#the answers to questions i'm longing to hear

[idle-vapourings]

This is so real.

for myself, I've just had to realize when I'm talking to someone who has no desire to understand me.

because yeah, ableist people be ableist, bigots be bigots, selfish people be selfish, and it will be a losing game every time trying to make them come around.

i had this happen with a friend who had hurt my feelings. I kept it very short and polite because I didn't want to be angry with her or make her feel bad. and then she interpreted that negatively and had a lot of questions for me about my feelings. so i tried to take that in good faith, and explained myself in more detail. I tried to be both empathetic but clear, but really explain and answer her questions. she kept asking me to explain my feelings and at some point I felt that I was being asked to justify having an emotion, which I explained why that hurt. She wasn't getting it, so I explained with more words in an attempt to be clear while being honest how what was happening was frustrating and hurtful to me. she took that as aggression and an unwillingness to work things out with her (the precise thing I was attempting to do). and then she blocked me.

that stung and for a while i thought, hm did i fuck up. but the thing is, no i didn't. really, what it was about is that she refused to accept that she had done something hurtful. so the issue wasn't how i was communicating. it was that she refused to accept a world where she hurt my feelings - even if I had told her it was okay and that I know she didn't mean harm and that I had moved on. Instead, she needed to dissect why I was hurt to begin with and challenge it, rather than accepting that she was a human being who made a mistake. that person wasn't interested in my feelings or my take on the situation. they were interested in being right. and when they couldn't find a path to that with me, they just bounced.

I've also had this happen when requesting disability accommodations after getting a job offer. I requested clarity. I got obtuse replies. I gave more clarity. I got more obtuse replies. That was interpreted as me not wanting to participate in a good faith process. The reality was, the process was not good faith, and it never would have been, no matter what I said.

This feeling of no matter what you say it being wrong can be crushing and frustrating. because at least for me, I feel my autistic brain is really set on there being a solution, a right way to say something to get through to someone or to bridge a connection. and a sincere desire and deep need to be understood and heard. what I've had to come around to is that... sometimes people do not want to hear me. and if they don't, yeah, no matter what I choose, it results in misunderstanding.

I give it a genuine good go once or twice but if they're still interpreting me in the worst faith way possible or choosing to not really hear me then, yanno, time to not bother talking to someone who isn't listening and go talk to someone else worthwhile. I just try to remember that the failure is not mine, here. Someone who doesn't want to listen will never hear me. And people who don't actually want to hear me are never, ever worth my energy in the long run.

The people who really want to listen are out there. I say my thing, I be myself, and I see what the other person does with it.

I LOVE being autistic and trying to communicate because every time it’s

[nottivagos]

notti's nightly thoughts (18+)

an: going to be honest, i don't really know what this is. i'm sleepy 😔

it wasn't uncommon for lando to miss you whilst he was away racing. he knew he couldn't bring you to every race, and he respected that you had other aspirations and responsibilities away from supporting him at races. but god did he need you now.

it wasn't like a regular craving that he could shake away with a quick scroll through some pictures of you together, no, this was different. it was the kind of desire that he did prepare for, but never knew could actually happen. he needed to hear you. desperately too.

he'd been trying to get himself off to some odd voice notes here and there for a while that evening, but it wasn't enough. he needed to hear your voice again, and craved to even be told what to do by you.

in an act of desperation, he called you, not expecting you to answer. it was an ungodly hour for you at home, so he wasn't getting his hopes up for anything, but luckily he'd struck gold.

you stirred from your sleep, groggily turning over to your bedside table to see lando's name lit up on your phone. lethargically answering the phone, you croakily spoke into the microphone, wondering what your boyfriend's reasoning was for calling you at such an ungodly hour.

when lando answered, his voice was already a little breathless. his cock was half hard as he rested topless on his large bed in his hotel room, one hand just aimlessly tracing over his bulge whilst the other held his phone in his hand.

"you sound a little breathless," you asked out of concern. "you alright, lan?" you asked with a genuine concern, "you don't sound very well," you added with your eyebrow raised.

"me? oh, i'm alright babe," he laughed off, fisting himself through his boxers. "just got a little bit of a cold that's all," he mumbled, closing his eyes as he continued to rub up and down the now painfully straining cock in his boxers.

with a hum, you shrugged it off. you started to talk, rambling about things going on at home, blissfully unaware of lando pleasuring himself to your voice. lando's hands came to nearly rip his boxers from his body, letting his angry red cock bounce free onto his lower stomach, tip leaking with salty pre-cum.

lando continued to stroke his length as you continued rambling, thumb smearing the pre-cum down his length, whilst his curls fell on his pillow as he tilted his head upwards in pleasure. his mind was hazy, high on not only the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but the ecstasy of hearing your voice after so long apart.

losing any self awareness, lando let out a short whine, biting his lip to try and suppress it as much as possible, but failing miserably. your eyes widened in realisation, stopping what you were saying mid conversation to question what the hell lando just did.

"why did you just moan?" you asked bluntly and directly, adjusting yourself upwards on your bed.

"n-no!" lando exclaimed, grip hard on his twitching length as his froze, hot blood pumping through his veins. "why the hell would i moan?" he tried to laugh off, but you weren't having it.

"are you touching yourself to the sound of my voice?" you asked rather bluntly again, but lando could sense the smirk plastered on your face from his end of the line.

"why would i do that?!" he blurted out sheepishly, trying to lie through his teeth but failing miserably. "i'm not touching myself," he denied again, "i just-, i just missed your voice, okay?"

"aw, that's cute," you mumbled, "but i'd bet you'd need me to tell you what to do, wouldn't you? i bet you're so lost without the sound of my voice in your ear," you trailed off as lando grabbed his throbbing cock, thrusting the fleshlight around it so it fitted ever so snugly.

"please," he whined stupidly, phone now discarded to the corner of the mattress. "i need you," lando panted, pleading nearly as the breath was sucked out of his lungs in the breathless gasps escaping his lips.

"tell me what you want me to do, baby. i'm all yours," he added, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of the fleshlight fitted snugly around his throbbing length, making him a mess. but god did you revel off of that.

"yeah?" you asked, "you're all mine, are you?" you hummed with a devilish excitement flurrying in your insides. "why don't you let me hear those pretty little noises that you make whilst you tell me how you're feeling, hm?"

"fuck," he panted, fisting his cock with the toy. "it's just-," he stuttered, tears forming in his eyes as he continued to jerk himself off, "i just need to feel you- inside of me, and i can't-," he cut himself off as he whimpered, biting down on his hand to suppress a moan mixed with a sob.

"oh, it's that bad, huh?" you cooed, "you really miss me that much, lando? aren't you such a sweet thing," you murmured, voice laced with venomous sweetness as you felt your panties become wet from hearing lando's moans vibrate through your phone's speaker.

"if i cum please just promise me that you'll come to my next race," lando breathed as his hips rolled in a haste rhythm whilst thrusting the toy harder onto his cock. "that's all i ask," he added, before groaning, "fuck-, i'm close."

"oh you're close?" you hummed with a raised eyebrow. after a moment of pondering, listening to lando's moans grow louder and louder, you answered, "alright, i'll come to your next race," giggling before adding in a sultry mumble, "come for me, lando."

salty tears streamed down lando's face as he let out a guttural moan, hot spurts of come painting the inside of his fleshlight. the sticky white trailed down his length, painting the inside of his thighs as he panted, coming down from his high.

"good boy," you praised as lando whimpered, chest heaving. "that feel better, lando? i bet it does, doesn't it," you murmured into the phone with a sadistic smile on your face.

"now turn on your camera," you commanded, "i want to see what pathetic mess my stupid boyfriend made on his toy thinking about me." <3

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress | Part 2

Note: Work of fiction.

This is part two. Part one. I lowkey want to turn this into a whole series but thats just a commitment that I'm afraid my job wont give me time to do. So I'll stick to oneshots for now. __

“I get first shot,” Azzi said, flashing a grin full of challenge and charm as she strutted toward her spot near midcourt.

Paige didn’t argue. She just stepped aside, lips twitching with amusement as she watched Azzi settle in at the edge of the sideline logo. Azzi set her feet like she was lining up for a real game. Her shooting form was textbook perfection, even in a casual round of horse. The ball arced through the air with beautiful rotation and dropped through the basket - all net, no hesitation.

“Alright, your turn,” she said, casually stepping back with a smug glint in her eye.

Paige retrieved the ball, dribbled it twice and walked to the exact same spot. Her gaze locked in on Azzi the entire way. She didn’t break eye contact as she pulled up, raised the ball above her head and let it fly.

Azzi’s eyebrow lifted, “shot got better,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice, “guess rehab gave you time to fix that weird hitch in your release.”

Paige jogged after the ball and passed it back with a smirk, “jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, Az.”

Azzi caught it, already turning toward the wing, “I was hoping you’d miss,” she rolled her shoulders, “got some hard hitting questions I’ve been saving for years.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige followed, hands on her hips, “like what?”

“Well,” Azzi said with a shrug as she lined up a corner three, “you’d have to miss to find out.”

The ball left her hand in a high arc and dropped through the net again.

“I never miss,” Paige shot back, eyes narrowed playfully as she chased the ball down for her turn, “you, on the other hand, are looking real nervous.”

The game picked up intensity. Corner threes. No look bank shots. Over the backboard tosses. Behind the back layups. Both of them trying to outdo the other, digging deep into their bags like it was a championship skills challenge instead of a friendly shootaround. They were trash talking and laughing through the effort, but their focus was razor sharp. Neither was willing to give the other an inch.

The scoreboard of their silent game was stitch at zero.

Until Azzi paused near half court. She spun the ball in her hands, glanced once at Paige and squared up.

“Alright, lets see what you really got,” she said, and launched the ball.

It soared through the air in a perfect arc, Paige followed its path with wide eyes, heart thudding as it hit the glass then dropped through the net.

“Seriously?” She groaned.

Azzi just grinned.

Paige walked to the half court line, cradling the ball in her hands. She took a long breath, then dribbled once, bending her knees as she stared down the rim. The shot arced high, hanging in the air like it was deciding whether or not to give her grace. It clipped the front of the rim with a heavy bounce and veered sharply to the left. . 

Clang.

Azzi’s voice rang out, sickeningly sweet, “H.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s hear it. What is this hard hitting question you’ve been dying to ask?”

Azzi’s grin softened into something else entirely, something more careful. Paige recognized it, it was actually a look that she personally hated seeing on her. It meant Azzi was thinking too much, but then it changed again, her smile turned more honest. It had Paige feeling flustered, a slow heat crawling up her neck and to her cheeks. She looked away too fast, suddenly aware of how loud her heart felt in her chest.

Azzi stepped forward, closing the space between them like she had every right to. Her voice was quieter now, “Paige,” she said, treating the older girl’s name like a well kept secret, “how come you never asked me to come to UConn?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, “answer or you get O.”

“Look, it’s not like I didn’t want to. But you were so set on UCLA, you talked about it like it was the only place that made sense. I didn’t want to get in the way of your dream,” Paige paused, swallowing down the hesitation tightening her throat, “I wanted you here. I did. I still do.”

“You really didn’t think I’d drop everything just to spend the next four years playing next to you?”

“You shouldn’t have to,” came the reply and without thinking, her hand reached out and found the other’s, “that’s what I’m trying to say. Why would I ask you to be a shadow when you could be great on your own?”

Azzi laughed softly, gaze flicking down to their intertwined hands before drifting back up, “you’re thinking too highly of yourself again, Bueckers,” there was that smirk, “what if I came here to steal your spotlight?”

A breath caught in her throat.

“God,” she murmured, lips twitching into a slow grin, “that’d be so hot.”

That response earned her a shove, a gentle one but it was playful. Azzi scoffed and pushed away, retreating a few steps before snatching the ball back up, “come on,” she called over her shoulder, “it’s getting late and I still gotta beat your ass.”

“Confidence looks real good on you, Fudd,” came the reply, “kinda into it.”

“Kinda?” Azzi repeated, raising a brow as she walked back toward her next shot.

A shrug, then a jog forward. That dumb, happy smile was back. The same one that hadn’t left since the first shot of the night, “fine,” the blonde relented, “very into it.”

The game resumed, and with it, the air between them shifted back into one that was competitive, playful but still laced with something that hadn’t quite settled just yet. 

