#with you b.c

[llunapastell-reads]

ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ || ʙ.ᴄ

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 :･ bang chan x afab reader 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘 :･ hurt/comfort | fluffy | smut  𝗪.𝗖 :･ 3.7k 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 :･ profanity | sexually explicit | unprotected piv

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 :･ Amidst the mess of an neglected office space, your boyfriend's forlorn piano evokes a wave of painful recognition. You wonder how much dust could collect on your shoulders before Chan realizes he's forgotten you too.

✧.* 𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗪 𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 & 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚

An abrupt thud sends a spurt of pain through the crown of your head. It startles you more than anything, breaking your concentration on the drudgery at hand—cleaning out a long-forgotten cabinet nestled in the alcove of your home office. Well, to call it your office isn’t entirely accurate. With all of your boyfriend’s music equipment overtaking the majority of the space, it feels more like a foreign than familiar territory now. You do have your own desk opposite Chan’s makeshift studio setup, right below the room’s largest window so you can draw in the natural lighting. But it’s been a long while since you last picked up a sketch pad.

Hell, it’s been a while since either of you had the time to do anything in this neglected corner of your apartment. 

A mumble of curse words falls under your breath as you soothe where you’re sure a decent bump will form later. A small break feels befitting now that the hoard of art supplies is somewhat organized, and you should probably grab an ice pack for good measure. The task has been looming over your head for too long, which is why this rare lull in your afternoon was dedicated to tidying up the room that has been usurped by clutter and storage.

Work has left you drained of all your free time and willpower, and when you did muster up a speck of vigor, it was usually in the name of chores or other responsibilities. Chan was even worse, all his time being spent practicing as he and the guys geared up for another comeback. His life has always been dominated by his craft—the man wouldn’t have it any other way—but you couldn't help but take note of how your moments together had been reduced to fleeting exchanges between late-night studio sessions and pressing deadlines. 

You blink away the thought and cast bleary eyes over your shoulder. The beams of light that flood in through slatted blinds appear almost tangible in the air, so much so that you’re tempted to try and grasp one in your hand. Instead, you trace their glowing pathways across the room, where molten colors of gold and clementine reflect off the keys of a piano on the opposing wall. Each ivory piece seemingly ignites in the setting sun’s radiance, and a deep sigh alleviates some of the wistful feelings that thrum in your chest at the sight; it was only a few years ago Chan had bought that secondhand piano from a local shop after months of contemplation. 

He somehow always talked himself out of the commitment, too humble to seriously entertain the thought of spending money on himself, especially when there were always bills to pay. Your relationship was fresh then, and even though the secret of mutually bashful affection had only been confessed a few weeks earlier, you were bold and convinced him a bit assertively to think of it as a business expense. The purchase meant aid in refining his skills, to enhance his contributions to his team: the beloved group of friends who looked to him for leadership with nothing but an unwavering confidence that he never quite felt worthy of. That’s what persuaded him to spend the one-and-a-half paychecks it required—the idea of altruism. The recollection of crinkles that formed in the corner of his eyes from unabated joy seems just as vivid as the luminous piano you’re shuffling over to from across the carpet.

Kneeling before it, your body sinks to eye level with the weighted keys. Hesitant fingers hover just above them for a long moment, as if one touch will disturb the magic of its glow and transform it back to an abandoned piece of dusty equipment. You’re not sure what possesses you to purse your lips and blow instead, but it’s a marvel to watch the tiny dust particles suspended in the air become glitter in the sun. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth the whole time you tend to the instrument with a delicate touch, taking time to wipe down each crevice and bend. It was pathetically sentimental, but the keys were left for last. It just felt disrespectful to invoke any sound without deliberate intent. Once satisfied, you sit properly on the bench and admire your work.

