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tonyspank · 7 months

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WH0 R U 3???

Summary: Tara’s worst worries are back. Will they scare you away?

Warnings: kissing (ew! right??), ghostface, violence, and bad writing 😞

A/N: pt.4 finna be a lit crazy movie yall. ALSO WHO’S GHOSTFACE????? who r yall suspecting

part 1 part 2

"That feels so good." Tara groans out, closing her eyes and sinking deeper into the plush covers of your bed. You playfully roll your eyes, continuing to rub her feet. "You're such a drama queen," you tease, a smile playing on your lips. Tara lets out a contented sigh, her body relaxing under your touch.

Tara couldn't be any happier, her worries faded about you. You didn't distance yourself from her, if anything, you were the one who started approaching her, texting her random thoughts throughout the day, and surprising her with little gestures of affection.

She had never felt so loved and cherished before. As the days went by, Tara realized that her heart was slowly healing from past hurts, thanks to your unwavering presence in her life. Your constant support and affection made her feel secure and valued, allowing her to let go of her to fully embrace the happiness you brought into her life.

"Have you thought about it?" Tara asks. You snap your eyes from your daydream and meet her gaze. "I can't come to the party, sorry, Tara."

Tara lets out a dramatic groan, "The frat won't even care! You're a cool professor!"

You chuckle, "Maybe...but that's just unprofessional. If someone reports me to the university, it could jeopardize my job. I can't take that risk." Tara pouts, and then a lightbulb clicks in her head.

"What if you wore a mask?" Tara's eyes light up with excitement as she suggests, "You could disguise yourself and go incognito! No one would recognize you!"

You actually consider her idea for a moment, it could be a fun and safe way to attend the party without risking your professional reputation or job.

"Uhh..." you hesitate a bit, unsure if wearing a mask would fully protect your identity. However, the thought of attending the party without any consequences is tempting, and you begin to seriously consider Tara's suggestion. "I guess I could do that."

Tara's eyes light up with excitement as she hears your response. "Yes!" she exclaims, sitting up quickly before pulling you into a passionate kiss. You begin laughing in the kiss, bringing Tara into a hug as you place more kisses on her cheek.

"I'm having second thoughts." You mumble to Tara, now dressed as Batman, her matching as Catwoman. Tara playfully rolls her eyes, taking your hand and dragging you quicker towards the Halloween party. "Come on, don't be a party-pooper," she teases, smiling widely in excitement.

You both enter the Halloween party hand in hand, met with half-drunk college students dancing and mingling in their elaborate costumes.

"There's Mindy and Anika! I'll be right back, I'm gonna go say hello." You watch as Tara weaves through the crowd, disappearing into the sea of costumes. You stand there alone a loud sigh escaping your lips.

You walk into the kitchen, deciding to get a drink for both you and Tara. You don't get too far as you're stopped by a ghost.

"Can you hold this for me? I'll be really quick, I just have to use the bathroom." The girl hands you her ghost costume, rushing off in the direction of the bathroom.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see Tara, grinning mischievously. "Changing costumes?" You chuckle and shake your head. "No, just holding it for someone. They'll be back soon." Tara raises an eyebrow curiously. You put the ghost costume over the two of you, smiling.

"I like this mask." You say, tracing over Tara's very accurate copy of Zoe Kravitz's Catwoman mask. Tara smirks and says, "Thank you." You snicker, smiling back at her before bringing her into a kiss.

Tara tries her hardest not to break the kiss with her wide smile. You made her so happy.

Suddenly, the blanket is pulled off of you both, revealing the owner of the costume. Tara ducks away, walking back towards the living room with a bashful expression.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know—"

You cut her off with a wave. "You're fine, don't worry about it."

The owner of the costume smiles, walking away towards the kitchen. Tara blushes and shyly joins you again, causing you to chuckle. "Why'd you run? I thought the mask helped cover my identity?"You ask in a teasing tone, playfully nudging Tara.

She giggles, grabbing your hand and leading you further into the party.

"Batman!" You recognize the voice calling out to you. You turn to see Mindy, who ushers you over. You exchange a quick glance with Tara before making your way towards Mindy, with a bit of hesitation in your steps.

"Professor Y/LN, are you trying to duck me?" Mindy asks with a mischievous grin, causing you to laugh nervously, your heart pounding in your chest. How on earth did Mindy know it was you?

You try to play it cool, putting on a fake Russian accent—a bad one too. "Uh...Professor? I don't know of such guy." Mindy raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your act. "Come on, I know it's you. No need for the accent," she says, smirking.

You sheepishly drop the accent, realizing that there's no fooling Mindy.

Anika joins in, "If you really wanted to hide your identity, you shouldn't have matched with Tara. I mean, who else has she been talking to lately? It's not exactly a secret that you two have been spending a lot of time together."

Mindy and Anika nod at each other in sync, leaving you feeling even more exposed.

"Can you guys, like...not pester Y/N? It's a party for Christ's sake," Tara interjects, coming to your defense. Mindy and Anika exchange surprised glances before finally relenting.

You breathe a sigh of relief before feeling yourself being pulled again.

You end up upstairs in an empty bedroom, sitting on the bed as Tara huffs to herself. She seems frustrated and agitated, her hands clenched into fists.

You can sense that she has something to say, but she struggles to find the right words. You take off your mask, sit up from the bed, and walk over to your girlfriend.

As you approach Tara, you gently place a hand on her shoulder, silently conveying your support and willingness to listen. Her tense expression softens slightly, and she takes a deep breath before finally finding the right words to speak her mind.

"I just wish we could be together without everyone judging us," Tara whispers. "It's exhausting constantly worrying about who sees us or what others will think or say about our relationship." You nod understandingly, softly grabbing her hand.

"Me too, T." You rub your thumb against the back of her hand, smiling. "If my job wasn't on the line, I would shout from the rooftops how much I adore you. But even though I can't, I hope you know I do truly cherish you."

Tara smiles. "I think I got that when you started giving me foot massages without protest." You chuckle, slightly rolling your eyes. "Yeah, I guess my secret is out."

Tara places a hand on the back of your neck, leaning in closer. "Well, lucky for you, I adore you too," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

Without breaking the kiss, you lift Tara, walking backwards, before laying her down on the bed and taking off her Catwoman mask.

Your favorite sound is heard—Tara's soft laughter playing in your ears. You break away from the kiss, kissing her face and neck. "I can't get enough of you," you confess, trailing kisses down her collarbone. Tara's fingers tangle in your hair as she pulls your mouth back toward hers.

"Tara!" You jump away from the girl, quickly trying to compose yourself. "Chad? What are you doing here?" Tara asks sitting up from the bed, surprised to see Chad standing in the doorway. You find your mask and turn around to see one of your students in the doorway, looking confused.

"Uh...Sam...Sam's here. She's downstairs looking for you." He stammers, his eyes darting between you and Tara. Tara glances at you, grabbing up her mask, before rushing out of the room to find Sam, Chad not too far behind.

You linger in the bedroom, not wanting to face Sam, and when you finally gather the courage to go downstairs, you slip out of the party and make your way home. Hoping your girlfriend isn't in too much trouble with her older sister.

When you're at home, fresh out of the shower, your phone begins ringing. Without even looking at the caller ID, you answer it. "Tara?"

The voice on the other end of the line is not Tara's, but it sounds very familiar. "So sorry to disappoint, but this isn't Tara." You furrow your brow in confusion, trying to place the voice.

"Who is this?" you ask, your heart pounding with anticipation.

"Now, where would the fun be in telling you that?" the voice teases. "You know, you should stay away from Tara."

You remember the voice. Ghostface—was this real? Or was this Laura pretending again?

Your mind races as you try to comprehend the situation.

No, it couldn't be. "Laura? Is this you?" The voice chuckles softly. "Why don't you turn on the news and see what happened to your co-worker? Maybe then you'll begin to understand this isn't some silly prank call."

No, it can't be.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the remote, flipping on the television. The news anchor's voice fills the room, confirming your worst fears - Laura's lifeless body had been found just hours ago.

"You see, Y/N? It's easy to get away with murder. Do you want to be the next professor on the list?" Your heart races as you try to comprehend the chilling words. You might be the next target of this deranged individual.

You run to your kitchen, all your knives are gone. Fuck! They had to be inside your apartment, but when?

Immediately, you run to your front door, opening it quickly, your eyes widening when Ghostface stands there, holding a knife and wearing a menacing mask.

You don't have any time to react. Ghostface stabs you in the shoulder, sending a searing pain through your body. The adrenaline kicks in, and you manage to push Ghostface away, slamming your door shut.

You quickly lock the door, desperately searching for a way to defend yourself.

Ghostface starts to kick on your door, trying to break it down. Panicking, you grab a nearby heavy object, ready to defend yourself if necessary. The kicks grow louder and more forceful, and you brace yourself for what might come next, prepared to protect yourself at all costs.

Ghostface successfully breaks down the door, lunging towards you with a knife. With quick reflexes, you swing the heavy object at Ghostface, making contact and momentarily stunning them. Seizing the opportunity, you sprint towards the front door and down your apartment steps.

You don't look back, you keep sprinting as fast as your legs can carry you. You manage to make it to the crowded streets, where you blend in with the bustling city dwellers.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you search for a safe place to hide, constantly glancing over your shoulder to ensure Ghostface isn't following.

A body clashes with yours, you jump slightly and instinctively brace yourself for an attack, but it's just...Tara?

"Tara?" you say, slightly out of breath. "W-what? Why..? What are you doing here?" Tara looks at you, confused but mostly relieved.

"Sam left the apartment to go to the police station after we saw the news of Professor Crane... I was just worried about you and wanted to make sure you were okay. And I...I was scared and wanted to be with you." Tara explains, her eyes staring into yours, full of vulnerability.

But it's soon replaced with worry, her eyes finding their way to your bloody shoulder. But it's soon replaced with worry, her eyes finding their way to your bloody shoulder.

She gasps and softly pulls you closer to examine the wound. 'What happened? Are you okay?"

"Ghostface called me and attacked me. Fucking lunatic was outside my apartment," you say through gritted teeth, wincing as Tara's gentle touch brushes against the wound. "He said something about staying away from you."

Tara's concern deepens as she hears your explanation, her brows furrowing in both fear and anger, regardless, she stays silent, unsure of what to say.

You clench your jaw. "But that's not happening, T. I won't let him scare me away. I adore you, remember?"

#tonyspank #jenna ortega #reader insert #jenna ortega x reader #wattpad #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter angst #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x g!p reader #tara x reader #tara x y/n #tara carpenter scream #scream x reader #scream #scream 6

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hotchs-bitch · 18 days

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The List || A. Hotchner x Fem!Reader

summary: you and Aaron check off a few new boxes.

kinks: D/s, daddy kink, threesome, mistress kink, praise kink, degradation, thigh riding

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader, emily prentiss x reader

content/warnings: in case it wasn’t clear SMUT 18+ CONTENT MINORS DNI

wordcount: 3.5k

You’ve been dating Aaron for a few years now, so you like to think you’re something of an expert on all things Hotchner. There are plenty of people, your coworkers included, who think he’s all work and no play. That simply isn’t true. At work, yes, he’s a stark professional, to his core. But they don’t see him at home, playing with his son and basking in the domestic glow the three of you have created in your little apartment. And they certainly don’t see the type of play the two of you get up to, either.

One of the tenets of Aaron’s work/play separation was that work stayed in the office. He had a home office, for when he needed it, but even there– nothing BAU-related got past the threshold. When he was home, he was home for you and for his son— work would wait as long as it reasonably could. So when you see him flipping through some paperwork in bed, you’re admittedly confused.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask, pure curiosity in your tone.

“I was just looking over the list. It’s been a while since we did these, I thought it might be worth taking another peek at,” he explains, looking at you over the readers you had bought for him a year ago, that he valiantly resisted for three months before finally admitting that they helped.

He’s talking about your kink lists, which explains why he’s made it out of the office. Just shy of a year into your relationship, you’d broached the subject of introducing a dynamic into your sex lives, just to see if you liked it. Aaron had agreed, but insisted on doing his own, extensive research beforehand. He, admittedly, was wary about the idea of hurting you– even in a consensual way— and wanted to make sure he was fully prepared, both for him and for you. So he’d presented both of you with lists— you checked off things you knew you liked, things you thought you might want to try, and things you definitely didn’t want to do.

“Why don’t you check yours, too,” he says, passing you your copy of the list. “Make sure it all still looks accurate. We’ve tried a lot of this stuff, so if you don’t actually like it—”

“Aaron, you know I’d tell you if I didn’t. I’d safeword if I needed to, or I’d tell you after the scene if I didn’t. You wouldn’t hurt me and I wouldn’t let you,” you remind him.

“I’d still like you to look. Maybe things we haven’t tried that sounded appealing then, don’t now. Or maybe you’ve found that you like things more than you thought you would. It’s all good to know,” he encourages you.

You agree, climbing into bed and taking the paper and pen that he’d offered. You move some maybes that you had tried into the solid yes column, and a couple into the no column, too, but there aren’t any major changes. After a few minutes, you switch, and you find Aaron’s form to be more or less the same. You’re not surprised, really— You and Aaron have an open line of communication. There were no surprises.

“So, I was thinking I might surprise you,” Aaron pipes up. You stand corrected.

“Oh?” You say.

“You’ve been working your ass off lately, between the team and the Academy Trainee course Strauss pulled you for,” he explains. “I wanted to do something fun for you. I noticed you still had ‘experience with two or more partners’ and ‘experience with a same-sex partner’ checked off as things you’d like to try…” he trails off nervously, and you can tell just by looking at him that he’s wondering if he should beg the floor to swallow him whole rather than continue this conversation.

“That would be a very special gift,” you agree with a smile, putting him out of his misery. “But who? I don’t necessarily want to bring a stranger into the apartment,” you say.

“You can say no, and we can never talk about it again,” he assures you. “But I was thinking… maybe Emily?”

You mull it over for a moment, taking Aaron’s hand in your own to let him know that you’re thinking, not shocked into silence. You… kind of like the idea of it. “Have you talked to her about it at all?”

“Not about joining us,” he says, and his phrasing is specific. You know him too well for that.

“But you’ve talked to her about… our dynamic?” You ask, confused. It’s not your real question— you know he’d never tell someone else about this without asking you, first.

“No, no,” he corrects. “That case a few months back, where the men were all bound— she floated the idea privately with me that the unsub may be a dominatrix, and it came up naturally, that she’s… similarly minded.”

“But with less murder,” you joke.

“Like I said, we can pretend I never even brought it up.”

“No!” You correct a little too quickly, making Aaron chuckle. “I want to. You can ask her about it.”

“I will,” he says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything for you.”

+++++++

Emily says yes the next day when Hotch asks her about it. It’s the waiting that’s torture. It’s two whole weeks before the three of you find a day that works for everyone– and if you thought that was bad, the hours leading up to it were even worse.

You’re on edge the whole day— you’re nervous, yes, but it’s an excited kind of nervous, like the moments after you pull the safety harness down on a roller coaster. You plod around the house all afternoon, tidying things that don’t need to be tidied and wiping down the countertops, mopping the floor, baking a banana bread just to do something with your hands.

You nearly jump when Aaron wraps his arms around you from behind. “Go take a bath and ground yourself, my love. Use your fancy bubbles and take some deep breaths. I left you something to wear, it’s hanging up on the back of the bathroom door. Emily will be here in a bit. Would you like to sit with us while I explain your limits to her, or do you want me to do it?”

“You can do it,” you tell him softly.

“Okay angel. Then you go on up, take your bath and put on the pretty outfit Daddy got you, and sit at the foot of the bed and wait for us, okay?”

“Okay, daddy. Thank you.”

He smiles, giving you a quick kiss. “Nothing to thank me for. See you in a little bit.”

You go upstairs and see that Aaron has already drawn the bath for you, and has set out your favorite soaps and bubble bath and a fluffy, warm towel. You sink into the warm bath, and let yourself soak, focusing on your breathing. It helps. Once you feel ready, you drain the tub and look over to the lingerie Aaron had bought for you. It’s a lacy red bodysuit, and it’s crotchless. You get yourself good and dry before slipping into it, not wanting the delicate material to get caught on your wet skin. Once you’re dressed, you go into the bedroom and kneel at the foot of the bed the way you normally would if you were playing with just Aaron. You can hear the two of them talking, laughing, even, as you sit and wait for them.