After that first question, the rest stayed easy. Safer. Azzi kept her tone casual, her questions framed in the comfort of familiarity. She asked for updates, the kind that sounded routine but between the two of them, it carried more weight than either of them let on.

O - “How’s your mom?”

“Still thinks I don’t eat enough.”

R - “The knee?”

“Better. Stronger. Rehab was rough but sitting on the sideline was harder. I just wanted to play, the court was so close yet it felt so far.”

They moved through those topics like old friends slipping back into rhythm, passing the ball between them as naturally as the conversation. But, then came one that landed a bit different. A little too pointed to be casual.

S - “Did you ever date anyone?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard, “what?”

Azzi turned like she hadn’t just dropped a question that reached back through years of distance and silence, “you know, in those two years we weren’t talking, anyone serious?”

There wasn’t a clear depiction of jealousy in her voice. No. But there was a trace of pure curiosity, it was vulnerable almost. Like Azzi didn’t actually want the answer, but needed it anyway. As if knowing wouldn’t hurt as much as a continuous wonder.

“No,” she said after a moment. Simple.

“Why?”

Paige looked up, a slow smirk forming on her lips as she cradled the ball in one hand, “that’s another question, Az,” she said, dribbling once, “you’re gonna have to wait your turn.”

She stepped back to the top of the key and rose into her shot, the kind she’d taken a million times in every gym from Minnesota to Storrs. Her form was clean. Shoulder square. Release smooth. But the ball hit the rim, rolled indecisively for a moment, then dropped off the side.

Miss.

It bounced twice on the hardwood before Azzi jogged over and scooped it up, still grinning.

“I’m gonna start thinking you’re missing on purpose,” she teased, making her way to the same spot Paige had just vacated. She took the shot as if it was second nature and the ball sailed through the net without even grazing the rim.

She turned, victorious, “there, another try.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, catching the rebound as it bounced back in her direction. She walked to the top of the key again, shoulder rolling back with ease as she prepped for the shot. Only, she didn’t take it. Instead, Paige let the ball roll off her fingertips.

“Ask me,” she said.

Azzi blinked, surprised but she stepped forward, eyes locked on Paige’s and asked again, gently this time:

“Why not?”

“I’d never wanted anyone else more than I wanted this girl who lived thousands of miles away,” she said, “someone I only ever saw once a year, but she lived in my head like she’d moved in, rearranged the furniture and left her sneakers at the door,” Azzi’s breath caught slightly as Paige stepped closer, hands finding their way to her hips with familiarity, “when we agreed to focus on our stuff, I thought I was doing the right thing. Choosing the grind, the game. The future. But the longer we stayed apart, the louder it got. The voice telling me there was something I wanted just as much, maybe more than basketball.”

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely audible now, “and what was that?”

Paige smiled, slow and shy, “yeah,” she murmured, brushing a thumb just above Azzi’s hipbone, “I wonder that too, Az.”

[confuzing]

...So, that All the Shen Siblings Transmigrate AU? I wrote the Qijiu reconciliation in that universe. It's 1800 words long so I'm gonna read more most of it.

 Yue Qingyuan woke in the dead of night and found himself unable to move from the neck down. A shadowy figure was leaving his room.  He would be more concerned about this if he didn’t recognize the toddler the shadowy figure had left sitting on his chest.

“Shen Meishan,” he greeted her. “It’s nice to see you.”

Meimei giggled at him. 

“Clearly your brothers are up to something,” he said. “Do you know what?”

Meimei answered, but she was unfortunately in that stage of babyhood where most of what she said was babbling, and he did not possess her brothers’ talent for interpreting her. He thought he caught the word ‘gege’ but that wasn’t much help.

“I see,” he said. At least his training in diplomacy had taught him what to do when someone was talking nonsense.

Meimei nodded solemnly, then reached out and poked his nose.

“Ding!” she said.

“Oh fascinating,” Yue Qingyuan said.  “I didn’t know it did that.”

Meimei giggled again.

It had likely been the eldest Shen who had paralyzed him.  Qian Cao doctors could do a lot with their acupuncture needles- though he wouldn’t put it past Shen Yuan to have found a plant or artifact that had the same effect.

He could hear a scuffle coming his way, so he’d find out soon enough.

The door to his room opened and he watched Shen Qingqiu be wrestled into the room by his brothers.

“Shen Qingqiu,” he greeted. He didn’t get a response but that was understandable, Shen Qingqiu was busy.

“Shen Xuan,” he continued his greetings.  Technically it was Chen Xuan, but the eldest Shen had stopped protesting the name change months ago.

“Zhangmen-shixiong,” Shen Xuan replied calmly. Like he didn’t have his brother in a headlock, and as if he couldn’t feel Xiao Jiu biting his arm.

“Shen Yuan,” Yue Qingyuan concluded.

His disciple winced but then put on the same serene mask his siblings often wore and said, “Shizun.”

Surprisingly Luo Binghe wasn’t present.  Shen Yuan’s ever present shadow was not welcome at whatever this was… that actually made Yue Qingyuan a little nervous.

Shen Yuan deliberately tripped Shen Jiu, allowing Shen Xuan to manhandle him down onto the bed beside Yue Qingyuan.

Meimei giggled at the ‘thump’ they made hitting the bed.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Shen Jiu snapped at her with less than a quarter of his usual venom.

Shen Jiu was face down on the bed; Shen Xuan seated himself on his back while Shen Yuan sat on his legs. Shen Xuan also pinned Shen Jiu’s wrists.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarled at full venom.

“We’re here to ask Qi-ge some questions.” Shen Xuan said. 

The ‘Qi-ge’ made his heart freeze. Oh.  That’s what this was about. 

Xiao Jiu went wild, nearly succeeding in bucking his siblings off him before he seemed to surrender completely.

“He isn’t going to fucking say anything.” Shen Jiu said. “He never fucking does.”

“Well we’re gonna sit here until he does,” Shen Yuan piped up.  “We have co-conspirators, you won’t be missed for some time Shizun.”

Ah, that’s where Luo Binghe was, possibly Mu Qingfang was in on this as well. If that was the case he could truly go unmissed for at least a day or so before anyone got suspicious and came looking.

“Now,” Shen Xuan said. “Why didn’t you come back for Shen Jiu like you promised?”

The familiar omnipresent guilt washed over him, but the audience didn’t change his response.

“I am very sorry for what I’ve done,” he said.

Having four Shens glare at him was a new experience- much more oppressive than just one.

Meimei crawled off his chest and went to sit in Shen Yuan’s lap.

“See?” Shen Jiu said. “This is fucking pointless.”

Yue Qingyuan had not met Chen Xuan before he became Shen Xuan. The eldest Shen had always seemed like a calm, level-headed, and sweet man to him.  Now he watched the man get quietly furious just as Xiao Jiu did, before his face shifted into the cold calculating look Yue Qingyuan saw most often on Xiao Jiu or Shen Yuan.

Shen Xuan looked down at Shen Jiu. “I’m sorry didi.” He said, and bent to kiss Shen Jiu’s temple.

Shen Jiu couldn’t turn his head more than it was, but he clearly wanted to, squirming to try to get a better look at his older brother.  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

Shen Xuan ignored him and locked eyes with Yue Qingyuan.

“He thinks you hate him you know,” Shen Xuan said. “He thinks you never intended to come back for him and that you threw him away like trash. Is he right?”

Yue Qingyuan was thunderstruck, that couldn’t be right- surely Xiao Jiu knew how much he adored him. He couldn’t-

Xiao Jiu let out a stifled sob. Yue Qingyuan tried for the first time since waking to move- but he couldn’t.  The other Shen siblings on the other hand moved immediately. Both Shen Jiu’s brothers got off him, Shen Xuan pulling Shen Jiu up into a seated position to hug him.  Shen Yuan and Meimei scooting over to hug him from the other side, sandwiching Xiao Jiu in the middle of his siblings.  Xiao Jiu hid his face in Shen Yuan’s hair for a moment before looking over at Yue Qingyuan.

“Just say it already,” Shen Jiu said-begged.  His eyes were wet. “Just say you hate me so we can stop fucking pretending.”

“Xiao Jiu is my favorite person in the world. I could never hate him.” Yue Qingyuan heard himself say.

Had Xiao Jiu truly thought this the whole time? Was that why he was so angry? Not because he was mad at him for being an idiot, but because he thought Yue Qingyuan was pretending not to hate him? 

But of course that was why, he realized. His own agitation made qi surge between himself and Xuan Su on its stand across the room.  After all Xiao Jiu had no idea how stupid his Qi-ge had been.

“You left me,” Xiao Jiu snapped. “And you never came back. What was I supposed to think?”

What indeed? What had the expected Xiao Jiu to do? He’d been so young when they parted, and so sensitive to any rejection.  Of course he’s thought Yue Qingyuan had abandoned him.  He really was tremendously stupid.

“I did come back,” Yue Qingyuan said. Explaining was like ripping his own heart out of his chest, like being alone in those caves again- but he’d endured it once for Xiao Jiu, he would do it again. “I was too late.”

“What?”

“I spent a week digging through the smoldering ruins of Qiu manor before my Shizun came and dragged me back to the sect. I thought you were dead.  Seeing you alive at the Immortal Alliance Conference was the best day of my life.”

Xiao Jiu’s eyes were wide as saucers, his whole face a picture of shock. 

“Gege let him up,’ he said eventually.

Shen Xuan stopped hugging him just long enough to remove the acupuncture needles from Yue Qingyuan’s neck.

He had the strangest sensation of something crawling all over him for a moment, but he ignored it in favor of sitting up so he could look Xiao Jiu in the eyes.

“Why did you take so long?” he asked.

Yue Qingyuan grimaced, but Xiao Jiu deserved to know.

“Qi-ge did something very foolish,” he said.

“He always does when I’m not there to keep an eye on him.” Xiao Jiu countered. “He’s simply an idiot I fear.”

The affection in those insults was a balm on his soul. He took a deep breath and spilled his guts.

“I was going to come for you as soon as I got my spiritual sword.  I trained as hard as I could as fast as I could- but when I went to pull my sword… I thought I needed the best sword, the strongest, to save Xiao Jiu.”

“Xuan Su didn’t pick me, I forced the bond.”

All three Shen brothers gasped. Adorably, a beat later Meimei did as well.

“Can you do that?” Shen Yuan asked.

“Only if you want to literally explode.” Shen Xuan told him.

“How are you alive?” he asked Yue Qingyuan.

“I was a good enough match the sword didn’t immediately kill me- and then my Shizun bound my soul to Xuan Su’s qi.  The process kept me alive, but Xuan Su remade my spiritual veins and bones to suit its needs- I was essentially qi deviating the entire time it was happening.”

“How long was that?” Xiao Jiu asked.

“A year. They sealed me in a chamber in the Ling Xi caves so I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Except yourself!” Xiao Jiu hissed. “The chamber with the bloodstains…”

“Yes.” Yue Qingyuan said, eyes dropping. “I came for you the moment they let me out- but it was too late.”

Warm arms embraced him, he looked up to find Xiao Jiu hugging him, and glaring more.

“You absolute fucking idiot!” he snapped.  “Why the fuck would you need a giant fucking sword to come fly me away?”

“This one is lost without his Xiao Jiu.”

“Clearly you half-wit!”

“You never draw your sword,” Shen Xuan said.  He was clearly herding the youngest two Shens toward the door.

“When I do it burns through my own life-force.” Yue Qingyuan explained.

Xiao Jiu’s arms tightened around him.  If he was lucky they would leave bruises.

“Does Mu Qingfang know?” Shen Xuan asked.

“Before tonight he was the only other person still on this plane besides me who knew.”

Shen Xuan nodded.

“Shen Yuan,” Xiao Jiu said suddenly. “Do not tell that little beast about this.”

Shen Yuan nodded and left, holding Meimei.  Shen Xuan was right behind them.

Once they were gone Yue Qingyuan said. “He’s absolutely going to tell Luo Binghe.”

“I know.” Xiao Jiu grumbled. “I’ll threaten the brat into silence later.”

He eyed Yue Qingyuan. “I’m still mad at you,” he said. He had not let go of Yue Qingyuan yet.

“I deserve all the anger you want to give me,” Yue Qingyuan said. “I failed to save you, and then I let you suffer while I wallowed in self pity and shame.”

