#Tire Selection and Rims

[recallsdirect]

Vehicle Recall: Shyft Utilimaster Velocity Commercial Vans:

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

Choso schedules your first kiss. You tell him that’s not how romance works. He respectfully disagrees.

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: i have no excuse for this i just really wanted to indulge myself and write something funny and cute with choso 🧍‍♀️

There were a lot of things you had accepted about your life.

Your taste in men was questionable at best, catastrophic at worst.

You were somehow best friends with a 150-year-old half-cursed spirit who had the social skills of a damp napkin.

Choso had absolutely no idea how romance worked. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

Currently? Currently, you were experiencing another prime example of Choso’s complete and utter lack of understanding when it came to romance.

It all started because Choso had been staring at you again.

You ignored it at first. He did this sometimes—watching you like you were a particularly interesting puzzle, his expression blank but his eyes full of deep, incomprehensible thought.

But this time? This time, something was different.

"Choso," you sighed, setting down your drink with a dull clink against the wooden table. Your fingers toyed with the rim of the glass as you fixed him with a tired stare. "You’re looking at me like I just told you I eat drywall. What’s up?"

He blinked, slow and deliberate, as if carefully selecting his words from some internal archive. And yet, when he finally spoke, his words were as blunt ever. "I want to kiss you."

You choked. On air.

There were many ways to confess romantic intent. Some people wrote love letters filled with poetic declarations. Some planned extravagant dates beneath starlit skies. Some flirted with playful smirks and teasing banter.

Choso? Choso just dropped the bomb mid-eye contact like it was the daily weather report.

You stared at him, mind attempting to reboot as though someone had just yanked the power cord from your brain. "I’m sorry—what?"

"I want to kiss you," he repeated, his deep voice steady, his tone as casual as if he had just stated a fundamental truth of the universe.

Oh. Okay. Yeah. No big deal. Just your heart casually leaving your body and ascending into the stratosphere.

"Uh. Why?" you managed to say, because apparently, your brain had short-circuited, and this was all it could come up with.

Choso tilted his head slightly, a faint furrow appearing between his brows, as though he was confused by the question itself. "I do not know. I just feel… drawn to you."

Your soul nearly detached from your corporeal form. Was this real life? Were you hallucinating?

Choso, utterly oblivious to your internal meltdown, continued without hesitation. "I read that humans kiss to show affection. I like you. Therefore, I want to kiss you."

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

This was so unfair. So deeply, profoundly unfair. Because Choso was saying quite possibly the most romantic thing you had ever heard, and he was doing it with the blank, expressionless face of a haunted Victorian painting.

"Okay," you finally forced out, struggling to regain control over your entire existence. "But, like—have you ever kissed anyone before?"

Choso hesitated. "No."

Right. Of course. That made sense. He was, technically, 150 years old, but he had also spent most of that time as a sentient fetus in a jar, which also meant—

Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

"You… you do know how kissing works, right?"

"Yes," Choso said immediately. There was a pause. "…No."

That was what you thought.

You sighed, leaning back into your seat. "Okay, so, kissing isn’t just—like—you don’t just slam your face into someone else’s face and call it a day. There’s… a process."

At that, Choso straightened, looking at you with the heavy sincerity of a medieval knight about to go into battle.

"…Do you want to?"

...Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Your brain instantly blue-screened.

You had to physically reboot yourself before responding. "Are—are you asking if I want to kiss you? Like right now?"

Choso nodded, his expression unwavering, his seriousness almost comical. "If it is something you desire, I will fulfill it."

Okay, what kind of phrasing—

You inhaled deeply, grasping for logic. "Dude, that makes it sound like you’re about to duel me."

"I am prepared," he said, dead serious.

"No—No, Choso, that’s not—" You facepalmed. "Listen, a first kiss isn’t supposed to be a…transaction. It just… happens."

Choso nodded slowly, processing. Then, after a contemplative pause, he asked, "So when should it happen?"

Oh, for the love of—

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. "It’s not something you schedule."

Choso frowned, his dark eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Why not?"

You blinked. "Because that’s kind of... weird?"

Choso seemed to consider this, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. Then, with complete sincerity, he pulled out his phone, tapped open the Notes app, and typed:

Kiss [Y/N]

You stared.

"…Did you just put it on your to-do list?"

Choso nodded, completely unfazed.

"Choso."

"Yes."

"You are ridiculous."

"I am thorough."

You opened your mouth.

Paused.

Closed it.

No thoughts, head empty.

Fine. Whatever.

You were so not dealing with this right now.

A few days later, you were minding your business, sipping your little drink in the sanctuary of your apartment, when Choso—unprompted, suddenly announced:

“I believe now is the time.”

You blinked, mid-sip. "For what?"

Choso met your eyes with the unwavering solemnity of a man delivering a prophecy.

“…The kiss.”

Your brain performed several acrobatic flips before promptly crashing into a brick wall.

“I—” You choked, nearly inhaling your drink. “What—”

“You said it must happen naturally,” he explained, voice calm, tone absolute. “And I have determined that this is a natural moment.”

“…Have you?”

“Yes,” he confirmed with a surety that suggested he had spent hours contemplating this very moment. “I have done research.”

Oh. Oh no.

You stared at him warily. "Choso," you said slowly, carefully, as if approaching a feral animal, "what research?"

“I watched a rom-com.”

“Okay.” You exhaled sharply. “Which one?”

Choso paused. “Shrek 2.”

You nearly died on the spot.

“Dude, that’s not—” You groaned, slapping a hand to your forehead. “That’s—That’s not a romance movie.”

He frowned, clearly unconvinced. “But the ogre and the human shared a bond of great depth—”

“Choso.”

Choso frowned, a picture of mild disappointment. “Fine. Then perhaps you would prefer we reenact the upside-down kiss from ‘Spider-Man’—”

“Oh my god—” You buried your face in your hands. You peeked at him between your fingers, only to freeze.

That’s when you realized something—

Choso—aloof, unreadable, forever stoic Choso—was nervous.

Not visibly, not in a way most people would catch. But you knew him well enough by now to notice the minute tells—the way his fingers flexed, the way his jaw tensed, the almost imperceptible way his gaze flickered down before meeting yours again.

He wasn’t saying all of this because he thought it was a joke.

He was saying it because he was genuinely trying to make it special.

Your heart stuttered and did a little backflip.

You exhaled, gentling your voice. "Choso."

He looked at you immediately. “Yes?”

You softened. “Just… kiss me.”

Choso’s eyes widened just a fraction, the faintest breath of hesitation passing through him.

And then—

Oh.

Oh, this was real.

This was actually happening.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs, your hands feeling unsteady as they curled into fists at your sides. He leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips, warm and steady.

"Choso," you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He paused. "...Yes?"

You exhaled shakily. "You're supposed to close your eyes."

Choso’s brows furrowed slightly. "But then how will I know where to aim?"

A breathless laugh tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. “Just—trust me.”

Choso hesitated, then, with the same meticulous precision he approached everything with, his eyes fluttered shut.

You did the same.

And when he finally kissed you, it was—

Perfect.

Soft. Warm.

Tentative at first, as though he was memorizing something fragile and unfamiliar. But then, as you sighed into him—melting into the moment—he grew bolder. His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing the delicate skin beneath your ear, cradling you with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

…For about five seconds before Choso pulled back and, in the most serious tone imaginable, asked, “Should I be doing something with both of my hands?”

You burst out laughing.

Choso, mortified, went stiff. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because—” You wheezed, struggling to breathe. “Because you looked so serious, and then you asked that—”

Choso averted his gaze, clearly embarrassed. “I wanted to ensure proper form.”

“Oh my god.” You were still laughing as you grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist, giving them a light pat, grinning. “There. Perfect form.”

Choso blinked, glancing down at where his hands now rested against you, before looking back up with startling intensity.

“…Okay.”

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you again—deeper, slower.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, soft and all-consuming, as your hands instinctively gripped around his shirt. Choso held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable. He only pulled back when absolutely necessary, his breathing slightly uneven, his dark eyes half-lidded and—oh. Oh.

They were so pretty.

You stared at him, breathless, still trying to gather your thoughts when Choso exhaled, studied you for a moment, and then, in complete and utter seriousness, said:

"I still do not understand the purpose of closing my eyes."

You groaned.

Choso, entirely unfazed, simply tilted his head and leaned in to kiss you again.

(You let him.)

[strawbrrycowboy]

Last Call for Love

Vander x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Vander and you have been dancing around each other for far too long for it to still be considered friendly banter. Is there any better start to a relationship then fucking on a random weekday?

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: unprotected sex, friends to lovers, one use of good girl, size kink, daddy kink, belly bulge, sex on a table

The heavy wooden door gave way to The Last Drop, the familiar warmth of the tavern enveloping you from the night's chill. Low amber lighting splashed across the establishment, illuminating the broad figure behind the counter. The jukebox mutes your footsteps falling along the well worn wooden flooring; a layer of alcoholic stickiness clinging to the soles of your shoes as you walk.

Despite the long missing crowd, the air still reeks of cigars smoked throughout the day and shared drinks that had sloshed over their rims. Vander stands at the center of it all, his hand covered in a rag as he cleans glasses after the day. Sorry to say we’ve closed up shop.” His eyes flicker up to spot you standing in the middle of the room, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A moment passes between the two of you before you simultaneously burst into laughter.

You smile, ignoring his faked complaint and walk over to the bar. Not wanting a barrier between the two of you, you saunter around the counter to welcome yourself behind the bar. It was one of those nights where Vander wasn’t tired after his shift, some energy leftover from the long day. He’d tell you that it was a lucky chance that he didn’t feel like such an old man. He has always been dramatic like that.

“Go on, make yourself at home,” Vander drawls sarcastically, acting as if your presence was a chore. You knew he didn’t mean it though; if not for the mirthful lilt to his voice, for the fact that he was currently selecting two clean glasses and your favorite bottle of liquor.

“Oh I will. Vander, you aren’t as intimidating as you like to think.” He shakes his head, “The Hound of The Underground isn’t scary enough for ya?”

Beaming, you amble up to his side, grabbing the drink from him. “Thank you,” you hum and clink it against the rim of his own filled glass. Vander smiles, pausing until your lips part over the glass. When you tip your head back to take a large swig he mirrors your movements, drinking half of his glass in one go.

The burn slides down your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe through your nose. The resulting chuckle from Vander makes you roll your eyes as you set the alcohol back down.

“Is that hilarious?” You question and reopen your eyes to glance at him. “Quite.” The sarcasm came naturally as Vander found his pipe and matches, always needing them to pair with his liquor. Vander hums lowly, swiping a match across the side of the counter.

“Say, is there a reason you’re pestering me so much tonight? Somebody pissed in your cereal, eh?” The lit match lowers to the mix packed into his pipe, Vander promptly shaking the flame out.

Tossing the burned match to the side, he takes a long drag from the pipe, exhaling a plume of smoke after the count of five. You slowly blink up at him, gaze focusing on the hair that covered his moving jaw. The soft curve under his chin slopes down into his neck that flexes with the exertion of his sigh. He’s so handsome to watch.

It wasn’t your fault when your hand found its way to the side of his neck, tracing the tendons that jump under your cautious touch.

Vander knew you wouldn’t answer him, not when you’re mapping out his structure like this, curious and wanting. Besides, there was no need to answer, he was just messing with you. Vander hands you the pipe, raising an eyebrow in silent question. It wasn’t often that you smoked with him, but he can sense the tension that rested between your shoulder blades. He faintly wonders if your day has been as tiring as his. Maybe even moreso. Your fingertips left his neck to lightly dig into his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt giving little resistance.

When your lips part obediently, he places the lip of his pipe on the plush of yours. Letting your mouth fall shut, you take a tentative puff. The thick smoke rolls over your tongue, choking your saliva glands mercilessly. You expectedly jerk back, coughing with an exaggerated gag, “I seriously don’t understand how you smoke that shit.”

“It’s smooth,” Vander lies, knowing it was anything but. His rough palm finds your back, rubbing up and down, dragging your shirt up by an inch. “Shut the fuck up,” you rasp as he laughs quietly. Your hand thumps his shoulder at his lack of overwhelming sympathy and unceremoniously falls away.

Vander did feel bad for you choking on the fumes, but he didn't feel horrible when he saw the way your face had scrunched up. The heat rising to your cheeks, the tears stinging your eyes…fuck if it didn’t get him thinking.

Before Vander has the chance to stress himself out, his heavy hand creeps further up your back. His thick fingers swallow the width of the base of your neck as he cradles it. The heat from his hand tingles down your spine, leaving you staring owlishly up at him. “Here,” he guides you, his thumb pressing just below your jaw.

Vander tilts your head up as he puffs on his pipe. Taking a small drag, he jerks his head to the side, signaling for you to open your mouth again. Understanding his hint, you follow his silent order. The rough pad of his thumb sinks into your skin a little harder and he dips down to your height, breathing the smoke into your mouth.

The slight brush of your lips feels like static electricity instantaneously zapping across your skin. The smoke overflows your waiting mouth, creating a fog between you and him. Inhaling it back in was an impossible feat with you frozen at his boldness. And the warmth from his pipe was no match for the warmth radiating from his body wedged against yours, wrapping itself around you and pulling you in.

Vander, on the other hand, found himself equally as entranced by the expression on your face. The knit to your brow made you look like you were silently pleading for him to break the moment with his mouth on yours. It was downright indecent and yet he can’t possibly deny that look.

The silence stretched on between the two of you. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was certainly tense—brimming with possibility. Neither of you could decipher when the tension between both of you had started; maybe it had festered for weeks or longer. Either way, ending up so close together was no longer a jarring occurrence.

The tether continues to tug you closer and closer together until your chests press against each other, beating hearts speaking in turn. “Vander,” you snip impatiently, making the larger man flash a cheeky smile. Your brain reels with the hope of finally giving into your desire for each other. The dance between you was a fickle thing, one that you have enjoyed for a long time, but loathed more every second that Vander didn’t kiss you.

If there was ever a chance to feel him on you, even for a sharp second, it seemed that now was the time to have him. Who knew if he would ever get this close again if the moment slipped by? Right before the pressure becomes unbearable and you open your eyes, Vander heeds your warning and leans forward fully to slot his mouth onto yours.

Your heart skips a beat, blood roaring in your ears and throbbing between your thighs. The thought of anything else evaporates from your brain leaving you unable to focus on anything but Vander’s mouth on yours. The curve of your lips closes with his, sealing the two of you together.

The following kiss is a frenzied mess of teeth and tongue. There was nothing soft about the hungry kiss, heat blossoming deep within Vander’s gut as he tugs you closer. Your gasps were easily silenced by his tongue massaging yours, a soothing balm that made you crave him everywhere.

Yet, Vander abruptly pulls back, acting on autopilot. He found a new journey, gripping the fat of your ass and yanking you closer. The sides of his hands cup the curve of each cheek, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. When you oblige, he silently follows through and holds you to his body.