Your anticipation builds the longer you listen to them– are they still talking about limits? Are they plotting– deciding what toys they’ll use, how they’ll tease you, when they’ll let you come? You can feel yourself getting turned on the longer you sit and think about it— you wonder if that’s part of their plan, too.

You snap back to attention when you hear footsteps coming up the staircase, straightening your spine and turning your gaze towards the floor.

The door swings open— you don’t move. You know better.

“Aw, she’s so cute,” Emily cooes. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks, try to bite down on your smile.

“Kitten, why don’t you say hello to our guest?”

You look up now, at Aaron. “What should I call her, Daddy?”

Aaron looks to Emily, who answers. “You have such good manners, sweet girl. You can call me Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you for coming,” you tell her with a smile. Looking her in the eyes for the first time makes this feel a hundred times more real, and you can tell that when they finally touch you, you’ll be soaked.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she smiles. “I understand that you and your daddy have a lot of fun together. I’m excited to have some fun with you, too.”

“Come here, kitten,” Aaron beckons, and you oblige him, crawling a few paces across the carpet and coming to sit next to his left hand. He runs a hand through your hair.

“Ladies first,” Aaron smirks, looking over to Emily.

Emily crouches down, nearly eye-to-eye with you, but she’s still a bit taller. She traces a finger down your cheekbone and the column of your neck, over your shoulder, sneering a little at the goosebumps that appear in the wake of her gentle touch. She pinches your nipple through the fabric of your lingerie, and you gasp a little, not expecting the sensation.

“Hmm,” Emily murmurs a contented little noise at your reaction, not letting up on her grip. “A good pinch, or a bad pinch?” She checks in.

“A good pinch, Mistress,” you assure her through gritted teeth.

She smiles. “Good,” she says, reaching for the other nipple, rolling it between her thumb and index finger. She gives them both a sharp pull, causing you to cry out, before she stands back up.

“That’s it?’Aaron scoffs.

“We have the whole night ahead of us,” Emily reminds him. “I’d take advantage while I’m still in a sharing mood.”

He rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, pulling you to your feet. “The thing about my sweet little slut, is that you don’t even need to touch anything significant to turn her into a mess,” he informs Emily as he uses his big hands to spread your thighs apart. You suddenly remember that your panties are crotchless, and tense up, worried that you’ll drip on the carpet before you’ve even begun. For his part, Aaron seems determined to make this happen— he kisses his way up your thighs, sucking at the tender flesh nearest where you were practically pulsing for him, but intentionally ignoring any action that would provide you with any relief. You take in a sharp little breath, trying not to whine.

“That’s it. I can smell you, already. You like that, don’t you, angel?” He whispers against your skin.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answer breathlessly.

“I know, I know,” he says sympathetically as he rises to his feet. “But not yet,” he whispers before sucking a bruise into your neck.

“Let’s move this party over to the bed, shall we?” Emily says, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the mattress, stripping herself of her pants and her top. Aaron follows suit, losing all of his clothes and climbing on top of the mattress, giving his cock a few cursory strokes, spreading out the precum that had gathered at his tip. Emily gestures to her thigh, and you straddle it accordingly.

“Why don’t you tell me more about your daddy, angel?” Emily encourages you as her fingers sink into the flesh of your thigh and pull, encouraging you to rock against her.

You oblige, riding her thigh as you speak. “I love my daddy. He takes very good care of me,” you say as you rock against her once, readjusting to try and find a better angle for your clit. “He reminds me to drink water and take care of myself,” you continue rocking and find the place where your clit rubs up against her thigh in just the right way, moaning a little. “And he always reminds me that I’m his good little slut. He loves to make me cum,” you say, your humping gaining intensity, causing you to moan a little “Oh, and I love to make him come too,” you say, chasing your release against her.

“How do you like to make Daddy come?’ Emily asks, pushing your hair out of your face where it’s sticking to your sweat.

“I like to take his cock in my mouth,” you moan. “I like feeling him all the way down my throat. Oh, Mistress, may I come?” You ask as your rocking against her grows more frantic.

‘Not yet, baby. It’s too early,” she cooes. “Keep going. I heard Daddy call you a name earlier, do you like that? Do you like when we call you pathetic little names?”

“Yes, Mistress. I like to be called a needy little whore, or Daddy’s desperate slut.” You cry out.

“Oh, you are a desperate slut, aren’t you? Trying to come on Mistress’s thigh,”

“Yes, yes, I’m a desperate slut,” you agree, hoping your acquiescence will earn you an orgasm.

“Good girl. Stop,” she orders, and you hold back your sigh, not wanting to be punished. You step away from her, get back into your kneeling position on the floor. From your new vantage point, you can see Aaron– he’s been stroking his cock, watching you and Emily. He’s erect and slick, and you’ve never wanted him in your mouth more. You’re practically drooling.

“Kitten, you’ve made quite the mess of my thigh,” Emily tuts.

“I’m sorry Mistress. May I clean up my mess?”

“Of course, go ahead,” She grants you permission, and you begin to lick your own arousal off of her. Her skin is so soft, and she smells so nice, that you start to get lost in it, mouthing at her long after is necessary, until you feel a tug at your scalp.

“Don’t get distracted, kitten. Daddy’s waiting for you,” Emily reminds you, gesturing to the other side of the bed. You crawl over, looking at Aaron with glassy eyes.

“Daddy, may I suck your cock, please?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Aaron says, extending two fingers, which you greedily pull into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down on them and taking them as deep as you can manage for a few moments until Aaron pulls them away.

“Come on up, angel,” Aaron says, pulling you into bed. “Go ahead,” he grants you permission, and you settle between his legs, licking the underside of his cock and looking up at him as you do so.

As soon as you have as much of Aaron as you can take in your mouth, you feel two fingers sink inside of you– Emily’s, you realize with a moan.

“Thank you, mistress,” you warble out without removing Aaron’s cock from your mouth.

“Focus angel. Mistress had her turn, now Daddy wants you all to himself. Don’t get distracted.”

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, refocusing your efforts on him, Even as Emily makes you squirm and whimper under her touch.

“Your pussy is so tight, sweet girl. Does Mistress make you feel good?”

“Yes, mistress, feels so good,” you answer, but as soon as you do, you feel a sharp spank to your backside.

“Focus, slut. Don’t make me remind you again,” Aaron says.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say, taking him in your mouth again.

You’re content for a few moments, but when Emily removes her fingers from inside of you, you can’t help but whine.

“I’m feeling neglected, here. Kitten, why don’t you lay back against the pillows,” Emily encourages, and you look up at Aaron for permission, which he grants with a simple nod, getting up and taking one of his pillows with him.

“Lift your hips,” He tells you as Emily comes to the head of the bed.

Aaron slides a pillow underneath you just as Emily comes to straddle your face. “Mistress and Daddy want to come, angel, and then you can, okay?” Emily explains.

“Yes, Mistress,” you say, craning your neck up to kiss her entrance.

“Good girl, go ahead,” she tells you, lowering herself down towards you. You mouth at her with purpose, trying to remember all of the tricks you like best when Aaron does them on you, paying attention to which maneuvers make her tense up and cry out.

A few moments later, you feel Aaron’s cock sink into you, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head– you feel so deliciously full, not to mention how thoroughly fucked you had been throughout the evening. You felt… saturated, in the best way. Each one of your senses was laser-focused on pleasure. You were so grateful to Aaron for doing this for you– the thought motivated you, had you kicking it into high gear with Emily.

“Oh, good girl. You’re going to make Mistress come. You’re going to make me so happy. Don’t stop, angel. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t— fuck!” She cries out as she reaches her peak, her pleasure overwhelming you.

“Good girl. You did such a good job, you made mistress so happy,” Emily cooes breathlessly as she gets off of you, not wanting to suffocate you when she collapses against the mattress to catch her breath. She leans in, starts to kiss your neck. “Where’d you learn to do that, sweet girl? Is my perfect angel a little slut?” she asks, mouthing at any exposed skin she can reach.

“Yes, Mistress, I’m a little slut,” you agree.

“Who’s slut?” Aaron booms as he pounds into you.

“Your slut, Daddy. I’m your slut,” you amend.

“That’s right, kitten. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, daddy, my slutty pussy belongs to you!” You cry out as he taps your clit, and it sends him over the edge. He keeps pumping in and out of you as he comes, and Emily reaches down to your clit, rubbing at it.

“Go ahead, come. You earned it, baby, come.”

“Daddy?” You cry out, wanting to make sure you have permission.

“Yes, angel. Come for Daddy, my perfect girl. You did so good.”

You careen over the edge at his praise, arching your back and letting out a moan that turns into a cry. You’d been on edge for so long— before Emily had even arrived today, and it made the relief that much more gratifying.

“Thank you,” you pant out as you come back down to Earth.

“Give her a minute to settle,” Aaron warns Emily– the two of you had learned that rushing into aftercare could be a little overwhelming, so Aaron usually gave you a moment to catch your breath before he touched you.

“You did such a good job, my sweet girl. I’m so proud of you,” Aaron whispers gently. “When you’re ready, I want you to sit up for me, okay my love?”

You nod a little, taking another few deep breaths and scooting up towards the mattress.

“Good,” he whispers. “I will be right back,” he says, climbing off the mattress and leaving the room momentarily.

“Did you have fun?” Emily asks quietly, screwing the cap off of a bottle of water and handing it to you.

You gulp at it aggressively while you nod. “Yeah, I did. Did you?”

“Careful, you’ll get a stomachache,” she warns. “I had fun, but this was a treat for you.”

“Still. It’s only fun if everyone’s having fun,” you remind her. “Would you… want to do it again sometime?” She asks, feeling bold.

“Yeah. You should talk to Aaron first, though,” Emily says.

“Talk to Aaron about what?” He comes back to the room with a plate of fruit and a damp washcloth, sounding concerned.

“Nothing, baby. Later,” you assure him, and he gives you a little look that lets you know that he’s holding you to it.

“Alright, angel. You need to eat something, and I need to clean you up,” he says, handing you the plate and bringing the washcloth between your thighs. You extend the plate towards Emily, and she takes a strawberry, popping it between her lips as you bite down into a crunchy apple slice.

“Em, you should feel free to stay, if—” Aaron starts, but she cuts him off.

“I’d love to, but I can’t. Sergio is a very lonely boy,” she explains. “But this was a lot of fun. Thank you both for inviting me,” she says, kissing you both on the forehead as she dresses and packs up her stuff. Aaron insists on walking her to the door and watching her get into her car, as if she didn’t have a handgun in her purse and enough combat training to take out half of Northern Virginia. You’re snuggled up against his pillow when he returns, and he smiles.

“You had fun, angel?” He asks as he climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest.

“Of course I did. This whole thing just begs the question…” you start, trailing off.

“Begs what question?” Aaron asks.

“Who are we going to invite over to check off those boxes for you?”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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monstersandmaw · 7 months

Text

Male gnoll x gn reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

As promised, the modern gnoll story is here!

Content: insecure, squishy, gender and body neutral reader; praise kink from gnoll boy if you squint; penetrative sex, knotting.

There's also very fleeting mention of a young, terminally ill patient passing off-screen. If you want to skip that entirely, skip from: "Halfway through the third time you encountered him there though, he got a call on his phone and his whole demeanour changed." to the paragraph beginning: "Three days later, and you’d been to the gym every day in the hopes of catching him, you hadn’t seen him."

Wordcount: 6934

You stared at the weights rack and felt a bead of sweat roll down your spine that had nothing to do with your previous sets.

This would be the heaviest you’d ever attempted to chest press, and while it might not be much by some people’s standards — that half-orc last week had really put you off your stride by snorting at you, but we can’t all be built like brick fucking walls, can we? — it was more than you’d tried so far. But you were ready. You just… needed someone to spot for you. Just in case. Safety first, and all that.

But the only people in the weights section were the kind of people who, through no real fault of their own, you tended to find nauseatingly intimidating. Like that troll who could probably bench press one of you in each hand. Or that werewolf who was fully shifted and currently on her hundredth(?) chin-up on the bars. Or that gnoll. He’d been doing slow, measured bicep curls for the past five minutes and you’d been trying not to stare at him. Most male gnolls were a bit smaller than their female counterparts, and tended to be less aggressive and competitive in the gym, but this guy was huge.

You must have looked a little too long though, because his dark, rounded ear twitched and he turned his head to look at you. Instead of glaring at you, he offered you a wide, friendly grin that showed off his massive, chunky teeth and made you a bit weak at the knees. Always good to go weak at the joints when you were about to attempt a personal best in the weights section at the gym…

Fuck.

“You ok?” he asked, setting down a dumbbell that was heavy enough to double as a battleship anchor, and you swallowed.

Now or never.

“I…” you croaked and cleared your throat, looking down at the bench and back up at him.

“You want someone to spot for you?” he asked, stepping a little closer. His paws were massive and while he had clothes on — black gym shorts and a big, baggy, white tank top — he wore no shoes. His claws flexed as his dark, smoky brown pads spread to take his weight, and you swallowed again. He had really adorable freckle-like spots up his shaggy legs too.

“If you wouldn’t mind?” you finally managed to squeak.

At that, he beamed at you and gave a gnollish giggle that seemed genuinely pleased. “Happy to.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and took a breath for courage. No going back now.

You lay down on the bench and he came to stand behind the rack. His big, clawed hands hooked under the bar but he didn't take any of its weight as you adjusted your grip and got settled, and prepared to lift it free. He loomed over you, his face serious with concentration. It was a comfort to know he was focused on the task, not gawping around at the other gym-goers. The future integrity of your chest and ribs depended on his concentration if your arms failed you, after all. You had no doubts about his strength though. He really was massive.

Getting your breathing under control, you shoved carefully upwards, and he grinned as you took its weight and began your reps. After five, you felt your arms start to burn, but you pushed on towards ten.

At nine, your muscles shuddered in complaint.

“You’ve got this,” he said in a low, quiet rumble, and it spurred you on to do the last one. You hooked it back in place and met his dark brown eyes. “Nailed it,” he grinned, all teeth and joy. “I reckon you can go up another five kilograms…”

“I’m not sure,” you replied, sitting up carefully and swinging your feet off to one side. The idea of making it heavier seemed overwhelming.

“I’ll spot you again, don’t worry,” he said, reaching for a couple of the smallest weight plates from the rack and slotting them easily onto the end of your bar. “But you definitely had some in the tank. Take a minute, have a drink, and go again.”

His quiet, easy conviction was enviable, but it sparked something in you that had been dormant for a long time. Or maybe it had been smothered into dormancy. Either way, it felt a lot like the echo of self-confidence, though the feeling was unfamiliar these days.

When you set down your water bottle and paused to let your muscles relax after the first set of reps, your eye was caught by a wiry looking goblin doing weighted squats on the far side of the room. She had iron grey hair and looked to be in her sixties or seventies, and you felt the heat of shame flood your cheeks when you realised she was lifting more than you could, at half your height and a fraction of your body-weight.

Seeing where you were looking, the gnoll gave a little snicker and said, “Oh boy, don’t compare yourself to Rose, friend. I’ve seen her outlast full-grown orcs in friendly pull-up competitions, and she can plank for an hour without breaking a sweat. Goblins are made of steel, I swear. Focus on your own journey.”

You laughed, feeling stupidly grateful to him for his kind reassurance.

“Come on. Give it a go?” he said, and you nodded and lay back. “I’ll be here. I won’t let you hurt yourself,” he added.

It was a struggle, but you made it to five before you needed a pause, and he hooked his rough-padded fingers under the bar and took the weight for a second.

“Breathe, and then just five more.”

Somehow when he said it like that, it didn’t seem so bad.

Things got tricky at eight, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through, and when you hit ten and he took it from you, your arms felt like wet noodles, but you’d done it.

“Alright!” he exclaimed as you sat up and cast him a sidelong look. He offered his paw for a high-five, and, embarrassed by his enthusiasm for you, you answered it. The pads of his paws were rough and warm, and his entire hand almost engulfed yours. When you lowered your gaze again, you could just see his little tail wagging back and forth and that finally brought a huge smile to your face. How long had it been since someone was genuinely excited for your achievements?

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice cracking a bit. “That was really kind of you. I’m sorry I interrupted your workout.”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “Happy to help, and you smashed it! I’ll leave you to get on, but shout if you need me to spot for you again.”

“Thanks,” you said, but your shyness returned, and you didn’t trouble him again that session.