It tickles to consider the extent of abuse these well-worn keys have endured at the hand of its enthusiast owner. The piano was the very first thing he had unpacked when you moved into this apartment a couple of summers ago, your first place together. Almost instantly it felt like home, even with blank walls and no furniture, aside from numerous stacks of cardboard boxes. The only thing occupying the room was Chan with a pencil tucked behind his ear to notate every tweak made to the piece he was composing. Sometimes, you’d catch him grinning to himself once the right notes fell into place and the room would suddenly appear brighter. His presence transformed any space into a beautiful sanctuary. 

Hands clutch your chest as if it will somehow quell the sharp pang of longing deep within. Have you been so busy and distracted you hadn’t noticed the depth of the void that had stealthily crept into your lives? No, it wasn’t obliviousness. You just didn’t want to hinder him, especially when he was dedicating himself so earnestly to the career he’s built, to the team that needs him. You lied to yourself, said it was fine that you couldn’t remember the last time you ate a proper meal together, or got lost in a late-night conversation that stretched into dawn. It’s only when your head falls against the sternum do you acknowledge the wetness collecting in your waterline. The relegated instrument before you breeds a deeply discomforting feeling of recognition in your stomach.

Maybe you should just stay here, see how much dust collects on your shoulders until he notices. It’s painful to consider if he’d notice at all.

A melody he penned resonates amongst your distraught clamor of thoughts. The recollection is fuzzy, like it’s being filtered through an old phone line. Your hand moves on autopilot until a subtle and delicate sound emerges from the slow press of a key, summoning a wave of calmness to fall over you. Like a hushed secret, the note seems to linger, its tone rich and full, as if time itself has slowed down by its enchantment. With another caress of a key, and then another, every nuanced vibration somehow finds its place in the tranquility of the room bathed in hazy light.

Your rendition wasn’t perfect, but it felt good to get lost in the memories that surface from the music. You picture those tufts of soft curls bobbing along to the rhythm, chiseled features set in fixated concentration before he lost himself in the song. Chan’s passion was palpable, but what mesmerized you most was the graceful arc of his hands that moved with a fluidity that spoke to years of diligent practice. Hands of a god, Jisung would say when you watched them in the studio sometimes.

Your heart does a somersault when your playing is accompanied by the distant sound of a lock unlatching, followed by subdued creaks of floorboards. A stifled chuckle approaches from the doorway and pulls you from the daydream. “Please, don’t stop,” Chan smiles once your eyes meet. “I love this song.”

The man is a vision; dampened strands of hair appear dark against the flush of his skin, a result of what must have been an intense dance practice. A display of dimples almost distracts you from noticing how his shirt clings to the broad expanse of his shoulders. The black fabric does nothing to conceal the swell of biceps when he folds his arms over his chest. As he steps past the threshold of the space, the contours of his profile suddenly shimmer in the light. There’s a hitch in your breath, and your cheeks must appear flush too, but for a totally different reason.

“I don’t remember how this part goes,” you admit and bashfully turn your attention back to the instrument. Your fingers falter as you hit all the wrong keys, pulling huffs of laughter from Chan at the dissonant sounds you’ve produced. 

All your muscles tense once he closes the space between you. Tone arms wrap around your body so Chan can guide your hands to the right keys. His breath tickles the shell of your ear when he leans in over your shoulder, the rhythm calm and in complete contrast to the erratic thumping of your pulse. 

“I’ll show you,” the low octave of his voice incites goosebumps. 

With tender patience, Chan guides your overlapping hands through the first set of notes. He hums along to the melody, harmonizing with the song while your interlaced fingers explore their way across the keys. How you yearned for this, the feeling of his warmth enveloping you—it excited every atom of your being, elicited a kind of vibrating sensation under your skin. You lean back against him and nuzzle the crook of his neck. A deep inhale has you feeling dazed, the mixture of his musk and the scent of smoky vanilla like a potent drug.

“Y/N, you’re not paying attention,” your boyfriend coos.

Just one more inhale before you can respond. The corners of your mouth curl upward as you ask how he can tell.

“You’re making me do all the work,” he tsks with feigned disappointment. 