One of his heavy hands pushes into the middle of your back to curve your body into him, wanting you as close as possible. Instead of dropping you onto the counter, or even going up against the wall, Vander sharply turns and treks out from behind the counter. He beelines for one of the cleaner tables he had wiped down before cleaning glasses. When you glance over your shoulder at the table that he set you down on, a small worry fills you.

“Will this hold?”

“Only one way to know,” Vander rumbles, towering over you once you swivel back to him.

Swallowing thickly, you nod, “Yeah, guess so.” His eyes search yours and then he’s solidifying the position, directing you to fully lie back on the table. Your legs spread easily to accommodate for the expanse of Vander’s hips as he steps up to you. Unignorable arousal pulses in your core at the bulge that nudges at the junction of your thigh.

The hot outline of Vander’s swelling cock seeps heat through your clothes as he marvels at your laid out figure. This is what he has wanted for so long, what he needed. You. “Are you going to stare at me or fuck me?” Vander instantly laughs at your question, not condescendingly, but not exactly comfortingly.

His mouth resumes what ended you up here, lips meeting your own. The second kiss wasn’t as frantic, but was equally a push and pull of nips and soothing licks. Your tongues slide together, neither fighting for dominance while you pant against his lips, always diving back in for more. The sound of lips smacking eventually quiets when Vander slowly parts from you.

“Sweetheart, I have to work you up to that.” Vander grinds against your clothed cunt, the seam of your jeans rubbing in time with the rolling of his hips. He eagerly takes in the crease of your brow as the material of your underwear bunches around your clit, pinching it. You can’t help the way you lift your lower half to meet him, the heaving of your chest only growing heavier.

The unyielding barrier of your pants and his were far too thick between you and his cock. You needed more. Finally, Vander flicked the button of your jeans up and tugged your zipper down. Weathered fingers hook under your waistband and yank, working the material off your legs. He backs up to pluck your shoes from your feet, freeing your legs of the suffocating jeans.

“Shit,” you hiss and shiver at the sudden air bathing your heated skin. The wooden tabletop creaks as you idly squirm on it, only stopping when large hands pin your thighs to the table. “Shh,” Vander murmurs and rubs his hands along your skin. “There you go, that’s good,” he praises when you still, captivated by the soothing tone he has taken on. A quiet chuckle bathes your ears as he opens your thighs once more.

Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes trail down to his fingers eagerly tugging your damp underwear to the side. Vander can be many things, but with you splayed out like this he could no longer act patient. “Ah, there she is.”

The air in your lungs burns, clawing up your throat when you let out a shaky sigh of relief. When did you start holding your breath? You weren’t exactly sure, focusing on one of his fingers sliding up through your puffy lips, parting them.

Hot slick coats his digit, his eyes zeroing in on how your plush skin dents supplely under his guidance. Unable to resist, Vanders thumbs come up to spread you open like an overripe fruit that he gapes at. There were no words to describe the swelling of his heart, and cock, at the sight of you. The warm weight of his dick prods your knee as he sucks in a sharp breath. “Hell, you are…”

Vander trails off, unable to finish his sentence. His thumb sneaks up to your clit, rubbing slow circles over it. You catch the way his eyes snap up to your face to study the reaction you would reward him with. The shade of your cheeks darkens at his curiosity. You might have been silent, but your hips spoke for you when they edge forward, searching for more. It seemed to be enough for him, Vander’s attention returning to your cunt.

A quiet whimper falls from your lips after a minute of withstanding his lazy exploration. “Vander, please.” The plea pulls him out of whatever trance he had been put under, his eyes blinking away the daze in them. His hands slide over your hips and under your ass. Using the angle, he tugs you up the table until you are directly in front of him. “Careful,” he jokes, snickering when you lightly swat the back of his head.

In a silent apology, Vander lays his palm across your mound, softly massaging you. He presses a finger at your entrance, tracing the contours before making up his mind and sliding it in. His free hand trails up your body to flatten against your abdomen as he shallowly fingers you.

The sheer size of his hand took up a substantial portion of your waist, shielding you. And it didn’t take a mind reader to sense Vander’s pride in that–his chest puffing out as he saw how much of you he can cover. Fuck, he could manhandle you anywhere you’d like.

Welcoming the stretch, your cunt easily yields to him, leaking over his finger. “You’re soft,” Vander grumbles without a second thought. The words visibly catch up to him a second later when his face reddens. Ducking his head, Vander bends over to lower his face to your cunt–a successful distraction–and wraps his lips around your clit.

Instantly your back bows off of the table, jaw dropping open as you moan in surprise at the quick shift. His tongue weighs on the bundle of nerves as he hollows his cheeks. Vander’s eyes flick upwards to make eye contact when he thrusts in a second finger.

Your louder groan was almost enough for him to grin against your pussy. His beard scrapes against the inside of your thighs, blending the slight pain with the overwhelming pleasure while two fingers curl against your velvety walls, searching. If it took him all night to find your sweet spot he gladly would map out your body for hours.

But his journey was cut short by the quickening of your breath, hands falling to his head. Short puffs of air exit your perpetually agape mouth as sparks flare in your tightening gut. Absent-mindedly, you grind against his fingers, eager to help him. Your orgasm was mostly a surprise, spurred on by the efforts of his mouth against you. Your body tenses as you come over his fingers, thighs smacking closed. Whining brokenly, you dig your nails into his scalp as he carefully removes his fingers.

With a muted rumble, Vander shoves your thighs back open to drag his tongue up your slit. You gasp sharply, imagining that you would never breathe again with how tight your chest has grown to be. The feeling of him cleaning you was too much and yet not enough. Your struggling fell on deaf ears, or rather the ears of a man that hadn’t yet deciphered your moans, who eagerly drank in your essence when you humped his face with restless hips.

When his swelling lips pull away, arousal thickly coats his mouth and beard. But if the look in his eye was anything to go by though, he doesn’t mind one bit. No, he gratefully licks his lips and hauls himself back up to stand over you. In an instant your hands were back on him, tugging up the hem of his shirt.

Vander answers by yanking the oppressive fabric over his head, throwing it to the floor. His broad shoulders were carved thoughtfully by the gods, dipping down into his somehow bigger chest. Thick hair covers his defined pecs, drawing your eyes to the thatch of hair just above his waistband.

No time was wasted away with how quickly Vander ripped his belt open, the clank sounding like a gunshot through the thick atmosphere. You giggle quietly at his haste, quieting with a coy smile when he playfully glares at you. Vander grants you only a few seconds of ogling him before he’s pantsless and surging forward again. He drags his lips across your collarbone, biting at the top hem of your shirt.

Hot breath hits your skin, raising goosebumps when he grunts at the limited access to you. Weathered fingers creep up under your top to find your chest for a moment until he’s stripping you of your shirt. Vander groans appreciatively, barely separating from you for a second. Now it was his turn to take in your figure, completely naked on his tables in his bar.

Wet, open-mouthed kisses smother your neck, letting you savor the brush of his beard against your warmed skin. It quickly became a struggle to stay still again when you were creating a fucking puddle on the table with Vander only kissing you.

Through the haze Vander makes out your need, the weight of his warm cock nestling between your thighs. He subconsciously ruts against you, pressing as close as he can to you until you can feel the shape of his heavy balls through his boxers.

“M’gonna fuck you now, ‘right sweetheart?” The words register after a slow second crept by. “Mhm,” you mumble and nod your head. That wasn’t enough though, with Vander responding by shaking his head. “No, you have to tell me what I’m gonna do. Come on honey, use your words.” If that wasn’t enough to make your head swim you didn’t know what was.

“You’re going to fuck me.” “And…?” “And I’m going to like it?”

“Good enough,” Vander says heartily, chuckling to himself at how out of it you were after one orgasm and some heated kissing. “Are you normally this…distracted?” You shake your head, observing shamelessly when he works his boxers off. Not many men could work you up like this, but it was Vander. The sweet Vander who always had your back…also the Vander who constantly teased you, and now the Vander who’s standing naked in front of you.

The thought itself wasn’t a major turn on, but actually seeing him? Dusty red at the tip and already leaking, he’s…thick. Surprisingly so.

How had the gods even made a man with a cock that thick? What he didn’t make up for in size, he certainly did in girth–so weighted that even when he was achingly hard his cock still hung between his muscular thighs. His pubes, dark and only somewhat trimmed, decorated the base of him. “How is that going to fit?” you blurt out.

Looking at you watching him, Vander smirks and wraps a hand around his dick. Maybe it was to tease you, though it was more than likely that he needed a break after having little to no stimulation for this long. “We’ll make it fit, yeah?” He groans when he curls back over you, his pre-cum smearing across your inner thigh. “S’ppose you’re ready enough now, eh?” Without a flicker of hesitation you rapidly nod along. “Fucking finally. I thought I’d grow a beard in the time before you fucked me.”

Sharing a laugh, Vander shakes the teasing off when he braces himself on his thick forearm, next to your head. His knee nudges your legs open wider to allow him to lower himself down more. The fat of his tip slides between your folds and presses gently at your entrance. Glancing back up at you, Vander smiles.

“Are you gonna let daddy take care of you?” Janna.

It was like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on you at the same time you were submerged into lava. All you could manage was a pitiful squeak as you look up at him.

Honestly, Vander had meant it to be a jest at you. He didn’t expect you to react like this. “Oh you like that? You’ve been thinkin’ about me being your daddy?” He was only met with wide eyes, you staccato breathing filling the air. Vander didn’t need a verbal response to know he was dead on. Dipping down, Vander drug the tip of his nose up the side of yours. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you, stretch you out, give you what you need. Daddy’s here now.”

“Shit,” you whisper quietly, whimpering when the head of his cock kisses your entrance again, just barely pushing in. Vander grits his teeth together to resist thrusting in, in one go, murmuring reassurances to you. “I know…gonna stretch you out nice and slow…” A groan sits on the back of his tongue as he slowly sinks into your cunt, his hands moving to hold your thighs up and apart.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just a little more.” You had assumed Vander would start quickly—having been dead wrong with how he took his sweet time. His tip is already making you ache for more, his girth pushing your walls to stretch obscenely around him. “Shit, honey,” Vander curses at the sight of your body accommodating him, puffy folds straining around his length.

He cautiously rocks his hips forward, each little movement drawing him deeper than you thought possible. Each second that you think he couldn’t possibly give more, he did so dutifully. When his hips are definitively flush with yours, your back arches off the table again to hover, a low moan tearing through your throat at the fullness in your gut.

Vander waits for you to adjust, attentively watching your face for any signs of discomfort. The pad of his thumb plays with your clit, his head ducking to follow your view. “I want you to look at me,” he rumbles, placing his other hand back on your tummy.

“I want to see you when I fuck you.” Pressing down lightly, he feels the bulge of himself under your soft skin. You whine at the feeling, relaxing into his hold and letting your head roll back against the tabletop. “Look at me in you.” His hand resting on your abdomen tightens into a fist. “Fuuuck.”

God damn, was all your muddled brain musters up when you clench at his words. Vander grunts quietly, “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.” The truth was that he was just as affected by this as you were. The thought of his struggle alone dissolves any pain into a sweet pressure as his cock moves against your walls. You yearn with a hunger that has festered for years because of Vander’s heedless teasing. Fucking years you have hungered for this. You wouldn’t back down in the face of it.

His hips rut into you with no sense of urgency, the two of you enjoying the slow grind of his cock. The smell of your arousal hangs heavy in the air, the slipperiness mixing at the base of his cock until his pubes are soaked with your need. Vander’s hand on your stomach wanders up your leg, transferring it to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re taking me so well,” he huffs, turning his head to kiss your ankle. The drag of his cock against your walls is intoxicating, setting off sparks with each lazy thrust.

“Uh huh?” you answer weakly, stretching your arms above you. “Can you–I want more. I want it harder.” Vander closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” He braces himself and looks back down at you, holding your hips. “Okay, hold onto the table, honey.” Listening, your fingers curl around the edge of the round table, eyes trained on him. “Good girl.” Any response was cut off when he pulled back, driving back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

Air rushes out your lungs as you wail at the fire lighting up your nerves. Your nails bite into the wood in an attempt to ground yourself. If anyone could rearrange your guts with their size, Vander would be able to and you could feel it. Vander groans between deep thrusts and digs his fingers into the fat of your hips. It’ll bruise tomorrow but neither of you worry about it.

The pace he set is electrifying, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips forward again. Each ram sends you sliding up the table, his cock filling you up over and over again. Your moans are uncontrollable, wanton and loud as they spill from your lips in your haze.

Vander picks up on the quick difference of your keening under him when his tip bumps your sweet spot. Twisting your hips just to the side, Vander thrusts forward to meet it again, stars blurring in your vision. “Right there?” Vander goads you as if he isn’t struggling in the same boat as you. His teeth grind at the tightness of his balls, ready to release at any moment. He couldn’t help that your warmth enveloped him so invitingly.

“Fuck, shit, ah Vander!” You uncoordinated babbles echo in the bar, the loud slapping of his hips meeting your thighs ringing in your ears. You could feel your walls mold to every vein and curve in his cock. Scrabbling for better purchase, your head bounces on the table at a fervid thrust. Before your head can meet the tabletop again, Vander’s hand has left your hip to catch the back of your skull.

“Careful,” he looks down into your bleary eyes, his own sparkling with desire. From here you can see the lights shining in his blown out pupils.

His gaze roams your features furiously as he drives deeper into you, smirking when your face screws up in pleasure. Unable to help himself, Vander tucks his face to your neck, scattering sloppy kisses. The noise he releases into the curves of your shoulder borders on a growl, his sweat wetting your skin.

The weight of his body keeps you utterly pinned to the table, his cock grinding against all that it can reach. He’s practically humping you, lost in the snug feeling of your slick cunt, never once faltering in his determination to make every inch of your body tremble.

Moans cut from your vocal cords, your fingers burning with how hard they grip the table. Vander’s rough hand on your hip moves to hike your leg higher up your shoulder to position himself to piston harder into you. Arousal coats both of you, adding an extra slipperiness to his movements now. His heavy balls slap against your ass, the muscle rippling in response.

“Sweet, fucking, pretty thing.” The sounds of your cunt only fuels his mounting desire, his groans of approval mingling with yours.

Vander’s gaze burns with a mix of determination and possessiveness when your eyes lock with his. You weren’t dumb enough to miss his usual watchful gaze, but this felt different. In this moment, you didn’t just feel him physically–but emotionally, intrinsically. No words held value right now, your gaze holding a thousand unsaid words.

You didn’t want to spill those three words, but they seemed to jump out anyways.

Your lips part as Vander nods knowingly. “I know,” he rasps, “I know sweetheart.” At the confirmation, his pace accelerates impossibly. “I’ve known for too long. Janna, I couldn’t hurt you.” It’s almost too much. His words overlap clumsily in a way that has your cunt throbbing. “But I need you. You’re gonna be mine. I’m gonna do right by you, huh?” Your moans only increase in volume at his rewarding thrusts, head turning to dig your teeth into his forearm.

He groans long and loud, cock jumping at the sudden pain. With each slam of his hips, Vander aimed to take you completely, drowning in the knowledge that you were finally his. On the precipice of release, your mouth releases him as you writhe.