Three days later, you were back in the gym with your muscles mostly recovered. On the ground floor of the building, there was a huge swimming pool and as you passed the viewing window you could see a couple of humans and a few orcs and perhaps an elf doing serious, focused laps in the swimming lanes, barely making a splash as they powered through the water. This whole ‘fitness drive’ thing was still pretty new to you, and just walking up the stairs into the upper level of the gym where the machines and weights were sparked the same nauseous anxiety in the pit of your stomach that you always experienced at the thought of going to a public gym. You didn’t look like someone who belonged here, with soft edges and extra weight in places it wasn’t conventionally attractive for humans to carry it, and while you weren’t really here to please other people, you were trying to take better care of yourself lately and that, unfortunately, involved exercise.

Your eyes scanned the space and you’d have been lying if you weren’t searching for a flash of honey-coloured fur. There was a large group of orcs messing around in the weights section, so you bailed and headed blindly for the nearest cardio machine, heart pounding in a way that made you want to throw up.

“Guess I’m running today,” you muttered under your breath as you stepped automatically up onto the treadmill. Panic had made you go to this one, and you thought you’d probably look even more stupid if you changed your mind now.

After an overly-long warm-up walk, you cranked it to something manageable and felt your body complain already. You made it to about one kilometre before you had to stop. Deciding to pretend you’d always intended to use it merely as a way to loosen up, you hit the ‘stop’ button and ignored its friendly advice to do a cool down, grabbing your water bottle from the holder and turning around to see if there was enough room in the weights area for you to slink in and do a few reps.

And there, looking at you across the room, was the gnoll from before.

Your heart flip-flopped in your chest, first with delight and then with horror as you realised he must have seen you lumbering away on the treadmill. Fuck.

But when he met your eye, he grinned, showing all his teeth, and he waved. You smiled back, and wove your way through the bristling array of cardio machines to join him.

“Hey,” he said, scratching behind one large ear with his right paw. “I wasn’t sure if you were a regular… I kind of thought I might never see you again.”

“No, I’m usually wheezing away in a corner at around this time every few days,” you snorted.

He didn’t laugh at your self-deprecating humour though, and instead turned his muzzle towards the weights. “You need someone to spot for you again?”

You bit your lip. “Yeah, I guess. You can be my cheerleader again too if you like,” you added with a spur-of-the-moment burst of bravery.

“Gladly,” he giggled, tail wagging back and forth. “You wanna do a few warm up rounds first? I just got here, so I’m kind of cold anyway.”

As before, when you were ready, he came over and stood at the head of the bench, hands ready to catch the bar. It was harder to concentrate this time round, with him looming over you. He had to be nearly seven feet tall, though he had that distinctive hunch that gnolls’ unique biology lent to their kind where werewolves were more upright.

When he took the bar from you at the end of your first set of reps, his fingers brushed yours and you nearly gasped at how velvet-soft his fur was. “Thank you,” you said, and as you sat up to take your short break, you introduced yourself by name.

“I’m Cade,” he replied, and stuck out his hand for you to shake.

Conscious that your palms were probably super sweaty, you tried not to flush hot and make it even worse, and you slid your hand into his. Again, the size of him was striking, and you felt something in your core tighten and start to tingle at the sight of it, let alone the feel of his paw flexing around your hand. His claws were dark and neatly rounded and you wondered what he did for a living. Most gnolls — not that you knew any personally — seemed to have active, outdoorsy jobs, but there was something about him that made you curious.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, and you got back to it with a shy smile. “Ah, come on. It’s not that bad, is it? You might even learn to love it soon.”

“It’s better with company,” you admitted as you took the weight of the bar and looked up just in time to watch his face go from serious to delighted at the compliment. “Not sure I’ll ever come to love it though. Not the way you seem to.”

He grinned and giggled gnollishly — the sound high and bright and a little silly coming from someone so intimidatingly built — and you couldn’t help the way your heart felt a little lighter and your body a little more energised. “I did consider changing careers to become a personal trainer for a while,” he said while you started to count your second set.

“Oh?” You didn’t have the breath to ask anything more articulate, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Mm. I just enjoy helping people out, I guess.”

“What do you do now for work?” you asked in a bit of a garbled rush between reps six and seven.

“I’m a paediatric nurse,” he said, and you nearly dropped the bar on your chest. He reached down and snatched it before it had even dropped an inch, and he shot you a look. “Don’t worry, I’m used to that reaction,” he said with a wink. “I was expecting it.”

“Sorry,” you said. Jeez, what a charmer. “I just… I wouldn’t have thought… you know… I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he said. “Come on, get to ten and I’ll tell you the rest.”

You pushed through the last three and he took the bar and rested it on its hooks, allowing you to sit up with thrumming muscles in your shoulders and arms. You stretched out and twisted your neck to look up at him from your seat on the bench.

“We have a bad reputation still,” he sighed, “But actually, traditionally, male gnolls are the caretakers in our clans. Historically, the females did all the fighting and protecting, and we raised the cubs and taught them the basics before they went on to train with the females.” He shot you a cheeky look and added, “Statistically, male gnolls are the least likely of almost all species to be aggressive, so despite appearances, we make perfect caretakers. The kids at the hospital love me, once they get past the teeth and the size.”

“I can see why,” you said faintly.

Cade pulled a wide smile and eyed the bar. “Go for three sets this time?”

You did, and when you were done, you thanked him, and then headed to grab a kettle bell to do some other exercises. If both of you kept sneaking glances at each other for the rest of your session, well, at least it wasn’t just you.

Halfway through the third time you encountered him there though, he got a call on his phone and his whole demeanour changed. You’d been doing some lower-weight dead lifts, and as you set the bar down on the mat you watched all the joy bleed out of him; his tail bristled high and stiff, his ears swivelled back almost flat against his head, and his big brown eyes went wide with distress.

“Shit, now?” he hissed, turning away from you. “Fuck. Ok, I’ll be there as soon as I can. No, don’t worry about it. Thanks for telling me. Ok, I’ll see you soon.”

He hung up, took a deep breath, and then slowly looked over his shoulder at you. “I… I have to go. I’m sorry. Don’t try any more without someone to spot for you, ok?”

You nodded. “You alright?”

He bit his lip and shook his head. “No, not really. One of my patients is… Uh… Yeah. Not long left, apparently.”

“Oh shit, Cade,” you said, crossing to him. You laid your hand on his fluffy forearm and squeezed the solid muscle beneath your fingers. He seemed to relax just a fraction at that. “You need someone to give you a lift to the hospital? My car’s outside.”

Again, he bit his lip and then nodded. “You wouldn’t mind? I was gonna get the bus.”

You shook your head. “Of course not. Let’s go.”

He was mostly silent for the journey, his knee bouncing as he sat crammed into in the front of your car, but when you approached the main entrance to the hospital, he said, “You can just use the drop-off at the front. Thank you again. I’ll… I’ll see you around, ok?”

You nodded and reached for his arm again. “Take care of yourself.”

He smiled, gave a low rumbling noise that you’d never heard him make before, and then climbed out and strode into the hospital without a backward glance. You looked down at the seat and found a fair few golden hairs stuck to the fabric, and didn’t have the heart to brush them away.

Three days later, and you’d been to the gym every day in the hopes of catching him, you hadn’t seen him. Your mood was decidedly flat as you stepped out into the fresh night air and tried to plaster on a smile when your best friend uncoiled his muscular, python’s tail from the back of the taxi that was waiting at the curb and flung his arms around you. His dark brown skin had a pearlescent shimmer to it and his long, thick brown hair was plaited into a thick braid that hung down his spine. He wore a glittery, black shirt studded with a rainbow of rhinestones that matched the iridescent gleam that seemed to hover over his snake’s tail too, and he had the most exquisitely neat makeup on that you’d ever seen.

“Gods, Mal, you look incredible,” you wheezed as he hugged you.

“You look good too, sweetheart,” he grinned back. “Any sign of your delicious little puppy at the gym today? No, of course not. If there had been, you wouldn’t looked like a kicked puppy yourself. Come on. It’s my birthday. You’re not allowed to mope,” he said, and he practically bundled you into the back of the taxi before going round to the other side and piling in beside you.

He gave the driver the name of the club, and the car set off.

“There’ll be so many beautiful people there tonight, you’ll forget all about this gnoll of yours, I swear,” he practically purred in your ear, and you tried to smile.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” you said, and you drew an envelope from your clutch and handed it to him.

He frowned. “What’s this? We don’t do cards or presents anymore, sweetie,” he scowled, but he did look secretly pleased.

“Couldn’t resist this one,” you shrugged.

The card was nothing very special, just a lame joke about not throwing a hissy fit on your birthday, but it predictably made Mal groan and roll his eyes. “Really, darling? Didn’t we get over the reptile jokes in kindergarten?”

You did manage to muster a heartfelt smirk at that, and waved your hand. “I couldn’t resist,” you said again.

“You’re awful. I love you so much,” he laughed, and tugged you into a sideways hug in his arms. “You’re the only person I tolerate this kind of shit from, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

For a long moment, Mal held you and then he let you go and sighed softly. “I want you to be happy, you know?” he said. “You’ve been, like… ‘background miserable’ for ages.”

“I’ll try,” you said. It had been easier until Cade had vanished.

The club was packed already, but Mal dragged you to the front of the line and the two of you were admitted like celebrities and shown to the VIP area of the club. Perks of being with the brother of the owner, you supposed. Yves came over to greet you and his brother and to wish Mal a happy birthday. His present, it turned out, was unlimited drinks for the two of you all night.

For an hour, you and Mal chatted and drank leisurely, and watched the people out on the dance floor that was slightly below your booth, but just as Mal slithered with enviable elegance off the bench and started to make his way towards the dance floor, dragging you along with him, you caught sight of the familiar shape of a gnoll’s ears and froze so abruptly that your hands were torn from Mal’s grip.

“What, Sweets?”

You frowned, trying to make out the figure that was across the space, apparently also being dragged by his friends onto the floor. It was him. It was Cade. You had to laugh, and just as you did, he looked up.

His jaw dropped and he fell utterly still as well, then he laughed and shook his head.

“No way,” Mal breathed, now leaning in to hiss in your ear. “That’s him?”

“Yeah,” you said, and as Cade joined you, Mal — the cheeky shit that he was — gave you a solid shove between your shoulder blades.

You stumbled forwards and Cade shot his hands out to catch you before you planted face-first onto the dance floor. You whipped around the moment he had steadied you, and shot Mal the most venomous glare you could, and then turned back to Cade. “Thanks,” you yelled above the music. “My meddling best friend isn’t exactly known for his subtlety.”

“It’s ok,” Cade chuckled. “It’s good to see you. Sorry I haven’t made it to the gym lately. You find someone to spot for you?”

You shook your head and realised you were still holding his forearms. He hadn’t let go either, so neither did you. “How are you doing? I was worried about you when I didn’t see you after… you know…”

He bowed his head in understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d worry about me, if I’m honest. I’m good. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, even if it was still really sad. It’s part of the job sometimes though. It’s… It’s not my first. But I’m not here to mope.”

“Why are you here then?” you asked, squeezing his forearm gently as someone knocked into you from the side. “You look about as comfortable as I am in places like this…”

His ears were pricked as far forward as they could go, straining like satellite dishes to catch your words above the thundering music, and the urge to make an inhuman squeak rose up your throat like a physical presence. For someone so huge and muscular, he had no right to look so heartbreakingly cute.

“My friends’ house purchase went through so they decided to celebrate and drag me out with them. You?”

“Mal's birthday. His brother owns the club, so we’ve had free drinks for the night.”

“Nice,” Cade laughed. “You want to dance?”

You did, but it wasn’t something you were any good at. Then again, looking around you, there weren’t many you’d have said were actually dancing. Shyly, you managed a nod, and he grinned at you again, and held out both paws. You slid your hands into them and he exhaled, his chest falling noticeably.

“What?”

“You’re so small,” he said. “I… I’m so afraid I’m going to crush you all the time.”

“You won’t,” you smiled, and stepped even closer to him. Close enough to smell the soft musk that rose from his fur. Close enough to see the lights reflected in his coffee-dark eyes and watch the way the pale whiskers on his dark muzzle splayed wide with his anticipation. In the lights you noticed that the white trim of fur along the outer edge of his ears looked like a fine line of silver. “You’re really beautiful, Cade,” you whispered, certain that the music would drown your words, but he pulled his dark lips back in a broad grin and dipped his head shyly.

He turned you in his arms so that your back was to his chest and he stepped a little closer, moving his hands to your waist. You tried to fight the self-consciousness that roared to life like a wildfire in your mind, and when he felt you tense, he leaned down and murmured in your ear, “Is this alright?”

You nodded and leaned back into him, looking up at his pale throat and chest. It was a surprisingly familiar view by now after your sessions in the gym. He was wearing loose jeans that ended at the knee, the way many non-humans did, and he had a black t-shirt on that fitted his muscular frame beautifully. His red-gold mane melted into the dark fur of his ears and the creamy underside of his chin and neck, and you wanted to melt against him and have him hold you forever.

“Yes,” you exhaled. “It’s just been a while, that’s all.”

“We can go however slow you like, but you should know I like you,” he said in a low, inviting rumble. He pressed his cold nose carefully against your cheek and then nuzzled you with his jaw. “A lot. Gods, you smell amazing,” he blurted, as if he couldn't help himself.

That self-conscious heat evolved into something entirely different, and pure want coursed through you instead. You ached again and your body seemed to prickle all over with desire.

His hands drifted a fraction lower, to frame your hips, and his fingers dug into your soft flesh. Above the music you heard him give a long, deep lowing sound; primal and visceral and honest in its appreciation, and it made you shiver.

You lost track of time as you danced together. It wasn’t so much ‘dancing’ as ‘sharing the same space and touching wherever you could both get away with it before it became completely indecent’.

At one point, when you’d turned to face him again, someone nudged into you from behind and a hand wandered over your back, and you flinched closer to Cade. He pulled his lips back and showed all his teeth, and the human who had wandered too close to your corner of paradise shied away with hands raised.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” you said, and Cade growled at you instead.

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am protective. If you want to leave here with someone else tonight instead of me, I won’t stop you.”

“I don’t want to,” you said, placing your hand on the centre of his chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go home with you tonight either, but I do want your number and I do want to see you again.”

He smiled, and drew his phone from his back pocket. He twitched his muzzle towards the edge of the dance floor and then offered you his palm, leading you through the jostling crowd towards a quieter spot and shielding you with the bulk of his body when you had to force your way through the crush. You exchanged numbers, and then he looked over your shoulder and said, “Your friend is coming over.”

You turned to find Mal easing his way around the edge of the dance floor. He was moving slowly, carefully, the way he did when he was very drunk and trying not to show it. “Ah, man, I’ll have to get him home safely,” you sighed. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

Cade nodded. “I’ll see you both to a cab if you like.”

“You are protective,” you chuckled.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“No, you’re not,” you smiled. “If you like, you can get on the other side of Mal and see that he doesn’t slither off somewhere.”

The two of you wrangled a very curious and very obvious Mal into the back of a cab, and Cade came to stand with his hands on your waist. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his ears tilted back in a perfect display of meek shyness.

“Yes,” you exhaled.

He lowered his head and brought his muzzle to your lips. His mouth was soft against yours and he pressed his lips against you and then let the very tip of his tongue lave over your lips while his rough hands rose to cup your jawline and hold your face delicately. Cade didn’t spend long kissing you, since it was evident that this was a human gesture for which his body was not really built, but he did move to nuzzle your cheek with the velvet fur of his muzzle before stepping back and breathing out a long sigh.

Before he could say anything sweet or romantic, Mal opened the door and half his tail spilled back out onto the tarmac, and he cursed. “Fuck. I just wanted to say to hurry the fuck up because I’m cold and drunk and I don’t want to sit the back of this cab any longer than I have to,” he slurred, his forked tongue thick with drink. “Sorry,” he tacked on a little late.

Cade chuckled and helped you tuck Mal’s python tail back into the car for a second time, and you shook your head. “I’m so sorry,” you said, and squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you at the gym? And I’ll text you.”

He nodded, and you got in to the taxi next to Mal and shot him a flat look. “That was not cool,” you said. “You only get a free pass because it’s your birthday.”

And with that, you told the driver his address, and then, when Mal was safely inside and a little more sober, you headed home.

A text was waiting from Cade but you saved it for when you were finally ready for bed, and as you lay there in the dark, you opened your messages with a little trepidation.