“I’ll give you a reward for your efforts,” the plush of your bottom lip ghosts over the edge of his jaw, feeling the muscles clench beneath. An open-mouth kiss presses into the bone and you’re unable to resist swiping your tongue along his skin. It tingles when Chan’s muffled groan reverberates against you. It only encourages you to suckle at the spot you’ve claimed to relish in the salty taste.

You’re so focused on him, it doesn’t register that the music has ceased until you feel your hands guided to your chest. With your fingers still intertwined, Chan helps you knead at the flesh over your tank top. You exhale a satisfied sigh when he makes you cup your breast and squeeze. One hand fondles while the other creeps down the expanse of your torso, tantalizingly slow. You have to face forward and focus on the silhouette of your figures just to try and regulate your breathing. 

“Do you know what my favorite instrument to play is?” His voice is velvet in your ear, his mouth hot on the expanse of your skin. A shiver is the only response you can manage. 

Teeth nip at the junction where your shoulder and neck meet. There’s so much unabated hunger behind it, the pleasure of sudden pain pools in your gut. Chan gently pushes your thighs apart and forces your fingers to trail up the skin of your thigh. A high-pitched whine falls past your lips as your hands brush over where you need his touch the most. There’s no point in attempting to hide how much you want that sweet friction on you, and he knows it. Your boyfriend chuckles with your flesh still in between his teeth. 

“It’s you, baby. You make the prettiest sounds,” his words get lost amongst the sound of your labored breaths. Hips reflexively buck forward to meet where hands hover over your clothed mound and you can feel the wetness through the cotton fabric, already so damp from just his teasing. Chan hums with satisfaction from your undoing, then rewards you with soothing licks to the indents left behind from his bite.

He’s all over you but not close enough. Only thoughts of wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling the weight of his tongue in your watering mouth flood your mind, washing away all traces of doubt and insecurity. He must be thinking the same because there isn’t a speck of resistance when you shift your body around and tackle him onto the carpet. The action is impatient, ravenous, and completely welcomed by your boyfriend if his bruising grip on your waist is any indication. Your eyelids slip shut with the connection of lips, finally slotted together after what felt like a stagnant eternity. One eager lick at the seam of your mouth is all the prompting you need to part your lips and allow him entrance. With each brush against your tongue, tiny spurts of electricity pulsate down to your core.

“Y/N… Miss you so much… It hurts,” Chan’s confession comes out like a pained moan in between sloppy kisses. Something lurches in your chest hearing the rasp in his voice. You pull away just enough to discern the furrow in his brow, the desperation behind his widened brown eyes. He felt it too, didn’t he? Amid the long and grueling hours of work, your boyfriend must have agonized in your absence, just as you did in his. This anguish etched across his features is all the sobering confirmation you need and much more than you can stomach. 

Did he genuinely doubt that you missed him too? How utterly unfathomable is that! Yet, It’s not like you’ve done a stellar job expressing your feelings either. Fuck, you’re such a hypocrite, weren’t you just spiraling from the same exact thought? You curse yourself for ever questioning his adoration, and Chan must see the moment guilt flickers in your eyes because his expression turns fearful. How could you be so stupid as to entertain the idea that the most devoted person you know might waver? When he loved, he did so with the entirety of his being, never allowing himself to hold back. His passion was simply too profound to be restrained, especially when it came to the matter of you. 

“I miss you too, Channie,” it takes more strength than expected to keep your voice from trembling. “More than I can even articulate.” 

A long, hard kiss finds its place at the corner of his mouth. You hope the chaste action will convince Chan of the sincerity of your words. The softened gaze and release of a withheld breath trapped in his throat appear to be signs of success, but there are a few other methods you have in mind to truly prove your infatuation with him; lewd fantasies that flash behind your eyelids practically have you purring.  

The back of your hand gently brushes down his face and you feel your eyes crease with adoration for the man underneath you. When your tongue dips back into his mouth, the maneuver is not as rushed as before-–it’s heavier, sensual, and much more calculated. You’re desperate to swallow every one of his whimpers, every response you can solicit with a grind of hips against your boyfriend’s hardened length. Chan threads the hair at the back of your head between his knuckles and pushes your mouths even closer together until he’s literally stealing your breath. 