“Vander! I can’t–” “You can, honey. You will. Come on, sweetheart.” Your thighs trembled from the exertion while your cunt spasmed around his length.

It only took a handful of powerful thrusts until your orgasm was crashing over you. Legs twisting, you whined brokenly at the feeling. Your eyes squeezed shut, pleasure blinding you and keeping you alight. The increased tightness of your walls spurs Vander’s own climax. In only a few seconds he was following you over the edge with a grunt.

Trying to keep his dignity intact, Vander swallows the rest of his moans and buries his face into the side of your neck, burying deep within you. His weight is nearly crushing you when he halfway collapses onto your spent body, the warmth of his cum filling you up.

The thick mixture of your release threatens to leak out and splatter on the table when he shifts to keep from flattening you. Vander’s hips unconsciously grind into you as he rides out his orgasm, groaning into your ear. After a few long moments of his heavy breathing tapering off, you speak up,

“We really need to learn to talk to each other.” He chuckles.

[charlestrask]

Do you have any oasis fic recs? I really want to read the bean bag one if you have it

ive been asked for fic recs before and never done it because it seemed like too much work so im finally doing it and there will be a lot.

ive read pretty much every fic in the oasis tag and i have 302 of them bookmarked because im crazy. so this isnt everything ive enjoyed in the oasis fic world but it is a good selection of my favorites. and im sure theres plenty i love but ive forgotten to include. it can also be taken as a general truth that any of the authors listed in here i probably enjoy and would recommend all of their works

so first of all we have the all time Must Reads:

World That's Been and Gone series by Storyshark2005. this is the definitive oasis fic. if you only ever read 1 thing make it this series.

Untitled by DeathandCannibalism (our beloved rye). essential noel fic. beautiful and heartbreaking. mind content warnings because it is very heavy but im assuming if you're in this fandom you probably know how to navigate yourself.

non-au fics (in no particular order):

D'YA WANT SOME? series by matewan

Make a Killing by Savageandwise

Burning Matches by Savageandwise (unfortunately unfinished)

my soul slides away by lustmord

Fishhook by TeaandLiquor (porn for the liam whump enjoyer)

To See It by DeathandCannibalism (liams shining 🥰)

Ride in the Whirlwind by matewan (bhn recording sessions. unfinished)

Double Fantasy by OrADayOfFame

outta sight and outta mind by lustmord

you never notice you are blind by mansgotalimit

A Cause Without A Name by OrADayOfFame

(And) All That I Want From You aka the desert bus fic by Fishfucker

Rejection Theory by DeathandCannibalism

What's My Prize? by joelisms (porn)

Maybe/Definitely by dornfelder

Closer than Far Out by OrADayOfFame

The Radio Star by hapaxlegomena (the beanbag fic)

All My Dreams Are You by dornfelder

At the Magic Moment by MyNameIsDanae (noel bday fic)

Estrangement by Fishfucker

A summer's tale by butchdean

Thoughts of Going Under by OrADayOfFame

low place like home by lustmord

listen, do you want to know a secret? by MyNameIsDanae

Now You're Outside Me by RedheadAmongWolves

Things We Never See by Jeevey

Exhale by cancellable

If Ever You Find Me by OrADayOfFame

My Sister Lover by DeathandCannibalism

We'll Find a Way to Do What We've Done by Jeevey and Savageandwise

Fault by cancellable (porn)

Flying High by DeathandCannibalism (porn)

Gaining Traction by AliceSweetAlice

Helter Skelter by OrADayOfFame

moult by mainpopgirl

All of the Stars by OrADayOfFame

To These Ends Of Separation by DeathandCannibalism

Contradictions by dornfelder

A Quiet, Melancholy Sort of Sunny Afternoon by Lizz_88

Come On Baby Blue (Shake Up Your Tired Eyes) by DeathandCannibalism

everything in faith in you is gonna set me free by MyNameIsDanae

you and me see how we are by mansgotalimit

aus i love:

myself, but from the outside by joelisms (soulmate au)

Here's Looking At You, Kid by RedheadAmongWolves (liam works as a bartender, noel brings dates to his bar)

Ground by cancellable (dreamsharing au)

Forthright by cancellable (noel travels back in time. unfortunately unfinished)

better get on your knees and pray by mansgotalimit (priest noel au)

Me But All You by RedheadAmongWolves (pacific rim au)

little by little by trill_gutterbug (noel gets shrunk. mostly porn)

Kenet by matewan (dragon!liam au)

an altar of sorts by mainpopgirl (boxing au)

Married With Children by OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed (bachelor au, silly, unfinished)

time's slipping away (and what will it hold for me?) by mansgotalimit (liam travels forward in time, unfinished)

im not usually inclined towards omegaverse or mpreg fics but these ones i like:

hold me down all the world's asleep by trill_gutterbug

let me fly you to the moon by trill_gutterbug

The Swing of the Planets in Orbit by Snickfic

bun in the oven ♨️ maybe by joelisms

im also gonna single out genderswaps because we dont have nearly enough.

the Star-shaped series by Savageandwise (girl!liam)

Romantic, not disgusting yet by calzinospaiato (both girls) (the watersports one)

The Things That Sleep Inside by grilledcheesefaction (girl!liam, ongoing series)

Bleed, Trip, Gloss, and Red by cancellable (both girls)

Trickle by cancellable (girl!liam)

She's standing outside and she's my next of kin by butchdean (both girls)

Deviant Peace by DeathandCannibalism (both girls)

[philistiniphagottini]

I wish for late night conversations over coffee or tea with Al-Haitham as his wife (so fem reader). Where it progress from snacking on cut fruits to eating a selection of nuts with coffee/tea to tea snacks and more tea as the conversation never stops until we fall asleep cuddled into each other.

(Imagine Kaveh waking up to that. Dunno if he’s happy for them or mildly annoyed at Al-Haitham)

(Doesn’t have to be exactly like this, I leave it to your artistic discretion)

Hi, thanks for dropping by with a request! This is just a bit of fluff and there really is no plot, I hope you don't mind. I wrote this last night when I couldn't sleep and this helped. Hope you enjoy~

cw. fluff, established relationship, female reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

“Can’t sleep?”

You paused just as you were about to take a sip of coffee, the rim of the mug pressed to your lips as steam curled around your warm cheeks. The chair you sat in softly creaked as you shifted, craning your head and peering down the hallway of your humble home as the familiar voice of your husband drifted into your ear. He stepped from the seconds only a few seconds later, his footfalls light as he joined you in the kitchen. You hummed softly in response to his question as you took a big sip of coffee. It was just a touch on the hot side, making you feel incredibly warm on this stuffy, Sumeru night. 

You placed your cup down with a soft clink as Alhaitham invited himself to make his own hot drink. It made the corners of your lips twitch into a small smile as you reached for the plate of delicately sliced fruit that you had meticulously prepared as your midnight snack and silently bit into your food as you watched Alhaitham move around the kitchen with a lazy stare. It was only when he sat down in the chair across from you did you decide to speak up, the taste of fruit lingering on the back of your tongue as you swallowed with an audible gulp.

“And what about you, Mr Scribe?” you inquired. “Why are you up at such a late hour?”

You pushed the plate of food in Alhaitham’s direction as he reached for it, a murmured ‘thank you’ falling from his parted lips before he took a bite. He hummed in thought as he swallowed his mouth full of food and you were eager to stuff another piece of fruit into your mouth and idly chew as Alhaitham’s voice filled the silence. 

“Your side of the bed was cold” Alhaitham replied. 

You huffed loudly, eyes dragging over to the clock on the wall. You squinted against the flickering lights on the wall as you tried to decipher what time it was. The answer made you run your hands through your unkempt hair. 

“Huh. Didn’t realise it was that late” you mused with a soft whisper. 

Though you weren’t sure why you were whispering. It’s not like your housemate, Kaveh, would stir tonight anyway. He had come home late tonight in another drunken stupor and promptly passed out in his room. He tended to sleep like a log and you wouldn’t hear him complaining until the morning, when he was in desperate need of your hangover remedy to ease his troubles. 

“Is something on your mind?” Alhaitham asked before taking a sip from his mug.

You mimicked his actions, the golden band around your ring finger flickering in the dim light. Alhaitham’s matching ring flickered back. It took a moment to ponder his question, considering the best way to answer it. It seemed a little silly to admit that there was nothing particular on your mind. It just seemed tonight your brain didn’t want to shut off. Your thoughts were a little jumbled. You were reminiscing on the past yet also contemplating the future. It kept you tossing in bed for a while and you had retreated out here when sleep eluded you. That was hours ago and you still didn’t feel tired enough to attempt to try and sleep again. 

“Anything and everything” you finally replied.

You took another piece of fruit and frowned. You were running out of snacks. You pushed your chair out, intent on getting up and fetching more but Alhaitham was already on the move, standing from his seat and heading to the pantry in search of more treats. Your eyes sparkled when he returned with a selection of nuts to compliment your coffee. 

“That’s a broad topic” Alhaitham said as he filled the plate with more food. “Care to narrow it down?”

You took a moment to think, tapping your fingers against your plump lips. “How do you fall asleep at night?”

“Pretty comfortably next to my wife” he stated quite simply

You rolled your eyes as a loud snort bubbled up your throat. “Okay, smooth talker, would you like to propose a topic then?”

Alhaitham quirked a bemused eyebrow as you took another long sip of your hot coffee and added:

“Can be anything. As long as it tires me out.”

That was how your long conversation with Alhaitham started. The more you engaged with him the more relaxed you started to feel. Time slipped away from you as you indulged in midnight snacks, coffee and deep conversations. It left you feeling a little light headed as the shadows slowly started to creep away from the rays of light threatening to spill over the horizon. By the time the conversation reached a natural conclusion, you were feeling exhausted and tired enough to give sleep another try.

A giddy smile pulled on your lips as Alhaitham dragged you over to the couch, your bodies pressed and tangled as you squeezed both of your bodies on the old sofa. You ended up half sprawled across Alhaitham as he lay beneath you one arm encircled around your plump waist as his free hand dragged the throw rug over the back of the couch and draped it over you. You tucked your face into his neck, breathing a soft sigh of content as his natural smell filled your senses with a hazy lull. Your eyelashes fluttered over your cheeks as they slipped close, arms snaking around his waist as you held him closer.

“We haven’t talked like that for a while” you mumbled softly.

A soft smile tugged at Alhaitham’s lips as he threaded his fingers through your silky tresses of hair, tucking the long strands behind your ear before lazily massaging them against your scalp. A light noise stirred in his throat as his warm breath puffed against your skin.

“You sure can talk a lot” Alhaitham joked, his tone flat like he was making a statement. 

You hummed in agreement. “It’s fun talking to you” you mumbled, hot breath tickling his throat as you snuggled closer in his comforting embrace. “We don’t do this often anymore. We should do it again. Right?”

The more tired you got, the less sense you started to make. But Alhaitham knew what you were trying to convey.

“We should” Alhaitham agreed. 

He pressed his lips to your forehead as you fell deeper into the lull of sleep, mind teetering just on the fine edge of unconsciousness as he whispered into your hair.

“Get some rest.”

You grunted softly. “You can explain to Kaveh why we’re hogging the couch, when he wakes.”

"If he wakes" Alhaitham corrected before planting another kiss to your forehead. "Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it.”

[booglygooglycrow]

This is a serious talk. I am not in a good position, and this is a cry for help. While I am unsure if I am safe, someone dear to me, is not in any regard. I need help to help him.

This blog will have the following topics, reader discretion is advised;

Possible end of life incident

Targeted harm

Targeted vehicular harm

Gore based topic

Hit and run

As of 8:47, meet my best friend, who we will name E, was recently held victim to a similar incident I went through a few months ago when I joined Tumblr. I was jumped by my ex and sent to the hospital and required physical therapy for about a month.

For context, both me and him have electric bikes, bikes that if you've seen once or twice before, could easily point out as ours, as not many people own the brand of bike we own in our area, and ours having a custom paint job done to the frame of the bike, making it easy to spot and recognize. Me and him are out riding as we do on Monday nights. We took a stop for some food, and after we finished, we thought it would be a fun idea to race, mind you, on a back road with not too many people commonly going on said road. He owns a faster, more powerful bike, so he speeds off. He goes a bit far, about a quarter mile ahead of me, while doing so, passing a red SUV that looked similar to our old friends. When trying to catch up, that red SUV speeds past me, driving in the direction of E and not slowing down. The driver rammed the car into E and shot him off his bike. You would think the driver would stop, instead, he backs up, and runs over E's arm. I panic and stop riding, as I didnt know what to do and was mostly frozen in fear. Before I knew, three individuals, who oddly looked a lot like people we no longer speak to, came out the car, and kicked E and through around his bike.

At this point in time I get back and try to speed over to him to get them off of E, before I could, they sped off. E's arm is completely shattered and gushed in blood, and I don't know of his arm will be able to fully recover. He was violently coughing blood and he was bleeding out of his head, he had a massive openly on his knee that I was able to wrap with my shirt, even if it made little difference. His bike is almost totaled, with the battery, motor, and controller being the only major components that appear to be functional. The front fork, both tires, the frame, and rims have major damage. E is currently being rushed to a hospital and a police report is going to be filed tomorrow morning. After reviewing the little GoPro footage we have, we can confirm it was our old friends that intentionally rammed into E, and we will be pressing charges if possible. That being said, these people know where I live, and so does for E.

We do not feel safe, his parents do not feel safe, I do not feel safe, I fear my sensitivity information is not safe, and I fear my safety is at risk. It was horrible timing we happened to be on the same back road as one another, and unfortunately, it may cost his life. I don't know what to do, my family doesn't know what to do, and neither does his. We are considering moving to a different location, or even state to avoid these people after we do what we can.

I will be taking time off of social media, and will be rarely online to message select individuals, besides that, this account will become inactive until further notice. Until everything is settled, this blog will be repurposed for updates on the situation and for when I choose to return.

Please reach out to me if you have any ideas on what we should do moving forward for our safety. Please reblog to help me get this out.

This is goodbye. Anakin.

[wheelie-sick]

Things to research before getting your first custom manual wheelchair

one of the biggest things I can recommend to anyone getting a new custom chair (but especially a first custom chair) is to understand all of the parts of a wheelchair and what they do. I decided to make a guide with wheelchair parts to research and places to look for information to make this process a little bit easier. additional link suggestions are welcome.

General resources:

Permobil - The Wheelchair Handbook

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation: Before the Evaluation (Part 1)

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation (Part 2)

1. Frame

Motion Composites - Folding vs Rigid Wheelchair Frames: How to Choose

Permobil - Manual wheelchairs: rigid and folding frames. How do you choose?