Xiao Jiu slapped him hard. “And you nearly killed yourself you stupid piece of shit!”

Yue Qingyuan was still stunned from the slap when Xiao Jiu kissed him hard, biting his lip until it bled.  He was only just able to kiss back before Xiao Jiu pulled away.

He had Yue Qingyuan’s blood on his teeth as he spoke. “You aren’t allowed to die- do you understand?” He shoved Yue Qingyuan down on to his back and climbed on top of him. “I forbid it!”

“Of course, whatever Xiao Jiu wants.”

Xiao Jiu huffed and bent over him.

“Good,”” he snapped and bit Yue Qingyuan’s mouth again. “Don’t you forget!”

[redandgreyscale]

This is so fucking long... I don't regret anything, I love it when they're healthy <3

Barty and Evan talk about it. Not all at once, but they talk about limits when a question arises.

It is a slow process, it stretches during months of conversations they like, and conversations they hate, but they are getting the hang of it.

"Can I kiss your neck?" Barty asks one day out of the blue, like all the other times he's asked something. Evan leaves his quill on the table and looks at him, Barty just shrugs.

"Uh... Maybe? Not too hard, and definitely don't bite, but yeah we could try that" Barty smiles satisfied.

"Good, can you kiss mine?"

"Yeah, I can do that" Evan smiles back, and before Barty asks more, he continues "I can bite too if you want" Barty's eyes light, his smile brighter too, and Evan goes back to his homework.

The next question comes as they're walking to the great hall, Barty falls into step beside him, their shoulders bumping as they walk.

"Will you let me touch your–"

"No" Evan doesn't even let him finish, and Barty pouts childishly.

"You don't know what I was about to say"

"You can't touch anything my underwear can cover"

"Got it"

That same night, Evan is the one who asks something, because he's been thinking about it since the last question.

"Do you want me to touch you? Like... You know, like that?" Barty is visibly taken back by the question, but is fast to answer.

"Yeah, of course I want to" one thing about all of this is they are not allowed to lie, but sometimes it's harder to hear the truth. Evan swallows, but doesn't look away.

"I don't want to do that"

"Then don't do it" and just like that, another limit is marked.

Evan thinks about the next question for two weeks, and after almost going crazy he asks it.

"Can I... Can I check your meds?" Barty grows tense immediately. Guards coming up.

"You don't trust me?"

"I trust you, and I want to take care of you, that's why I'm asking"

After talking some more, Barty reluctantly agrees, and they find a way of not being too invasive about it. And so another week goes on.

"Can I see you naked?" Barty is aware he's stretching it too much, but asking won't hurt, right?

"No" is the first answer, but then "I don't know..." He can work with that.

"what do you need for it to feel safe?"

They eventually work it out, and one day, when Evan is feeling comfortable in his own skin, he lets Barty into the shower with him. They don't get close, don't touch and don't kiss, and Barty isn't allowed to comment on anything he's seeing. But he looks shamelessly as Evan takes a shower and once he's done and gets out, Barty keeps thinking about him.

They keep talking about things one at a time, because the questions are never ending. "What do you need when you're depressive?" "What can I do for you when you feel insecure?" And bit by bit they cover every single aspect of their life.

[crook3d-man12]

The bathroom door is unlocked so when I open it, I'm surprised to see someone inside. He's standing there, leaned against the sink. Eyes red and glossy, mouth drooly, speech slurred when he tries to question my presence.

I think I know him; he's like two or three years younger than me. "Hey, kid. Are you okay?" I place my hand on his back to try and steady him. "I'm just really, I think I'm really high."

He's babbly and maybe a little confused. He's so crossfaded right now. He might not be able to get home like this. He's vulnerable and weak in this state and I'm barely tipsy.

The thought of his boycunt makes my mouth water. I reach back and lock the door. He doesn't even notice. He also doesn't protest when I lay my hands on him again. One on his back, the other on his waist so I can turn him to face me.

"Whata you doing?" he asks before my lips collide with his forcing a kiss out of him, my tongue slips into his dry, liquor flavored mouth. He lets out a strangled noise before weakly trying to shove me away. I walk him back to the wall and hold him against it.

My mouth moves hungrily against his. The boy moves his head to pull away from me. I kiss his neck and lick at the soft skin there. I grope his tits and pull his shirt up so I can see them. They're cute, big and soft in my palms and his nipples are pink and soft.

I lean down to suck one into my mouth. He lets out a soft whimper of a noise as I lick at his cute nipple. The other seems neglected and I switch over to it. Another noise escapes him, this one is a little louder. No one will be able to hear anything I do to him over the thumping music. I tug his shirt over his head.

"W-wait, I don't... Leave me alone." My hands are already undoing his pants. Once I can yank them down and see his soaked cunt I smile. "You don't want this?" I question, slipping my hand between his thighs, "Why are you so wet then, sweetie?"

He swallows hard, trying to think of an answer. But he can't think of one before my finger circles his clit. "Yeah, that's it." His head falls forward onto my shoulder.

He's muttering about how he doesn't want me to do this. I doubt that he'll even remember this in a few hours. So, I of course have to use him while I can. I turn his body around and bend him over the sink. Jesus, he's so wet he's dripping and when I line my tip up with his entrance, he tenses up and lets out a choked yell as I shove my cock in his tight hole.

I'm balls deep and he's fluttering around me. "You're so tight. You're a virgin, huh?" The boy whines as I begin to thrust into him. It isn't long before he's moaning loudly and practically drooling into the sink.

"Wait, stop. I-I don't want... Please!" His protests are cut short by a sharp cry before he's cumming all over my cock, shaking from overstimulation. I don't stop ramming his cute pussy, he cums again on my cock, slick gushing down over my shaft.

I slam him hard, snapping my hips sharply. My thrusts become erratic and he starts to cry, babbling incoherent words between wet sobs and the slap of my balls on his cunt. "Yeah, that's right baby. You take my cock so good."

My cock twitches as I fill him with my hot seed. A loud moan erupts from him as he cums hard again. This time he slumps against the sink, letting me rut into him until my balls are empty. When I pull out he sobs.

His legs are essentially useless to him. I tuck my dick in my pants and wipe up his poor pussy. He'll definitely be sore in the morning. Especially after I feed him a few more drinks and take him back to my place.

[imagination-mess]

A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 8

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors in advance.

Word Count: 1.9K+ Masterlist of ASCAF Previously Chapter Seven

The soft beeping of machines was the only sound Touya could hear as he slowly woke up, surrounded by the sterile, familiar smell of the hospital.

His eyes fluttered a few times before his vision adjusted. Above him was a plain white ceiling and a fire sprinkler. His gaze drifted to the sides, spotting two windows on opposite ends of the room, curtains drawn for privacy. His attention landed on a whiteboard with a large, clearly printed message:

Please press the button in your left hand when you are awake.

Was this a dream?

Or…

Was he dissociating again?

The last thing he remembered was being rushed through hospital halls, the lights overhead blurring past as they pushed him in urgency. He couldn’t make out what they were shouting. His body had been shutting down against his will.

He used to think it was a myth — that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

But it wasn’t a myth for him. He saw it and felt it. Terrifying and painful, moment after moment replayed. And at the end of it all, there was you , walking someone back to the U.A. shelter. The last thing he remembered was your smile, but even that was hazy. Your face wouldn’t come clearly. Just a blur. A voice he barely held onto.

He could hardly remember your face now. Too many years spent dissociating during confinement, using it as a shield from the pain that came when even the strongest meds stopped working.

Now, he didn’t feel pain.

Now, though, there was no pain…only a strange weight in his limbs.

He tried moving his fingers. They trembled. Slowly, he felt the small object in his palm. It took every bit of focus to curl his fingers around it.

His thumb brushed over the button as he clenched his teeth, focusing all his effort on making his body obey.

A soft chime rang through the room.

His body gave in, muscles relaxing, too exhausted for anything more.

A few minutes passed before a familiar face entered the room.

Kaito, your father stepped in, offering a soft, reassuring smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Todoroki. I am Dr. (L/N). Let me run a few quick examinations before we get you some soup to start with. Then, we'll work toward solid foods. I’ll also catch you up on everything that’s happened, alright?"

The white-haired man came beside him and wrote something on his clipboard, glancing at the machine beside the bed.

"You’ve been unconscious for over a month now. It took longer than expected for you to wake up. You’re going to be disoriented and sluggish for a little while, and probably confused. It’s normal. Nothing to worry about." Kaito said, putting the clipboard down and hearing the water faucet turn on.

"I'm just going to test your strength. I'll place my hand in yours, and I want you to squeeze as hard as you can. After that, we'll see if you can move your toes and fingers. Then we'll get you some soup. You need to be on a liquid diet for a bit."

Kaito moved closer and placed his hand within Touya's grip before glancing up at the doctor.

"Squeeze my hand as best as you can. I’m just testing how well the operation connected your nerves to your muscles. After that, you can try moving your toes whenever you wish," he explained.

Touya did as he was told but struggled. He could barely manage it, but he did it. That was the best he could do. He had to try again with his right hand, the one he had believed was destroyed. His right hand was much harder to move, and he realized just how much heavier it felt compared to his left.

Kaito was watching him carefully, but his expression remained unreadable. He walked away, grabbing his clipboard once more. He returned to Touya's bedside and flashed a light at his eyes, prompting him to follow it. As he did, Kaito wrote something down.

"One last thing. Can you speak for me? One word would be enough. Even a curse word would count," Kaito asked with an amused smile.

Touya’s throat felt painfully dry, as if he hadn’t spoken in years. Despite the discomfort, he forced the words out, even though it felt like sandpaper scraping against his throat. A hoarse rasp escaped, and he tried to swallow, barely managing it due to the lack of saliva.

"W-what had-hap-pened?" His voice was weak and strained barely above a whisper. "You were taken in as a case study to see if someone with severe burns and near-death injuries could survive if their body was healed. It was done with your father's permission. No one wanted to take your case until Dr. Remedy was contracted by your father as a last resort." Kaito lifted his eyes from the clipboard, briefly meeting Touya's gaze.

Touya’s eyes widened at the mention of her name— your hero name, which was also the name you went by as a doctor.

"She’s the only reason you’re alive right now. If she hadn’t gathered doctors from across the nation to help you, you wouldn't have made it. The others, along with her, are dealing with the consequences, even after over a month. Many of them ended up in the hospital and have been banned from using their quirks for the next few months, for their own safety. All because everyone who worked on your case was treated as a case study. They overused their quirks."

Kaito paused before continuing.

"They all did it for scientific reasons, ignoring the fact that you were a high-profile criminal. They were doing it to help future patients with burns like yours. But the cost was too much for those doctors, who are now facing the consequences. In other words, you’re going to be the only person in this nation to undergo this dramatic transformation." Kaito looked directly into Touya’s eyes.

"Take this opportunity. Another chance at life. Your body costs the well-being of 15 doctors and 5 nurses. You better take care of it. Otherwise, you're wasting Dr. Remedy’s belief that people like you deserve second chances." ____________________________________ The next few weeks, Touya cooperated with the physical and occupational therapists, walking through the hospital with a walker. He felt like a baby deer learning how to walk again. The only reason he went along with it was because he was sick of feeling like a damn baby.

Due to his physical condition, his stay was extended until he could move on his own, after which he’d be transferred to the rehabilitation facility. He rejected visitation from his family. He felt too vulnerable like this. Too exposed. He didn’t want to see their pitying stares.

He heard the arguments outside his hospital room. His father, Enji, tries to see him, getting rejected every time. The old man had nothing but time to waste, showing up day after day, just to be told no.

As much as Touya hated getting help from strangers, the staff had been patient with him. They didn’t push him too hard. Some nurses definitely judged him, but at least they kept their comments to themselves. The hospitality was… normal. He was treated like any other patient.

They didn’t look at him with pity. They encouraged him, even when he told them to shut up and mind their own business. They just ignored his outbursts and kept going.

His quirk-canceling cuffs rotated between ankle and wrist restraints. Military grade, due to his classification as a high-profile criminal. The staff rotated the cuffs regularly to prevent weakening or discomfort while he regained strength. They were far more advanced than the ones he’d seen before. He remembered snooping through your apartment out of boredom, finding backups of your hero costume and the old quirk-cuffs tucked away in the closet. Those things looked like toys in comparison.