You disconnect to gasp for air in the crook of his neck. It feels like you’re floating, so lightheaded from it all that your brain lags to process the instant he flips you down onto the carpet. His features go uncharacteristically serious as he sits back on his heels in between your splayed thighs.

 “I need you–right now,”

Chan’s hands reach for the hem of his shirt and time seems to tick by in slow motion. Fabric bunches in his grasp as he lifts it over his head to reveal the sculpted muscles of his torso. Your gulp is audible when he frees himself from the restraints of his joggers, the head of his cock is glazed with arousal which glistens in the setting sun. You can’t seem to shuffle out of shorts fast enough. 

If only you could see the view from above, how drunk in bliss you must appear as Chan peppers wet kisses down your body, discarded clothing littering the floor surrounding your joint forms. Intrinsically, your fingers card through his hair, like the grip on the brunette strands could possibly help you hold on to the bits of composure that are left. His licks at your flesh are slow, messy, and reduce you to a blathering puddle. Whimpers have devolved into tortured whines at this point, but that’s just how he likes it—you can almost feel his crooked smile when he noses past your navel.

“You sound so fucking perfect,” Eyes nearly roll back into your skull in tandem with the flat swipe of his tongue up your entrance. But then Chan leans forward to hover above you again, and a part of you wants to mourn the loss of delicious pressure until his smug grin reminds you the best is yet to come. “And you taste so fucking perfect… I wanna feel how perfect you fit around me.” He teases your folds with the tip of his cock, eyes dancing over your features for signs of discomfort. Any other time you would find the consideration endearing, but you’re fed up with clenching around nothing. 

“C’mon babe, show me how much you missed me,” The command comes out more like a hiss, and that revenant look on his face immediately darkens with lust. Your generous lover doesn’t show any hesitation when he sheaths himself in you, and the sudden fullness punches the air out of your lungs. Your brows pinch together from the stretch, but a wild smile grows on you; It's been so long since you had him like this that you feel insane with want. Nails drag up and down the muscles of his back, motivating a wavelike roll of his hips with every new mark that’s made. He’s exquisite with the plush of his lip tucked between his teeth, obviously impacted by the feel of rubbing against your walls.

Chan arches his back and drops his head down to watch himself disappear into you over and over. His cock feels impossibly deep once you angle your pelvis upwards to chase after his movements, and you know he can feel it hit that spongy spot that will have you seeing stars soon. It’s invigorating, this feeling of fucking yourself on his thickness, but it must overwhelm him because it’s all too soon that you’re forcefully pinned down at the waist and rendered immobile. 

“So eager,” he chides with a smirk playing at his eyes. “Don’t you want me to last?” 

You’ll blame the slip of this filthy admission on being shamefully cock drunk when you replay it in your head tomorrow. No time to be shy now. “I want you fuck me ‘til I black out full of your cum, Bang Chan.”

You can practically see the static whirl in his head until a switch flips. The carnal desire that remained locked away in the name of chivalry is finally unleashed, and exhilaration sets your body ablaze. He says nothing, just stares at you with blown-out pupils as a swift tug brings you flesh against him. The strength of his grip remains unyielding, even as he's buried in you to the hilt, and a silent prayer is made for there to be visible bruises left from where Chan’s fingers dig into your hips. He savors the snug sensation for a moment before rocking his body forward with a gratifying intensity. As each thrust jolts your body further up the floor, the rub of the carpet on your back burns but in the most delectable way. Ceaseless expletives and groans pour out of him with every squelch of your cunt, but in contrast with the pornographic sounds, something much more tender and romantic blooms in the center of your chest. Soon it’s clawing its way up your throat, pricking at your eyes until a cascade of tears dampens the hair around your ears. 