GTK - Oh what’s in a frame? Comparing Multiple Materials

Motion Composites - Wheelchairs: Carbon Fiber Versus Aluminum

2. Front frame angle

Motion Composites - Understanding the Impact of Rigid Wheelchair Front Frame Angle

Sunrise Medical - Rigid Frame Wheelchairs – Frame Angle and Inset

4. Seat dump

Permobil - Ergonomic Seating and Manual Wheelchairs

Spinlife - Wheelchair Back & Seat Angle

5. Caster size, style, and position

Motion Composites - Front Casters for Manual Wheelchairs Practical Guide

Sunrise Medical - Front Caster Position in Manual Wheelchairs

6. Caster forks

New Mobility - Caster Wheels and Forks

Sunrise Medical - Maneuverability in Manual Wheelchairs - What Fork to use?

New Mobility - Innovations: Emerging Trends in the Wheelchair Market (information about single sided forks)

7. Footplate

Motion Composites - Footrest Options to Support Function and Mobility

When Tania Talks - Active User Wheelchair Footplate Options

8. Calf strap

Spex Seating - Lower Leg Support Considerations in Wheelchair Seating

9. Seat pan

Permobil - Solid Seat Insert for Wheelchair: Taking a Closer Look at Cushion Components

10. Seat cushion

Permobil - What to Look for in Seating & Positioning Products

Permobil - How to Choose a Cushion in Long Term Care

Permobil - Cushion Geometry: Linear and Contoured

Freedom Mobility Center - Wheelchair Seat Cushions: 5 Tips for Choosing the Right One for You

Mobility Basics - Seat Cushion Rigidizer

Motion Composites - Selecting the Right Cushion for Your Wheelchair a Clinicians Guide

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

11. Seat belts

12. Clothing guards

Sherman Oaks Medical Equipment - Wheelchair Clothes Guards / Side Guards Guide

13. Arm rests

United Spinal Association - Wheelchair Armrests What Do They Really Do?

Spinlife - Wheelchair Arm Rest Choices

Motion Composites - Armrests: Getting the Support you Need

14. Back supports

Motion Composites - Solid vs Upholstery Backs

Mobility Management - How to Choose the Right Back Height for your Client

Freedom Mobility Center - Why a Solid Back is Preferred Over a Sling Back

Mobility Basics - Back Supports

Sunrise Medical - Tips for Selecting Prefabricated Wheelchair Backs

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

15. Head supports

16. Push handles

Motion Composites - Push Handles: Pushing Around

17. Wheels

Motion Composites - Rolling Along: The Importance of Rear Wheel Selection

Sunrise Medical - Comparing Wheelchair Wheel Spoke Options

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

18. Tires

New Mobility - Everything You Need to Know About Selecting the Right Wheelchair Tires

GTK - Solid versus Pneumatic Tyres

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

Motion Composites - Tire Selection: Balancing Performance and Maintenance

19. Brakes

Motion Composites - Wheel Locks: Unlocking Safety and Function

20. Push rims/Hand rims

Motion Composites - Getting a Grasp: Understanding the Impact of Hand Rims

DME Hub - Wheelchair Hand Rom Options and Factors to Consider

21. Anti-tip wheels

22. Camber

Motion Composites - Camber - Degrees of Performance

23. Center of Gravity

Motion Composites - Rear Wheel Position 101

[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Seven

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You)

Word Count: 5010 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

CW: Sexual content (dry humping, whoo!), self-harming behaviour (to feed Astarion), knives, heavy descriptions of dissociation, references to abuse, gore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Remember when I was uploading these chapters regularly? HAHAHAAAA... As a gift to say sorry for my absence, here is an extra long one, plus my first ever shot at writing smut. Feedback is always appreciated, my lovelies. Hope you enjoy xxx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Seven - Yes

The sweetest of dreams are always in reach, but never obtained, blocked by unwelcome intrusions that if you were conscious, you’d have no trouble swatting away. But here, with nowhere to run? Nothing to look at? They hold you. They caress you in the only way you know how: Brutally.

I’m so… Tired…

__________________________________________

Eyelids snap open, her hand is no longer gripping your wrist and you don’t see it, but it’s there: the mark she burned into you. And like so many others, it’s now healed and concealed from view. Just the way she liked it.

Forget… Please…

You slip out of your bedroll and throw on your green robe, fixing it to your body in the way that everyone seemed to enjoy. After all, you could do with the pick-me-up after those dreams. Sweet, fresh air fills your lungs as you step out, into the open. The first one awake, as always.

Stepping in front of your station, you take in the ingredients before you. The colours of vegetables, fruit and meat begin to blend together until you can’t recognise them anymore. But you’re calm, you’re stable, you’re just… Not here… “Tav? Are you alright?”

You nod, barely, not breaking your gaze on the fuzzy, watercolour mess before you.

“Are you sure?” You flinch as a hand touches your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

“Hm? Oh, Shadowheart, y-yeah, I’m fine. Breakfast will be ready soon.” You don’t know how long you were standing there, only that now you have to get on with your duties before someone starts asking questions that you aren’t ready to answer. You begin selecting ingredients and taking them to the counter.

“You’re not sick, are you?” She asks, following you.

“No, no. Just need to wake up a little.”

She inspects you for a moment before shrugging and choosing not to press you. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Eggs, bacon, sausages. You prepare each but don’t feel your arms move. In any case, food is presented on plates, ready for consumption. You turn away, hearing the plates scrape against the surface as they’re eagerly taken away, coupled with echoed murmurs of gratitude.

Wrist. Cup. Knife. Skin. Breath.

You wonder if you’ll feel it, sitting all the way back there in your mind.

You wonder if you want to.

Blade moves. Flesh opens. Red spills.

A sharp inhale, but it’s not yours. “Is that mine, darling?” Your first smile of the day. You take the cup and keep it under your wound as you turn to face him.

“If you ask nicely.” You smirk. His gaze is fixed on your wrist as it leaks with the most delectable substance he’s ever tasted. His half-lidded eyes watch the liquid rising in the cup, his breath growing heavy. For a moment, you think he might actually beg, and why not indulge? You could use the distraction. A moment of feeling desirable to numb everything else.

“What?” He asks, smiling eagerly, mind clearly elsewhere.

You take it a step further. “Say please.” Feeling the warmth of your blood growing closer to the rim of the cup, you remove your wrist. Precious drops drip to the floor as you reach for a cloth, and Astarion mourns each one.

As you’re distracted, he reaches for the foot of the cup and slowly drags it closer, but you catch him and place your hand over it, stopping it in it’s tracks. His fingers absorb the heat from your palm, but you don’t mind, you just hold on tighter. “Ah, ah, ah! What’s the magic word?”

He scoffs. “Please.”

“Good boy.” You slide your hand away from his.

“Cheeky little pup.” He grins as he takes his gift. “Are you going to humiliate me every time we do this?”

You laugh. “Until I get bored, yes.”

He laughs too. “Ha! Something tells me that won’t happen for a while. At least you’re honest.” You shrug, knowing he’s right. Watching this beautiful man squirm is quickly becoming one of your favourite pastimes. He smiles and resists the urge to tip the entire contents of the cup into his mouth immediately. “Thank you, my dear.”

You sigh and nod with the knowledge that soon he’ll leave and you’ll be forced to take a seat in the back of your mind, once again. Your smile fades and you turn away to properly dress your wound. He does begin to leave, but something tugs at him, convincing him to stay. “You don’t seem like your usual self today, darling.”

You chuckle nervously, trying to cover up the emotions that he’s clearly spotted. “Don’t I?” You slow down, taking extra time to dress your wound so you don’t have to face him just yet.

“No, you don’t.” Silence. You expect him to say something else: A question, words of comfort, maybe even a joke. But no, it’s silence. It’s unlike him. You raise an eyebrow and turn around to see him looking down at his fingers, tracing circles around the rim of his cup. You shrug and take a deep breath, ready to move on, but he speaks first. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

Yes. Gods, anything to take my mind off this…

“I suppose so.” He lights up and takes your plate, you follow him, expecting another forest clearing or the lakeside. But no, he takes you to the outside of his tent, where everyone can see. He shuffles a cushion to the side with his foot.

“Here, take a seat.” You do so, eyebrow raised. He hands you your plate and sits beside you with a sigh. A moment passes, you avoid looking at him, he confidently gazes at you. You eat, keeping your mouth occupied so you don’t have to speak.

“Do you…” He fights with the words, trying to get them out despite the resistance. “Ugh… Do you want to talk about it?”

You laugh at his reluctance. “Well, with such an enthusiastic offer, how could I refuse?” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on him, he chuckles back and shrugs. It looks like this is the best you’re going to get.

“Well?” He asks again, softly.

Your smile relaxes. “It’s hard to explain… I’m just having a rough morning, that’s all.”

He nods, understandingly. “Bad dream?”

You’re taken aback by his accuracy, can he really read you that well? “Y-yes. How did you…?”

He smiles, looks ahead and takes a moment. “I just… I just know how it feels, that’s all. Plus, those little bags under your eyes don’t give the impression of a person who gets a lot of sleep.”

You feign shock and rub your fingers under your eyes. “Okay, first of all: Rude…”

He laughs. “I meant no offence, dear. I actually quite like them.”

Smirking, you dismiss the compliment. “Secondly, you’re right. Gods… What I’d give for a full night’s sleep…” You lean back on your hands and close your eyes, imagining how it would feel to drift away without fear, to wake up without urgency.

Astarion brings his cup to his lips. He inhales your scent and takes his first sip of the day, eyes darkening as he watches the body it came from relax in his presence. He tastes you, and you’re perfect. He lets it sit on his tongue, savouring every note of flavour before swallowing with a groan. A groan that he quickly follows up with a concealing cough, but you catch it anyway. Peering through one eye, you watch him as he shifts his position, using a pillow to cover himself. He tries to drink the rest slowly, but as usual, his hunger takes over, causing him to devour every drop in seconds. Then, the inevitable, insatiable sigh once it’s gone.

Facing him, you can’t help but feel sympathy. “Is it enough?”

“Hm?” He returns his eyes to you.

“The amount I give you each day, is it enough?”

“No, it is absolutely not enough. Nowhere fucking near.” He thinks to himself. “Y-yes…” He says, much to his hunger’s dismay.

“Are you sure? You never seem satisfied.”

“Darling, if I was satisfied, you’d be dead. Trust me, it’s enough.” He sets the cup aside.

“Come on, soldiers! We gotta’ go!” Karlach yells from the other side of camp. Astarion sighs and stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and lift yourself up. Without a word, he retrieves his armour from the inside of his tent and begins to put it on over his clothes. You look over at the rest of the group and see them gathering, fully equipped with their usual gear. He’s late.

You turn back to him. “Hey, let me help, it’ll be faster.” You lift his chestplate, inspecting it to see how it should be attached. He hesitates but nods, tying his boot as you fix the straps around his shoulders. He feels your body heat move around his torso as you continue to help, never touching. He’s hyper-aware of your proximity, enjoying the closeness and only wishing to be closer. As you finish up, you step back, checking it all, one last time. He watches you, admiring the way your brows furrow when you’re concentrating. “All done. I’ll see you later.” You smile and walk behind him. With a subtle, deep breath, he walks away from you, forcing himself not to watch as you bend over to pick up the dishes.

__________________________________________

As they leave, you collect the other dishes around the camp and wash them. It’s a typical day of cleaning, organising, laundry and food preparation. Tonight, it’s vegetable risotto.

Carrot shaved into neat curls, butter gliding through solids as it melts, thinly sliced onion softening until reduced to translucent shards, a liquid gold stock caressing rice and a flux of flowing cheese to bond the components.

Without distraction, your mind is free to wander to difficult places. It pushes you back, forcing you to watch your sight from afar. Body present, self absent. It’s a hazed, strange view that doesn’t feel quite real, and your arms aren’t quite your own as they work diligently. You can’t hear her words anymore, but your body feels them. It feels the way your muscles tensed, the way your breathing quickened, the way your heart stopped. You’d think you’d be able to see it, but being so removed, your face hasn’t caught up yet.

Time passes, the risotto is covered and kept warm by the fire. You don’t remember making it. Footsteps approach. The midday drop off must have arrived. You continue cleaning the surfaces and don’t look to see who it is before saying. “Hey, you can just leave it over there, I’ll get to it in a minute.” You gesture towards an empty space near the fire and continue cleaning. You hear a thump as the backpack is set down, then the footsteps get closer. Closer. Closer. There’s breath on your neck. “How are you feeling?” You pause and turn to face them.

Astarion towers over you, yet again covered in blood, personal space reduced to inches. “I’ve been worse…” He nods, but doesn’t move away. “So, you ‘pulled the short straw’ this time, huh?” You ask, attempting to break the tension. He doesn’t allow it, he holds you there, thickens it.

“No, dear. I offered.” You release a breath, stepping backwards and pressing the small of your back against the food station. Feeling the string of distance between you tug at his chest, he follows it, closing the distance once again. “You don’t mind, do you, darling?”

You begin shaking your head before you can form the words. “Not at all…”

“Good.” He moves forward, placing his hand on the surface behind you and resting his weight on it.

He breathes in, scented air travelling through his nose, eyes drifting to the covered risotto. “Gods… I wish I could taste the food you make…”

You chuckle softly. “I wish you could too. Does it smell good?”

“Divine, as always.”

“Why, thank you. You’ve never commented on it before.” You smile, his eyes return to you, somehow darker.

“I try to ignore it, mostly. My ‘condition’ comes with a lot of disadvantages. This one, I found to be somewhat manageable, until you came along and made it positively torturous.”

Laughing, you relax your posture. “You know, I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“Oh? And what was that, darling?”

“About feeding you… I’d… I’d like to try something, if that’s alright with you?”

He raises his eyebrow, his eyes betraying his calm demeanour with undeniable excitement. “What is it?”

You understand why he must be cautious, but you want this to be a surprise gift for him. So, you won’t reveal the details just yet. “I think you’ll like it. Do you trust me?” He almost scoffs at the question but then he finds your eyes again, takes note of your sincerity, then matches it with his own, nodding. “Then come with me.”

You take his hand and lead him to your tent, lifting the flap for him. Smirking, he ducks under, sitting on your bedroll. Before you even make it inside, you hear the clinking of buckles and the thumps of discarded armour. Now clad in his simple, ruffled shirt and leather pants, he leans back on his arms, watching your every move as you sit opposite to him. “A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Is it? I’m just making myself comfortable, darling.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Uhuh…”

He sighs and looks around the tent, taking in all the knick knacks and decorations you’ve hung. ”Now, you have me, all to yourself, in your own little piece of nowhere. What do you intend to do with me?” He may as well have purred the words as the deep rumbling sound vibrates in your ears, so perfectly.

You laugh, cross your legs, and secure the flap back down. The sun pushes the bottle-green shade of the tent onto your faces, bathing you in it. With nothing left for your hands to do, nothing left for your eyes to focus on, his curious gaze becomes your entire view. You don’t say anything, just smirk at him, and he returns it. The longer you watch him, the sharper you feel his eyes pierce your skin. Your smirk fades and eyes widen, eyebrows twitch, threatening to knit. He isn’t phased by the look on your face, the way your chest seems to rise and fall deeper than before. He just tilts his head, watching you intently, presumably to gauge your desires. You think if someone were to look at you this way, you’d feel naked, you’d ask questions. But he doesn’t, he’s used to this. He’s used to eyes, like this.