Once he was able to speak normally again, a therapist from the rehabilitation center started visiting daily for his sessions.

If he could, he would’ve jumped out the window by now.

He knew he’d agreed to his younger brother’s rehabilitation plan. Something that would hopefully work in the court system’s favor. But in truth, he didn’t care about all that. He just wanted out. Out of confinement. Out of pain. Out of this miserable limbo.

He did think of you, a couple of times.

After he regained his voice, his lawyer began visiting twice a week. What he didn’t expect was for your mother, Reika, to actually keep her word that if he left you out of the chaos, she’d represent him. She planned to take his case, even in the event that the League was taken down.

She was a terrifying woman who demanded respect. If you didn’t give it, she’d drop you as a client without hesitation. Well known in both the legal world and the underworld under a different name and a different mask.

She may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. When she made a deal, she kept her word so long as you kept yours.

“Touya, your father is a piece of shit.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. The expression on her face told him everything. 

If she could kill the old man herself, she would.

“What did he do this time?”

“Acted like a misogynistic prick,” Reika snapped, her voice full of disgust. “Like I haven’t defended more high-profile criminals than most lawyers ever dream of. He pulled that ‘I’m the dominant man in the room’ garbage gave me that stare like I was supposed to flinch. Tried talking over me like I was his damn secretary.” Her tone shifted into a mocking imitation of a deep, gravelly voice. “ ‘I’m the alpha in the room.’”

She scoffed and leaned back in her seat.

“Honestly? I was one bad moment away from stabbing him in the neck with my pen.”

She clicked that same pen in her hand, her fingers twitching with irritation. "Anyways, none of that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you to ensure that you aren't surprised if it gets brought up in the court." Anyway, enough about that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you—to make sure you’re not surprised if it gets brought up in court.”

"How is (Y/N)?" Touya whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

 He knew it was out of the blue.

He’d eavesdropped a few times. Doctors and nurses mention how this would be the longest leave of absence you’d ever taken.

He knew he had a better chance of getting an answer from Reika than from Kaito. Kaito was always accompanied by someone. Touya couldn’t show that he knew him personally, and he understood why. It would launch an investigation, especially with all the pro heroes and police constantly walking around.

Reika paused for a moment, glancing up from the leather folder she always carried to jot down her notes.

“She’s doing better. Got discharged about a week ago,” Reika said, tapping her pen against the folder. “She’s being forced to take a six-month leave, but other than that, she’s okay. You’re not the reason she was bedridden. There was just an incident with Endea—”

“Did he hurt her?” Touya cut in sharply.

“No. It was indirectly... surrounded by other factors,” Reika replied, shifting into her lawyer voice. Touya shot her a look, but Reika didn’t flinch. She simply flipped to a new page in her folder, her tone shifting coldly as she dove into the notes and legal strategy for his upcoming plea hearing. --------------

Anyway, how are we feeling about Touya being awake now? He already hates feeling weak, and now he has to talk about his feelings? He’d rather jump out of a window, especially if it means talking to a stranger.

This chapter was going to go differently, but I decided to delay a certain scene. There’s actually another deal Reika and Touya made, which is the main reason she’s representing him during the war. The chaos happening in these streets is no joke.

The next 2 chapter will explore how Touya and Remedy met as teenagers: one struggling to survive in the streets, and the other trying to help people with nothing but good intentions. Spoiler alert: Touya is the stray cat, skeptical of the preppy cat.

Any thoughts or theories? I’m all ears! I’d love to hear them. Thank you so much for everyone who commented on the previous chapter! You guys are the reason why the chapter got posted earlier than expected. Your comments seriously mean the world to me. 💖 I’m so grateful to know there are people who want to read more. Next Chapter 9

[noazhere]

This is not a one time thing, it has happened multiple times and not only since he's been an adult, but since he's been a teenager too.

Media has good opinion about him. Everyone knows he's kind; when they search him for any interview or opinion about anything that is trending or that it involves his family, he doesn't act self-important or better than them as most people would think for the ward son of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's prince. He's charismatic, charming, polite and always gets some laughs indistinctly of who's he with.

But they had long since discovered that he doesn't like some specific kind of questions. At first it was noticeable that the teenager wasn't expecting them, or was even a bit uncomfortable by them, but he would end up playing along while laughing them off. As time went on and years passed though, his reactions started to change to unbothered and straightforward answers. "Is that news? I'm handsome, we know it, anything else?" And so more similar.

This make that any time a reporter or an interviewer that tells him about what other people think about him, or what they said about him, he makes it obvious that he couldn't care less. Thus, news but overall social media, tend to criticize him every time he responds like that, they call him "arrogant", "presumptuous", "conceited" and more. Which, honestly? The first time it made him roll his eyes because just last week he was being called friendly and warm; how Gotham missed him and how he should come 'home' more often. Bunch of hypocrites, but what could he expect from Gotham, he guesses.

I like to think that as more time passes, he's less friendly and loses his patience towards those kind of questions. Doing things as just ignoring them and walk them off as if they had never even talked to him, because that's better than taking out his frustration on someone. Because he's done a lot of things for these cities, and in general, even ignoring that he's Nightwing, he's done a shit tone in his life. He hears interviewers talking to his brothers and they get such an interesting questions, would it be about WE, asks and shows of interest about their lives (not only love-lives), opinions on whatever is going on in the world at the moment and just normal talks that involve their rational thinking instead of gossips, what other people said about you, your body or your face.

And he knows it's stupid to get upset about it, even more considering how these days those questions aren't as common as they used to be, but he is sometimes still upset. And he knows he's not "guilty" or something, but sometimes, just sometimes, he finds himself thinking that maybe if he didn't went along with it when he was a kid, maybe people would have left it there. Maybe people wouldn't comment so often about his smile, his muscles, his dimples or his ass. Maybe. Maybe that's why he gets worked up when he hears interviewers talking to his brothers about their physique. Maybe that's why he takes control over their talk and centrates it on himself, even if he would prefer burying himself alive rather than continuing with the conversation he's having with a big faux smile. Maybe.

do u think dick knows he's like pretty but he stopped caring because mostly civilians and some heroes that don't know nightwing just focus on the fact he's attractive specially in his teens like that one audio "you're beautiful. thank you and what else? what else? it is beauty all that matters to you?"

I can see Dick getting desensitized to being called pretty or attractive.

Maybe he's being interviewed and someone asks him about how so many people have called him attractive or put him on a list of some sort of the hottest celebrities, etc. and Dick just stares at them and asks, "Is that news? Typical Tuesday for me. Anything else?" But he doesn't let them even ask another question before he turns and walks away to the next reporter.

[voxofthevoid]

Yo, tis time for Nanaita Chikan Wednesday #1—this might have another entry, depending on how long I take to finish it. I started it just yesterday, and the fic is currently a modest 2.5k. It's part of the oneshot marathon and intended to be, well, a oneshot.

As the (nick)name suggests, the fic involves nanaita and train groping. I'm going for a no-Shibuya setting in this one. Yuuji's in his third year at J. Tech. You'll see why.

Now, people who want to see Nanami groped in public, come closer 🫴

The train resumes moving with another jolt, but this time, Itadori is as steady as bedrock, keeping both of them rooted to the spot.

“You…can let go now,” Kento hears himself say.

There’s a sharp exhale. Itadori’s arm loosens, shifts—a slow, leisurely drag that somehow culminates in a broad palm splayed wide over Kento’s stomach.

He stares down at it, blinking as if that will force the sight to make more sense.

“Nanamin,” Itadori asks slowly, “did you shrink?”

Sheer incredulity seals Kento’s voice for a moment.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps the moment he recovers.

“I know, but…” The hand on Kento’s stomach flexes, pressing down more firmly. “Feels like you’ve shrunk.”

Kento tries to ignore his sudden, searing awareness of the skin under Itadori’s palm. “I’m the same size I’ve been since long before you met me. You’re the one who grew.”

“Huh,” Itadori says like it’s a revelation. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

It’s ridiculous. All of this is ridiculous.

But the most ridiculous part might be Itadori’s apparent unawareness of his own damn size. He wasn’t a small boy even at fifteen, but in the two years since, he’s grown taller and broader to a frankly concerning degree, given that he now stands a good head above even Gojou, with the breadth to match. He made Tōdō look small the last time Kento saw the two of them stand together.

The bulk is one thing. A natural enough change, at the end of the day. Kento is well aware of the difference between his lanky fifteen-year-old body and his current frame. Even Gojou filled out between sixteen and twenty, not growing much taller but putting on more and more muscle with every year. But there’s something unnatural about Itadori’s flesh—something that goes beyond skin and bone to writhe with the fifteen fingers Itadori has consumed and digested and made manifest.

Kento remembers, with a hollow swoop of his stomach, the time Gojou wondered out loud whether even the size is yet another gift Sukuna has inadvertently bestowed on Itadori.

His tone was more discomfiting than the theory could ever hope to be.

He expects Itadori to let him go now that he’s received the ridiculous answer to his ridiculous query, but when the hand on his stomach twitches into motion, it’s only to slip a few centimeters down, curving over his hip.

The bone there twinges despite being protected from Itadori’s palm by a thick pair of pants and matching jacket.

“Itadori-kun—”

“I like it,” Itadori announces.

“Excuse me?”

“This.” Itadori squeezes Kento’s hips like he’s demonstrating what this is. “I like that you’re small.”

“I am not small,” Kento retorts, even as a part of him wonders why that’s what he’s focusing on.

“True,” Itadori concedes. His voice is light and cheerful, practically chirpy. “But you’re smaller than me now. I like it! How’d I miss it all this time?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kento says stiffly. “It’s quite obvious.”

“It really is, huh? I mean, you’re smaller than Satoru too.”

Kento gives up on categorizing his emotions, closing his eyes in vain hopes that the darkness will restore sense to the world.

It does not.

“Now that you’re done reacquainting yourself with reality,” he tells Itadori, “unhand me, please.”

“Do I have to?” Itadori asks, a whining note in his voice.

Kento almost chokes on thin air. “What kind of a question is that?”

Itadori’s response is a bodily thing. He crowds closer, his free arm bracing it against the glass door above Kento’s head, and there’s not much room between their bodies for Itadori to violate, but it feels like he does anyway, shrinking space in some perverse imitation of his teacher’s technique to crush their  bodies together, and it doesn’t shove Kento even an inch closer to the glass doors, but it still feels like they’ve also grown closer, trapping him in a pocket of heat-filled space.

And his hand does uncurl from Kento’s hip, only to slide back up to his stomach—and then up and up and up, the buttons of his jacket somehow being undone by the motion. Itadori’s palm presses like a brand to the shirt underneath, his tanned skin standing out against its subdued blue.

Itadori’s chin comes to rest on Kento’s shoulder. In the glass, his eyes are heavy from lids to pupils.

“Nanamin,” he says, his voice low and unfortunately husky, “I like this.”

The last of Kento’s willful ignorance dies a whimpering death.

“Itadori-kun, no.”

“C’mon,” Itadori wheedles, a tone not befitting his size or his age or the character buried significantly further north of where Itadori’s brain currently seems to be. “No one’s going to care.”

“That’s not the point!” Kento snaps. “And of course they’ll care—we’re in public.”

Itadori laughs. It’s genuine. Bright, bubbly, warm.

A chill seeps through Kento’s bones.

“The public won’t do anything,” Itadori says, the laughter still threaded through his voice. “Even if they see, they’ll just pretend they didn’t. Well, some of them will watch. But they’re the worst pretenders.”

Kento is not, despite how the last few minutes have unraveled, a fool. He knows that these words mean. He knows the tone of a man speaking from intimate experience.

Haltingly, he asks, “Itadori-kun, has anyone…touched you like this?”

“Sure, that’s—oh. Ohh. Oh, no, Nanamin, not like that.” Itadori sounds charmed, even as the words and tone make an earnest attempt to reassure Kento, who does not feel particularly reassured. “No one’s done anything to me that I don’t want. And Satoru likes being the one touched anyway, you know that.”

Kento most certainly does not—

It hits, then, the full implications of what Itadori just said.

Kento freezes all over, an easy victim for the hand that grasps his jaw and the mouth that follows.

Itadori kisses him, sweet and searing.