“So in love… with you.. with you, with y-you,” your mantra is like fuel to the hot coil that threatens to snap in your stomach. It’s clear you won’t last much longer, but neither will Chan, judging by how fervent and unharmonious his ruts into you have become. As the haze in your vision dissipates, time becomes elusive, suspended between eternity and a fleeting moment all at once. The emerging image you find above finally propels you over the precipice; It’s your lover, his sweat-slicked skin, the keen edges of his beautiful face, illuminated in a light born between waning sunset and encroaching dusk that splinters your heart open. You’re certain this room exists outside of the laws of space and time. That’s how it feels, anyway. 

“Clenching s-so tight, baby,” Chan pants onto your lips, trailing right behind you with his eyes sealed in a rapture of pleasure. A few more languid thrusts has him humming with blissful satisfaction.

Within the next minute or century, you coax his body on top of yours with idle caresses smoothed into his lower back. He obliges, resting his cheek between your breasts as he tries to steady his breath to a calmer rhythm. Fingers trace taut muscles before finding their way into the mess of curls at the back of his head, and Chan purrs at the gentle massage you give him, the sound reverberating down into your ribcage. He’s a toasty blanket on you, warmed by a radiant kind of love.

Your mind floats somewhere so giddy and cozy that it requires actual effort to rouse the muscles in your mouth to form words. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I’ve been feeling lately. I missed you terribly, but didn’t want to guilt you into leaving work. I know that’s where you should be.”

The abrupt loss of heat against your skin jolts you back into reality once Chan raises on his elbows to pin you with a stare. “Where I should be, the only place I ever want to be–is with you. It’s where I’m the happiest. It’s where I belong, yeah?” His voice is firm but there is no actual hardness swimming in his brown eyes, only a will for his heartfelt look to convey the honesty in his words. The smile you return is a knowing one, one full of endearment and serenity.

“Now then,” Chan gruffs as he plops himself back down against you. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Delicate fingers weave through his hair once more as you rest your head on the carpet. Your gaze fixates to the ceiling above, where shadows and soft light sway together in a subtle dance. You can't think of anything you would rather do than this, with him.

ᴀ/ɴ :･ hehe haha been workin on this for a minute! please let me know if you enjoyed it. this fic is v much a self indulgent story born from the lyrics "there is nothin like doin nothin with you" from 'Nothing' by Bruno Major.

[ad-astra-per-aspera1976]

Busy making bracelets for Ghost!

[fortunaegloria]

Scans of the Brazilian magazine "Set" from January 2008, whose main article is about the movies that were going to (or were scheduled to) premiere in theaters that year, time when the Writers' Strike took place in Hollywood. On the cover, Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Crystal Skull.

In addition, the magazine also features articles about the movies The Kite Runner, the Brazilian one My Name Ain't Johnny ("Meu Nome Não é Johnny") and the sequel to Alien vs. Predator, which I won't emphasize here.

Click on images for HQ.

More mags here.

BONUS:

[dna-u]

via @jeffofink

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

Sparks at The Arches, Glasgow

November 25 2013

FLASHING TW - The lighting situation for this show was more intense than for the other shows. It's very cool but please keep yourself safe.

Your Call's Very Important To Us. Please Hold. (audio of low quality)

How Do I Get To Carnegie Hall?

B.C.

Falling In Love With Myself Again

Katharine Hepburn

Excerpts from The Seduction Of Ingmar Bergman: - "I am Ingmar Bergman" - Limo Driver (Welcome To Hollywood) & "Oh My God"

This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both Of Us: [video 1] [video 2]

How Are You Getting Home? & Suburban Homeboy

Tryouts For The Human Race

The Numer One Song In Heaven: [video 1] [video 2] [Ron's shuffle] [video 4 (audio of low quality)]

[mugueteva]

Tobias Forge knew what he was doing when he covered Depeche Mode in the If You Have Ghost EP. he should do that again with the more fitting songs they have like Sacred or Blasphemous Rumors!

[cupfullofpapas]

Not my best but I tried realistic, I think I'll stick to my usual style tho x'D!