Before you turn to stone, you hold out your arm, offering your bandaged wrist. “Here.” He looks down. The dry, maroon spot pokes through linen, inviting him closer. He takes a deep, shaky breath and obliges. “Just, don’t kill me.” You laugh and expect the same from him, but there’s a deadly solemnity when he nods in agreement. Sitting to full attention, he gently wraps his fingers around your forearm and with his free hand, removes the bandage. He reveals a sticky, sweet mess of a cut, barely knitting itself together. Dried, crusted crimson adorns the masterpiece before him: A physical testament to your generosity. He traces around it, gathering flakes on his fingertips and gazes up at you: A silent ‘Are you sure?’. Biting your lip in anticipation, you give him a subtle nod.

He brings his fingers to his parted lips, closes his eyes and savours the taste of your red on his tongue. Unable to wait any longer, he leans down, baring his teeth in preparation, but he stops. He felt the shift as you winced and flicked your face away. Inspecting his meal once again, he takes in the redness of your skin, the way it’s swollen and irritated from repeated cuts. It hurts, and it’s only going to hurt more. It takes all of his willpower, but he manages it, covering it once again with the bandage. The pressure and softness of the fabric isn’t the sensation you anticipated, you open your eyes in confusion.

“Tav… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I-it’s fine. I want this.” You reach for the bandage, attempting to discard it but his hand stops yours.

He sighs. “Alright… But not here, darling.” He slides his fingers up your other arm and turns it to face him. Fresh, clean skin. He can’t resist pressing his thumb into your wrist, searching for that delicious pulsing of your veins. Once he finds it, he bites back a groan.

“Is this okay?” He whispers.

“Yes…” You whisper back.

You feel his lips first, cold and soft. They suck on your skin in a way that you could almost mistake for a kiss. Then it’s sharp, it’s deep, it’s ice. Sucking air between your teeth, you lean your head back, trying to control your breathing, repeating his words back to you in your mind.

“It hurts a fair bit, but only for a few seconds.”

Taking drag after drag of your essence, he grips your arm tighter, unable to hold back from groaning into your wrist. The sensation is desperate, it’s insatiable, but no longer painful. Now it’s a tingling, coursing fire, igniting goosebumps and warming your reddened cheeks. Somehow, although the pain has gone, your breathing is harder to control now than it was before. It’s shaky and intimate. He matches his swallows to the rhythm.

“Then… Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the rest…”

A familiar feeling: The pooling of desire between your legs. You know this well, and there is comfort in that. But, somehow, it’s tinted in a different shade than usual. It’s primal. Reducing all other wants and needs to secondary. You find your fingers carding through his hair, gently guiding his fangs further into your flesh. Feeling the eager pressure, he obeys and whimpers into your arm. The sound shoots through your veins and you find yourself scooting closer to him. He’s entirely lost in your taste, eyes squeezed shut, brows raised in pure pleasure. Your eyes drift lower and you gasp at the sight of the seams in his leather pants, strained over his aching erection. You need more.

You tug on his hair, but he latches on harder. You try prying away his grip on your forearm with your fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Astarion…” You whisper. He flicks his eyes open, pleading with you to let him stay. Smiling warmly, you lightly take his chin between your fingertips, guiding him away from your arm. You watch as your flesh clings to his fangs, as though it wishes to stay connected to him. Once he’s removed, the wounds spill over and drip down your arm in a steady stream. He takes it, collects the mess on his tongue and suckles on the source, adding enough pressure to stop the bleeding. His eyes close and he stops, lingering his lips on your damaged skin.

“Was it too much?” He whispers against your wrist.

“No...” Although there’s nobody around to hear you, you whisper back. It feels right, intimate. He sighs and pulls away, meeting you with a lidded gaze. You can only imagine how you must look, as flustered as you are. Leaning in, you feel his bated breath mingling with yours in what little space there is between your lips. You look down at a neglected drop of your essence, running from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Catching it with your thumb, you bring it back up and smear it across his lower lip. He opens his mouth for you with a hitched breath. You continue to paint him with it, admiring the rich colour against his pastel skin. Though, you do notice a new, rosy tint to his cheeks that you’ve never seen so strongly before. It earns another warm smile from your face.

“Darling.”

You watch the word form in his mouth before languidly dragging your gaze up to his. “Yes?”

“You want me to kiss you, don’t you?”

Yes.

You release a short, breathless laugh. “Would you like that?”

He grins. “My dear, let’s not play coy. We’ve been waiting long enough...”

Yes.

You cup his face in your palms and stare deep into his eyes. He hears something: The pulsing echoes of a voice. Your voice. In his mind.

Yes.

It’s all you can manage, but it’s more than enough. He releases restrained breath and slides his hand under your hair to cup your jaw and pull you closer. He waits for you to close your eyes. You do. He leans in and meets his lips with yours. It’s perfect, rhythmic… Rehearsed. To his lips, you are anyone, you are no one. It feels and tastes good, but it isn’t right. You feel yourself drifting away again.

No. You can’t. You refuse to witness this from afar. You need to save it.

You lean in further, taking control of the pace. His motion falters in the sudden shift and you take advantage of it: Tilting his head into a better angle and massaging the tension out of his kiss with your own. Once he accepts it, it works. And in sliding your hands down, towards his shoulders, you encourage them to soften. Sensing his free hand inching closer, itching to touch you, you find it and bring it to your waist.

The moment you let go, something within him snaps and he snakes his arm over your curves, grabbing and grounding himself on the fabric of your robe. Your body is pulled, flush against him with a fervid groan. You reward him with a soft noise of your own longing into his mouth. He parts his lips wider to taste it. Taking the invitation, you slip your gentle tongue over his bottom lip, seeking his. He eagerly presses you further into him and before you lose your balance, you slide yourself into a straddling position on his lap, pressing your breasts against his chest. He gasps as your weight sinks into him, grounding him in reality and locking him down as your infectious taste coats his tongue. With what little movement he can muster beneath you, he tilts his hips, craving your touch against his desperate length.

Smirking against his lips, you pull away and take hold of his chin, forcing his lidded eyes to meet yours. Together, you pant. There are no words, because there are none needed. His hands are stretched to their widest span, eagerly groping as much of your flesh as he can. They slide down your waist, slip over the dips and curves of your hips to find your thighs. He travels further until he finds the hem of your robe with a flash of challenge in his eyes. That’s when you roll your hips.

“Gods…” He breathes.

He liked that.

You couple each heavy breath you release with the same motion. You study his face, adjusting your weight slightly to tailor your body for him. His hands push the robe further up your thighs as he grabs your hips, guiding them. It’s not the stimulation that does it, (with all the clothes in the way, it’s hard for this to feel as good for you as it does for him) but the way he’s looking at you causes your underwear to soak.

You’re only just far enough apart to see his full face. His tousled hair, the new, intense rouge tinge to his cheeks, his eyelids fighting the urge to close, his eyebrows canting, groans and gasps that match yours so perfectly.

“Th-that’s good, d-darling… But…” He grunts the words before attempting to slide a hand down your front, towards your centre. You stop it. As phenomenal as it would be to feel his dexterous fingers stroke your folds and make you keen to the heavens, it’s too much. You’re not ready for him to see you like that yet. To have you like that yet. It’s too… Vulnerable.

“Please, just let me do this… Just for a little while…”

He gazes up at you in a mix of pleasure and confusion. You roll your hips in a particularly long motion, dragging your aching, wet heat over his full length, causing him to throw his head back.

“Ah! Fuck…” He takes a moment to compose himself as you continue your ministrations. He catches his breath and brings his focus back to you. He nods, earning a passionate kiss from your lips.You capture his eager whimpers as you increase the pace, and savour each one.

“Do you like that?” You breathe the question into his ear. He nods. You kiss his neck and gently suck on the skin before bringing your lips up to his earlobe. You scoop it into your mouth with your tongue and nibble on it. His breath hitches. “And that?”

“Fuck, darling… Yes…” You begin to guide his hands under your robe but the moment he senses your invitation, he takes over. He immediately starts groping at the supple flesh of your ass. He brushes against the hem of your underclothes and whimpers with longing, itching to rip them off. But he resists, he won’t push you, no matter how tempting you are.

He digs his fingers into your skin, pushing, pulling. Back and forth, back and forth. You oblige, increasing the pressure, increasing the pace. You notice his breathing and moans reaching a desperate level, he’s close. He must be. You swipe your hair away from your neck and lean into his ear once again, reducing your voice to a whisper.

“Bite me…”

He looks up at you in shock and arousal. Once he’s sure that you do, indeed, want this, he wastes no time baring his fangs and sinking them into your neck. You yelp at the initial pain and grab onto him, gritting your teeth and waiting for it to pass as it did before. And sure enough, it does. You match your hips to the rhythm of his ravaging tongue against your skin as it devours any trace of your nectar it can find. You feel your veins pulsing for him, your essence gushing for him. He brings one hand to the nape of your neck, holding it still. His touch isn’t cold, it isn’t warm, it’s hot. It’s a familiar heat, because it isn’t his. It’s yours. And it’s coursing from your body to his.

“Tav… I… I’m…” He clamps his hands down on your body, gripping you tightly. Whimpering urgent, sweet vibrations into your flesh as he shudders beneath you. “Ohhh ff-fuck…” He thrusts his hips up a few more times, his wetness mingling with yours through his pants. You move in languid strokes, gently kneading the final few drops out of him until he has to stop your hips, himself.

He unlatches his teeth from your flesh and gasps for air. His face: Painted with crimson and temporary bliss. He leans back, stumbling into a relaxed position. You breathe heavily and look down to see the mess you’ve both created. You lift up your, now barely tied together, robe and observe the large dark spot on his pants. Your underwear is completely soaked through; rendering the white fabric translucent. Scooting backwards, you can see just how large that stain on his pants is, you bashfully clear your throat. You notice Astarion’s eyes are open again. His hungry, vermillion gaze locked onto your underwear, but most notably: the glimpses of colour that he can see through it.

You drop your robe, covering yourself again and slide off his lap, to his side. “So… That happened…” Scratching your head, you try to overcome the awkwardness between you. Though, it seems like you’re the only one who feels it.

Astarion admires the glossy sheen that covers his pants and grins at the knowledge that it’s mostly your doing. “Yes, it most certainly did…” As he sits back up, his grin falters into a more defeated expression. “But you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t.” You take a deep breath and avoid looking at him.

“Don’t you want to?” He reaches out his hand to touch your leg.

You let him, but don’t take your eyes off it, noting it’s every movement. “N-no, thank you. I’ll sort myself out later…”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Sort yourself-...” He laughs at the thought. “My dear, I’m hurt! I assure you, I’m more than capable of-”

“I’m sure you are… But it’s still a no. Thanks anyway.” You take his moment of silent disbelief to adjust your robe and primp your hair, attempting nonchalance.

He blinks away his shock and scoffs. “Well… This is a first for me…”

You don’t look at him as you finish up your ponytail. “Hm?”

He slouches, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, I’ve… I’ve just never had someone leave before being… satisfied before…”

“That you know of…” You smirk, you can’t resist teasing him, even now. He’s too fun to mess with. He takes it lightly and laughs.

You exchange glances and share his laugh together. It feels good.

“You should probably change your pants before you head out again.” Grinning, you lean over him to undo the flap of the tent, pulling it to the side and tying it.

He gazes at your soft form draped over him as he pieces together what you’ve said. He’d completely forgotten about the rest of the group and has no idea how long he’s been here for. “Shit.” He remarks to himself.

You climb over him and crawl out of the tent, turning back to help him up. “Come on, they’re probably worried sick about you.”

He sighs, gathers his things and takes your hand. Once stood together, he tilts your face towards him by your chin and leans in. “Thank you.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours once more in a final, slow, tender kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[flyingwargle]

8 am is too early for suna to hear crying.

he and rikako are supposed to be on their way to school now – junior high for him and elementary school for her – but when she failed to come downstairs after breakfast, he went upstairs to check on her, hearing quiet sobs from behind her slightly ajar door. suna hesitates before knocking. “riri?” when he doesn’t get a response, he steps inside.

rikako is on the floor, glancing over at him with tear-rimmed eyes. she’s wearing a pink dress with white leggings, surrounded by various hair clips and hair ties. her hat and jacket are on top of her backpack, likely packed the night before. “nii-chan…” she sniffles.

“are you okay? what happened?” today would be absolutely terrible if he had to stay home because she’s sick, or whatever. he’d gladly take any excuse to skip school, but not because he has to care for her.

she opens her hand to show him wrinkled hair ties. “i wanna braid my hair but i don’t know how, and mom isn’t here. it’s picture day at school, and hana-chan said we should all have braids. i don’t want her to make fun of me again.”

“oh. that’s it?” suna’s shoulders sag in relief. “you don’t have to cry about that. i can do it.”

rikako blinks, clearing her tears away. “you know how?”

“mom taught me. she said it might be helpful.” he sits cross-legged behind her. “give me your brush and whatever hair ties you want. we’ll have to be quick, or we’re going to be late.”

while she deliberates, he runs the brush through her hair. they have the same shade of dark brown, the same style of bangs, but she keeps her hair long and his is short. once she’s made her selection, he puts them down within reach. “you want two braids, or one?”

“two!”

“okay.” he runs his fingers through her hair to section them off. “were you trying to do it yourself?”

“yeah.” she sniffles, still beneath his hands. “i thought you didn’t know how to do it, so…”

“your brother doesn’t just know how to play volleyball.”

“i know that now. thanks, nii-chan.”

he snorts. “i haven’t done this since mom showed me. it might be ugly.”

she hums. “better than what i can do.”

they fall into a comfortable silence as he puzzles out how to twist and pull her hair into a braid. their mom could probably tie a braid in under a minute; suna always heard their hushed conversations and shared giggles whenever he passed by to head downstairs. he hasn’t had that kind of relationship with her ever since he entered junior high.

once he has one braid done, he twists a hair tie at the end to keep it in place. it isn’t too ugly, with some hair sticking out, but otherwise, it keeps its shape. he prepares for the second one. “do you think mom is okay?” rikako asks quietly.

his fingers slow. “what do you mean?”

“she’s always so tired. dad doesn’t come home until late, so she has to do everything. and when he is home, they always argue.” so it’s not just him who hears their parents late at night, hushed tones bleeding through the thin walls. “mom always says she’s okay when i ask, but i know she’s lying.”

it’s honestly jarring how his sister can slide between crying over something so trivial to showing the depths of her emotional awareness. suna starts weaving hair together. “i don’t know if she is,” he admits, “but she’s an adult. she knows what to do.”

rikako hums again, unconvinced. “i wish we could do something to help.”

“what can we do? we’re just kids. it’s not like we can tell our parents to stop fighting when we don’t even know what they argue about.” he’s tried eavesdropping but to no avail, and he has no doubt his sister wouldn’t understand, either. “the best we can do is do what we’re told and not make any trouble.”