Kento opens his mouth to voice a denial, a curse, and Itadori’s tongue plunges in, flooding his mouth with the peculiar taste of wet, warm flesh.

Heat suffuses his face, dripping down to his throat, his chest, his gut. Itadori’s hand presses more firmly against him as if in response, and the muscles underneath convulse in answer, a violent shudder that Kento can’t suppress but is smothered anyway by the body that crowds up even closer, it’s obscene bulk swallowing him up, and Itadori groans into his mouth, tilting Kento’s face up even more to slot their jaws better together and kisses him deeper, wetter, and Kento doesn’t kiss back, doesn’t do anything other than stand there stunned as his entire body stirs awake, but that doesn’t spare him the blistering knowledge of Itadori’s heat, his taste.

That bold, clever tongue flicks teasingly at his own as if to coax it out to play, and Kento’s guts make a spirited attempt at escaping through his navel.

Itadori isn’t deterred by the lack of response, his tongue taking to mapping out the insides of Kento’s mouth with leisurely strokes. There’s a noise there, trembling in the air and their flesh—a deep, humming noise, like a purr grown dark.

Itadori’s hand starts to wander, rubbing a firm, filthy circle over the clenched flat of Kento’s stomach and then sliding upward, scorching his skin through the single layer of fabric left over it. It comes to a greedy stop over one side of his chest, splaying over it, and at first, it’s just more heat, bypassing cloth to brand skin.

Then Itadori squeezes, his fingers closing tight around Kento’s pectoral like it’s a woman’s flesh.

Kento breaks the kiss in a surge of sense, snapping his head to the other side.

Itadori makes a lost little noise against his ear. “Nanamin?”

“Don’t you dare,” Kento rasps, his mouth still hot and ripe with a taste that will haunt him until the day he dies. “Have you lost your mind?”

“What’s wrong?” Itadori asks as if he genuinely doesn’t understand the million bloody things wrong with this situation. “You want to, right?”

Despite his better judgement, Kento can’t stop himself from asking, “What in the world gave you that idea?”

As expected, he regrets the answer: Itadori’s other arm leaving the glass to cup Kento’s groin.

Kento grabs his wrist a fraction of a second too late, and that oversized paw presses against the bulge between his legs—a bulge that’s fatter and hotter than it has any right to be.

Itadori squeezes the half-hard cock, and Kento’s toes curl violently inside his shoes.

“Stop—”

“See?” Itadori asks breathlessly. “You want it.”

Kento spares a moment he can’t afford to ponder who shaped Itadori’s idea of consent and how he can kill Gojou for it.

He’s squeezed even tighter for his trouble, tearing out a gasp that only makes Itadori touch him more boldly, the squeezing turning into merry massaging motions. The flesh there yields to nature, filling with heat and blood.

Kento tightens his grip, pulling Itadori’s wrist away, and he’s more surprised than anything when it works, but that’s short-lived. Itadori’s hand twists out of his grip, and Kento shields his groin on instinct, careful not to actually touch the tented crotch of his pants, but Itadori’s hand only slots gently over his own, covering it from wrist to fingertips.

It presses down, forcing Kento’s own palm flush with his groin.

His cock pulses with filth.

He makes the mistake of looking at Itadori’s reflection—a dark-eyed thing that wears its hunger proudly.

“Itadori-kun,” Kento breathes, “don’t.”

[wrestlersownmyheart]

"Yeet Of Fate" Chapter 16 (Jey Uso X Female Reader)

Title: Yeet Of Fate Pairing: Jey Uso X Reader Summary: When you, an aspiring author, decide to take your skills to the world of wrestling, you decide to shadow and tag along with a couple of wrestlers to learn more about the sport for your upcoming book debut. None other than the Royal Rumble winner, Jey Uso, is the male wrestler you will be working with, and needless to say, that makes you nervous. You tell yourself, things will stay platonic. You tell yourself that…

Jey Uso is at the top of his game, the last thing he needs is a fan trailing around after him and fan girling all over the place. He wants to do his job, bask in the glory of it and call it a day. Not have to answer questions all day long from a wannabe writer. That's how he feels, until he meets Y/N face to face. She isn't what he expected. And he doesn't like to be wrong. As beautiful as she is… He will keep things platonic. He tells himself that…

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: Just your basic Gunther who's completely lost his mind. 👿

Chapter 16

Gunther was choking you with his bare hands. You clawed at them with your nails, trying to free yourself. But it was all to no avail. Gunther was crushing your throat bit by bit.

"St-stop…" You tried to cry out, but it came out weak and barely there.

"Breathe, Mama!"

Suddenly, your hands would not go to your throat to fight Gunther anymore. They were pinned down by an unseen force.

"Breathe!"

You could hear Jey, but you couldn't see him.

Gunther leaned in close to your face, "If I can't have you neither can he!"

You felt a hand pat your face gently but firmly.

"Wake up, manamea (sweetheart)!"

You blinked, and then you found yourself in bed, Jey sitting on the edge of the mattress with you in his arms.

"Jey?" You whispered. "I-I… Oh, Jey!" You reached forward and latched onto his neck, holding him close. His arms went around you like a safe haven.

"You had me so scared, Mama," he said, his lips against the side of your head. "I couldn't wake you up, and you were literally clawing at your neck."

A raw soreness at your neck attacked your senses then, and you became aware of the pain.

"I thought you left me," you cried, sobbing into his neck.

"Never." He said softly, rocking you back and forth. "I'll never leave you again. Not without the intention of coming right back. I was just in the hallway, dozing. I heard you scream. And then when I came in you were clawing at your neck, and you weren't breathing. At all."

"Gunther was choking me," you cried softly. "He was trying to kill me."

"It's okay," Jey whispered, "He isn't going to hurt you. It was just a nightmare. If he comes around when I'm not here, just promise me you won't go to the door. Just pretend you aren't here. Call the police if you have to. File a report, try to get a restraining order, whatever you have to do to be safe."

You nodded, "Okay."

"I'm going to see about taking some time off and-"

"No Jey, you can't! You're the world champion now, you have to show up or you could face repercussions. Do you know how long you've fought to get this world title? If you make the higher ups upset, you may never get another opportunity like this!"

"I don't want it if I don't have you."

A tear spilled from your eye and to your temple. "I don't want you to lose anything because of me."

"I don't want to lose you," Jey said, running his finger over the trail of your tear, wiping it away. "I lost you once, because of my stupidity. I don't want to do it again. I've been miserable the past several months. I love you, Y/N."

You looked away. You wanted to believe him. You did. But you couldn't. It was too much to hope for.

"I know I'm gonna have to work hard to earn back your trust. And I intend to."

"I don't know, Jey. I don't know if I'll ever trust anything you say anymore."

Jey sat there and stared at you, like he had a habit of doing. And it made you nervous, like always.

"I deserve that." He said. "But mark my words, Mama. I'm not giving up on you."

You said nothing, and then your gaze settled on him, "Would you stay in here with me, for the rest of the night? I feel safe with you."

"I wasn't planning on leaving," Jey said. "You couldn't make me leave now."

He laid down beside you in the bed, and held you close against him. You dozed off again quickly, and started another nightmare, but like a beacon of hope, you heard Jey's voice telling you everything was okay. And then the nightmare went away.

Any time you jolted in your sleep, Jey was instantly awake and reassuring you gently with soft whispered words, that you were perfectly safe.

And so, the rest of your night passed peacefully.

The next time you awoke, sunlight filtered through your windows and you blinked against the harshness of it. You turned your head to the side, and noticed that Jey was gone. For a moment, your heart sank. But then you heard a noise downstairs and noticed that your bedroom door was open.

You deduced by the smell of pancakes and eggs that Jey was downstairs fixing breakfast.

Surprisingly, your stomach rumbled, and you managed to get to your feet. Slowly, and sleepily, you padded down the hallway and down the stairs, through the living room and dining room to the kitchen.

Sure enough, Jey was in the kitchen, cooking up pancakes and eggs on the stove top. He was jamming to Usher's U Got It Bad playing on his phone.

"Morning," you called over the music.

"Morning," he called back, and put down an egg turner. Hurrying over to you, he put his arms around you and began swaying to the music with you.

"What are you doing," you giggled.

"What's it look like? I'm dancing with you," he answered.

You placed your arms around his neck and danced with him in your kitchen, snuggling your cheek against his shoulder.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he whispered into your hair.

"We can't. I have babies to bring into this world, and you have a job you have to do. It's what you were born to do."

He kissed the top of your head then, and continued swaying with you to the music. "I know. But it doesn't mean I won't miss you."

"I-I… I'm afraid, Jey, to admit anything to you now. I'm just afraid you'll hurt me again."

"Shh, I know," Jey replied, "I'll make it up to you, so that one day you'll know without a doubt I'll never hurt you again. I'll give you all the time you need."

You nodded and pulled away then. "So what are you fixing?"

"Pancakes, bacon and eggs," he replied, moving back to the stove. He flipped the pancakes and eggs and waited as they finished cooking. "Scrambled eggs okay with you?"

"Perfect," you said with a small smile. "I don't think my stomach would deal with over-easy too well right now."

Jey nodded, as he plated up two pancakes, two pieces of bacon, and two eggs for you.

"Now, go. Sit down and eat up, Mama. You and the babies need it."

You obediently took the plate of food and went to the breakfast nook to eat it. You poured some syrup over the pancakes, and immediately forked up a bite of them.

"Mmm, these are so good," you replied, forking up another bite. "Could you get the ketchup out of the refrigerator, please?" You asked.

"Ketchup?" Jey asked, heading to the fridge.

"Yep. For the eggs."

Jey pulled the ketchup out and placed it on the table in front of you. "Weird cravings, huh?"

"No, not really. I've always eaten ketchup on my eggs," you replied with a cheeky smirk.

"I've missed that sass," Jey replied, with a grin. "I hope I get some more of it soon."

"We'll see," you teased, taking a bite of your bacon.

You managed to eat three quarters of your pancakes, both eggs, and one strip of bacon.

"Oh, my word…" You groaned patting your stomach. "I'm stuffed."

"Babe, that wasn't that much food, and you're stuffed? You've gotta start some better eating habits. For the babies' sakes."

"I know," you replied. "I just am normally so sick I can't eat. It just comes back up."

"Well, you still need to try. A little bit is better than nothing. Try saltines, and soups, if nothing else."

You nodded, "Okay."

"Good girl."

You smiled, glad that you'd pleased him.

Jey cleaned the dishes and stove, after instructing you to go sit on the couch to rest a bit. You went and sat on the sofa, with your feet on the ottoman. You'd nearly dozed off when Jey came in and sat down beside you.

He put his arm around you and pulled you closer to him. "I'd really like to talk more about us, but I know you're not up to it at the moment. Let me get a few shows under my belt and we'll talk more then, okay?"

You nodded in relief, "Okay."

"I have to get going in order to make it to the show on time, but I'll be back in a couple weeks if not sooner."

You nodded again, missing him already.

"Do me a favor?"

"Yes," you said.

"Unblock my number? So I can reach you and check in with you?"

"Okay," you said softly. "I'll do it right now." You said picking up your phone. You went into the appropriate settings and unblocked him.

"Done."

"Thank you, Mama."

"You're welcome."

"I need to go, but I don't want to."

"But you need to," you said. "Jey, really. You've got to go."

"I know."

He stood to his feet, and helped you to yours so you could say goodbye to him at the front door. You walked with him through the foyer, and to the front entrance.

"I promise I'll come back for you," he said, squeezing your hand. "Soon."

"It's okay, Jey. I'll be fine, don't worry. I have work friends I can call that are nearby, and I'll keep you updated on me."

He nodded, reluctantly, "Okay, please do that."

You nodded in return and reached up to his face, kissing his cheek. He turned his face then and captured your mouth with his. He groaned softly, and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips. He tasted your mouth as if he'd never get the chance again. Then he pulled back slowly.

"You don't have to say it back, but I love you."

You stared into his eyes. You could see he meant it. And you loved him too. You were just afraid to say it now.

"Okay, I'm gonna go now. Be safe for me, Mama. Call me if you have to call the police."

"I will. Don't worry. We will be fine."

He gave you another meaningful stare, and then he stepped out the door. "Lock up behind me," he ordered gently.