[baekuras]

Because I am lazy with reinventing stuff I have been looking at some fallen angels (mostly Watchers because there is a list) and it's so funny to me that there is/was an angel around to "Cure the stupidity of men" Like thanks I need no more

also there was one guy which bascially was a constellation myth for Orion and he and Azazel(/Lucifer/Satan/whoever pointed Eve to the apple) were punished by hanging out between Heaven and Earth...forever or a long time but that got me to think...this would mean that (insert name of whoever tempted Eve in YOUR specific texts) is also a constellation, and if it's Lucifer it'd be the Morning Star which from what I remember either refers to Venus OR the brightest Star in the Sky aka Sirius aka part of Canis Major aka the constellation right next to Orion Fallen Angel shenanigans in the Sky? it's more likely than you think

also smth smth them being turned into Constellations and humanity using Fallen Angels, aka the givers of forbidden knowledge (you know..like reading and stuff) to navigate smth smth

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Some Americans on this website do rag too much on the unhapiest bits of Ancient Philosophers for people who are connationals to Francis "Western Liberal Democracies are the end-goal of History and we have reached it" Fukuyama.

[torgawl]

these chapter 89 and 90 coloured pages came to haunt me today

things to point out:

- gojo: the covered eye + the infinity halo (obviously referencing his technique and positioned sideways on his head over the exposed eye)

- kenjaku/geto: the halo within an halo (like kenjaku within geto) + kenjaku's stitches looking like they're being shot from his/geto's hand as if they were made of blood (the angle almost makes it seem like he's pointing at gojo when the pictures are positioned together)

- the opposite colour palettes (black and white with the pop of blue for his eyes and white/yellow-ish halo vs colourful palette with great focus on red, green and blue)

a curiosity about halos in jjk is that they're not used - apart from hana - in the traditional sense associated with the idea of heaven or angels. they are usually stylistic and are linked with the characters and the motifs in their stories. the only two other characters i'm aware of having been drawn with a halo over their heads in the volumes' illustrations have been rika and toji - rika's like a floral crown (possibly tying with yuuta and their promise to marry each other) and toji's a simple halo (probably symbolising his lack of cursed energy).

they're, coincidentally (or not!!!!), all characters that have been considered dead at this point in time. additionally, all of them have managed to live on beyond death somehow. well, except gojo. unless you count his enlightenment and figurative death during hidden inventory as his first but he didn't really die. he did, however, lose his life in the fight against sukuna (or so we think). is this is a hint that he will come back? not sure. but it's a curious detail nonetheless

[horrorvillaintourney]

Round 1B, Match Six: Tiffany Valentine (Child's Play) vs. Chucky (Child's Play)

PROPAGANDA FOR TIFFANY:

"She is so iconic. She is the realest villain EVER! She is in a toxic relationship, is a GIRLBOSS, and outdoes her man. She is supportive of her queer child. One of her more iconic scenes js where she CALLS UP the wife of a man she kills to apologize for MURDERING him. She tries to go through like “rehab” for killing just because she loves her child. SHE IS ALSO VOICED BY JENNIFER TILLY FUCKING HELLO??? She literally is so much fun and entertaining. Her movies are not particularly good, but she makes them FUCKING AMAZING"

PROPAGANDA FOR CHUCKY:

"He's funny, he's nasty, he's a horny little doll who can't die. He has a nonbinary child and he fucks Jennifer Tilly. Chuckle is the best"

[twicethetrouble]

Writing Family Web Daily: Day 5

Leo rushed them up to the lab, glad for once that Mikey and Raph were both pretty heavy sleepers. They didn't need to see this. Whatever this was.

“It's ready,” April said as soon as Leo stepped through the doorway.

Leo nodded, making a beeline towards the machine and setting Donnie down on the table. He couldn't get him to release the death grip he had on Leo's hoodie, so Leo let him keep it after wiggling out of it himself. It didn't have any metal so Donnie keeping it for the x-ray wasn't going to affect much beyond helping keep him calmer.

“Just stay still for a moment. Otherwise, I’ll have to take another and end up wasting all your x-ray film or whatever.”

This would normally be the point where Donnie corrected him, saying his x-ray was superior and had no film requirement. That it was all digital, thank you very much.