“if you say so.” her shoulders slump slightly, but less than a second later, she straightens. “what if i ask you to braid my hair instead of mom? that way, she’ll have one less thing to do!”

“i don’t know about that.” he releases her and nudges her toward the mirror. “i think she’ll do a much better job at braiding than me.”

she turns toward the mirror and squeaks at the uneven braids, hair sticking out in different directions. “nii-chan! what did you do?”

“i just did whatever mom showed me. i don’t know how to make it better.” his smile is sheepish without a trace of an apology. “i can do a ponytail, at least. give me some hair clips; let’s make it pretty so hana-whatever won’t make fun of you.”

“hana-chan! her name is hana-chan!”

they leave home shortly, rikako’s hair tied back into a simple ponytail with an elegant bow, butterfly hair clips in her bangs. suna locks the door and joins her on the sidewalk. when she reaches for his hand, he doesn’t wrestle it away, unlike days when he didn’t want to be seen holding it.

“i’ll ask you tomorrow too,” rikako murmurs when they reach the corner. “that way, you can practice and get better. maybe you’ll be better than mom.”

he rolls his eyes. “maybe you should learn how to do it yourself.”

“but wouldn’t it be cool if you know how to braid? do you know any boys who can braid?”

“no, because none of them have annoying little sisters.”

rikako pouts. the light turns green, and suna tugs her along. “kidding. you can ask, and i’ll probably be terrible at it, and you’ll have a ponytail, again. are you sure that’s okay?”

“so long you tried!”

the next morning, she knocks on his door after breakfast with a brush and hair ties in hand, and he tries to braid her hair with the same messy result. she leaves home with a ponytail, but the next day, she returns, again and again, until the day she sees him off to inarizaki, her hair styled neatly into twin braids, bouncing as she waves goodbye. suna waves until he can no longer see her, then turns his eyes to the most recent selfie in his photo gallery of him and rikako. their smiles are wide, bangs styled the same way, but whereas he keeps his hair short, she keeps hers long, often styled in braids.

no matter how old she gets, he hopes she’ll continue to ask him to help tie her hair.

--

lowkey inspired by this fanart of suna tying his sister's hair <3

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Andromeda -

Roboute Guilliman x M!OC (Finch)

Tags: Arranged marriage, AU shenanigans, crossdressing and gender fuckery

Plot bunny AU set during 30k, Great Crusade era after the Fall of the Eldar but before the Horus Heresy, I was stewing about how they would interact before becoming tired old men. Guilliman is more confident/self-important, and Finch is more insecure. Very much inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond drawing 30k and 40k Guilliman side by side, as well as some wives of the Primarchs content. Big thanks to @daily-shenanigans784 for the beta read. Pls help unmedicated ADHD is cooking my braincells

The Chorus: @thisuserislilsilly

- - -

Guilliman resisted the urge to glance around, but he knew that the voice— soft, sonorous, masculine— came from his new “bride”, the pile of gauzy fabric sitting beside him as revelry surrounded them. “You could have bargained for a better deal, you know.” It was the first time his new fiancee had decided to speak, most of the talking and the offering having been done by her (their?) father while the veiled figure had sat silent and stately on one of the mounts favored by the humans on the surface of this planet.

Lounging at the head of a table hosting a great feast for his legion, the chatter seemed to dim to Guilliman’s ears as this strange little secret unfurled before him, his focus drawn away from the impromptu celebration of his engagement to the xenos beside him. “There was no blood shed, no ammunition used, and I have returned another world to the Imperium. Enlighten me.”

“As in, you could have asked to see more selection.” Amongst the countless layers of bone white silk, accented with cold blue like winter fog and studded with dark rubies, a pair of delicate gloved hands folded upon the table. “My people may be licking their wounds, but they are ever prideful. Did you not think to appraise your sacrifice?”

Sacrifice. The concept of a defeated enemy offering tributes was not a foreign one, but the easy and almost dry acknowledgement was odd and discomforting. His crusade was a righteous one, he was not some drake resting upon its horde. “Theoretical: the Imperium wishes for me to find a wife, while accepting the offer of a bride may appear to snub other allies. Practical: this is an opportunity that has dropped right into my lap.”

“That was on purpose.” His fiancee sighed.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Guilliman’s voice was casual, but made it obvious that his question was not to be ignored.

“That your desires were foreseen, and my Craftworld has retreated with only a single casualty. It is as if you have been offered cuts of meat, accepting sweet fat hiding bones rather than sinew hiding flesh.” A white gloved finger trailed the rim of a fine porcelain dish before it, food untouched and veil unmoved.

Jaw ticking, the Primarch was not exactly pleased by the prospect of having been manipulated, his thoughts and motives sifted through by xenos he had fought quite regularly in the Emperor’s name. “Why say anything, my dear? Depreciating your own value isn’t quite the strategy I would employ.”

To his surprise, the figure sighed. Defeat. “...My role has been played. If you decide to kill me, there is little difference in the outcome the Farseer sought. Besides, you didn’t seem to be all that interested in my value before.” They listlessly waved a hand, almost mocking.

Guilliman hadn’t been raised with an absence of women in his life, unlike what he had discovered of many of his brothers. Tarasha Euten was one of his most trusted advisors and loved ones, and he held no illusions of masculine superiority. However, he had found that he couldn’t quite picture marriage to a woman. 

His enthusiastic legion had been delighted by the prospect of their genesire having a wife at his side, but somehow the xenos had seen and exploited a disinterest he thought he hid so well. That they had known he wouldn’t concern himself with a bride beyond appeasing the Emperor and choosing with only a political goal in mind.

“Who are you, then?”

“Not a princess, that’s for certain.” His bride scoffed. “We have no monarchy... I’m an artisan.”

That would have been amusing if it didn’t fill him with silent irritation. Such a flimsy lie, one that his new fiancee seemed almost eager to tear through like tissue paper. “A ploy to make their gift seem more enticing?”

“One of many to appeal to your human customs. The white garb is another, as is the veil. The one escorting me was a Seer, but apparently the father of a bride is charged with giving her away at the altar.” Not a drake upon its horde. Suddenly the phrasing of giving a bride at an altar brought to mind more myths of young women being left to be eaten by monsters from his youth on Macragge, making him internally shudder.

“I suppose your true father might have had objections.” Guilliman mused.

“Maybe.” They muttered dismissively. No family, a flippant attitude to the prospect of being executed for their betters’ deception, and a sense of honesty that felt like a slap to the face. Not to mention the fact he was having some suspicions as to certain details that were hidden behind those many layers of fabric. 

What was this feeling? Pity, perhaps? Intrigue? If nothing else he was curious.

“...I have little use for beauty, there would be no harm in showing your face.”

“That’s good, as I have none.” A soft laugh, like the chime of a bell, inexplicably warming him far more than any of the alcohol he had consumed alongside the feast. Guilliman’s bride searched for the hem of their veil, delicately resting the fabric upon their fingertips as they seemed to become bashful, turning to face him. “Just, ah… I assure you I have been genuine, and… I hope you are too.”

It took him a moment to recognize that his bride was holding their veil for him to lift, making his hearts jump strangely, torn between unwrapping them to uncover the mysteries hidden within the fabric and a desire to reveal them slowly like opening a gift. He felt as if this was a sight he wished to save for himself, rather than share with the rest of his legion.

Cautious, Guilliman bent down and carefully slipped his hands beneath the obscuring fabric, lifting it as he leaned in to study the face of the Eldar he’d been speaking to. 

One cheek was marred by a pockmarked array of scars, extending back over a ruined ear, a series of rough splits undoubtedly caused by blunt force to the side of the head. A gently sloped nose and sharp jaw, full mousy brown brows and freckles from time in the sun. Most arrestingly were his eyes. A deep viridian green flecked with sage, sharp and discerning, glittering with intelligence and… resignation. 

“…The Farseer hoped I would accept my place if I found a mate… she said it would make me happy.” A bitter little smile thinned his lips, looking ashamed as if this was a true admittance, rather than another deception to punch through. 

The Eldar seemed to expect him to respond, perhaps admonishing the fact that the gender of his bride was unsuitable for a man of his station. The thought crossed his mind briefly, the will of the Emperor ever on his heels, but fascination was leading him on. He claimed to lack beauty, but the story and wit he found on the Eldar’s face drew him in like the sublime expanse of the galaxy. With a hand he realized was large enough to splay across his fiancée’s entire face, he gingerly reached out to brush fingertips over the scarring on his cheek. 

“Uh, I seized and had a fall early in my training…” He muttered by way of explanation, dark eyes flitting to avoid Guilliman’s gaze, obviously bewildered. 

”Worried about battle scars with someone at the head of a legion.” The Primarch teased. “What would you like me to call you?”

The Eldar flushed, pursing his lips. “The envoy told you my given name.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“…Finch. Consider me to be… your future left hand man.”

[yoonavii]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓

Rich bachelor! Law x Reader

Description: On your courthouse wedding day, hope and determination fueled you, but your fiancé's absence and the revelation of a secret girlfriend shattered your dreams. In that moment of heartbreak, Trafalgar Law, an eligible and wealthy bachelor driven by the need for his family's inheritance, appeared. He offered a life-altering proposition: marry him in exchange for financial security. You immediately accepted without hesitation, unaware of the thrilling twists and turns awaiting you on the unexpected love journey.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The city of Sabaody appeared almost surreal under the persistent downpour, the streets glistening with rainwater and neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement. You hastily exited a yellow taxi, its tires sending up a spray of water as it sped away. Clutching your umbrella, you dashed up the stone steps, the raindrops patterning a rhythmic tune on its canopy. Inside the courthouse, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling, rain-soaked streets. The corridors were lined with heavy wooden doors leading to various courtrooms, their dark oak contrasting with the white marble floors. The scent of rain-soaked coats hung in the air, and the soft murmur of conversations between lawyers and clients filled your ears.

Finally, you reached the designated courtroom, your heart pounding as you pushed open the imposing wooden door. The judge, an imposing figure in a black robe, peered over the rim of his glasses. He tapped his watch with a measured impatience, the seconds ticking away audibly in the otherwise silent room. With a flush of embarrassment, you offered a hurried apology, the words echoing in the hushed space. The judge leaned forward, his voice carrying the weight of authority as he remarked, “You’re ten minutes late.”

Your gaze swept over the room, noticing the familiar faces of friends and family who had gathered for this momentous occasion. Panic surged as you realized your fiancé was conspicuously absent. The judge’s stern tone deepened your anxiety as he asked, “Where is your fiancé?” Desperation took hold, and you retrieved your phone from your pocket, trembling fingers fumbling as you dialed your fiancé’s number. Each ring felt like an eternity, and your hope dwindled with every unanswered call. Finally, it diverted to voicemail, and you excused yourself from the courtroom, stepping into the hallway. The fluorescent lights above flickered slightly, casting an eerie glow on the gray walls. As you tried your fiancé’s number once more, your heart raced. Outside, the relentless rain painted a picture of uncertainty, mirroring the doubt and concern swirling through your thoughts.

As you continued to redial your fiancé's number, minutes stretched into half an hour, and the stress began to gnaw at you like a relentless itch. Frustration and worry etched lines across your forehead. You kept glancing at your phone, hoping for any sign of life from your missing partner. Unable to quell your anxiety, you allowed your gaze to wander, and it landed on an open courtroom adjacent to yours. A courtroom wedding was in progress, and the atmosphere inside was surprisingly festive. The bride and groom, dressed in exquisite attire, exchanged vows with radiant smiles.What struck you as odd was the extravagance of the guests' attire. They sported both recognizable luxury brands and some that seemed to be known only to a select few. It was a stark contrast to your own choice of a simple courthouse wedding.

Your attention was briefly diverted when a slim, tall man around your age exited the room. He exuded an air of sophistication and confidence. His golden eyes hinted at a hidden depth, and his chiseled face framed by slicked-back black hair added to his allure. He was dressed in a minimal yet elegant all-black ensemble, oozing a kind of charm that was hard to ignore.

For a moment, you found yourself admiring his appearance, but then a wave of guilt washed over you. You had no business checking out other men when you were supposed to be getting married today. Your gaze returned to your phone screen, desperately waiting for your fiancé to pick up, your heart heavy with worry and doubt. As you waited anxiously, a voice from inside the courtroom called out, “Law.” It was the groom, and you mentally noted the name of the handsome man as Law. You watched as Law turned to the groom, annoyance flickering in his golden eyes. He whispered something to the groom, who appeared chastened and immediately apologized, bowing in deference.

Your curiosity piqued, but before you could dwell on this interaction, your phone finally came to life. Relief washed over you as you asked your fiancé if he was okay, explaining your concern for his unresponsiveness earlier. However, instead of your fiancé’s voice, a woman answered the call, and your heart sank. As the woman’s words cut through the air like daggers, you found your voice despite the turmoil inside you. Anger and disbelief fueled your response, and your tone was sharp as you retorted, “What are you talking about? This can’t be true!” The woman on the other end of the line, her voice dripping with condescension, replied, “Oh, sweetheart, it’s as true as the sky is blue. Your so-called fiancé has been seeing me for months behind your back. He’s been spending money meant for your shared expenses on me.”

Your mind reeled, and you clenched your fists, desperately trying to process this shocking revelation. In a mix of anger and heartbreak, you shot back, “How could he do this? We were getting married today! Who are you, anyway?” She laughed again, that same cruel laughter that grated on your nerves. “I’m the one who’s been keeping him entertained, while you were here planning your wedding like a fool. I’m the one he’s chosen over you, darling.” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of humiliation and betrayal. “You… You’re destroying my life!” you exclaimed, your voice quivering with emotion. She remained unapologetic, her voice cold and dismissive. “I’m just telling you the truth. He never loved you, sweetie. You’re better off without him.” You demanded, in a trembling voice, that he pick up the phone and confirm the terrible truth himself. After what felt like an eternity, he finally picked up the call. Your voice was seething with anger as you confronted him.

With the phone pressed to your ear, you could feel your anger rising like a tempest. "Is it true?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and fury. "Tell me you didn't do what she said." A heavy sigh on the other end was followed by a heartless admission, "yeah, it's true. I haven't loved you for a long time. I've been using you, living off your money while saving everything for my new girlfriend and our new life." Each word cut deeper, igniting a burning rage within you. "You heartless, selfish... Do you even understand how much I've struggled because of you?!" Your voice quivered with a blend of sorrow and anger. "I gave you chance after chance to change, to be a better person, and this is how you repay me? I regret every moment I ever spent loving you or feeling pity for you!"

The line went silent for a moment as your fiancé absorbed the force of your words. Finally, he responded, "Well, I don't need your pity or your love anymore—“

With those words, you reached a breaking point. The torrent of emotions, the years of suffering and betrayal, all culminated in a moment of sheer frustration. Without thinking, you slammed your phone onto the ground, the sound of it shattering echoing through the hallway. Your heartache was now accompanied by the pain of a destroyed device, symbolizing the wreckage of the life you had built together.  As you sat there in the dimly lit courthouse hallway, shattered phone in hand, your focus consumed by the turmoil of your own life falling apart, you were unaware that Law had been observing your situation with keen interest.