You did lock the front door as soon as it clicked shut behind Jey.

He was gone.

And you had never felt so alone in your life.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

You watched from the front windows as Jey pulled out of your driveway and drove away in his rental.

Sad that he was gone, you went back to the living room and sat down on the sofa again. You contemplated what you wanted to do that day, and you decided quickly, that the first thing you were going to do was veg out on the sofa and take a nap. You were so tired, and even though Jey helped you sleep, you still didn't get enough.

You'd just managed to get laid down, when the doorbell sounded.

You groaned softly, not wanting to get up. But it could be Jey, so you rose to your feet gingerly and made your way to the front door. You did remember to look out the peephole first.

And you didn't like what you saw.

Gunther.

He knocked on the door now, and called out to you.

"Y/N, open the door. I know you're in there. And I know Jey was here. We need to talk about it. OPEN THE DOOR!" He shouted suddenly. He pounded on it, and frightened you to death. You hurried back into the living room and grabbed your phone off the coffee table and dialed 911.

"9-1-1… What is your emergency?"

"I need the police to come to my home. There is a man that's been stalking me and he is on my porch right now, demanding that I open the door to him."

"Have you filed any reports on him prior to today?"

"No, I haven't. I thought he'd give up on trying to talk to me. I'd like to start today by making a report though."

"I'll have a policeman at your home soon. What is your address, ma'am?"

You rattled off your address and the dispatcher reiterated that an officer would be there soon.

You hung up and could still hear Gunther banging on the door.

"LET ME IN, NOW!"

You covered your ears with your hands. "Please, go away," you whispered. "Just go away."

He didn't, but you heard a siren in the near distance. It grew closer, and closer. And finally stopped once the patrol car reached your driveway.

You looked out the windows and watched as a cop approached your porch. You could hear him talking to Gunther, so you opened the door to greet the cop.

Gunther turned and looked at you, pure rage in his blue eyes. "You called the police on me?"

"Of course I did! You're harassing me!" you cried.

"We need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about!"

"Sir," the cop interjected, "She's made it clear she doesn't want you here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Now."

"Fine. I'm going." Gunther replied calmly. A little too calmly. He turned and went down the porch steps and headed out to his car.

"Thank you, sir." You told the cop. "I'd like to file a report with the intent to get a restraining order in the near future."

"Okay, can we step inside and I'll just ask you a few questions, and be on my way to file the report."

"Yes, of course. Come right in," you said, opening the front door to him and he stepped inside.

Over the next hour, you answered questions and gave as much information as you could. The cop took it all down on his pad and form and then stood to his feet. "If you want a copy of the report, it should be available within seven to ten business days."

"Okay, thank you. I'll be sure and pick up a copy."

You showed the policeman out and closed the door behind him, quickly locking it.

"I should call Jey," you thought out loud. "'Should' is the operative word," you continued to talk to yourself. But I can't worry him. He could wind up losing the title or even his job if he were to take time off for me. And he most definitely would with me being in the condition I'm in.

No, you couldn't call him. Not yet. If Gunther pulled anything else you would, but you wanted Jey to feel free to do his job. It was better this way.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Jey walked into the arena from the parking garage and went to the elevator to reach the main floor.

He walked as if he had an agenda.

And he did.

Once he got off the elevator he went backstage to the offices and walked to Hunter's door. Knocking on it, he waited impatiently for Hunter to open it.

Once he did, he smiled warmly at Jey and offered his hand to shake, "Jey! Good to see you. How's it going?"

Jey reached out and took his offered hand and shook it. "It's going great, thanks. Can we talk for a few minutes?"

"Sure, come in." Hunter moved aside and let the younger man into the office.

Jey took a seat in front of the desk and waited to start until Hunter took his own seat.

"What's on your mind?"

"Well, I know this is a bad way to possibly end my title reign, but if I have to relinquish the title I am fully prepared to do that-"

"Whoa, what's wrong," Hunter cut in. "Are you injured or something?"

"No, nothing like that. But I do have an emergency that requires my presence for the next few weeks. I need three to four weeks off, man. It's my girl. She's pregnant with my twins and Gunther is still after her. He's rented an apartment in her town and everything. He's stalking her and harassing her. It's keeping her upset and worried. I need to be with her. I have to be."

Hunter sighed, and leaned back in his desk chair, deep in thought.

"I'm fully prepared to do what I have to do, Hunter. If you have to fire me, so be it. I'm going to be with my girl."

"I don't want to fire you, or make you relinquish the title. You just defended it against Seth, so you have thirty days to defend it next. Will that work–thirty days off? We'll work a storyline out where you have to be out on "injury" for a few weeks but when you come back you defend it against the person who "injured" you. How does that sound?"

"It works for me. Thank you for this, Hunter. I won't forget it."

"Just keep your girl safe. And congratulations on the twins!"

"Thank you. And can I ask another favor?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Can you reinstate Gunther? If he has to show up to work he can't very well have time to bother Y/N."

"Done. Effective immediately. I'll call him in to do the show tonight. I'll have him cut a promo or something."

"Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it."

Jey got up to leave the office and walked out the door, giving a parting smile to Hunter.

THen he was heading back to his rental and driving back to Y/N to surprise her. He calculated he should be back to her by that night, and he was excited to have the next month off with her.

Picking up his speed a bit in his eagerness, he glanced at the clock. It was already five o'clock. If he wanted to make it by ten o'clock, he needed to pick up the pace.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Gunther was ignoring the repeated calls from Hunter. He knew somehow that Jey had cooked up for him to go back to work.

"Not yet," Gunther muttered as he drove to Y/N's house that night. "I have one last thing to do."

He sped down the road and finally pulled off to the side of the road the equivalent to a couple blocks from Y/N's house. He walked the rest of the way and carried a door security bar, and a can of gasoline, along with a box of matches in his pocket.

To say he was up to no good was an understatement. He was just thankful Y/N lived out in the country so there'd be privacy.

He had the short walk made in less than five minutes. Then he sat the red gasoline can on the porch along with the security bar, and picked up the welcome mat. Already having his plan in his mind, he went to the front window and placed the welcome mat against the glass and punched the window through the rug. The effect was a soft cracking sound and nothing more.

Gunther smiled, proud of himself. He used the rug to clean away any shards that would cut him, and grabbing the gas can and security bar, he climbed through the window into the house.

Once inside, he wasted no time. He knew by Y/N's schedule that she'd be in bed asleep, so he went for the stairs and silently climbed them, in search of her bedroom.

He quickly found it by poking his head into every door and looking for her. He came to the second door from the landing and saw her laying on her side, facing away from the bedroom door.

Leaving the security bar by the outside of the door, he waltzed into the bedroom as if he owned the place, and strode to her bedside. He looked down at her and watched her sleep for a few moments, before stroking her cheek with his finger. Then as if daring her to wake up and see him, he leaned down and kissed her mouth softly.

Almost as if she knew it was him, she cringed and subtly pulled back. "No," she murmured in her sleep. "Not you…"

Growing enraged all over again, he pocketed her phone off the night table, so she couldn't call for help. Then he opened the gas can and began pouring a stream of the gasoline from the bed to the door. Then he silently clicked the bedroom door shut, and spotting a skeleton key in teh door lock, he grinned and locked the door for good measure. Then set the security bar up against the door knob.

No way is she getting out of here alive, he thought to himself.

Then he resumed pouring out the gasoline down the hallway, and stairs and to the front door.

Unlocking and opening the front door, he stepped out into the night on the porch, and then pulled the matches from his pocket.

He struck one, and gazing at the flame for a moment, he flicked the match straight into the gasoline at his feet.

The fire ignited instantly, and flew across the living room and up the stairs, to her bedroom he could only presume to think.

He shut the front door, locking it first, and then walked out into the yard and watched her windows. He wanted to see it all.

There was a sudden orange glow in her room flickering about. Soon she'd awaken and her true horror would begin.

"You deserve this," he thought aloud. "You deserve it all."

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[goldfishinaplasticbag]

HIII i just wanted to say that I LOVE ur 1-800-Gotham fic so much! I've been reading since maybe chapter 9 and it literally just keeps getting better and better?? like, so good that you actually inspired me to make my own ocs (stemming from me imagining 1-800 angel in various scenarios until i eventually just broke him off completely and made him completely different ofc)

I also had a little question.... how the hell do you write so much?? my longest work is 10k, and ive always wanted to write something longer, especially cause i totally look up to u as a writer

Anyways, sorry if that's weird to say! Please have a good day or night :D

hello! thank you very much. i'm glad to hear that you are enjoying it! i hope you are having fun with your oc as well—i encourage all canon + oc shenanigans.

honestly, i don't know! it's more like how the hell do i stop writing this much???? i always find places to add more detail, and i stretch out scenes because 1) there's always more to add or 2) it narratively fits well for the scene and the vibe. i think my thing is i have a basic plot i want to write, i make an "outline" of sorts (barely an outline lol), and then i fill in all the places in between. except, those in betweens get very very long. i genuinely have no answer for you and i wish i knew why i write this much LOL.

thank you; i'm flattered you look at up me! i'm sorry i can't give a very good answer about the length—i just really, really like writing LOL. have a wonderful day yourself <3

[myheartlovestheview]

@ofbreakingofflimits

{I could see Troy was torn now on what to do with his future... Sure, it was easy enough to give the well-intended advice of "follow you heart and it won't fail you," but when your heart wants two things at the same time, that advice is easier said than done. All that to say, I meant well, but I had a feeling I wasn't really helping Troy at all in him making this decision. With that thought in mind, a soft smile rested on my lips and I nodded in understanding as Troy confirmed that his heart was split between the two opportunities at the moment. As much as I wanted to say or do something to help him making this decision, deep down, I knew I couldn't... Just like the time Troy decided on which college he wanted to attend, he needed to do that on his own... When the time came, he'd know which path to choose} I believe in you, Troy... Whichever path you choose, I know you're going to soar at it. {I said in sincere encouragement since the "follow your heart" advice wasn't going to suffice this time around. In hearing his question to me, though, I was admittedly caught off guard. In fact, my cheeks warmed slightly in response. Not really sure how to answer that since this was one of those answers that could make or break this new attempt we were making at being friends again} Oh wow... Laying it all out there, I see. Way to put me on the spot, Troy. {I aired out softly with a slight chuckle following. Maybe this initial, playful response was my way of buying myself a few seconds before I'd need to actually answer his question} The truth is, though... yes and no... I mean, were you my driving reason behind taking this internship? No. I chose this internship because Albuquerque is the only place that's ever felt like home to me, and after being away from here for so long, I was ready to return home for this next phase of my life. With that thought in mind, though, a large part of why this city feels like home is because of the memories and friends that I've made here, Troy... Specifically, the memories and bond that you and I made together. With that said, though, I'm not returning home with any intentions for something to happen between us. Still, it feels good to be home and to spend time with you while we're both here. {I shared with a soft smile. Fortunately we were at the yogurt shop, so we had an easy subject change card right here in front of us} And on that note, let's go get some yogurt. I've been craving the cookies and cream since my last time home. {I aired out with a soft giggle as I took my keys and purse, exited the driver's side of the vehicle, and prepared for us to head inside the shop. I just hoped my honesty now wouldn't make things uncomfortable or awkward between us now. I mean, did I still love Troy? Yes. Of course I did, and I had a feeling I always would. That sentiment aside though, I knew given the likelihood of him choosing that NFL camp meant the timing would be way off for us currently... You never know what the future may hold for us, though}

@ofbreakingofflimits

{First love. It’s one of those feelings you’ll never forget. People tell you that, no matter how much time passes, that first love will always hold a special place in your heart. I didn’t really know just how true that was, but for me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget mine.

For me, my first, and only love, has been Troy Bolton. He came into my life at a time that I needed him the most, and no matter where life takes us, I’ll never forget how he made me feel, or the person I became simply by having him in my life. It’s funny when you consider I was so mad at my mom when her job transferred her to New Mexico. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have anything against Albuquerque, but it was just the fact that I was tired of moving around. You finally make a few friends, and you get adjusted into a new school, and suddenly you’re packing up and moving again. Needless to say, I became really good at goodbyes. Fortunately for me, my mom made it clear to her bosses that she wouldn’t accept another transfer, after that last one, until I graduated from high school. I was lucky because it was in Albuquerque, or more accurately, at East High that I finally figured out who I am. It was my season of firsts… First love… first kiss… first time singing in front of an audience without passing out… first time in a school musical… first time that I had a whole circle of really great friends… And the list goes on. I loved everything about East High, especially Troy Bolton. Then college happened and I didn’t know where that would leave Troy and I. Sure, just like any high school couple, you make the promise to give it your best shot, but with distance and the busyness of college, it starts to weigh on a relationship. At least that’s what people like Taylor, Chad, Kelsie, and my mom warned me. I don’t know, though… When it came to Troy and me, I knew if anyone could defy the odds and make our relationship last, it was us.

