1983, Epic

I’d hazard Soul Mining is the only The The album most people have heard and, while it amply demonstrates definite article Matt Johnson’s capacity for genuine brilliance, I think that’s generally fine. The others have their interest, but Soul Mining is the only time Johnson consistently limits his compulsion to wallow in baroque self-loathing to the lyrical arena. Though the words frequently sound like the prequel to My Twisted World: The Story of Elliot Rodger (“You’ve been a ‘PROSTITUTE TO HUMILITY’ / She’s invaded your life and you’ve got to live apart / In order to SURVIVE”), the music has an irrepressible vibrancy to it, its cutting-edge for ’83 electronic beats garlanded with unexpected touches of accordion, fiddle, xylimba and more. It’s the juxtaposition that gives Soul Mining its immense charm, the fact that its form and content frequently don’t align, the sense of a man working on music for people to dance and make love to despite his brain’s persistent efforts to eat itself alive.

Soul Mining is defined by its singles, “This is the Day” and “Uncertain Smile,” two of the greatest of the ‘80s, of all time in fact. “This is the Day” is about nothing less than those hinge points in life where something inside you shifts, and you know that things are going to be different, even if the full ramifications of that change may take years to come into focus—a song of such tender empathy that just listening to it can be enough to bring one of those shifts on from the deep place it lay, waiting for a sign. “Uncertain Smile” also places its finger directly on an ineffable, almost inexpressible sensation, the uncertain moment when an emotional block inside has begun to thaw, and a feeling that’s been absent so long you’ve forgotten its name returns. The album version climaxes with a bravura piano solo from former Squeeze Jools Holland that would get my vote for the instrument’s finest moment on a pop song.

Of the rest, the song that comes closest to these peaks is the near-ten-minute closer “Giant,” a simmering 12”-single style head-nodder that rides one nasty bass synth lick, gradually layering on tricky, interlocking analog and synth rhythms. Johnson famously didn’t have a sequencer at the time, meaning he played a lot of the album’s “loops” manually, and the hands-on approach means he’s constantly switching up his patterns in a way you don’t always consciously register. Two-thirds of the way through he drops everything out for a while to let former Orange Juice drummer Zeke Manyika take an extended drum solo—when he finally brings everything back up a few minutes later I want to throw shit around I’m so hyped. Johnson intended it to close the record, but much to his ire international versions of the record (like my Canadian pressing) tack on contemporaneous single “Perfect.” A pop gem somewhat in the vein of “This is the Day,” it makes for an amazing cooldown from the last few tracks of clattering psychic angst, and the album’s lesser without it—it’s one of Johnson’s best.

321/365