Just as Law opened his mouth to perhaps offer some comment or consolation, his own phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and picked it up, his expression quickly shifting from curiosity to irritation. It was his father's financial advisor on the line, and they delved into a discussion about his father's will. Law's brows furrowed deeply as he listened, and he finally interrupted, frustration evident in his voice. "Why are you discussing this with me when my father is still alive? Is something wrong?" The financial advisor explained matter-of-factly, "Your father instructed me to discuss the beneficiaries with you in case anything were to happen to him. It's a precautionary measure, nothing more."

Law's irritation lingered, but he couldn't deny the weight of the conversation. As he concluded his call, his thoughts seemed to drift back to you, sitting there with your world shattered, much like his own feelings of betrayal and uncertainty about the future. As the conversation with his father's financial advisor continued, Law's irritation gave way to bewilderment. The advisor disclosed a surprising update to his father's will, something that caught Law completely off guard. His voice filled with curiosity and disbelief, Law questioned, "What is it? What did my father do?" The advisor hesitated for a moment before delivering the unexpected revelation. "Your father updated his will recently. In it, there's a condition for you to inherit his wealth and properties. You won't gain access to your inheritance unless you're married for more than a year."

Law was struck speechless by this revelation. His father's desire for a daughter-in-law and the prospect of a grandchild had always been a topic of discussion, but he never imagined his father would take it to this extreme. Law sat in stunned silence as the weight of his father’s unconventional condition settled upon him. He never thought his father’s desire for a daughter-in-law and grandchild would manifest in such a peculiar way. The advisor’s voice brought him back to the conversation, “Your father made this decision to ensure the continuation of the family legacy. It seems he was quite adamant about it.” Law could hardly believe it. It was as if his father was orchestrating his life from beyond the grave. A mixture of frustration and resignation washed over him. “Is there anything else in the will I should know about?”

The advisor assured him that he had covered the essential points, but Law couldn’t help but contemplate the unexpected turn of events. His father’s plan seemed to be unfolding like a complex chess game, and Law was left to grapple with the implications, all while sitting in the courthouse hallway where your own life had taken a dramatic, painful turn.

Law's gaze lingered on you for a moment, and when your eyes briefly met, a fleeting connection sparked between you. However, you quickly looked away, wiping away the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks as you listened to your own life unravel over the phone. In the midst of his own turmoil, Law's determination grew stronger. He couldn't let this opportunity to secure his inheritance slip through his fingers, regardless of the price it might entail. He leaned closer to the phone and instructed the advisor, "Tell my father that I've met someone and that we were planning to get married at the courthouse."

Unbeknownst to him, your ears perked up at his words, and your heart raced. Normally, you didn't jump to conclusions, but the timing and context of his statement left little room for doubt. A sense of disbelief and curiosity washed over you, as you wondered if his words could somehow be connected to the dramatic events unfolding in your own life. Law's confident gaze locked onto you as he interrupted your thoughts, revealing that he had been listening to your conversation with your now ex-fiancé.

The shock of the situation left you momentarily speechless. With a calm yet determined tone, Law explained his unexpected proposition. "You're not getting married to him," he stated matter-of-factly. "I need a wife, and I can assure you that you'll be well taken care of, both physically and, most importantly, financially. You won't struggle ever again." The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn't believe what you were hearing. It was as if you had stepped into the pages of a romance novel, and this modern prince was offering you a castle and a princess title. You pondered on it briefly, the weight of the decision heavy in the air. Then, with newfound determination, you met Law's gaze and agreed, "Alright, I'm in. Let's do this." It wasn't every day that life presented such a surreal opportunity, and you were willing to take the leap into this unexpected twist of fate.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[blankwashed]

Sleepless Shadows (Part 6)

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII

Recap: “If you had told me that you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have taken it so far you know?” he said as he came closer to you in a soft voice.

“I-I didn’t want to seem inexperienced, I-I hope I came up to your standards, sir…” Satoru looked at you with disapproval as you called him sir. Again.

WARNING & A/N: Do not read if you get triggered by mentions of rape, molestation, kinks, force. Really weird shit goes down here, I don’t know what’s up with my brain.

Satoru shakes his head once again at you. He doesn’t want to think about work and how you address him in university at the moment, why are you always reminding him?

“My dear,” he looks at you with thirst in his eyes still. Eyes, rolling to the back of his head as if he didn’t shoot the biggest load into your mouth. His thick cock coming back alive and practically making you afraid at how fast he can get hard again.

You stepped back from him, afraid of how he will treat you again. There were multiple times where you misbehaved and called him the honorific that he repeatedly asked you to not to address him by tonight. Even when he was railing you from behind, he swore he heard you say “sir, this is so good” but he let those slide.

Clearly, you were tired and exhausted. Your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment. After some time you realized your mistake but it was already too late. He already had your hands pinned up against the wall, restricting all your movements. Sweat started to drip from your forehead and your breath was hitched, “S—Satoru, I’m sorry I f—forgot and you can’t blame me you were pleasuring me so well it just slipped my mind—“ you started to give out reasons for your mishap.

“Don’t you know how much your mistakes have an effect on me? Only you, baby that can do this to me. No one else. That’s why out of all the people I have ever met, I selected you because I know how smart and you’re such a perfectionist,” He uttered from his soft, rosy lips. Does Satoru have a perfectionist kink?!

He continues, “That’s why I like you babe, you’re perfect. Oh so perfect for me, and always doing what I ask you to do like a little follower, my slave if you will,”

Your eyes just widen because this is a whole lot of information for you to grasp. Mr. Gojo—I meant Satoru, likes how I do things according to what I’m asked to do? And he wants me to be his slave? The BDSM kind? Or is he into something much worse? You shook the thought off your head.

“B—but Satoru I—I’m tired, I just lost my virginity to you…can’t you just let me rest for a while? Please? I can please you in other ways,” you begged the lustful Gojo who can’t stop the idea of hammering you onto the floor. His mind was out of control at this point, only thinking of forcing himself into your tight pussy. He didn’t bother how he broke your hymen which caused you to bleed because the pleasure was overwhelming. All he wanted to do was use you as a fleshlight. He’s wanted to use you as one ever since he spotted you in class. Just to flip you on a desk, taking you from behind while grabbing your large breasts. But he remembered that your mouth would do the job.

“I guess your mouth was good too,” He growled and grabbed you by your hair and brought your white lips to his cock once more. You were exhausted from being fucked around but still you tried to open your drained and pallid lips wide enough to take in his length. Apparently it was not wide enough and he was not pleased at how you weren’t giving your best. He then grabbed you by your hair and choked your throat in order for your mouth to open wider. Grasping onto your hair, he brought your face to the rim of his cock, which caused you to choke profusely.

You scratched, clawed and hit his abs trying to inform him that you were in overwhelming pain, not sexual pain. Despite how loving Satoru was before, now his mind is not in the right place anymore and all he wants is your sweet & hot mouth to engulf his member. “Was this a new person?” You thought to yourself with tears running down your cheeks. You were choking but did he care? He didn’t, it made you want to die.

Satoru fucked your face for what it felt like ages to you until his hot, steamy cum was running down your throat. You thought that if this what it felt when someone were to force feed someone? This was worse. There you were, practically on the floor looking like you were just raped, but by who? A lecturer whom you love? Tears continued to flow down as you were conflicted with your feelings.

“Was he into me or does he only like my body?” You thought to yourself. Everything was confusing for you at that moment, you were only a 24 year old student in Jujutsu High, trying to learn how to fight for the better good of the world and I just got raped? It was consensual right? You had no idea.

Curled up as a ball, you wished you weren't there. Maybe even spending the night with Toji could've been better, at least he won't play with your feelings mentally. You thought at the moment that it was the beauty of one night stands or friends with benefits, no emotions will be attached.

"I'm sorry," you heard Satoru whisper. It took him a couple minutes to say that. You were collapsed into a cocoon, hugging your thighs and just wailing and sobbing. An aura of darkness was over you from all the negative emotions you were feeling at that time.

Both of you remained silent for a long time and things became uncomfortable among you both, which usually never happens. You were his star student, right? The only star that was exceptional to him. Satoru was feeling very guilty of everything he did, even to the point where he felt ashamed to urge you to do such immoral and kinky things to him. It was all his fault, right?

A/N again: this was alot. im sorry i made satoru into someone who cant resist, i didnt mean to but i think the plot just had to go there.

I just updated some stuff I’m horny now I’m sorry (im sleepy too so my brain isn’t functioning now)

[urbanadventureleague]

More options in alloy 26" x 1 3/8" rims

I am a dedicated lover of the peculiar size native to old British three speeds and some other bikes now not common in North America. Known as 26″ x 1 3/8″ in English terminology, 650A in French, ISO 590 in standardized talk, and E.A.3 to people who are no longer alive, this wheel size is practically (but not exactly) the same as the much more venerated 650B. But the selection of tires is…

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Judgement Call (Part II: Reward)

⭒Din Djarin x Original Female Character⭒

GIF credit to @perotovar from this set

Previous | Next

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Summary Mando and Zakia return to Nevarro for their reward. They leave with something unexpected.

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Author's Note Trucking right along with this little project. If you prefer Ao3, it's right here. Thanks for coming along!

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Word Count: 2.7k+

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PART II: REWARD

“Zakia.”

A grumble responds. Bare arms tug the threadbare blanket tighter, and she rolls away until the disturbance is at her back. 

“Mm. Not yet…”

“Come on. We’re on Nevarro.”

Zakia blinks at the steel wall. She stretches her spine and straightens the crick in her neck, groan escaping through her teeth. She locates the Mandalorian a few inches away, kneeling beside the cot. His armor is in place and freshly wiped down, her own reflection staring back from his helmet. 

“…Was I asleep the whole trip?” 

She swings her feet around to land on the floor as she rubs sleep from her eyes. After Pagodon, when she secured their bounty into carbonite, exhaustion won out. Her transport, another hunter she thought was reliable enough to get her to the outer-rim wasteland in time to meet Mando, was late. Not to mention the distance at which he docked from their shared vessel, leaving her to spend the better part of a half hour dragging their third bounty’s dead body onto the Razor Crest and into carbonite. 

Yeah, she was done with solo hunts until she had her own ship again.

“I didn’t want to wake you, but we’re here now. I’m taking the bounties in for reward.” He clears his throat. “Thought you might want to join.”

“Yeah, sorry. Give me a minute.” Zakia lets him tug her upright, one bare hand lingering in hers.  

Din’s shoulders are slumped just enough to give away his own fatigue, and the helm is on a minuscule tilt towards the right pauldron. He lets Zakia squeeze his fingers and take a step into his orbit.

“You should have woke me up. You’re tired.” Zakia lifts her hand, resting it just under the brim of his helmet where metal meets skin. “Even cyborgs have to sleep.”

“I’m fine.” He monotones, ignoring the joke.

Zakia cocks a brow and folds her arms across her chest. Cycles of therapy couldn’t fix the emotional aversion driven into this man by the Mandalorians that raised him. 

“Din.” She starts, “Ever since the baby-”

He stills. Cuts her off gently, boots tapping on the metal floor. “I didn’t mean to be… Kriff, I’m shit at this.”

“I think we’re both shit at this.” Zakia fiddles anxiously with the end of a braid. “I’m not sure how anyone could be good at it. After everything.”

The Mandalorian’s mask betrays nothing when he cups her neck with a bare hand. He steers Zakia a step closer, pressing the helmet to her temple.  She leans into him, trying to pass some of her affection into his reproachful thoughts. Years of partnership hasn't made their shared loss any easier to talk about.

“We’ll get better.” Din says. Zakia is close enough to hear without the modulation from his helmet. 

“I know.”

He’s checking the vitals of their frozen victims when she emerges into the cargo hold. Zakia has selected the only clean clothes in her limited wardrobe. Thick black leggings and tall boots, slim gray jacket with a tall collar and cinched waist to ward off the occasionally breezy atmosphere of Nevarro. She passes by the Mandalorian to strap her holsters in place, dual blasters following.

“I’m ready whenever you are.” Zakia heads to the hatch controls, adjusting her belt as she does.

Din slips by Zakia to retrieve the spent tracking fobs for their bounties. He lays a gloved hand on her back and bumps his helmet against the side of her head once more. Zakia inclines her chin and presses a kiss to the cold steel while he hooks the fob to his belt. She depresses the hatch release button, hydraulics hissing awake to lower the ramp. 

They walk into the bazaar single-file. Zakia leads the way while Mando treks a few paces behind. His vigilance is constant, helmet scanning for threats all while keeping her in his line of sight.  Zakia knows he doesn’t underestimate her, but he does overestimate the rest of the crowd. Din is cautious by nature- raised in the Fighting Corps where anyone could be gone at a moment’s notice. She doesn’t blame him, considering their lifestyle, but she also doesn’t have a high-tech bucket on her head to help monitor the entire planet. 

Zakia weaves their way across town. She picks through throngs of people all too busy to scold her or too scared to look her way with a Mandalorian trailing. The tavern which hosts the Bounty Hunter’s Guild is bustling today, and Zakia wrinkles her nose at the patrons. It smells of blaster smoke and body odor  inside, indicating it’s been a good week for most hunters. Some turn and rumble about the pair when they enter, but no one stops them. 

As expected, Greef Karga is lounging in his customary booth near the center. In this system, he’s the sun- all the hunters orbit him like starved wolves, searching for credits or more work to get them. He stands to greet Zakia and Mando, gripping her hand and giving it a brief shake. She offers a tight smile to the Guild boss, who motions for them both to sit.

“Always a pleasure. Did you catch them all?”

Zakia slides into the open booth. “Have you ever known us to come back empty-handed?”

Mando tosses the fobs onto the table, never a man of many words in the presence of other hunters.  

“I’ll begin the offload.” Karga calls something out in Huttese that Zakia thinks is ‘ get moving’ .  

The two men at the door, both of which she knows are his right-hand men, duck out of the bar towards the docks. 

Mando unclips the rifle strap from his shoulder and sits beside his partner, keeping the weapon within reach. Cold metal presses against her thigh, and more hunters send looks their way. 

Zakia returns them with pointed venom, narrowing her eyes at their competitors.

Karga takes his time counting out credits, and Zakia watches, only half-interested. Din insists on handling the credits- she theorizes he’s trying to prevent her from worrying about the galaxy-wide inflation- and she doesn’t mind one bit. Bartering takes patience, of which she has limited. 

Especially when it comes to Karga, who loves to try and outsmart hunters whenever possible.

“These are Imperial Credits.” Mando deadpans when the chips are tossed down. 

Zakia rubs at the scar on her cheek, kneading the knotted skin in an attempt to assuage the boredom creeping up on her. The argument about credits and which particular currency they came in is a tired one. Karga and Mando have the same conversation almost every other time they come to collect.

“They still spend.” 

The Guild Master settles his wrists on the table and takes a swig from his spotchka. Zakia's one-eyed gaze flickers to Mando and then to the distinctly marked square credits. Even she understood the issue.