For our parts, we did give it our best shot. We went strong through our first year of college, even the second-year defied expectations, but as it continued, I could feel us starting to drift apart. It made sense, though. I mean, we both made new friendships at college, we both had heavy loads with our classes and assignments, and we were both also involved in extracurriculars at college, too. All that to say, it didn’t leave much time for each other. Our weekend meet ups and dates gradually dwindled to once a month, if we were lucky, and over time, it just became one disappointment and canceled date after another for us. In the end, we decided it was best just to end our relationship. It was nobody’s fault, really. Just reality became a bit too much for us to continue holding on to our “kindergarten fantasies,” you could say.

My senior year was wrapping up at college, and I was still undecided on what I wanted to do next. Sure, I had job offers lining up, but nothing had really stuck out to me yet, regarding which path I wanted to choose. My mom had since been transferred back to Albuquerque and was living in our old house, so I had strongly considered taking a position that I had been offered at a law office in Albuquerque, but I still wasn’t sure. I mean, maybe a change in scenery is what I needed. Still, Albuquerque was the place that still felt most like home, so maybe that was my answer. I silently considered as I left the dining hall and started back toward my dorm room to continue packing up. I had no sooner reached my dorm room when I got a text from Taylor asking me if I was returning for the alumni event being held for our graduating class back at East High. Sure, I recalled reading the email a few times… Going back and forth on whether or not I wanted to do this, but in the end, I was still undecided, at best. Don’t get me wrong, it might be really nostalgic to be back at East High again, and it would be great to see my friends, but I was admittedly nervous about seeing Troy} Maybe… {I texted back in response as I continued packing up my dorm room; stacking my packed bins in the corner of the room, so they would be ready to load into my SUV once I finished finals later this week.

Days passed, graduation happened, and I found myself back in Albuquerque. I was still undecided on which job I was going to take, but for now, I was indefinitely moved back into my mom’s house. After going back and forth for weeks, Taylor managed to convince me to attend the alumni event at East High this weekend, so I now found myself in front of my closet door mirror trying on one outfit after another in search of just the perfect outfit. I was never this indecisive about what to wear, but I don’t know, I guess the possibility of seeing Troy today left me feeling nervous} “The one you’re wearing is perfect. Now put those shoes on, and let’s go.” {I heard Taylor’s bossy voice ringing out from behind me; prompting a bright smile to my face. Squealing softly in excitement while rushing over toward her to greet her with a hug} I didn’t know you were coming here to get me. {I said as we exchanged a long overdue hug with each other. She chuckled lightly and replied} “I figured if we’re both going into that school with the chance of having to face our ex-boyfriends, or worse yet, Sharpay Evans, we’d need each other for moral support.” {I nodded in response and smiled as we broke the hug. I took one last look in the mirror after slipping into the shoes Taylor suggested for me to wear. I still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced that this was the right outfit to go with, but it would do. I thought with a silent nod as I grabbed my purse and keys. Not a moment too soon since I felt Taylor grab my hand; tugging me out of my bedroom, downstairs, and ultimately out to her awaiting vehicle. A nervous sigh leaving my lips as I got situated in the passenger’s side seat of her vehicle} “We’ve got this. I mean, we’re all in this together, right?” {She said with a knowing smile and a giggle as she started up the vehicle and then with an exhaled breath, she pulled away from my house; taking the familiar drive to East High School for what could potentially be an unforgettable weekend for us both}

[i-heart-slashers]

Not Like the Others

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Michael Myers x Reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You catch the fascination of Michael Myers, who spares you, his silent fixation growing into an unsettling, possessive obsession as he watches and leaves cryptic tokens.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.4k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: references to murder and blood, stalking and psychological tension, dark themes, mild horror elements, emotional manipulation

The autumn air in Haddonfield was sharp, carrying the scent of decaying leaves and chimney smoke. You pulled your jacket tighter, your boots crunching against the gravel as you cut through the empty lot toward home.

The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows that danced across the cracked pavement. It was late—too late to be walking alone, but your shift at the diner had run over, and the bus was long gone.

You didn't hear him. No one ever did. Michael Myers moved like a wraith, a shadow stitched into the fabric of the night. The first sign of his presence was the prickle at the back of your neck, that instinctive alarm that something was wrong. You stopped, breath catching, and turned slowly.

He was there, standing at the edge of the lot, motionless. The white mask gleamed under the moonlight, its hollow eyes fixed on you. The butcher knife in his hand caught the faint glow of a distant streetlamp, its blade stained with something dark and wet.

Your heart lurched, but your feet stayed rooted. Running would be pointless. You'd heard the stories—Haddonfield's boogeyman didn't chase. He caught.

"Who are you?" you asked, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. A stupid question, maybe, but silence felt worse.

He didn't answer. He never did. Instead, he tilted his head, just slightly, like a predator sizing up prey. But there was something else in that tilt, something… curious.

You should've been screaming, sobbing, begging for your life like the others. That's what he expected—what he wanted. But you didn't. Your eyes met the black voids of his mask, and though your pulse thundered, you held your ground.

"Why me?" you pressed, taking a cautious step back. Your voice wavered now, but not from fear—it was defiance, a spark of anger at being hunted like an animal. "What do you want?"

Michael took a step forward, matching your retreat. The knife hung loosely at his side, but his grip tightened, knuckles whitening beneath the grime. He was close now, close enough that you could smell the faint metallic tang of blood on him, mixed with something earthier, like damp soil. His breathing was slow, deliberate, audible through the mask. Each exhale seemed to pull at the air around you, drawing you into his orbit.

You should've run. You should've screamed. But something in you—some reckless, stupid part—refused to break. "I'm not afraid of you," you lied, chin lifting. "You're just a man under that mask. Not a monster."

His head tilted again, sharper this time as if your words had struck something deep, something dormant. The knife twitched in his hand, but he didn't raise it. Instead, he stepped closer, towering over you, his shadow swallowing yours.

You could feel the weight of his stare, heavy and unyielding like he was peeling back your skin to see what made you tick.

And then, impossibly, he stopped. He didn't strike, didn't lunge. He just… watched. The silence stretched, thick with tension, until your legs burned with the urge to bolt. But you didn't. You couldn't. Not when those empty eyes held you in place, pinning you like a butterfly to a board.

Days passed, and Haddonfield whispered. Another body had been found, torn apart in an alley not far from the lot. But you were still here, still breathing. You told yourself it was luck, a fluke. Michael Myers didn't spare people. He didn't choose. Yet every night, as you walked home from the diner, you felt it—that prickle, that weight. He was there, somewhere, watching.

You started noticing things. A shadow lingering too long at the edge of your vision. The faint creak of a floorboard outside your door at 3 a.m. A smudged handprint on your window, too large to be yours. You should've called the police, packed a bag, and left town. But something kept you here, tethered to this cursed place. Maybe it was fear. Perhaps it was something darker, something you couldn't name.

One night, you found a knife on your kitchen counter. Not yours. It was old and rusted, with a handle worn smooth by use. Your breath hitched as you picked it up, the weight heavy in your hand. Maybe it was a message. A gift. A warning. You didn't know which, but you kept it, tucking it into a drawer like a secret.

The next time you saw him, it was raining. You were closing up the diner, the neon sign buzzing faintly as you locked the door. He was across the street, standing under a broken streetlamp, water streaming off his mask like tears.

You froze, the key still in the lock. Your heart pounded, but there was that spark again—defiance, curiosity, something reckless. "What do you want from me?" you called out, voice cutting through the rain. "Why won't you just do it?"

He didn't move. The rain plastered his coveralls to his body, outlining the broad, unyielding shape of him. For a moment, you thought he might turn and vanish into the storm. But then he crossed the street, slow and deliberate, his boots splashing through puddles. You backed against the door, the glass cold against your spine, but you didn't run.

He stopped a foot away, close enough that you could see the faint scratches on his mask, the way the rain caught in the creases. His head tilted again, that same curious angle, and you realized something: he wasn't just watching you. He was studying you. Like you were a puzzle, he couldn't solve. Like you were different.

"I don't know what you see in me," you whispered, barely audible over the rain. "But I'm not your prey."

His hand twitched, the one without the knife. For a heartbeat, you thought he might reach for you, might close the distance, and end it. But instead, he turned, melting back into the night as silently as he'd come.

Weeks turned into months, and the pattern held. Haddonfield bled, but you didn't. He was everywhere—outside your window, in the alley behind the diner, at the edge of the woods as you walked home. Always watching, always silent. You stopped locking your doors at night, not out of carelessness but because you knew it wouldn't matter. If he wanted in, no lock would stop him.

You started talking to him, in a way. Not out loud, not always, but in the quiet moments when you felt his presence. You'd sit on your couch, the knife from your drawer resting on the coffee table, and you'd wonder. What did he see in you? Why you, of all people? Was it your defiance, that spark that refused to flicker out? Or was it something else, something deeper, something even you didn't understand?

One night, you left a new knife on your porch, blade glinting under the moonlight. Could tell yourself if it was a test or even a dare. When you checked the next morning, it was gone. In its place was something new: a single, wilted flower, its petals bruised but intact. You stared at it, heart pounding, and realized you were smiling. Not out of fear, not out of relief, but something else entirely.

Halloween came, and Haddonfield locked its doors. You didn't. You sat on your porch, a cup of coffee in your hands, the air thick with the scent of pumpkins and fear. He appeared at the end of your street, a silhouette against the orange glow of jack-o'-lanterns. You didn't flinch. You didn't run.

He walked toward you, each step deliberate, the knife gleaming in his hand. The neighborhood was silent, the trick-or-treaters long gone. It was just you and him, the world holding its breath.

When he reached your porch, he stopped. The mask stared down at you, unreadable, but you felt it— that pull, that fascination. You stood, setting your coffee aside, and met his gaze.

"I'm still here," you said, voice low but firm. "You haven't taken me. You won't."

His head tilted, slower this time, almost… approving. The knife lowered just an inch, and you felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He was close now, closer than he'd ever been, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw, unyielding presence of him.

You didn't know why he spared you. You didn't know why he watched, why he lingered, why he left you flowers and knives instead of blood. But in that moment, as the wind howled and the pumpkins flickered, you understood one thing: you weren't like the others. And neither was he.

[ao3-rex1223]

𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕀𝕟 𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕦𝕖 - Part II

Pairing: Father-in-law Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your secret relationship with Leon grows and keeping it hidden from your husband is getting tricky. When Leon's house is struck by a branch, he stays with you and your husband. Sparks continue to fly, but can you keep your love affair a secret, or will everything come crashing down?

Tags: Shower sex, cheating, creampies, try-not-to-get-caught, unprotected sex, divorce, second marriage, unplanned pregnancy

Part I

The next morning, you wake around ten. Chase is still deeply asleep, snoring like he was out drinking rather heavily the night before. You sit up, ready to make some coffee and start the day, when a sudden bout of nausea hits you like a bullet to the gut. You quickly slip out of bed and make for the bathroom. You retch, your stomach empty but nonetheless hell bent on hurling something up. Only a moment later, Leon is kneeling next to you, holding your hair away from your face and rubbing your back. 

“It's alright, deep breaths. Just relax,” he coaches gently. You follow his encouragement and take deep breaths between bouts of your guts trying to expel themselves. When the worst passes, he helps you up and guides you to the sink so you can rinse your mouth out. He grabs a paper towel and wets it under the faucet before gently wiping your face clean.

When it's all over, you turn to him with a weak smile, grateful for his kindness. “Thank you, Leon.”

“Hey, I'm always here for you,” he reassures you and presses a quiet kiss to your nose. “C'mon, let's get you some crackers and ginger ale.” He takes your hand and leads you to the kitchen, easing you into a chair before fetching you the hopefully nausea-easing breakfast he promised. 