>> You looked so beautiful tonight. I was *this* close to not going out tonight, but I’m so glad I did. I hope you got back ok and that the birthday boy isn’t going to suffer too much. I’ll be at the gym tomorrow. Perhaps we can grab a coffee somewhere afterwards if you’re going to be around? Night, and sleep well. C x <<

You read it through four times before you replied, and after that, you saw each other every day for a fortnight solid.

It started with coffee after the gym and then progressed to drinks, and then drinks and a snack, and then dinner, and then dinner and a movie, and then dinner and the same movie again because there was nothing else on that you wanted to watch, and then dinner and a stroll along the riverbank while the city lights twinkled around you. Finally, after two weeks of meeting every day, he took your hands in his and kissed you silly on one of the bridges over the river.

He nuzzled you afterwards and let out all these delicious, gnollish noises that made your heart skip and dance and skitter around like a trapped bird in your ribcage.

“I want you,” you gasped as he leaned you back a little way and closed his mouth around your neck, raking his teeth oh so gently across your skin. He froze, and then drew back.

“You mean it?” he asked in an equally soft voice. His dark eyes were huge and his ears frankly adorable as they swivelled first back against his head in uncertainty and then pricked forwards in undeniable hope. His tail rose high and fluffy behind him and you giggled softly.

“Yes, I mean it,” you laughed. “I want you.”

“Now?”

“Not ‘now on this bridge’,” you snorted. “Now as in tonight. Now as in take me home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Whose is closer?” you asked in a decidedly hoarse voice.

He paused. “Mine, probably.”

“Then let’s go there.”

He held your hand all the way there, and stopped at least five more times to nuzzle you and kiss you.

You’d been to his a couple of times before during your whirlwind courtship, but you’d only cuddled on the sofa while eating popcorn and watching reruns of your favourite shows. This time, you didn't bother with the sofa.

You kicked off your shoes at the door and he backed you towards the bedroom, growling and making those delicious, low-frequency lowing sounds in a constant, rumbling song. He loomed over you, but you grinned up at him and tugged at the lower hem of his black t-shirt.

He tore it off over his head to reveal the coarse, ivory fur of his chest and throat, and you reached for him, watching as your fingers disappeared into it. He growled — actually growled — when you scrunched your fingers and tugged experimentally, and you looked up at him again. He was panting softly, eyes half-lidded with his muzzle tilted upwards a fraction.

“Bed. Now,” you said in an unusually assertive voice.

Cade gasped and then simply picked you up by the hips. You looped your legs around his middle and let him carry you into his bedroom, where he deposited you carefully onto the bed and leaned down over you. It didn’t take you long to discard your clothes and he stared at you in wonder when you lay back again.

He was hard and as he rutted through his jeans against your thigh, you arched your back off the bed and moaned. “Now, Cade. Please.”

You ached all over and you’d never been this turned on in all your life. Every nerve ending seemed to have been dialled up to eleven and every time his rough paws skimmed over your skin, you gasped and jerked and groaned.

“So sensitive,” he purred, leaning back to undo his jeans and cast them aside. His boxers came next, and you tried not to stare at the size of him. You hoped you could take him.

He knelt between your legs and gently bit and mouthed his way up your inner thighs before closing his mouth over you and letting his tongue savour you. It should have been unnerving to have the most powerful jaws of almost any creature on land so close to where you were most delicate, but it sent a thrill up your spine instead. He moved his head between your legs and you let your hand rest between his ears, guiding his pace and taming his ardour a little.

Cade drew back, his eyes glassy and his muzzle wet with a combination of your arousal and his drool, and he rasped, “You taste incredible.”

“I want to come with you inside me,” you moaned. “I want you to knot me, Cade.”

His eyes fluttered and rolled at that and he gripped his cock in one hand as though trying to stave off his own orgasm already. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Fuck, that’s about the hottest thing you could have said to me. I’m really not gonna last long now. Oh fuck, I can already feel —”

“Cade, inside me. Now.”

“You’re sure?”

“Cade…” There was a growl to your voice too.

His cock was leaking all over his hand, all over the back of his fingers, and he wasn’t even working himself. You weren’t going to need any extra help to ease him inside you, but you were going to need him to take it gently.

“Slowly,” you warned as he lined himself up. He nodded, looking nervous and earnest.

The tip of his cock nudged inside you and you groaned and lay back, enjoying the huge stretch of him. Cade, meanwhile, bit back a curse and began to shake all over.

“I can’t,” he gasped. “Please… I…”

“Keep going,” you said, sounding gloriously winded already and he was only a little way inside you. “Don’t stop.”

The gnoll let out a long, lowing groan and then braced himself on both arms. You drew your knees up to help him and he began to pant again. “Fuck,” he cursed as he eased himself further inside you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I can’t I’m… I’m going to come… fuck, you’re tight. Oh fuck, beautiful, I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” you crooned, though the seduction in your voice was a little strangled by the intensity of the stretch as he eased almost all the way into you. “You can wait for me, I know you can. You’re so good; you’re so kind, Cade. You’re going to make this amazing for me, I know you are…”

At the string of praise, his heavy jaws parted to show all his thick, sharp teeth and he began to shake with the effort of not plunging into you in a single stroke until finally, finally, he was seated inside you to the hilt of his cock.

“See?” you said, reaching for the ruff around his neck and threading your fingers into the depths of the soft fur.

He keened and began to rock his hips. “Please… Please can I move now?”

“Yes, Cade. Let me feel all of you inside me.”

What began as a slow, careful slide of his huge cock inside you hastened to a desperate rhythm in minutes. His hips snapped against yours and you felt the weight of his balls as they rocked against you with each thrust. Cade was whining with each stroke, and you realised that the delicious stretch was growing, and each time he withdrew, it was a little less far.

“You’re going to knot me, aren’t you?” you gasped, drawing your knees up even further so that he hit you just-so with the tip of his cock at the apex of each desperate thrust.

“Mmnn,” he whimpered. “Fuck. I’m so close. You’re so gorgeous. Been thinking about this since… since we danced. Gods, I wanted to fuck you that night. Came all over myself when I got home. Popped a knot and everything, oh fuck, oh fuck you’re so tight I’m going to come, I’m so close, I’m going to come, can I come? Please let me come, beautiful, please let me fill you —”

His babbling, rambling pleas devolved into another gnollish low and he threw his head back, picking up the desperate pace. His hands grabbed your hips and his claws pricked your skin as he pulled you further onto his growing knot with every thrust. Delirious pleasure coursed through you and you barely had the presence of mind left to give him the permission he clearly craved.

“Yes, come for me,” you slurred. “Come inside me, Cade. Fill me —”

With a roar, his hips snapped against yours one last time and his whole body locked up. His lips pulled back from his huge teeth into a rictus of ecstasy and his eyes rolled as he came in huge, shuddering waves, lost to the pleasure of your body as his knot finally swelled to fill you and the sensation of it tipped you over the edge as well. As your body clenched around him, he cursed again and tugged you somehow even further onto his knot. His hips spasmed against you and you could feel him emptying himself into you in waves.

It was a long time before he stopped coming, and even with his knot plugging you tight, you felt some of his come start to leak out around you already, spilling down your thighs and onto the sheet. “Fuck,” he hissed again, and his body went suddenly slack, though his chest was still heaving for breath.

He fell forwards over you and braced himself at the last second on his forearms. You lowered your legs and he grunted as the movement jolted his over-sensitive knot, but you stayed there for a long time.

Gradually, your breathing settled into the same rhythm and your heartbeats slowed, and a leaden satisfaction descended into your whole body. You felt full, and cherished as he held you.

You lost track of time as you lay there together, but finally his knot receded and you felt a lot more of his come start to slide down your thighs. “Making a mess,” you mumbled from where you were half-buried by the soft fur near his ear.

“Mmph.”

“If you’re expecting me to have put on enough muscle to chest press you off me, you’re sorely mistaken,” you quipped, and to your joy, he gave a delighted, gnollish giggle and lifted his head enough to regard you with his slightly unfocused, dark brown eyes.

“You’re really something,” he said, and he let his pink tongue just grace the tip of your nose. “You sore? You want me to run you a bath?”

“Oof, yes please,” you smiled. No one had ever offered to do that for you after sex, and you were indeed a little sore from where he’d stretched you further than anyone ever had.

He lifted himself off you carefully, withdrawing from you and giving a little grunt as his softening cock slid free. He sat back on his haunches and ran his thumbs over the curve of your thighs, staring at where you knew you were probably gaping a bit. It was hard not to feel embarrassment until he murmured, “You’re exquisite.”

Cade leaned over you and fondly raked his upper and lower teeth over the soft flesh of your thigh before laving his tongue over your skin and then finally standing on shaky legs. “Been a while since I came like that,” he admitted shyly as he staggered towards the door. “Think I might skip leg day tomorrow and just chill out here.”

“I’ll join you,” you said. “I may never regain feeling in my legs.”

“I’ll carry you around anyway,” he grinned as he left and went to run the bath.

True to his word, Cade did carry you around his apartment the next day, and your feet barely touched the ground from the moment you woke to the moment you fell asleep in his bed for the second night in a row.

You weren’t exactly complaining though. It was heaven.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#gnoll #gnoll x reader #male gnoll #male gnoll x reader #gender neutral reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend

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aaroleswapau · 4 months

Note

Do you have any swap!franziska art? Wanna see more of her design

i unfortunately don't have any polished art of her bc i think when i drew this, my swap au hyperfixation was starting to wane, whoops! these are just some very quick sketches of what i wanted her new thing in the swap au to be.

(i will be putting old art of her old design if you want to see it under read more pftt [unfortunately not a lot of them bc i wasn't vibing with the old role i gave her so i wasn't drawing her a lot 😔])

oki doks, now time for a lore dump!!!!! (copy-pasting what i wrote on the bird app a long time ago):

ok, so the thing is, i gave a bit of redd white's role to mvk. my reasoning for that is since he's the one who killed gregory (who has mia's role), he'd have to take on that role too. when characters don't have any like, "exact" foils for their roles to be swapped with, i either make them stay the same or hobble some roles together. mvk's case was the latter.

so mvk runs a private eye that's connected to the prosecutor's office (he's corrupt bc have you seen that guy) and franziska happens to be working there.

mvk also happens to be one the people responsible for covering up the details about mia's death.

i wanted to change franziska's job from my first version of her bc she doesn't really have a connection to the supernatural, so i just gave her a job that works closely in the covering crimes too.

but yeah, fran has to meet gregory, and then she gets framed by redd white

and she's furious about it, of course! that fool works under her father, how dare he put the blame on her!

with how fran is supposedly cooperating with gregory, i think mvk would've really wanted her to catch the fall even with how much he cares about his daughter. he's an 'end justifies the means' kind of guy.

i don't think fran realizes until swap!jfa that it was her father who purposely tried to frame her and the one who ordered to kill gregory.

i think she'd feel really torn by that and the guilt with how miles defended her before knowing all that would've ate her up (the fact that gregory is dead, no spirit channeling or anything makes this more fucked up for them i think agfhhjh)

however, i still haven't figured out why franziska would agree to talk to gregory if he's investigating mia's death, and i'm not quite sure why gregory would've been investigating mia's death in the first place bc unlike mia in the regular verse, he'd have no connections to her case at least

(that would probably require some aai duology knowledge that i do not have right now ASKSKS)

my brain isn't fully working right now so i can't fully ramble on about her design, but i did think it was important to make her dress eccentric; and i know that everyone dresses eccentric in aa, but particularly that one point in turnabout sisters where april may should've remembered maya bc she dressed weird? i wanted the same for franziska ASKSKS roast her old-timey gothic looking ass!!!!!

and from my recent drawing of her, i think if i were to draw like, a polished ref for her, i would like to show the fact that her make-up is severe. again, 'eccentric' or whatever pftt

i originally had her be like a witch, some sort of seer who could communicate with the dead through her crystal ball. scrapped that and changed it bc it was just not digging my dudes asdghd a shame tho bc i'm rather fond of her big-ass veil witch hat thingy

#ace attorney #den's aa roleswap au #franziska von karma #aa swap au asks #aa swap au art

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sminiac · 3 months

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WHINY RIWOO WITH DRY HUMPING I BEG. IT CAN START WITH THEM LIKE PLAY FIGHTING BEING CUTE BUT THEN. YEAH. I read one with riize sohee and.. It was LIFE changing 👁

⋆ Lee Sanghyeok + Reader

Contains! — Smut focused, dry humping, MDNI.

Note — As soon as you mentioned Sohee w this I was like “Thea!!!😧☝️” bc IT REALLY WAS LIFE CHANGING, ugh I love my mutuals, I <3 @kissohee. But I gotchu! Although, I will switch it up so it doesn’t seem very copy paste, it wouldn’t feel right to me, here’s the fic w Sohee that was mentioned <3

You knew they’d do good, they always did, and Riwoo was one out of the six who certainly knew that they had executed their performance quite perfectly.

The adrenaline rush still buzzes within him as he comes bursting back into the waiting room, walking like the sun had found its place of eternal peace under the thick of his skin. His confidence glowed from within, beaming in contentment as he falls into your chest with an eruption of happy giggles, basking you in his warmth, saying breathlessly against you that he had fun, so much fun, and that it didn’t even feel like he was running on merely a few hours of sleep as your fingers scratched against the nape of his neck, sweat dripping from his hair and down the surface of his skin, it reminded you of the way water shakes off of pine trees after a long shower from the clouds above.

You couldn’t deny how pretty he looks like this despite the cemented fact that the two of you were strictly platonic, only best friends, but something foreign stirred up inside of you seeing the way he still struggles to catch his breath, his heart beating so fast that you can feel it through the layers of clothing between the two of you.

“You looked really hot on stage.” you say simply, watching the way your fingers thread through the few inches of his blonde hair. “Yeah, it was really warm, I don’t think I’ve ever produced this much sweat from performing before.”

You struggle to bite back a laugh at his clueless response, a little warm in the face from his unknowingness to the existing layers of your words. “I bet, I can feel it soaking through your clothes, how’re you on top of me if you’re so warm?” Your finger pokes gently into his cheek.

“Shhh!” He musters as he lets his hands out from bearing his weight, his cheek smushed against your shoulder as he settles further into you. “I’d prefer for my pillows not to yap in my ear when I’m trying to sleep, thanks.”

Your palm gently pats against the back of his head, imitating a smack that makes him jump, you’re too busy whining about how he needs to get off of you that the fact his semi-hard cock just dug into your thigh goes unnoticed. “You’re lucky I’m so nice to you, y’know? Bratty boy.”

He makes a small ‘Mmmph’ sound in disagreement, his hips lifting and then falling back into you. Right now it seems that you’re the clueless one after dismissing the movement as a way to annoy you, and not that he’s secretly rolling his own high into play.

“I’m so nice to you, Riwoo. Sometimes I think I show you a little too much leniency, even when you do deserve it.” There’s an airy laugh to your tone, “No matter how rare that is.” and his ears know that you’re merely just joking around, you know- like you always do, it’s how you you are, but something about it is simultaneously making his hips shift against your leg, his breaths so heavy that they start exiting through his mouth in quiet pants.

“Please-” he squeaks, his hands fisting at your top desperately, he tries to keep himself from grinding into you fully with the heft and longevity that has his mouth watering, it’s not right, but fuck does it already feel so good.

“What? What’re you doing?”

“Hhngh- why d’you, fuck-! Have t’be so soft.” He’s taken under by the slightest lick of pleasure, so much so that his own embarrassment is far from the surface, and he’s not willing to pull himself out of it anytime soon. “Riwoo, can you…” the pre that sinks into his briefs coaxes him to keep going, rocking faster, harder against your leg, but the pleasure only comes to a certain point before fizzling out again, he doesn’t have enough firmness to make him breach the minor setback but he’s too stupid to come up with a solution for himself. “Honey please, I just need to you-”

He isn’t listening, his hips are frantic, eager, a little too much for your liking. “slow down.” You pull your leg away, out from under him.

He looks up at you with a quivering lip, such a sweet docile thing, his wide glossy eyes blinking up at you, the fear starting to sink in once he’s able to focus back on the actuality of the moment. He was just pathetically humping your leg. You, his bestfriend, his awfully pretty bestfriend who has a habit of calling him ‘honey’.

“Sorry, s-sorry. Fuck! Oh my god, Y/n I’m really sorry.” His head starts shaking side-to-side, a look of pure disbelief on his face as tears start swelling against the bottom lid of his eye, they fall heavy with every blink, the smoked out mix of warm browns around his aegyosal smearing down his face, leaving an existing trail that makes the entire act so much more lucid.