“I don’t know if you heard, but the Empire is gone.” Zakia can feel the tension in Mando’s body as he challenges the offer. 

“It’s all I’ve got.”

Mando swiftly grabs the fobs, yanking them back in his direction. Karga lurches forward, grasping his wrist to prevent the action. Zakia’s fingers twitch against her thigh. 

“Save the theatrics.”

After Mando twists his wrist away and casts a glare even Karga can see through the helmet, the boss relents

“Fine. I can do Calamari Flan. But I can only pay half.” The deal is not necessarily fair, but Zakia knows it’s better than the Imperial credits.

“Fine. “ Mando grunts, swiping the Calamari credits from the table. Zakia stands from the other side of the booth, nudging the Mandalorian’s arm.

“I’m getting a drink.”

She swipes one of the Imperial credit chips from the table and makes sure to ignore Karga’s weak protest at her actions. Zakia’s approach to the bar is slow going, and she pushes through prickly-looking women and burly men to get to the bar. A small area is unoccupied, and she sandwiches herself between a Twi’lek and a fairly large Trandoshan to take it.

“Haven’t seen you around lately.” The bartender Zakia recognizes as an old man named Jev, meanders to her position as he wipes his hands on a rag. “That Mandalorian keeping you locked inside the ship?”

Zakia snorts, handing the credit chip over to Jev. “As if. He’s liable to leave me in some other system to have the ship to himself.”

Jev chuckles at her remark, inspecting the chip. They can’t afford to be picky on Nevarro. “What’ll it be?”

“Whatever’s good today.” She tells him. 

As he bustles away, the feeling of being watched raises the hairs on Zakia’s neck. She turns quickly to catch the Twi’lek staring, hand smacking down on the plaster surface of the bar.

“Problem?” 

Obviously a working woman disinterested in her current employer, the Twi hold her hands up. They fan the air in a placating gesture, and her expression grows nervous. “No, no. Wasn’t tryin’ to make an issue.”

Zakia purses her lips, eyes drifting back to Jev. Guilt nags at her. “Sorry. People stare a lot.”

The Twi’lek woman blinks a couple times, fingering the rim of her own glass while debating a response. Jev sits Zakia’s drink down before she comes up with something to say. 

“That Mandalorian do it to you?”

Zakia lifts the glass, eyebrows rising. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, given the normal Mandalorian stereotypes. However, the thought of Din hurting her was unreasonable. 

Not that this woman would know.

“Nah. This one’s a real teddy bear.” She sips the mixed drink, savoring the bite of alcohol.  “It was a Wookiee. With a vibroblade.”

She departs the bar and leaves the Twi’lek to stare. Zakia finds Mando and Karga slanted over the table, talking in hushed tones. The latter extends an old-fashioned holochit between two fingers. When he spots her approach, Karga drops the chit and halts whatever he had been saying.

Way too quickly.

Zakia stoops to shuffle in next to Mando until their thighs are pressed against each other. Karga looks between them and then back to the Mandalorian as if for confirmation.

“What’s going on?” She demands, glaring between them both. 

“Give me the chit.” Mando abruptly switches his attention back to the boss, holding out a gloved hand.

Karga complies, though Zakia still remains in the dark. Mando immediately climbs from the booth, swinging his rifle back to its place on his shoulder. He holds out a hand to Zakia, who stares at the appendage like the Twi’lek had stared at her face. 

Any public show of affection was wholly uncharacteristic for him, even if it was a simple helping hand.

Zakia finishes her drink in a single go and sends a scowl in Karga’s direction. She ensures that her glass slamming down on the table conveys just how annoyed she is at them both. With one last glare in his direction, she accepts Mando’s hand and lets him pull her up. The Mandalorian immediately herds her out of the building, ignoring any wandering eyes.

“Mando, what is going on?” 

Zakia digs her heels in as soon as they’re outside, pulling him into a shaded corner between two buildings. Foot traffic passes by the mouth of the alley, but no one pays them any mind.

“Karga offered me a high-profile bounty. No puck. Just the chit card to get into an address up the street.” He checks once again that they don’t have an audience. “I’ve never seen him look that nervous.”

“And what aren’t you telling me?” Zakia asks, hands propped on her hips. 

They may have been going through a rough patch for quite some time, but shacking up with the same faceless man for just under a decade had her well-tuned into his demeanor.

“I want you to go back to the Crest and make sure Karga’s men didn’t mess anything up. I'm going to go find out about this target.” Mando adjusts his rifle, helmet nodding towards the port. 

Zakia’s frown deepens. “We have Karga’s men unload the ship everytime we’re here, Din. What are you not telling me?”

He stiffens, long fingers clenching and unclenching on his bandolier. Zakia knows he’s averting his eyes under the helmet.

“I need you to go back to the ship.”

Frustration bubbles to the forefront of her mind, and Zakia takes a step back. Her fingers rub circles into her temples, and she tries to keep the disappointment at bay. 

“You know, Din, everytime I think we might be getting somewhere, you shut me out again.” Zakia pokes a finger into the durasteel plate covering his chest before stomping towards the street. 

“Zak…” 

 She presses her lips into a thin line, slowing only once to let him speak. He understands the cue, moving around her so they’re face-to-face again. 

“I think they’re Imperial.” 

A blonde eyebrow shoots to her hairline.

“Oh, even better. Trying to walk into an Imperial hideout by yourself without telling me. That’s kriffing brilliant! ” Zakia lowers her voice to a hiss. “Did you forget the Imps are the ones who slaughtered your people?”

It’s a low blow, but Din doesn’t react.

“Karga couldn’t give us a puck worth more than five thousand, Zakia. We wouldn’t even break even with fuel.” The Mandalorian looks suddenly sheepish, shoulders bowing and head falling to his chest. A punch of air comes out the bottom of his helmet. “I thought… Maybe if this bounty is worth as much as Karga makes it out to be, that we could take a break.”

“...A break?”

“From hunting. Just us, somewhere quiet and warm.” Din murmurs. He curls a finger into one of her braids. “If they are Imperial, and things go sideways, I can change what I look like. Paint my armor. I don’t have a face for them to see.”

Zakia is still stuck on the idea of a vacation. “I… didn’t know you wanted a break.”

“I don’t want a break. We need a break. It’s been non-stop since we lost it...” Din trails off, hand ghosting over her belly in faint remembrance before lifting to her shoulder. His thumb strokes up and down the side of her neck. “So please, let me do this. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

His voice is ladened with sincerity, warming her straight through to the heart. Hearing him mention their loss was a breakthrough all on its own, though not one she wanted to discuss in a Nevarro alleyway. His enormous guilt over the matter had left it nigh unmentionable, so hearing him say anything related gave her hope.

“Alright, fine. But you sync this-” She pulls a comm unit from her inside coat pocket, “-with your helmet. Beep me if something goes wrong.”

Din taps away on his vambrace to do as she requests. 

“And Din?” Zakia chews the inside of her cheek, watching his visor from under thick lashes. 

“Yeah?” His voice is low, strained through his modulator. 

“We’ll talk about it on the ship, but please.” She wraps her arms around her midsection, cradling a tiny life that was long since lost. “Stop blaming yourself for the baby. Some things are out of our control.”

She doesn’t expect a reply, so isn’t disappointed when he stays quiet. Din only moves to slip a few credit chips into her pocket, helmet brushing her hair.

“You mind grabbing some rations? I don’t know how long we’ll be off-world.” He tilts her chin up. “And I know you’ve been eyeing the rifles at Derru’s stall lately. If we do get a break, you might be able to get back into practice.”

Zakia cracks a smile at his thoughtfulness. She hasn’t mentioned getting back into her old profession to him in a while - not since it felt impossible to be a sniper with her shooting eye rendered blind- but he doesn’t miss much. Her window shopping must have been a bit more obvious than she thought.

“Meet you back at the ship?” She asks, zipping her pocket closed over the chips.

“Back at the ship.” Din confirms.

One of her hands catches his pauldron and gives her leverage to push up and kiss the helmet where his cheek would be. “Be careful, Mando.”

They go their separate ways, disappearing into the crowded bazaar. Zakia’s boots traipse across stone and through puddles and she can’t be bothered to care. With Din’s goal in mind, she thinks they might finally be getting back to normal.

--

Thank you for reading, much love ❤️ Masterlist

[manic-maniac-man]

HUgE July 2011

with SUNTAN

Carefully selected summer items that are the perfect match for tanned skin.

STRAW HAT

A striking summer hat that creates a resort vibe.

01 YOHJI YAMAMOTO

The rough texture creates a cool impression. Also pay attention to the unique ribbon pattern. ¥33,600 (Yohji Yamamoto Information Desk)

02 JAMES LOCK & CO,. LTD

The height of the crown and the length of the prims are perfectly balanced. ¥31,500 (Beauty & Youth United Arrows Harajuku Men's Store)

03 foot the coacher

A mountain hat made from high-quality genuine Panama. A unique item with an elegant finish using materials. ¥37,800 (GALLERY OF AUTHENTIC)

04 TAKAHIROMIYASHITATheSoloist.

This straw hat is made of paper braid and has silk tape wrapped around it randomly, giving it a fancy feel. ¥31,395 (Pred PR)

05 WACKO MARIA

The Panama hat is the epitome of WACKOMARIA. The wide brim and crimson silk ribbon give off a masculine sexiness. ¥30,975 (B-Jirushi YOSHIDA)

06 LANVIN

The banana khaki color body and the chic three-color ribbon are a perfect match. The elegant finish is as expected. ¥42,000 (Lanvin Japan)

BRACELET

16 items

A classic men's accessory that will add a unique touch to your outfit.

01 JOHN LAWRENCE SULLIVAN

A classic studded bracelet. The leather is crafted using the same techniques used for dress belts, giving it an elegant finish. ¥15,750 (John Lawrence Sullivan)

02 Gary Reeves

The high quality turquoise and outstanding stamp work are the hallmarks of Navajo artisans. ¥145,740 (Nano Universe Library Tokyo)

03 foot the coacher

The design is based on the motif of a horse harness. The intricate buckle decoration gives a glimpse of the maker's aesthetics. ¥25,200 (GALLERY OF AUTHENTIC)

04 UNDERCOVERISM

The ball-shaped studs and leather surface have been treated to give the shoes a worn look. Also available in black. ¥18,900 (UNDERCOVERISM)

05 Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci

The cowhide is embossed with a leopard print. Studs are added to make it even more attractive and eye-catching. ¥18,900 (Third Culture)

06 PHENOMENON

The large amount of fly studs on this shoe is striking. The stimulating, playful and unconventional design is fun. ¥39,900 (The Contemporary Fix)

07 Weirdo

All parts, including the Franken, tires and I-beam fasteners, are handmade with great care. ¥73,500 (GLADHAND CORE)

08 CHROME HEARTS

From the popular punk series. Pyramid studs of different sizes are used to create a striking effect. ¥105,000 (Chrome Hearts Tokyo)

09 Dior Homme

The sharp design highlights the texture of the python. The delicate and dainty details give it elegance. ¥58,800 (Christian Dior)

10 1-100GRAHAM TABOR/MIGUEL VILLALOBOS

A masterpiece made of hammered silver with a rich finish. ¥66,150 (Edition Omotesando Hills store)

11 PHIGVEL

Made of 3mm thick rugged bends. Hand-dyed to create a realistic vintage look. Made by (VINTAGE WORKS). ¥15,750 (PROD)

12 Yves Saint Laurent

The design is based on the brand's initial "Y". ¥19,950 (Gucci Group Japan Yves Saint Laurent Division)

13 DISCOVERED

The shiny red glass leather bracelet is an effective accent piece for any outfit. ¥7,140 (DISCOVERED CO.,Ltd.)

14 LAD MUSICIAN

The design features a triple wrap with a stud in the center. Available in a wide range of colors, it's fun to wear several pieces together. ¥10,500 (LAD MUSICIAN SHINJUKU)

15 PHENOMENON

A combination of hemp, wooden studs and other natural materials gives this punk design an ethnic feel. ¥23,100 (The Contemporary Fix)

16 DELUXE

A combination of silver chain and brass plate. The simple design makes the most of the material and is clean and masculine. ¥43,050 (BRIDGE)

SUNGLASSES

Eyewear with a strong presence that will add color to your outfit.

01 DITA

The titanium rims are specially coated to look like leather. A classic design given a modern makeover. ¥44,100 (DITA LEGENDS Daikanyama Main Store)

02 TOM FORD

A new version of the popular model "Peter". The crossed metal bridge and top bar give it a strong personality. ¥44,100 (Tom Ford Eyewear)

03 RAF SIMONS by Linda Farrrow

The distinctive temples are inspired by the legs of the table Raf himself uses. The uniform khaki color scheme is fresh. ¥39,900 (Reference price/Diptrics)

04 CHROME HEARTS

The matte black color creates a solid Maculism look. The silver end pieces add an accent. ¥131,250 (Chrome Hearts Tokyo)

05 The Spectacle

The motif is an antique frame from the 1940s. The elegant curves and lens gradation are impressive. ¥79,800 (Minority Rep Tokyo)

06 TRUSSARDI 1911

The marble-colored fabric rim gives this teardrop a striking presence. The slightly small size is also a plus. ¥44,100 (STEP inc.)

[hirocimacruiser]

More pages from the Hyper Rev Cedric Gloria special.

Y33 Cedric Gloria wheel matching.

Essential parts for dressing up, that's why I want to stick to it

It should be difficult to think because it has the form of a 4-door sedan. For Cedric/Gloria, changing wheels is a more important dress-up point than for other models. This is because the normal 15- and 16-inch size wheels will inevitably result in a poor form due to the large side area of ​​the body.

In addition to size, there are many designs to choose from. The impression changes drastically depending on the details such as the depth of the rim and the structure of the center cap, as well as the large categories such as spokes and mesh. I would like you to think carefully about what suits you, along with the special feature on wheels from page 32.

That's why wheel selection, including inch-up, can be said to be the most important point in dressing up. At least 17 inches, and the mainstream is now 18 inches. Special sizes such as 19 and 20 inches have also appeared for big sedans, but in the Sedgro class, the size of the tire house is the reason why this class wheels are installed.

This is the vehicle for wheel matching photography!

Y33 Gloria with NISMO full aero

This time, the Y33 Gloria equipped with parts of NISMO, Nissan Motor Sports International, was used as the vehicle for this wheel matching page. The aero parts that show the neat finish unique to the manufacturer's direct line are equipped with a full kit of front bumper side skirts & door panel set, rear bumper, rear spoiler radiator grill (aero kit A price 472,000 yen). These aero parts can also be purchased individually.

About 25mm down. It is a spring rate setting that does not deteriorate ride comfort so much.

In addition, this NISMO demo car is equipped with a muffler, a meter panel with a built-in monitor, and a Vinstrive. See page 52 for details.

Another point to decide the styling. In terms of lowering the vehicle height, the combination of a normal-shaped spring and a 4-step damping force adjustable damper reduces the front by approximately 35mm and the rear by approximately 35mm.