All Leo got in response was another whine.

Leo took the x-rays quickly, Donnie keeping still as requested, though Leo was sure that was more due to it moving being painful rather than because Leo requested it.

Leo stood by Donnie's computer, waiting impatiently for the images to load. He could hear April whispering reassurances to Donnie further back in the room. Other than being glad Donnie didn't need to sit back there alone, he ignored it. He needed to see what was going on before he could figure out how to fix it. And to do that, he needed to see the x-rays.

[ghostconsumer]

Kinktober Day 2 - Quintosis Control and Tail Play (Aether x Reader)

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Aether x reader Featuring: Quintosis control, top Aether, dirty talk Word Count: 1.2k

Prompts from @kroas-adtam Day 1

“I can do a lot more than heal and make you horny. I try to use my powers for good though.” 

“I’ll take your word on it. Now, fuck me, please. You made me horny and now I want you to deal with it.”

Under the cut, or on ao3

After a long day of work, you found yourself knocking on Aether’s door, something that had become a regular occurrence. You think it had started when you had been tasked to deliver something to him, and as you had no obligations after you wound up staying to chat with him. Then those visits become more frequent, outside of your work obligations. Soon, at the end of your work, you found yourself going to his room every day. Oftentimes, you just relaxed and talked. Recently, though, these visits had occasionally turned into something a bit more… exciting.

The door in front of you opened. Behind it stood Aether, his broad frame taking up most of the doorway. “Hello there, darling. I was expecting you,” he gave you a wink.

You blushed. Aether being so forward wasn’t unheard of, but it was a rare treat. You smiled up at him, not hiding the redness spreading across your cheeks. “You seem to be in an exceptionally good mood. Is something influencing that or are you just that excited to see me today?”

“I will admit my heat cycle has a little bit to do with it,” Aether laughed, moving aside so you could enter his room. “However, there is something else that's got me excited.” He looked down at you as you walked past, a mischievous expression on his face.

That was suspicious. When it came to ghouls, something on their minds that made them excited could be anywhere from something sexy to something incredibly violent. However, you suspected Aether had something planned for his time with you today. “Well, tell me what’s on your mind so I can fulfill that little fantasy running around inside it.”

“I was hoping you might agree to let me use some of my quintessence on you. For sex reasons, obviously. If you're okay with it, that is. It can be a little weird.” Aether shuffled awkwardly, clearly a bit nervous about his proposition despite his excitement. 

You smiled at him. “Sounds exciting. What are these sex reasons you had in mind? Tell me more.” You made your way back over to him, grabbing his hand and guiding him from his position by the door to his bed.

“Well,” Aether used his grasp on you to pull you down onto the bed with him. “I can do this,” a warm tingle began to spread from where your hands met, and it went straight down to your core, “and this,” your mind grew a bit fuzzy. Aether let go of your hand and the fuzziness disappeared, though the arousal remained. You think your body was the one to blame for it staying, not Aether.

“Woah, okay. I knew you could like, heal and stuff but I didn’t realize your quintessence gave you so much control.” You had only ever seen quintessence powers at work in medical situations, mostly through the quint ghouls working in the infirmary and the occasional scrape or bruise Aether had fixed for you.

Aether grinned at you, excitement flowing through him at the opportunity to show off a little. “I can do a lot more than heal and make you horny. I try to use my powers for good though.” 

“I’ll take your word on it. Now, fuck me, please. You made me horny and now I want you to deal with it.” You leaned into Aether, pushing him to lie down on the bed as you kissed him fiercely. His tail wrapped itself tightly around your leg, the tuft of fur on the end tickling the inside of your thigh. Your hands tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you held him tightly against you.

Suddenly, Aether flipped you on your back and you found yourself pinned against the bed. His hands held firmly onto your shoulders as he continued to kiss you deeply.  Aether put a pause on your frenzied kisses, “So, is that a yes to the using my powers on you?” He looked at you patiently, waiting for confirmation. You nodded, and he smiled.