“You need to chill out,” you chuckle whilst leaning into him, he’s frighteningly still as you press a tender kiss against the mole under his eye. “I just wanted to move, make it feel better for you, you probably won’t be able to cum like this, hm?”

You look so beautiful, he swears you’re an angel, especially with that damn proclivity for being so concerned about others before yourself. He nods his head, agreeing, you’re right- how are you so right all of the time? The words, the way you use them, he’s never heard such explicit language come from your mouth before in any amount of sincerity that they’re soaked in now, but god does he want to kiss you because of it. “Tell me,” you beckon, your eyelashes are so pretty, has he told you that before? Especially the way your head tilts to the side, the angle makes them look more wispy as you blink around at his features, your fingers gently moving the ends of his hair out of the way.

You touch him like he’s always been yours to touch, and right now he’s never been more sure of wanting to always be just yours.

“Can’t- you’re right, you are. I-I bet I could, make do with what I have, don’t need anything else- whatever you give me, ‘s more than good enough.” His sniffles break through his words, the sound of his voice so quiet, shy, hiding in the back of his throat that it makes it crack.

“Trade spots with me, will you?”

He nods quickly, he will, of course he will, he’ll do anything you ask of him. He wastes no time pushing himself back onto his calves, watching as you stand up from the couch and instruct him to lay on his back, claiming your spot.

“Comfy?” You ask, leaning over him, pushing his hair back from his forehead, it pokes out between the crack of your fingers as he nods, eyes closing as you place a warm kiss against his forehead. “Good. Sweet boy, bein’ so good for me.”

Sweet boy, he’s never heard that one before, it has the exact same effect that your usual pet name has on him, he knows because it makes his shoulder ache. A whimper bubbles from his lips, you can feel the way he squirms under you, it has your hips moving to rest directly over his dick that’s straining heavy, wet in his pants. The sensation is warm, really warm, and… damp? Your hand drags down, thumb swiping over the area a few times as Riwoo’s fighting back a long pitchy moan from escaping so bad that it hurts, curiously you inch back, seeing a darker patch of black along the seam of his slacks, his pre had enough time to completely soak through, added the copious amount it was enough to breach through the thick of your pants.

The moisture makes the fabric feel almost thinner, or maybe it’s the way it’s conformed to the shape of his head that makes the drag of your pussy over it feel even more distinct as you move back, unwilling to waste time, to let even a second of seeing him like this slip from your grasp you resume grinding against him.

“Please- fuck! Y/n- pleasepleaseplease!” He whimpers quickly, unabashedly rocking his hips up in time with yours, his left hand has a firm grip on your thigh that keeps you close, his other rests against his cheek, index finger caught between his teeth as he rocks into you. “Wanna cum, jus’ wanna cum- make a mess f’you, only you- shit! Plea-”

His legs help him punch up into you, unexpectedly spilling in his pants, you watch whilst catching your breath at the way he shudders back down into the cushions under him, his mouth wide open, drool pooling behind his teeth and leaking out of the corners of his lips, a long drawn out whine pulling from his chest, a fuzzy dazed expression on his face, filling out his brain.

“You really do know how to make a mess.” You tease, hands running soothingly up and down his chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever came like that before… are we- are we still only friends if you made me cum that hard that fast?”

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therapycat21 · 6 months

Text

All Right Now Part 5

Travis Kelce x Famous!Reader Description: The reader catches the eye of famous footballer Travis.

Warnings: None

Social Media AU

It has been almost a month since me and Travis had become exclusive and told the world. So far it has been amazing, we still both get hate but the positive comments outweigh the negative. A lot has changed since then I now have my own cooking and baking show on Max the streaming service where I have a new chef teach me how to cook or bake something they have made while some friends and family are there to help and join in.

I still haven't had Trav on yet even though the producers are trying to get me to agree to it.

Well he has partially been on the show, you can hear him sometimes in the background but still hasn't shown his face yet. Which fans have noticed all over Twitter.

The amount of information they are trying to get from us is insane but expected and it doesn't seem to bother Travis at all. If anything he embraces it more than anything. Which is definitely a difference for me considering past relationships.

Travis and I have been posting with hints of each other but not fully showing our faces, In a way it’s kinda fun but if only I knew it was gonna change by this afternoon. I just finished getting ready to start filming an episode for the show and now waiting for my guests to let us know they're ready.

My special guest for today was a heavily requested Gordon Ramsey. The producers gave me a signal that Gordon was on the phone, I’m then greeted by him on the big screen so we could see each other. I wave and smile “Hi! Thank you so much for coming on today” I tell him still smiling, He waves and gives a small smile “Hello darling, It is an honor to be here with you and teach you how to make one of my most famous dishes today” he tells me, we talk and joke for a minute before we get right into cooking.

After learning and copying his steps we’re then interrupted by a yelling “Baby!” I hear Travis's boisterous voice yell from the other room, I share a panicked look at my mom before looking at Gordon holding in a shocked laugh “What in the bloody hell was that?” he questions.

I give him a small half smile blushing, feeling everyone’s gaze on me “That would be my boyfriend, who I told I was filming today” I tell them laughing, breaking the tension a little, I hold my finger up before excusing myself.

I walk into the other room where Travis sits manspreading on what was supposed to be a huge couch but he makes it look thirty times smaller and playing his videogame. I give him a small look before he smirks, trying to get me to come closer. I walk over and try to stand in between his legs before he pulls me into his lap.

I give in before giving him a teasing look “You know I’m in the middle of filming right?” I question. He smirks before putting both hands and pulling my face to his, kissing my nose “I know but I wanted to tell you, you look beautiful today, oh and Mom wants us all to have dinner together tonight, if that’s alright with you?” he asks I nod at him “yeah, definitely, does she want me to make anything?” I ask he tries to hide a smile before nodding his head slightly “If you can, could you make some empanadas?” I try to hold back a smile before it breaks out onto my face anyway “Of course baby, now I gotta get back okay?”

I give him a chaste kiss before heading back into the kitchen. “Oh, wait, who’s the guest this week?“ he asks before I fully leave the room. I look back “It’s Gordon Ramsey” he goes blank giving me a shocked look, I can already see what he wants to ask next, I smirk waving my hand towards the kitchen “Come on, come say hi” I laugh as he jumps off of the couch rushing us both back into the kitchen.

We are greeted by the shocked look on my parents' Faces, I stand back in the frame behind the kitchen counter waving Travis over more “Gordon, this is my boyfriend Travis” he walks into the frame “Hey man I’m a really big fan” I look over to see he has a cheesy smile on his face, I give a quick laugh regaining his attention “why you laughing at me, it ain’t every day you meet a famous chef” he teases “I know I know It’s just adorable to see you so cheesy over him.” I tell him before he and Gordon talk a bit more before Travis excuses himself back into the other room but not before leaving me with a kiss on the nose and a tap on my side. I break the silence giving a giant sigh “Okay let’s get back to it” I smile at the camera.

The producers are gonna be extra happy about that, now they're off of my back and Travis got to meet one of the greatest chefs. Gordon smiles giving a cheeky response “Just so you know, when you two get married I will be the chef for your reception” he says making my face turn even redder “Ugh, are you calling it now?” I ask smiling he gives a belly laugh “Oh I am definitely calling it right now, you two will be married I guarantee it.”

We finish the episode and we all say goodbye to Gordon. I now clean everything before getting started on the empanadas for dinner tonight, this is the first time I will be making something for his family to try and oh my god it is nerve-wracking. After making the empanadas and both of us getting ready we head over to his mom's house for dinner.

3 Hours Later

After having dinner and the family gushing over the empanadas me and Travis decided to head back to the apartment for a chill night in.

After getting showers and into comfy clothes, we both sit down when Travis breaks the comfortable silence “Is it okay If I post you sometimes?” he asks hesitantly Looking over at him from my corner of the couch “You know what, yeah I am okay with it” I give a small smile to him.

He gives me one before tugging on my foot to get me to come closer, I move to sit on his lap, He brings one of the throws down over us and we both sit there in our little bubble finally in peace. As I dozed off. Travis leaned for his phone taking a quick picture of them both and captioning “end game” before posting to his Instagram, happy he could finally show off his girl.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Note

This is kind of a fill chapter but a glimpse into their relationship with each other and their families! I love writing for them!! How do yall feel about this couple please let me know!! much love for all the support with this series;)))) TC21

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist:

@whitemanswhore3

@bxdbxtxh15

@cixrosie

@kkrenae

@the-untamed-soul

@calirindo

@armystay89

@hotwheels1108

@awatt31

@bobthe-turmpetman29

@goldenharrysworld

#travis kelce #travis x reader #famous!reader

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bluheaven-adw · 1 year

Text

WATCH THE WHOLE THING! Trust me 😏

It's here!!!!!!! I hope this was worth the wait :)

Images and information on a DTIYS below the jump!

This first bit of this might be familiar as it's been posted before. New stuff added at end!

Dark Excalibur Au

Everything happens exactly the same up to then very end of Wizards. The only difference being Jim is able to pull Excalibur then, on his own, making him Nimue's champion. Nimue grants him his crown and restores the trollhunter amulet to him. (Sorry Douxie and Krel, you'll get your time to shine later).. this is when Excalibur's aesthetic changes.

While Jim is 100% human now, he's not without after effects from being a troll. Not much physically (a bit stronger and faster), but personality wise... he's a bit more feral, confident, not really any trace of his former anxieties (except when it comes to Claire). He's not without fear (we don't need gritshaka Jim here...) but has mastery over it. Sometimes he can get a bit more... chaotic and temperamental... than before, but despite that, he's still Jim to his core. Despite all that he's been through, he's still ultimately kind, pure of heart, always tries to do the right thing, fiercely protective of those he loves.... as Blinky put it, a man of honor, courage and valor.

He's stopped fighting his destiny and stepped into it fully instead.

To quote Sakon...

Jim's problem has always been that he cares too much, and the anger inside him burns against the injustice of the world. It's Jim against the world, and the world /will move.

He still has way to much in the self sacrificial department…... but usually remembers that he has a team... literally the roundtable... a wizard, a sorceress... and a literal goddess….. backing him up.

START OF NEW:

You'll notice the blade is whole, not just repaired. Nimue, who for obvious reasons, is not a fan of merlin or arthur... originally only repaired Excalibur's blade instead of healing it. The fractures remained as a check on its power.. kind of like a short circuit. Jim gets no such hobbling. He's entrusted with Excalibur's full power. And if Sakon will allow me to borrow again, his check is in the gem in his crown, but it's only temporary as he learns to control Excalibur's power, and his newfound station and abilities... just a bit of a reminder, but one he rarely, if ever, needs.

There is no incantation on the amulet. It's not needed anymore. All Jim needs to do is think it, and it's there. Excalibur is not tied to the amulet like Daylight was. He can use it without the armor, or dematerialize it if wanted. The armor has two forms, much like Daylight and Eclipse, the 2nd is only a thought away. Normally a steely blue grey, it can shift to black, and if Jim really leans into the power of Excalibur then the whole thing, from crown to blade, turns pitch and lights up. There's so much magic running through him from the sword that his eyes glow with it.

Someone on IG asked if the Dark/Feral bits denoted corruption or Jim gone rogue. The Dark just denotes the color change for Excalibur. No corruption! It's just rockin the black instead of gold. As for feral.... in the sense that he's a tad more aggressive, more willing to finish the fight so to speak. He's got a little wildness, a little otherworldly magic, to him (not in the sense that he's a wizard, just that he's got the magic of Excalibur and being goddess touched).

Now, for the DTIYS!

Rules are

Draw it in your style!

Please no tracing, I want to see what you come up with

Use #DarkExcaliburDTIYS when you post!

Tag me and I will share

Please out a copy of my original art in your post

This will run until June 1

I will pick my top 3 across all platforms

There will be prizes, I just have no clue what lol.

I will link a folder filled with references for you to use! From the armor, to color keys (whenever tumblr lets me paste the stupid link 😡

Have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#jim lake jr #tales of arcadia #dark excalibur #dark excalibur au #darkexcaliburDTIYS #trollhunters #toa #toa fanart #wizards toa #toa wizards #wizards tales of arcadia #rott #toa rise of the titans #rise of the titans #trollhunters fanart #james lake junior #james lake jr

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mysims-mod · 3 months

Text

Oh hi there. It's been a while hasn't it?

I picked up MySims (again) recently and wanted to see if I could crack the code on custom lots!

Spoiler Alert: Kind of.

I decided to do some testing with the LUA Test Level (Pictured Below), I copied the contents of 'luaTest.world' and pasted them over into 'townsquare.world' and noticed that even there weren't any lots defined in the world file, there would always be icons on the minimap.

I tried copying over just the lots from Town Square into this LUA Test Level, and three of them worked flawlessly!

However the rest were stuck in the middle of the map, no matter what I changed in the world file, three would always be placed in the world as normal, and the rest would be stuck in the center and no amount of moving them worked!

From this testing I came to the conclusion that lots are not solely defined by what is present in the .world file and that it was defined in a separate file entirely. However at the time I did not know where exactly that file was in the game's packages. After getting sidetracked with other things, I left this alone for a while.

Recently I joined a MySims Discord Server, and it has a modding channel, I shared my theory in there and @/Grizafay informed me that yes, there is in fact a file that not only defines how many lots are allowed to exist in a level, but also their size and locations!

So I set about doing some tests to see what exactly I could do to make custom lots a thing.

First I wanted to see if I could even make changes to this file and re-insert it into a package without the game crashing, so I decided on changing the lot size for the player's lot (Lot 0) and Poppy's shop (Lot 5)

And I was able to make changes to the file and insert it back into game without a problem! I figured if it was possible to change the lot sizes, then it should be possible to add a brand new lot into the game!

To test if this was possible I decided to use Lot ID 14, which is listed in a comment in 'townsquare.world', but skipped over. So I added an entry for it into the slot definition file and...

It worked (almost) perfectly! Apart from some hiccups with the minimap icon and mailbox placement I haven't been able to fully figure out yet, it worked! So this means that adding more lots to the game beyond ID 15 should be easy... right?

Well... I tried adding a Lot 16 to Town Square, I copied over most of what I had done for Lot 14 in the world file, changed the position and a few other relevant things like table names and GUIDs, added an entry to the slot definition file and changed the maximum lot slot index from 15 to 16 and...

The game would crash.

I still want to see if I can overcome this setback, but for right now at least custom lots are kind of possible in MySims.

#mysims (game)#mysims mods #custom lots

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incarnateirony · 26 days

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20 COPIES OF THIS IN EVERY REBLOGGABLE FORM SO HER AND HER CRONIES CAN'T MISS IT

yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup she just came in and tried to spam a bunch of random things and be normal Which on its own? Almost ok but this bitch wants to pretend she's a motherfucking mystic and charges people for it

She also managed to obsess about avatar again during this, and a crow playing in snow out of season. AND THIS GEM

THEN FUCKING DO IT AND BE PUBLICLY HONEST YOU FUCKING SCARLET LYING ABUSIVE WHORE. IF YOU THINK YOU AND MARK CAN WORK THROUGH IT THEN JUST FUCKING GET OVER IT AND DO IT ALREADY

SO YEAH HER BLOG IS STILL COVERED IN INDUCED ROT WHILE SHE TRIES TO BE NORMAL AND SPAM CUTE BIRD PICS. ZERO FUCKING MYSTIC COMMENTS EVEN DURING ONE OF THE MOST MYSTICALLY ACTIVE NIGHTS IN 20 YEARS. FAKE. FAKE FAKE FAKE. FRAUD MISS CLEO PIECE OF SHIT STEALING MY SHIT AND CHARGING PEOPLE. ANYWAY I'M AWAKE ARE MY IMAGES BACK

yes they ARE and anyway, love seeing exactly when i sleep and wake up

bitch posts that fucking thing about working on it together motherfucking unironically. motherfuck. fucking motherfuck I don't have other words. Absolutely motherfucking WHAT? The entire reason you haven't fully hopped off this shit and let me play in your frozen atohallan of a head like a crow in the snow in SPRING, is because you don't actually believe that, like you don't actually believe in ANYTHING you put on your fucking blog.