You nibble on the bland food, and thankfully, the nausea wanes further. Leon presses his hand to your forehead, checking for a fever. “Think you ate something bad?” He asks.

“I'm not sure. We ate the same stuff yesterday…how do you feel?”

“Uh, fine. Hm. Maybe you're coming down with something…”

You both realize you're ignoring the gestating elephant in the room. A tense quiet passes through the air until you finally speak up. “Or I'm pregnant…”

Leon swallows hard, his eyes meet yours as his jaw slides open. Of course he thought of it…but he wasn't expecting you to say it, as if somehow the idea not being spoken aloud would prevent it from being reality. Another burning question boils up from within him and he's unable to stop it, “Is it mine?” He's desperate to know but terrified to hear the answer. 

You pull your phone out, knowing you can get the answer for him. When you still had hope for your marriage with Chase, you used an app to keep track of your monthly cycle as well as when you and Chase had sex. In your attempt to keep your affair a secret, you never documented when you and Leon were together. As you scroll through the calendar, you realize you haven't slept with your husband in four months. Four periods between when Chase last attempted to impregnate you and now. On top of that, you notice you've missed your last period entirely. “Yes,” you confirm with a whisper, and yet the answer is deafening.

Leon lets out a shaky breath and stares at the table. He grips the edge like he might float away. Joy, fear, longing, and guilt all swirl within him, ebbing and flowing like an ocean threatening to rip him away with the tide. “A baby…our baby…” His hand finds yours; he holds it gently and yet in a way that says he's never letting go. He whispers your name like a prayer. 

You pull your hands away when you hear Chase descending the stairs, trying to appear like you're simply chatting about the weather, pretending there isn't a potentially life changing revelation that just surfaced between you and your beloved father-in-law. 

“Morning,” Chase grumbled, clearly hungover. He grabs the pot of coffee and pours himself a mug. Chase’s eyes fall to Leon. “Hey, pop. What are you doing here?” 

“A tree limb fell on my house. Your wonderful wife let me stay here,” Leon smiles, mustering up as much calm as he can. 

Chase smiles weakly, his head clearly pounding from all the alcohol he drank last night. “No problem. Stay as long as you need.” He sips his coffee, willing the energizing liquid to ease his brain fog. 

You both nod awkwardly, glancing at each other then turning away. Needing to escape the tension in the room, you rise and say the first thing that comes to mind, “I'm gonna tidy up a bit.” You move to the living room, desperate to just get away for a few minutes. You begin moving things back to their designated place, throwing away garbage, folding throw blankets, and picking up clothes. You grab Chase’s jacket, the one he must have worn out last night, to go hang it back up in the closet. As you pull it from the ottoman on which it was casually tossed, a condom falls out of the pocket, still wrapped in its foil. You freeze, waiting for a crushing disappointment that never comes. Any wife would be devastated to find out her husband is unfaithful and yet…you find yourself oddly relieved. It's now or never; at least that's how it feels. Both you and Chase are guilty of infidelity so you may as well rip the band-aid off this sham of a marriage now. 

You walk back into the kitchen, carrying the jacket and the condom. You see your husband and lover conversing pleasantly. “Leon,” you begin, strain obvious in your voice, “could you give us a few minutes?” Your face says it all; it's time. He nods and quietly leaves the room. 

You sit down, laying the evidence of Chase’s transgression on the table.

“Baby, I-” Chase begins, but you cut him off.

“Just let me get this out,” you say over him. “Chase, we're not working. We never worked. We lied to ourselves and everyone else when we got married. We've been apart for most of our marriage and neither of us even care.” You chuckle as tears fall down your face. “I mean, who are we kidding?” Your eyes fall to the jacket and condom again. “The truth is…I'm in love with someone else. And to be honest…I don't even care that you've obviously slept with someone else. I really don't. What I care about is moving on, being with the person who truly makes me happy. And whatever will make you truly happy, I want you to have that, too.”

Chase remains silent, a mixture of guilt and reluctant hope in his eyes. After several moments, he finally speaks. “Who…who are you in love with?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer. As he thinks back, he notices the signs that were always there. He's relieved you seem not to care that he's been screwing other women, yet there's an innate sense inside him that burns to know who stole his wife away. 

You swallow hard. You might as well say it. “Leon.”

“My father!?” Chase exclaims, visibly shaken by your answer.

You hold up your hands placatingly. “Chase, please don't get mad. He was there for me when you were gone,” you explain. You realize now that while Chase was away on ‘business trips’ he was probably with other women; whether or not he actually tended to any business you don't know, but it's irrelevant anyway. “We grew close and…well…it just kinda happened.” You go back and forth on whether or not to confess about the pregnancy but ultimately decide you might as well spill it along with everything else. “And…I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant.”

Chase’s eyes snap back up to yours, wide with shock and a little bit of something else, dread, perhaps? “...mine…or his?”

“His,” you admit. Chase almost looks relieved when he hears the news. 

“Thank God,” he replies and visibly relaxes. 

Your eyes widen briefly with puzzled shock, but you brush the feeling aside since he seems to be accepting the rest of the ground breaking news just fine. 

You discuss things a bit further and then eventually pull Leon in as well. After hours of confessions and laying feelings on the table, Chase decides to leave and stay with one of the girls he had been seeing with the plan of eventually moving into Leon's place - a small, two bedroom house - once it's fixed. The three of you agreed that it makes the most sense for you and Leon to keep the larger house, especially with a baby on the way and possibly more in the future. Chase admitted he never really wanted children in the first place. 

Your marriage to Chase is easy enough to annul, leaving you and Leon free to marry in a small ceremony, attended by a handful of friends and family. It's the happiest day of your life. 

Leon is all over you the entire night, dancing with you, feeding you wedding cake, kissing you at every possible opportunity. He never leaves you alone, and when the night ends, he carries you to the bridal suite, kissing your neck and whispering his love into your ear. 

He lays you down on the bed and delicately removes your wedding dress, a simple and comfortable number as opposed to the tight and miserable dress you wore to your first wedding. He kisses you passionately, lips massaging yours, tongue tasting every inch of your delicious mouth, enjoying the lingering taste of wedding cake. His hands are everywhere, memorizing your body all over again. He pays special attention to the gentle swell of your belly, housing your precious cargo. 

He trails kisses down your jaw, neck, then breasts, hand reaching behind to unhook your bra and free your enticing mounds. He takes one pert nipple into his mouth and gently pinches the other with his free hand. You gasp, the pleasure doubled thanks to your pregnancy hormones. Your back arches off the bed. Leon switches and begins sucking on your other nipple, giving each one equal attention. 

Moving down further, he kisses your swollen abdomen while sliding your panties off, then settles between your trembling legs, brimming with anticipation. He spreads your thighs wider with a devilish grin. “All mine,” he declares softly. His thumbs part your delicate folds like they're precious flower petals. He leans in slowly, building the tension then licks a stripe up your wet center. You let a guttural cry of euphoria escape your lips as he takes your hot pussy onto his mouth. His rough tongue feels amazing against your smooth folds. 

“Oh Leon! God, don't stop!” you cry, orgasm rapidly barreling towards you. His lips lock around your clit and he sucks hard. One hand slides up to squeeze your sensitive breasts while the other slides two digits inside your aching cunt. It's enough to send you over the edge, and you nearly buck yourself off the bed entirely. His hand that's squeezing your breast holds you in place. Your pussy clamps down around his fingers as he continues to assault your clit with his mouth, prolonging your climax. 

When your walls finally relax and your legs melt to jello, he finally releases your swollen bud and kisses his way back up your perfect body. “God, I love you so damn much,” Leon purrs, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss and sharing your exquisite taste with you. Rising briefly, he sheds his tuxedo, his long, thick cock springing free and standing proud. He crawls back atop you once more, his knee pushing your legs apart again. His leaking tip brushes against your cunt, nearly forgotten about as he focuses on yet another deep kiss. “My beautiful wife. I'm never letting you go.” With that, he slides home, his throbbing cock easing inside you. He savors every inch as his hips push further and further, seating his sensitive tip just outside your womb. He begins moving, back and forth, in and out, the bulbous head knocking at your cervix. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, taking him deeper, keeping him locked within you. 

“Oh, Leon! Fuck, I love you, too. Always have; always will,” you proclaim passionately, cupping his face, gazing into his eyes as he makes love to you. Your lips meet once more, tongues tangling as your bodies move in sync. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him ever closer to you. 

His pace increases, hips rabbiting into you like a man possessed. His cock head knocks at the entrance to your womb, ready to combust at any second. He reaches between your bodies and thumbs your clit, wanting, needing you to follow him over the edge. His cum begins to shoot out but he keeps thrusting until he feels your walls collapse around him and squeeze his dick for all it's worth. He smiles against your lips, pleased with himself for synchronizing your orgasms. 

He rolls off of you, pulling you with him and draping you across his chest, your bodies still intimately connected. As you drift off to sleep, Leon holding you warmly and your baby nestled safely between you inside your tender womb, you're filled with a sense of rightness you've never felt before. The love of your life - the real one - is finally yours, and you're his. Your life finally feels right, your heart complete. And you didn't even have to change your name!

[aerkame]

Update for this account

Sorry guys it's been a while and life has been rough this year and I'm just now feeling like getting back on this account. To answer a few questions left in the inbox (thought I might as well try and answer all of it here), here's a list of the most asked ones:

Why have I been away?

I've been away for a while due to work and life related reasons. The job market is really rough right now and I'm trying to maintain an okay lifestyle while I figure things out. A lot of my passions have been completely broken this year and I haven't been in the best state. I'm working on that though.

Will you open commissions?

Yes, they've been open for a while actually I just never advertised it. I will though since a few people have asked before. I just need to set prices and set up a portfolio! Don't be afraid to ask by the way I don't bite. ;)

Sorry I never publicly mentioned it or advertised it, I feel like I missed out on commissions and people missed out on knowing about it. I've been very unsure if whether or not my own art at the moment was good enough for the usual prices of commissions.

Are you still in the Welcome Home fandom?

No, not really. I really do love Welcome Home but with the peak of the fandom a year or two ago it came with lots of bad people that left a bitter taste behind for me. I do still love my AU I made for it, maybe I might draw them here and there, and answer small asks or questions, but overall I try staying out of it.

Are you still active?

Somewhat. I want to return to this account again and feel normal but it's been so long and I feel so bad for leaving the last fandom I was in. I do plan on trying to stay a little consistent though. I love hearing from some of you, even the out of pocket and unhinged comments or hashtags. 🫶So don't ever feel like you guys did anything to scare me off.

What fandoms are you in?

Currently I'm in the Journey to The West fandom, LMK, How to Train Your Dragon, New Gods: Nezha Reborn or any movie from Lightchaser Studio, really any movie/show with Wukong in it, Warhammer 40k, Transformers, Lupin III, Genshin Impact, One Piece, and Overlord.

Are you joining Art Fight?

Yes, I know only one person asked this, I guess you already saw my user on there but I plan to join my first Art Fight. I won't push myself to do too much at once since I haven't drawn in a while, but I hope this will help me both with learning time management and new skills. 💪

[therecordconnection]

For the music asks: 2, 5, and 13!

#2: Who got you into the band you adore now?

Recently, I decided to do a deep dive into the discography of Blue Öyster Cult where I listened to everything they made from beginning to end (1972-1982 is great, the rest isn't worth much). Truthfully, I don't know who it was exactly that got me into them, but the safest answer would probably be my father (he was a big seventies classic rock guy).

#5: If you could jam with any band member ever, living or dead, who would it be?

I'm not much of a musician, so if I could change the question (is that cheating??) to who I'd want a lesson from, I'd say that I'd love a lesson from Phil Collins. He was mine and my dad's favorite drummer. He made drumming look fun and I've always wanted to be able to do even a fraction of what he could.

#13: Favourite lyric?

That's a really tough one. I can give you two favorites at the moment, if that's satisfying enough(?)

"Let your tears flow, let your past go" - "Cry If You Want" by The Who

"I am made from the dust of the stars / And the oceans flow in my veins" - "Presto" by Rush (Nobody did it better than Neil did and nobody delivered it better than Geddy did).

Thanks for submitting! :)

From this post. Feel free to submit a number if you so choose!