The magical heat filled your body again, making every one of your nerves tingle. It felt like hot whiskey flowing through your veins on a cold night, and you could feel the magic raising your arousal with each passing moment. You weren’t sure if you even needed Aether to touch you in order for you to cum, when this on its own felt so good. Your mind felt fuzzy, whether from pleasure or magic you weren’t quite sure.

“Fuck… Aeth,” you moaned, unable to contain your pleasure, “Please…”

“Please what, sweetheart? Use your words.” 

Aether’s tail once again wound its way around you, once again grasping your thigh. The end ticked the soft spot next to your cunt. If Aether had said something, you weren’t quite sure what it was. Your mind was too deep in your pleasure, tingling with the anticipation of the oncoming orgasm.

“Do you want me to touch you? Is that what you want sweet girl?”

This time you made out what he said, and you nodded frantically. That was what you had forgotten. You wanted him to touch you. You needed him to touch you. “Yes, please Aether, please touch me, please.” You pleaded, feeling deprived of touch despite the time having barely passed.

“Good girl.”

One of his hands left your shoulder and you felt his fingers dip into our soaked pussy. You ground against them, unable to control the desperate movement. The friction set your nerves alight and you moaned Aether’s name.

“You know I could stop you from orgasming, right?” You felt Aether’s breath tickle your ear, the whispered tone sending a shiver down your spine. “I could hold you just at the brink, edge you using just my magic. I could fuck you as hard as I wanted and you would never cum.” His fingers pumped inside you, and you could feel yourself so close to the edge. “I think I’ll let you cum today though. Would you like that? Do you want to cum?”

“Yes… Please… Please let me cum…” you whined, the magic holding you just at the brink of your orgasm. 

“You sound so good when you are whining and begging for me.” 

You felt the magic surge again, and waves of pleasure began to shoot up your body. Your back arched and your legs shook as you came, Aether’s fingers still curling inside you. Slowly, your orgasm resided and you felt Aether’s magic loosen its grip on your core.

“Was that good baby?” Aether was gently holding you now, pressing kisses to the top of your head as your mind came back to the present. “Did you enjoy that?”

“That was amazing, Aeth.” You curled into him and relished in the feeling of his strong arms around you. Never had you felt so secure and satisfied. Maybe you felt more for him than you admitted to himself. He was turning into more than just a friend with benefits, but you decided to worry about that later. For now, you allowed yourself to relax and drift off in his arms.

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

Sparks at Webster Hall, New York - October 28 2013

B.C. (start - 1:09), This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both Of Us (1:10 - 1:38), (When I Kiss You) I Hear Charlie Parker Playing (1:39 - 2:32), Tryouts For The Human Race (2:33 - 3:01), Ron's Dance (3:02 - end)

[alexjcrowley]

I have watched several stage renditions of The Frogs by Aristophanes (if you have ever seen the Tumblr post about Heracles declaring to have a lust for soup, that's from there) and long story short, but Aristophanes stages a rap batte between his beloved playwriter Aeschylus and his beloathed playwriter Euripides. One of the reasons why Aeschylus criticises Euripides is because he tells morally reprehensible stories. And when Euripides replies that they are true, Aeschylus says that you shouldn't write about true things if they are bad because what if they influence people to do bad things :(((

So, in conclusion

Rip Aristophanes you would have loved discourse

[jstor]

Before there was Moo Deng, there was William.

This little blue hippopotamus, known affectionately as William, has been a fan favorite at The Metropolitan Museum of Art for over a century. Dating back to Egypt’s Middle Kingdom (c. 1961–1878 BCE), William was likely placed in tombs to offer protection in the afterlife.

His bright faience glaze and lotus decorations connect him to the Nile’s waters—but don’t let his charm fool you! Ancient Egyptians knew that hippos were both revered and feared, making William a powerful symbol. He epitomizes the Egyptian craftsmanship of the era.

Take a closer look at William on JSTOR.

Image: Hippopotamus (William), ca. 1961–1878 B.C. Faience. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.