I AIN'T LETTING GO OF THIS SHIT UNTIL YOU LET GO OF ME BITCH. I HAD LET IT ALL GO BUT YOU JERKED YOUR WAY OFF BACK INTO MY LIFE AND IT'S NOT FUCKING HAPPENING AGAIN YOU UNRESTRICTED PIECE OF BREATHING TRASH

take the FUCKING CLUE IN GENERAL AND LET THIS SHIT GO. LET ME GO. LET THE PAST GO. WORK ON IT. IF YOU DON'T THINK MARK WILL DUMP YOU FOR ALL THE LIES AND MANIPULATION OF EVEN HIM YOU'VE DONE, AND IF YOU CAN FACE HIM HAVING LED YOU INTO THIS PIT OF HORSE SHIT FOR HIS OWN GAIN, THEN MOTHERFUCKING DO IT ALREADY AND STOP YOUR BULLSHIT!!!!

i am NOT ACCEPTING YOU TRYING TO QUIETLY SLINK OFF, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT, YOU FUCKING CRACKHEAD PIECE OF STALKER SHIT, BECAUSE UNTIL I KNOW YOU'VE COMPLETELY FUCKING FIXED THIS SHIT YOU'RE JUST GOING TO KEEP COMING BACK TO FUCK ME UP LIKE YOU HAVE FOR **TWENTY FUCKING YEARS AND THREE, AND SIX MONTHS, AND NOW**. FUCKING NO. YOU'RE GONNA SAY IT AND FIX YOUR LIES ON MAIN FOR EVERYONE YOU'VE FUCKED UP ABOUT HIM WITH YOUR DELUSIONAL ROLEPLAY JERKOFFS YOU CALL MAGIC CRYING INTO MY OLD AND NEW ROMANCE PLAYLISTS.

YOU ARE GOING TO MOTHERFUCKING TURN AROUND, AND GO BACK, AND LEARN RIGHT IF YOU WANT TO LEARN HIM OR FRANKLY ANYONE AT ALL BEYOND SLAPPING REBLOG AND PUTTING CANDY IN YOUR FACE. NO MORE DOUBLING DOWN IN REVERSE IN THE WRONG FUCKING DIRECTION.

stop defending you changing his gender behind the cut, you piece of shit. You are literally arguing against one of hermes' seven rules with your post about henry behind the cut, you lying piece of fraud trash. HE HAS SEVEN AXIOMS AND YOU FUCKED THEM UP BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW ANY OF THEM.

PUT THAT IN HUMAN, SEE HOW THAT SOUNDS. NO, YOU DON'T GET TO GO 'BUT THEY NOT HUMAN' IF YOU PRETEND TO HAVE EVER KNOWN HERMES, YOU FUCKING LYING TERF PIECE OF MISS CLEO SHIT.

bitch DEADASS BROKE OUT THE TERF/ANTI TRANS CHROMOSOME THING AS HER REASON AND CAN'T EVEN FUCKING SEE IT BECAUSE SHE'S THAT FUCKED UP, OFF, AND IN.

nonono shea. Look at mark and say, "Only XX chromosome humans get periods so I WILL use female pronouns." and see how that goes over. Again, no, you don't get to say BUT BIRD. Birds defy gender convention often, some of the most often in the animal kingdom, and that bird still grew up getting called and being happy with masculine names, pronouns, nicknames, that he identified the world through, and you're just gonna terf into changing it because some bullshit about CHROMOSOMES even though Hermes teaches GENDER IN EVERYTHING, NOT JUST PEOPLE. Fucking fraud harlot terf piece of shit. Abusive fucking stalker.

Here, I'll motherfucking help your trash ass, and you'll realize you read this years ago and you marked it under Unimportant Details. I'll even highlight the ones you've either violated or proven yourself ignorant to the last month.

The principle of mentalism "The All is Mind; the Universe is Mental."

The principle of correspondence "As above, so below; as below, so above.” […] This principle embodies the truth that there is always a correspondence between the laws and phenomena of the various planes of being and life. (YOU KEEP PRETENDING ALL EVENTS ARE RANDOM AND ARBITRARY EVEN WHEN DECLARED OR WITH A CONSISTENT PLOT)

The principle of vibration "Nothing rests; everything moves; everything vibrates." (ARGUABLY YOU'RE IGNORING THIS WHILE I MUSIC MAGIC YOU INTO THE VOID)

The principle of polarity "Everything is dual; everything has poles; everything has its pair of opposites; like and unlike are the same; opposites are identical in nature, but different in degree; extremes meet; all truths are but half-truths; all paradoxes may be reconciled." Wet and dry, cold and hot. (PEANUT FUCKING BUTTER)

The principle of rhythm "Everything flows, out and in; everything has its tides; all things rise and fall; the pendulum-swing manifests in everything; the measure of the swing to the right is the measure of the swing to the left; rhythm compensates." The swing of the pendulum. (ALSO PEANUT FUCKING BUTTER. your self admitted disjointed pendulum too. )

The principle of cause and effect "Every cause has its effect; every effect has its cause; everything happens according to law; chance is but a name for law not recognized; there are many planes of causation, but nothing escapes the law." (AGAIN YOU KEEP PRETENDING THIS IS ALL RANDOM AND NO RULES APPLY TO YOU)

The principle of gender "Gender is in everything; everything has its masculine and feminine principles; gender manifests on all planes." (YOUR WEIRD CHROMOSOME BASED TRANSPHOBIC SHIT YOU'RE DEFENDING)

OH??? THEY'RE THE RULES THE XORVINTAAL WAS BASED ON? I KNOW YOU WERE DISTRACTED BECAUSE I MADE THAT CHARACTER UNFUCKABLE BUT YOU'D REALLY THINK YOU UNDERSTOOD BY NOW THAT NOTHING I DO IS RANDOM. NOW REBLOG ME ANOTHER KION IN THE VOID ABYSS OF HIS RESOLUTION OF BEING THE ONE WITHOUT SEEING IT AGAIN.

fake ass piece of shit channeling my dick for years, sobbing into our old playlists, mixing in my new ones, and lying to everyone around you for motherfucking years while you charge them for your own un-therapy.

Bitch i'm not motherfucking kidding, you are literally only this fucked up because you fell in love with a magus, betrayed him at the tough part (several times actually! I was almost here 11 years ago until you fucked me up! hence everything being stuck in an echo loop you're pretending not to see between here and there!), and refuse to fucking comprehend what being the magus is, or what the path was ever about the entire fucking time. so now you're trying to stalk, roleplay, hump, and groom other people into a way back into my life while shaking my shadows and refusing to accept that's what's going on.

I DONT KNOW IF YOU HAVE MOTHERFUCKING NOTICED, STARLIGHT, BUT WE ARE, IN FACT, LITERALLY OFF THE MOTHERFUCKING RAILS UNTIL YOU FIX YOUR ABSOLUTE DELUSIONAL HORSE SHIT AND FACE YOURSELF AND SPEAK THE TRUTH.

NEVER THOUGHT I'D MEET A HUMAN SHAPED LANDFILL, THEN I MET THE GRAND NIECE OF HITLER, WHO WAITED TO INFORM ME OF THAT DETAIL FOR A DECADE UNTIL A FEW YEARS AFTER I MOVED IN WITH HER. LIKE 'OH BY THE WAY WE GET TO INHERIT HITLER'S SHIT MY PARENTS HAVE IT IN THE ATTIC' WHAT THE FUCK.

youtube

Just like you only Perform religion and spirituality, you only Perform trans allyship. You don't really support Mark for being trans. You met Mark in a disassociated digital form that came in as male to you for the most part. You refused to divide me from my external sex and insisted I kept shoving my gender, identity, spirituality and everything in a motherfucking box for you to play with like a ken doll, and the second I was withdrawing it for a mix of realizing you were full of shit, dangerous to both of us, and me working 60-70 hours a week to support your habits, you motherfucking ran off to throw me out the door. And then sat there in a void of absence of everything you wanted. And started wearing my shadow like a fucking scarf.

NO MEANS NO, SHEALYN. AND DRAWING THIS ABSOLUTE MOTHERFUCKING BOUNDARY REGARDLESS OF IGNORANT WHINY FANS OR CRONIES OF YOURS SPAMMING MY INBOX or STUPIDASS FEAR OF LOSING NONSENSE FOLLOWERS, IS THE MOST LIBERATING FUCKING THING I'VE EVER FUCKING DONE, SO LET US FUCKING GO.

you LITERALLY cannot parasitically attach to my path with him and pick up from there, that is LITERALLY the motherfucking opposite of how this works. You wanna know him? Turn around, go back to at least 2012 like you were doing a few weeks ago before you panicked and doubled down backwards again because you DON'T trust your ability to work it out with Mark, and fucking learn him yourself, and find yourself. Yourself is already screaming at you though, and as your cheap piece of cowardly shit ass does, you ran from that too, but it's still chasing you.

ALL THE WAY BITCH!! NO HALF!! WTF IS HALF!!! I EVEN ASKED YOU THAT THROUGH GNOSIS GUY THAT TALKED ABOUT PROTECTING MY D WITH MICHAEL'S FLAMING SWORD BEFORE YOU FUCKED UP AND TRIED TO SUMMON MICHAEL, AND BEFORE YOU MET THE AIR JORDAN GUY THAT GOT SHOT AND HAD HIS COLLECTION STOLEN YOU TRIED TO GO HALF ON AND THOUGHT YOU WERE THE FUCKING BENEFACTOR ON THE FULL MOON NIGHT I DECLARED A MANIFESTATION ON AND YOU SAID WAS WEIRD ENERGY. YOU HEARD 'AIR JORDANS' BECAUSE USHER WAS IN TARTARUS AT THE BIG GAME, YOU DENSE ASS PIECE OF SHIT. HE BROUGHT CUSTOM AIR JORDANS.

it was a whole ass thing!!! so the collective gave it to you as motherfucking air jordans on my FUCKING ghost.

even in your MOTHERFUCKING ROLEPLAY GAMES YOU PRETENDED YOU COULD CONVERT TO SPIRITUAL CHANNELING, SHEALYN.

COYOTE TOLD CRYSTAL THE ENTIRE TIME.

YOU DO NOT WANT THIS. YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE WITH ME. I CAN GIVE YOU SECURITY AND A PLACE TO STAY BUT THIS WILL NOT LAST. HE AND I WROTE A WHOLEASS SONG ABOUT IT. AND BOTH THAT SONG AND THE CURRENT ONE THROUGH THE UNIVERSE IS MOTHERFUCKING FOR **YOU** GARFIELD.

YOU MAY BE ABLE TO GROOM A BIRD WITH THE INTELLIGENCE CAP OF A TWO YEAR OLD INTO LOVING YOU, BUT YOU CANNOT FORCE ME INTO YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LIFE.

#Youtube

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scary-grace · 6 months

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 10) -- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 10

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. As summer ends and the neighborhood kids go back to school, it begins to feel like there’s something wrong with the neighborhood, too. Keigo and the others haven’t found Dabi’s conjurer yet, and with school back in session and two of the former ghosts in the neighborhood going to and from the same place five days a week, the likelihood that the conjurer will find the neighborhood before he’s found and killed feels higher than it should be. You’re worried about that, distantly. If Garaki comes here, it won’t be you he’s after.

You and Aizawa are monitoring any mention or recurrence of any of the aliases Tomura’s conjurer has gone by, but there’s no sign of him. It also seems to have been a long time since he summoned and bound a ghost. You got sick of running messages back and forth between Aizawa and Mr. Yagi, so you finally introduced them, and through a mix of Aizawa’s contacts, Mr. Yagi’s contacts, and former and current ghosts Hizashi knows, you were able to determine that nobody’s created a new haunt in at least a decade. “I don’t understand,” you said. “Did it go out of style or something?”

“It became too dangerous, most likely.” Aizawa turned to his copy of the map and began marking through former haunts, until the entire map was marked in red. “All of these were destroyed by Mr. Yagi and his master. Any conjurer summoning a ghost in this country over the past hundred years was taking a significant risk. Why would they do that when they could just leave?”

“Would they just leave?” You looked to Mr. Yagi.

“It’s possible,” Mr. Yagi allowed. “My master and I did our job well. Even if we missed one.”

“There was nothing to miss. In spite of his overall unpleasantness, Tomura has yet to truly harm anyone,” Aizawa said. Mr. Yagi glanced meaningfully at you. “That doesn’t count.”

You weren’t pleased with the characterization, but it wasn’t worth disputing. Regardless of what anyone in the neighborhood thinks about your relationship with Tomura, they’re at least pleased that it makes him easier to deal with and marginally more interested in helping the neighborhood defend itself. Tomura, meanwhile, notices less and less of what’s going on outside the property line. Most of his focus – all of his focus, really – is on you.

As far as you can tell, he stays incorporeal most of the day, conserving energy so he can materialize fully once you’re home. What happens when you’re home varies. Sometimes he follows you, marking your every move, asking questions about everything nothing, questions that lead and questions whose answers you can’t imagine he cares about. Sometimes he tries to help you with whatever you’re doing, because the sooner you’re done with it, the sooner you can focus all your attention on him. And sometimes he’s not interested in waiting for anything at all. Sometimes he follows you up to your room and pounces on you before you’re even finished changing out of your work clothes.

Today is one of those days, and Tomura’s gotten strategic. You wore a dress to work, with tights underneath because you’re paranoid about clothing malfunctions, and he doesn’t grab you until after you’ve taken them off. Then he pulls you away from your closet, pushes you down on the bed, and pushes your legs apart. This, or things like this, have happened enough that you can sort of keep your wits about you. “Tomura, the door –”

It shuts, keeping Phantom out. The two of you learned that lesson the hard way. Tomura pushed you down in the middle of the bed, but now he pulls you to the end of it, until your legs are dangling over the edge. They’re unsupported for only a second before he props them on his shoulders. It’s embarrassing that you’re so slow on the uptake, but when you figure it out, you sit partway up in shock, staring as Tomura grins up at you from between your legs. “What are you doing?” you ask weakly.

“What does it look like?” Tomura looks way too pleased with himself in the split second before his head disappears under your dress.

He’ll stop if you tell him to. Sometimes you do, and he always complains, but he never refuses. Your head is spinning, and you make one last effort to slow things down. “I can’t reach you from up here.”

His voice is muffled. “Wait your turn,” he says, and a moment later you feel an almost-experimental lap of his tongue against your clit. “I had to wait all day.”

The idea of a human man waiting all day for you to come home so he can throw you on the bed and eat you out is absolutely ridiculous. But Tomura’s a ghost, not a human. You’re not even sure where he got the idea of eating somebody out in the first place. “Have you –” you stutter as he licks again, slower and with more pressure than before. “Have you been watching porn?”

“What’s porn?” Tomura sounds thoroughly uninterested, which is a good thing for you. You don’t want to explain – well, at the moment you’re not good for explaining much of anything. Tomura’s hair tickles against the insides of your thighs, and his hands press eagerly into your hips. Your stomach lurches. “Stop moving. Why are you trying to –”

“The marks.” Your heart is hammering, your body torn between the impulse to lie back and spread your legs wider and the impulse to get up and run. “People will see them. They’ll see them and they’ll know –”

“I don’t care if people know.”

“I do. My friends – my boss –” It gets worse the longer you think about it. “I don’t want them to know what we do.”

Part of you wonders if you’re being ridiculous. You’re an adult, and if you were with a human boyfriend, everyone would assume you were having sex with him. Then again, if you were having sex with a human, you wouldn’t wind up with ghost handprints on your hips that your boss is going to see through your clothes. And Tomura’s not your boyfriend. “I only leave marks when I want to,” Tomura says. He emerges from under your dress, his hair messy and his mouth wet. “You have enough already. Nobody’s going to get confused.”

“So you won’t leave them here?” you ask, and Tomura shakes his head. “Oh. Um, thanks.”

He disappears under your dress again, and you lie back on the bed. The impulse to spread your legs wider is still there, and when Tomura runs his tongue over the length of your entrance before closing his lips around your clit, you give in without a fight. The house is alive around you, humming with electricity and creaking slightly in the early-autumn wind. It’s quiet in your room other than your own harsh, unsteady breathing and the increasingly obscene sounds emanating from under your skirt.

Tomura’s never done this before, so he doesn’t have any bad habits, and based on the direction his explorations take, he’s well on his way to developing good ones. Your entire body feels like it’s being tied in knots, knots that get tighter with every swipe of his tongue. You’re trying not to move, to arch your back or buck your hips. You’re worried that if he has to try too hard to hold you down, he’ll forget about his promise not to leave marks. But in your efforts to stay still, you completely forget about staying quiet.

At first it’s just quiet, desperate sounds leaving your mouth – little gasps, split up here and there with moans when he sucks on your clit or gives your entrance a long, slow lick that makes you wish for something, anything inside you. You could ask Tomura to finger you, and the thought sits fully formed on the tip of your tongue, only to disintegrate when he pushes your legs a little further apart and licks inside of you. The rush of heat that sweeps through you is almost overwhelming. “Tomura –”

“What?” He stops, which was absolutely not what you wanted to happen. You unclench one hand from the blankets on the bed to hit yourself in the forehead. “Am I doing it wrong or something?”

“N-no,” you stammer. You’ve gone from having to convince Tomura that his technique could use some work to having him ask on his own, which is really great for any time except now. “I just, um – no. You’re good. Really good. That’s why I said your name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, wondering why his voice sounds like that. “I don’t want you to stop. Tomura, please don’t –”

You break off in a gasp. Tomura was never the most methodical about this, but he’s thrown himself back into it with an absurd amount of enthusiasm. You feel like you might pass out. It’s hard to think, but you don’t want him to stop again, so you talk, struggling to breathe. “You’re so good at this,” you manage to say. “You’re doing so well. I don’t want you to stop. Tomura, please – ah –”

His grip on your hips tightens. You think you hear him whine. But his lips close around your clit again, teasing you with his tongue, and you lose the ability to focus on anything else. Unclenching your hands from the sheets feels impossible, so you bite your lip instead, managing to restrict the sounds you make as you come to a few desperate moans. In the past you’ve had to tell Tomura to stop or push him away to avoid getting overstimulated, but this time he lets you go in a hurry, emerging from under your dress and scrambling up onto the bed. His mouth and chin are wet and there’s an almost frantic look in his eyes.

“Tomura,” you say, puzzled and breathless. “Are you okay?”

“Tell me again.” Tomura’s mouth presses against yours, and you taste yourself on his lips. He speaks without pulling away. “I did it right. Tell me –”

Now you get it. “You were perfect,” you say, and Tomura presses himself against you, grinding against your thigh. “You did such a good job. You made me feel so good, Tomura. Nobody’s ever made me feel like you do.”

It’s not empty flattery, as much as you might wish it was. You sit up, rolling Tomura from his side to his back and undoing his pants. His cock springs free, and like always, you’re surprised at how big he is – but the few seconds you take to stare is too long for Tomura to wait. His hips thrust uselessly upwards, seeking your hands, and you oblige in a hurry, stroking idly while you look him over. His face is red, the color extending down his neck and beneath his shirt, and his blue-grey hair is glued to his neck and forehead with sweat. He has longer eyelashes than you thought he did. His eyes are dilated to the point where you’re shocked he can see. You’re sure you look like a mess right now. There’s no way you look anything close to this.

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. Tomura’s mouth falls open and a moan escapes him. His hips jerk frantically against your hands as you continue to stroke his cock, as you slide one hand between his legs to fondle him. “You’re so pretty, Tomura. And you make such pretty sounds, too. Listening to you the first time you touched yourself turned me on so bad. I kept imagining what you must have looked like – all sweaty and desperate and so, so pretty –”

Dirty talk never used to be your thing, and this barely counts, but the effect it has on Tomura is mesmerizing. He’s squirming on the bed, worse than you were by a long shot, his hands grasping the sheets or yanking at his shirt. You see his hand rise to scratch at his neck and you stop fondling him to pull it away. “You look even better than I imagined,” you say, holding his hand even as his grip tightens almost to the point of pain. “You look so pretty like this. And the way you sound – there’s nobody in the world who sounds as pretty as you do. You did so well for me just now. Are you close?”

The sound he makes in response is somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and you think, like you always do, that the two of you need to work out how to come at the same time. Touching him invariably winds you up again, and he’s too impatient to let you touch him first. “You’re so good, Tomura,” you say. You can feel the tension in his body increasing, the movements of his hips growing sharp and uneven, and you drag his hand to your mouth, speaking through his fingers. “You’re perfect.”

You usually try to contain the mess he makes with your mouth, but you’re slow this time, too busy watching him fight to hold onto his physical form in the face of an orgasm. Most of his cum winds up on your dress, although some of it ends up on your face. You can live with that, so long as you don’t have to change the sheets on the bed,

You wipe your face with your sleeve and lick your lips, working off a vague sense that it would be rude to wipe your mouth. Guys who want you to swallow get offended by stuff like that. “What does it taste like?” Tomura asks in that raspy, breathless voice that always winds you up.

“It doesn’t taste like anything.” You’re almost eternally grateful for that.

“What do you taste like?”

You cringe a little bit. “Not everything tastes like something else.”

There’s a pattern to things now. Tomura usually dematerializes for a while after the two of you are done, and you do whatever you need to do – showering, to start with – until he comes back. Then you negotiate about the rest of the night, Tomura wanting more, you reminding him that there aren’t unlimited supplies of life-force and doing more today imperils his chances for tomorrow. Most of the time you win. If the pattern is followed, he should be dematerializing right around now. You get up.

Or try to. Tomura grabs you and pulls you back. “Where are you going?”

“The same place I always go.” You try to peel yourself out of his arms, but it doesn’t work. “What? You’re not going to let me go?”

“No. You won’t let me go with you.”

“You don’t need to clean up,” you remind him. “You’ll be fine as soon as you dematerialize and come back.”

“I don’t want to.” One of Tomura’s legs hooks over your hip to hold you in place, another one of those weird things he does that reminds you he’s got no idea how straight guys are supposed to behave. “Don’t leave.”

You don’t want to deal with this right now. You need time alone after you and Tomura hook up to get your head screwed on straight, to remind yourself that this is insane and not normal, to keep it all in perspective. But your track record for getting away from Tomura when he wants to hold onto you is not good, and he’s never acted like this before. You let him pull you back onto the bed. At first he curls himself around you, almost like the two of you are spooning, but then he changes his mind, pushing and pulling at you until you realize that he’s after a complete switch in positions. “If you wanted to be the little spoon, you could just ask.”

“What’s the little spoon?”

“The person in the position you are right now.” You adjust your arm around his waist and press against him from behind. “This is called spooning.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks the way spoons look if you line them up properly in the drawer instead of just throwing them in.” You’re guilty of the latter, but in your defense, you’re usually in a hurry. Tomura makes a skeptical sound. “I’ll show you later.”

He’s cold, but you’re still overheated, and holding him like this helps you cool down. It would help you settle your mind if you weren’t still confused about why this is happening. You could ask Tomura, but when it comes to talking about how he feels, he’s a typical guy. It’s about the only thing about him that’s typical. Tomura doesn’t know what he’s supposed to want, and you have a feeling that he wouldn’t care even if he knew. He wants the things he wants, and while he’s not great at communicating them, you usually figure out where he’s going with it eventually.

It’s quiet for a while, and Tomura’s the one to break the silence. “Did you mean what you said?”

You don’t pretend you don’t understand what he means. “I meant it,” you say. You’re not an expert in praise kinks, but you’re pretty sure it doesn’t work if the praise is false. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Something odd happens to Tomura then – he shivers, or his embodied form fails for a moment, and you instinctively tighten your grip on him. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re pretty, too,” Tomura says instead of answering. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You need to shower, but you can shower later. You adjust your arms around Tomura again and close your eyes.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but you were up late last night and early this morning, and this afternoon’s hookup wore you out more than expected. You don’t sleep for long, but Tomura’s gone when you wake up. You’re curled up around the space where he used to be. You wonder how long it was before he left, and why it’s okay for him to leave you when you’re not supposed to leave him. You hate how lonely it makes you feel.

But you shake it off, like you do any time you start feeling that way about a ghost that can’t understand human feelings, and proceed with the rest of the night. And the rest of the night goes exactly like it usually does. You shower, start the laundry, start making dinner – and Tomura shadows you, angling for a second hookup. He’s getting strategic about that, too.

“You like it when I use my mouth,” he says. “Better than my fingers.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You focus on the food you’re trying to cook, reminding yourself firmly that you’re hungry, not horny. You turn the question around on him. “Which do you prefer? Handjobs or blowjobs?”

“Handjobs,” Tomura says without hesitating. You blink. “You still use your mouth a little bit. And you can talk.”

“The talking really does it for you,” you muse, even though winding Tomura up is the last thing you should be doing if you want to eat dinner any time soon. “Interesting.”

“It’s not interesting. I like your voice.”

That’s not what you expected him to say. You set down your knife so you won’t amputate your fingers and focus on him. He’s looking away, scowling. “You talked to me. I couldn’t figure out how to talk back at first, so I listened. I like your voice.”

“I like yours, too,” you say. Then you think about drowning yourself in the sink and ask a question before Tomura can get too smug about it. “How soon did you talk to me after you figured it out?”

“As soon as I figured it out.” Tomura won’t look at you. “I messed it up the first time and you ran away.”

“You got angry. I didn’t know what you’d do.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you. Or Phantom.” Phantom’s been poking around by Tomura’s feet, pretending she’s not hoping he’ll drop some food. Sure enough, he steals a piece of the carrot you just sliced and drops it on the floor for her. “I helped you before. You knew that.”

“I didn’t know what you’d do when you got angry.” You don’t want to have this conversation again. “I still don’t know.”

“But you’re not scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.” You startle as Tomura’s arms loop around your waist, as his chin notches over your shoulder. “You figured out how to talk just so you could talk to me?”

“I needed to learn anyway,” Tomura says. There’s a pause. “Yeah, I did. So what?”

“Nothing,” you say. Tomura thinks you’re pretty. Tomura taught himself how to materialize and talk so he could talk to you. It’s a good thing he can’t see your face right now. You’re finding it hard not to smile.

Your phone rings from the living room, and you go to investigate it. It’s Aizawa, so you pick up. “What?”

“One of the unbound ghosts has gone missing,” Aizawa says. “When was the last time you ran the search for Garaki?”

“Last week,” you say. You run the search every week. “Do you want me to run it again tomorrow?”

“Tonight,” Aizawa says. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” you protest. “I can’t go in after hours. Mr. Yagi –”

“Call him and ask.” Aizawa hangs up the phone.

“Asshole,” you mutter, and you go ahead and call Mr. Yagi. He picks up on the second ring. “Sir, Aizawa’s worried about something and he wants me to check the database again tonight.”

“Of course,” Mr. Yagi says at once. You grit your teeth. “Update me on what you find, if you find anything. Izuku’s working on generating a map for all the conjurers on the list.”

“And Aizawa wants to come with me,” you add. “That’s not policy, is it?”

“Technically, the database is public record,” Mr. Yagi reminds you. “Just make sure no one spots you.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. You hope he can’t tell that you were hoping he’d say no.

Tomura follows you as you change into your street clothes, clearly unhappy. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the office. I won’t be long.” You stick your head out the front door and realize that it’s gotten colder since the sun went down. You find a hoodie and pull it on. “Aizawa’s just being paranoid.”

“He’s outside,” Tomura says. You don’t question how he knows that. “You didn’t eat yet.”

“I’ll eat when I get back,” you say. You lift your bracelets out of the bowl where you keep your keys and slide them on, then tuck your keys into your pocket before turning to Tomura. He’s either pouting or sulking. “Don’t do that. I’ll be home soon.”

Tomura’s frown deepens and he dematerializes, which annoys you. It’s not like you wanted this to happen. “I was going to give you a kiss goodbye, but since you’re going to be like this –”

“I’m not.” Tomura materializes again, right in front of you, and pushes you back against the wall for a kiss. You feel an odd tingling where his hands touch you and get the sneaking suspicion that he’s marking you again, but it’s only on your shoulders, and it’s not like Aizawa will be able to see it. Tomura draws away. “Go.”

You leave, your head spinning a little bit, and find Aizawa standing just outside the fence. There’s a suspicious-looking bag slung over his shoulder. “We’re not breaking in,” you say.

Aizawa ignores you. He gets into the passenger seat of your car as soon as you unlock it, and the two of you drive out of your neighborhood in complete silence. You’re not pleased with this, and the bad vibes Aizawa’s giving off prove that Tomura’s moods aren’t the only ones that can affect other people. You don’t speak until you’re halfway there. “So what’s up with this ghost who went missing?”

“They haunted an apartment building that came down fifteen years ago. They’ve stayed in the vicinity of their old haunt,” Aizawa says. “We sent Keigo and the others to speak to them, to see if they’d seen or heard anything. There was no sign of them anywhere in the city.”

“Which means – what?” you ask. Aizawa doesn’t answer, and it pisses you off. “They could have just left.”

“A ghost like that doesn’t just leave.”

“Maybe they decided to,” you argue. “Or they could have embodied themselves. There are a lot of things that could have happened that aren’t ‘they got snatched by a conjurer’. Can ghosts even be killed?”

Mr. Yagi said they could, but he also didn’t tell you how. “They can,” Aizawa says shortly. “If they clash with a being of greater power – another ghost, or a conjurer – their spirit can be blasted apart and scattered. Each shred retains some small piece of consciousness, but there are so many that there’s no way to piece them back together.”

“Conjurers can do that?”

“They threaten it when binding unwilling ghosts,” Aizawa says. “Eri and Magne both report receiving that threat, although it’s doubtful that Chisaki could have carried it out, given how easily Hizashi defeated him.”

You never appreciate a reminder of how strong Hizashi is. It makes it harder not to be scared of him. “The worst a conjurer can do to a human is kill them,” Aizawa continues. “The worst that can be done to a ghost condemns them to eternal torment. Most ghosts are hesitant to confront a conjurer, and the fear remains even once they’re embodied permanently. We were surprised that Tomura was able to convince Atsuhiro.”

You were surprised, too. But you’ve got something else on your mind. “So it’s just a power game. They clash and the strongest one wins,” you clarify, and Aizawa nods. “What if they’re equally powerful?”

“Then it comes down to a test of will,” Aizawa says. “The stronger-willed of the two will win, and in ghost-conjurer conflicts, the conjurer is the stronger one.”

“Why?”

“They’re human,” Aizawa says simply. “Humans don’t want to die.”

It’s quiet again in the car. You make the turn into the courthouse parking lot and choose a spot that’s hard to see on the security cameras. Aizawa speaks again as you’re turning off the engine. “If you’re worried about Tomura, don’t. There’s no conjurer on the planet stupid enough to cross your property line.”

“I’m not worried about Tomura,” you say. You’re lying. “What’s in the bag?”

Aizawa unzips it, revealing – “A gun?” you squeak. “There are metal detectors. You can’t bring that in!”

“The metal detectors are on the way into the courthouse, not the public defenders’ office.” Aizawa zips up the bag again. “Conjurers are still human. It takes a lot of ghostly power to stop a bullet.”

You were already unhappy about this whole thing. Now it’s worse. You pull up your hood and get out of the car. “Just keep it hidden. Mr. Yagi told us not to be seen.”

The two of you sneak across the parking lot, keeping to the shadows. If anybody spots you, you look suspicious as hell. You unlock the door to the office, lock it again behind Aizawa and yourself, and sneak through the halls until you reach your cubicle. “I’m just running the Garaki search again,” you warn. “Then I’m out.”

“Fine.” Aizawa leans against the wall behind you, scanning the office.

He’s acting like he thinks someone’s in here, hunting the two of you. It’s making you uneasy. You ignore it as best you can and focus on the search, cross-referencing both identities and coming up with the same points of connection as always. Then, because you got dragged out here and you might as well be thorough, you focus on the city Aizawa’s worried about and run a library search for public records-adjacent documents – the kind of things that are publicly available, but aren’t considered national government property. When you run the wider search, something pops up that didn’t before; a business license, for a clinic in the same city. You draw Aizawa’s attention to it and he pulls out his phone to search. Meanwhile, you keep looking. You find a record of property taxes on the location of the clinic, paid by check. There’s a scan of the checks attached, with the same name over and over again – Garaki Kyudai.

Aizawa swears. “He’s not listed as one of the staff – he’s listed as the clinic’s founder. It’s been there for decades. Long enough to have summoned that ghost.”

“Why would he kill his own ghost? I thought they avoided killing conduits.” There’s a newspaper article, a recent one. You try to open it, hit a paywall, and start looking for a way around it. “Have you heard from Keigo and the others since they said they couldn’t find the ghost?”

“No.” When you glance back at Aizawa, he’s got his phone to his ear.

You get around the paywall and start reading. The article’s about the sale of historic old house in the city, one that’s been in the same family – the Ujiko family, fuck – for over a hundred years. It went on the market last week, by order of the last descendent of the Ujiko family, and – “Aizawa, I’ve got a picture of him!”

“Print it,” Aizawa orders. You do, in color, and meanwhile, whoever Aizawa’s trying to call picks up the phone. “Keigo, where are you?”

You can hear Keigo loud and clear, even though he’s not on speaker. “We’re on our way home. Can you give us a ride back from the station? It was supposed to be Jin’s mom’s turn, but it got kind of late.”

Aizawa glances at you. “Sure, but somebody has to sit in the back,” you say. You hop up to retrieve the article from the printer and come back. “Ask him if there was any sign of ghostly power in the city. Specifically in the neighborhoods. Um –”

You scan the article, pass the name to Aizawa, and wait. “No,” Atsuhiro says into the phone. “We found nothing, not even traces. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll meet you at the train station.” Aizawa hangs up the phone and turns to you. “Garaki was there, now he isn’t, and a ghost is gone. We need to figure out where he went.”

“I’ll see if there’s a forwarding address.” You find the name of the realtor involved with selling the house, pick up your work phone, and make a call. It’s after hours, but a realtor selling a house this fancy might pick up.

Aizawa is tapping his foot, clearly impatient, while the phone rings twice, then picks up. You leap into the conversation first. “Hello, this is –” you check the article for the reporter’s name and borrow it as an alias. “I made an error in the article I wrote about the house and misquoted the doctor. Would you happen to know where I could get ahold of him to correct it?”

Realtors are a lot more gullible than you thought they were. You find a pen but not a piece of paper and end up scribbling the address on the back of your hand. It doesn’t look familiar, which is a good thing. “It’s not here.”

“We need to keep it that way. He’ll have to be lured even further away.” Aizawa slides the printed-out article into his bag. “For now, we need to retrieve the others.”

The two of you sneak back out to your car. You drive to the train station, sticking to the speed limit like your life depends on it, while Aizawa peruses the newspaper article for more details. “Garaki is older than we thought. At least old enough to have summoned Tomura – but he would have summoned Tomura before Dabi. It doesn’t make sense unless he lost a significant amount of power in the interim, which wouldn’t have happened if he was using Tomura as a conduit.”

“I don’t think it was him,” you say.

“The evidence is more compelling the other way,” Aizawa agrees, “but we can’t rule anything out.”

“If we can’t rule anything out, then we need to think about whether he’s Hizashi’s conjurer,” you say. You see Aizawa’s shoulders stiffen. “If he’s two hundred and fifty years old, he’s old enough to have summoned Hizashi, too – and since Hizashi wanted to escape the world between, he wouldn’t have had to try too hard.”

“Hizashi said no.”

“Hizashi said he doesn’t remember,” you correct. “If Garaki was his conjurer, too –”

“It’s immaterial.” Aizawa cuts you off. “If Garaki finds us, we’re all in danger. We’re almost to the train station, and we don’t have any solid conclusions. We shouldn’t tell the others until we’re sure.”

You don’t like this secret-keeping thing. “But you’re going to tell Hizashi.”

“And you plan to tell Tomura,” Aizawa retorts. You would if Tomura cared about this at all. “What happens in our respective households stays there. But there’s no reason to throw the entire neighborhood into a panic with news that Dabi’s conjurer is on the move.”

“Fine,” you say. “But we can’t sit on this for long. Two days and we’ll tell everyone what we know. Whatever we know.”

“Fine,” Aizawa says. He’s silent for the rest of the drive, until you pull into the train station parking lot and he sandbags you with this: “Keigo and I would be grateful if you encouraged Tomura to keep a lid on his – feelings. Dabi has next to no self-control, and Hizashi’s self-control, while impressive, is not up to this task. Some restraint on his part, or yours, would be appreciated.”

It takes you a second to interpret that one, and once you do, your face goes up in flames. Tomura’s apparently so horny that he’s making the two other non-asexual ghosts horny enough that their partners are asking you for help. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I, um – I’ll see what I can do.”

Aizawa leans his seat back and closes his eyes. “Good.”

The silence in the car after that is extremely awkward, and you’re grateful when Jin, Keigo, Spinner, and Atsuhiro all pile into the car. Rather than one person sitting in the back, all four of them squeeze into the backseat, with Keigo sprawled out across the other three’s laps. Spinner wants to tell you about the day’s events, Atsuhiro wants to sleep, and Jin wants to go to McDonald’s. Jin is the loudest one. You pull into the drive-through.

As much as you’re tempted by the fast food, you have food at home, and you’ve sort of lost your appetite. Fear over the threat of the conjurers, discomfort at the idea of withholding information from the rest of the neighborhood, and the sheer cringe of being told to make your ghost less horny will do that to you. It’s a relief to drop everyone off at their respective houses, Aizawa in particular, and pull into your own driveway.

The first thing you notice when you open the front door is the smell. It smells like food cooking, and it doesn’t smell burnt. Did Tomura let somebody else in the house to cook something? He must have, and the evidence gets stronger when you hear footsteps through house towards you. But when you look up, there’s no one there except Tomura, and Phantom trotting at his side. “Take your bracelets off. You’re supposed to take them off when you get to the neighborhood.”

You know that. You just forgot, because you were busy trying to convince Jin to let you stop the car before he got out. You slide them off your wrists and drop them into the bowl with your keys. “Did you let someone in the house?”

“Why would I let somebody in the house?” Tomura looks annoyed that you’d even consider it. “You had to leave before you were done cooking, so I finished it.”

“You – what?” You’ve heard terrible things about ghost cooking from everybody whose ghost gave it a shot. Even the embodied ones aren’t very good at it. “How?”

“I’ve seen you make it. I did what you do.” Tomura catches your wrist, fingers closing around the same spot where the bracelet was and pulling you along. “Come on.”

You were making soup before you left. It’s kind of hard to mess up soup, but then again, you’ve heard stories from Shinsou about Hizashi managing to mess up instant noodles. The kitchen looks sort of like a bomb went off in it, but none of the ingredients scattered around look wrong for the soup you usually make. When you peer into the pot on the stove, nothing strikes you as immediately wrong. “Are you going to try it?” Tomura asks impatiently. You pick up a spoon and dip it in. “Well?”

Your ghost can cook. Somehow you got the only ghost in the neighborhood that can cook – or at least the only ghost who can copy what their human did exactly enough that there’s little difference in taste. You retrieve a bowl and a ladle and fill it up, then switch off the burner and put a lid on the pot to trap the heat in. Tomura follows you as you head for the kitchen table. “I did it right,” he says. You nod. Your mouth is too full to talk. “I know how to make other things, too.”

You’re not sure you trust him with anything more complicated yet, or maybe at all. “Maybe we can work on it together. It’s probably boring for you to just stand there and watch me.”

“Watching you isn’t boring.”

That’s not what you were expecting him to say. “Oh.”

It’s quiet for a little while. Phantom comes to nap at your feet and you keep eating your soup, thanking your lucky stars that you skipped the fast food tonight. “I wish I could taste things,” Tomura says out of nowhere. You eat another spoonful of soup, burning your tongue in favor of displaying your shock. “I’d be better at it if I could.”

“Not necessarily. I can taste things and the things I cook still aren’t very good sometimes.” You’ve heard Aizawa theorize that the fact that former ghosts have tastebuds is what gets them into trouble with cooking – they judge taste by the strength of the flavor, and they can’t distinguish between flavors that are good and flavors that are bad. You focus on Tomura. “This is really good, though. Thank you.”

Tomura looks pleased with himself. “I know.”

You eat a second helping of the soup and put the rest away for lunch tomorrow, and then, even though it’s later than usual, you decide you want to watch something before you go to bed. It’s less that you want to watch something and more that you want to hang out with Tomura a little longer, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. The two of you settle onto your usual couch cushions, and Phantom hops up into her spot on the middle one, getting comfortable. You pass the remote off to Tomura. “I don’t care what we see. You pick.”

Tomura gives you a skeptical look. “You hate what I pick.”

You hated it when you thought it was giving him ideas. There’s no point now that it turns out he can get ideas all on his own. “Not tonight I don’t.”

Tomura’s always a bit like a kid in a candy store when he gets ahold of the remote. You watch the light flicker across his face as he scrolls through show after show and finally settles on the last thing you were expecting him to choose. “You don’t want to watch that,” you say.

“It says it’s a disaster movie. I like those.”

He does. One time you made the mistake of watching Twister and then had to spend the rest of the night explaining how tornadoes work – and then showing him videos on YouTube when he realized you didn’t know what you were talking about. “This isn’t that kind of disaster movie.”

“The ship sinks, doesn’t it?” Tomura doesn’t wait for your answer before he presses play on Titanic.

The two of you get through the opening of the movie in the usual fashion. Tomura keeps asking you questions, missing part of the movie while you answer, and then asking more questions about what he missed. It takes him a little bit to grasp the framing device. Ghosts don’t have the same sense of time as people do, and you have to explain why the same character is being played by two different actors a few times before he gets it. And then he’s confused, confused to the point where he makes you pause the movie. “Why is this happening? When is the ship going to sink?”

“We can fast-forward to that part,” you say, probably a little too eagerly. “Do you want to do that?”

“I want to know why this is happening.” Tomura gestures at the screen. “Do you know? Or is this like the tornadoes again?”

He’s never going to let you forget about that. You sigh. “All this stuff is happening because the filmmakers want the people watching the movie to care about the characters. To understand what they want and want it, too.”

“Why?”

“So it matters to you when the ship sinks with all these people on it.”

“How many people are on it?”

“Uh – around two thousand.”

“Two thousand?” Tomura looks floored, probably because he’s never seen a group of people larger than forty or fifty. “How many of them die?”

You probably know a little too much about this shipwreck for comfort. You were kind of a weird kid. “About fifteen hundred of them. Give or take a few.”

“How do they die?”

You should have known Tomura was going to fixate on the body count. “Let’s just fast-forward to that part.”

You’ve been fast-forwarding for about two seconds when Tomura stops you. “Go back.”

“Why?” you ask. Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You hate that look. “Why do you want to watch all the boring stuff?”

“To see if they can make me care about it.” Tomura settles back onto his couch cushion, looking smug. “I bet they can’t.”

Now you get it. He’s decided it’s a game and he wants to win. You rewind back, resigning yourself to a whole lot of explaining over the next hour and a half.

But you don’t have to explain quite as much as you thought you were going to. Some of the things you thought Tomura would fixate on are nonevents, because he was summoned and bound to the house in the same era as Titanic sank. He’s not confused by the lack of phones or the weirdly elaborate clothes – when you look at the clothes he materializes in, the shirt and pants are similar in style to what some of the characters wear in the movie. After extracting some assurances from you that the movie’s going to go into lots of detail about how the ship sinks, Tomura starts asking other questions, usually about the characters. And sometimes he doesn’t have questions. He has opinions.

“That one is stupid. I don’t like him,” he says of one character. You ask him why. “She’s scared of him. I can tell. He gets in her space when she doesn’t want him to and he grabs her and pulls her around. You had to tell me that stuff, but he’s a human. He should know already.”

“He does know,” you say. “He wants her to be scared of him.”

Tomura looks like the thought’s never crossed his mind, which is ridiculous, given that he’s a ghost who was summoned specifically to haunt and terrorize people. “Aren’t they supposed to get married?”

“Yeah.” You unpause the movie and up the volume. The last thing you want is for Tomura to start asking questions about marriage.

You were worried Tomura was going to have a bunch of questions about the love story, but he keeps mostly quiet on that front, which is a relief for you. He also doesn’t spend a bunch of time talking about how stupid it is, which is less of a relief. Most of his annoyance is focused on the characters for caring about the diamond necklace that keeps getting passed around, because it’s a rock and it’s stupid that humans care about rocks that much. The only question he asks about the love story serves as yet another reminder that ghosts don’t understand humans very well. “Why do they treat that one that way?”

“Because he’s poor and they’re not,” you say. “They think you should marry your own kind.”

“They’re both humans. That’s the same kind,” Tomura says. “Humans are humans. It’s stupid.”

“Humans divide ourselves up by all kinds of stupid things,” you say. When you think about it, it’s a really long, really pointless list. “We kill each other over a lot of that stuff, too. Or we have in the past. People say this stuff is old-fashioned, but a lot of them still feel this way. They don’t say it like that, though. They’d say those two don’t have enough in common. Their life experiences are too different. That kind of thing.”

“Humans are stupid,” Tomura says. He looks weirdly unnerved. “The ship had better sink soon.”

The scene changes and you breathe a sigh of relief. “Yep. Right now.”

The disaster portion of the movie clearly lives up to Tomura’s expectations. He shuts up for the most part, focused on the screen. You have to admit that the movie does a good job of laying things out: Ship sinking, ship sinking fast, not enough lifeboats, water too cold, et cetera. You don’t have to explain anything at all. You’ve seen this one enough times that you don’t feel guilty zoning out, but you don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until Tomura starts shaking your shoulder. “Why are they staying behind?”

You squint at the screen. “Women and children first.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know,” you say. The rationale behind that was never clear to you, and if you can’t figure it out, there’s no way you’re going to try to explain it to Tomura. You don’t want a repeat of the tornado thing. “This is basically the only shipwreck in history where they did that, though. On most wrecks men took all the boats and the women and children drowned.”

“You’re a woman.”

“Yep.” You remember imagining how you’d escape from Titanic as a kid, then running the same thought experiment as an adult and realizing that you probably wouldn’t. “Anyway, I don’t know why they did it like that instead of the other way.”

“It’s stupid,” Tomura says. You flop over the arm of the couch and decide to forget about it.

You must be really tired, because you fall back asleep in spite of the noise from the movie. The next thing you wake up to is Phantom crawling onto your lap – or Phantom, still mostly asleep, being dropped onto your lap by Tomura. At first you’re confused, but then you feel the cushions shift as Tomura settles into the spot Phantom was in before. He’s moving quietly, trying not to wake you up, but you wake up anyway. “What –”

“Nothing. Shut up.”

You roll your eyes, and catch a glimpse of the screen in the process. The ship’s vanished. “The good part’s done. Want me to turn it off?”

“No,” Tomura says. Phantom makes herself comfortable in your lap. “Go back to sleep.”

He’s acting strangely. You pretend to go back to sleep, keeping your breathing even and your eyes mostly shut, alternating between watching the screen and watching Tomura on the cushion next to you. He’s still focused in spite of the fact that the ship’s already sunk. He usually gets focused at some point when he’s watching a movie, but this time, his expression’s different than the usual interest. He looks unhappy, but if he’s unhappy, why wouldn’t he let you turn it off? Why is he studying the screen like his existence depends on the outcome of this barely-a-disaster move? You let him think you’re asleep through most of the wrap-up, and take your time waking up when he starts shaking your shoulder again. “What does this mean?”

It’s the last scene. “Her ditching the necklace?”

“No. This stuff. Why is she on the boat again? It sank. And she’s not old anymore either. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Oh,” you say. Suddenly you understand why he’s confused. “I guess it wouldn’t make sense to you. Ghosts don’t die.”

Aizawa told you they do, but he also called it eternal torment, not death, so you’re going to go ahead and assume that dead for ghosts and dead for humans are two separate concepts. Tomura looks pissed. “She’s dead?”

“She’s a hundred and one. Humans aren’t supposed to live that long.” You were faking sleep too convincingly, and now you’re actually tired. You smother a yawn. “This part – she’s dead. She died in her sleep. This is her meeting everybody again in the afterlife.”

“Is that what happens?”

You’re way too tired for this. “We don’t know. People don’t,” you say. You have a feeling ghosts might, but if Tomura knew, he wouldn’t be asking this question. “Some people think it’s like falling asleep. You’re just gone, forever. Other people think it’s like in the movie – when you die, you see everybody you love who died before you, and you’re all together forever. But like I said, we don’t know. And I don’t think about it too much. It’s probably the sleep thing, anyway. The other way would be too nice.”

You’re rambling. “Does that make any sense?”

Tomura dematerializes. That makes twice in one night. “Okay. Good talk.”

You switch off the movie before the theme song can really kick in and weigh your options. You could boot Phantom off your lap and head upstairs for the night, or you could twist around and fall asleep on the couch. You choose door number two, stopping just long enough to pull your phone out of your pocket and set an alarm. You got a text from Aizawa about two seconds ago, too: When I asked you to address the situation, I didn’t mean to do it like this.

You don’t know what ‘like this’ means, and you’re too tired to care. You set your phone screen-down on the coffee table and go to sleep.

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