#They're still not making it out of their chapters

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: annnd we've made it to velaris ! yippee !! now it's time for all the introductions >:D i hope you enjoy pls let me know what you think angels <3 ok mwah bye

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

CHAPTER EIGHT :: STRANGERS (AGAIN)

The air all around you is sickly sweet.

Maybe... sweet is the wrong word. The air is clean; perfumed with an allure of scents you've never smelt before, heady and swirling, sweet and sterile all in one.

But more importantly, it is utterly foreign.

You're in unknown territory. Age old instinct has you shifting the moment you wake, surging up in a rush before your memory can catch up and remind you why that's an terribly bad idea.

The sheets rustle as you push yourself up into a sitting position, a heavy dose of panic already poisoning your system. It doesn't take long for the pain to follow.

You falter in your movement as an aching agony ricochets through your body, forcing out a wince. Your eyes screw up in pain. Your entire body feels like a bruise, punishing you with every movement.

You allow yourself only a moment of pause before you force them back open to take on the new threat, every sense filtering in unknown information as they sluggishly come to life. You have to blink rapidly to clear your vision, light coming in from all angles.

Why does it feel as though you've been asleep for years?

Where are you?

A room. You're not outside which is where you memory places you last. The extent of the memory drifts back as you search the room, your eyes climbing the walls, ravenous for details. They're made of some kind of warm coloured stone that covers the whole ceiling, you realise, as you follow the line of it up.

You screw your eyes up again and blink hard when you open them again. Every sense keeps pinging for your attention, a thousand things unfamiliar. The bed beneath is too soft, the sound of the wind outside isn't a whistle, the clothes on your back...

You startle, stumbling off the bed you've awoken on as you peer down at yourself, eyes moving about wildly. You're wearing... something completely new.

Frowning down at your arm, you raise one of your hands and pinch at the new fabric that covers the expanse of your arms. It's soft. So soft.

You tentatively smooth your hands down the tunic you're clothed in, all the way down to your pants. Each thing is finely made, with details far smaller that you would ever consider, and soft. Warm but sturdy.

What the fuck? Your chest starts to heave as panic truly sets in, your breath just out of reach before you can catch it. You gasp, grasping at your chest tightly, the new clothes scrunching up beneath your fingers. Memories begin to trickle back in as your mind scours for any information about how you ended up here.

You had been... cold. It was raining.

And your wings had been—your wings—your brain trips over the thoughts as every detail bleeds back in, sudden and frightening.

Stakes driven through the flesh of them, your wings pulled taut, stretched out for lashings and prepped for removal. Your terror climbs, its cloying grip tightening around your sternum like a fist.

Eyes screwed closed, you pray to every deity you can imagine, begging the Mother for this one thing.

You twitch the familiar muscle and feel the weight of your wings as they respond. There's no describing the relief that bursts within you, overwhelming your panic in an instant, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. They're still moving, still stretching out as you command them, still yours.

You stand there and peer over your shoulder, stretching your wings out as far as you can—cringing when they stop before full extension, buckling and bunching up at the violent spike of pain that ripples through them. It echoes through your body, making you hunch forward and grit your teeth. Your left eardrum wails extra loud.

What had happened? What had changed?

You could recall the finality of being down on your knees in the pouring rain, your hands are bound as your fate. Endless agony. The secret you couldn't keep, despite all you had tried.

You had been resigned to it—to dying there amongst in the dirt from where you had come from.

So, what changed?

Behind you, there's an abrupt noise from behind a door in the room, a rustling that makes your head snap around to face it.

Someone’s coming.

You stumble back a couple steps, dread mounting in your chest and your panic returns in full-force. You don't know where you are, you don't know how you got here, you don't know who is coming through that door.

You know that you have a lot more foes than you do friends.

Eyes darting around the room frantically, you spot a balcony down a small hallway and don't waste a single second.

As you begin to stride, you realise faintly that you're without shoes, feet bare on the cool marble floor. It turns to carpet beneath you as your fast strides transforms to a run, hearing the door open somewhere behind you.

It feels like a trap. Not the nice clothes or the fancy room would be enough to fool you. You're caught in a sickly sweet trap of honey and the net is being reined in, the ropes closing up on every side of you. It feels like you're being chased.

Heart in your throat and pulse rabbiting wildly, you burst through the doors of the balcony, daring a glance behind you without thought—

—and you nearly plunge off the edge of a mountain.

The gasp that escapes your throat is entirely involuntary, your fingers gripping the edge of the stone railing the adorns the balcony.

Your balance tips momentarily, the momentum of your dash nearly pulling you over. Terror freezes you. You're fairly certain with the state of your wings, it would be a short flight and an almost guaranteed casualty.

But a wind blows gently against your face, as though helping push you back to safety.

When you're sure you're not going to topple over the edge, some of your crippling panic eases. Your breathes, short and fast, begin to slow.

Your eyes travel up from the daunting height of the mountain side and widen, all the air in your lungs stolen in pure surprise.

Because before you, stretching out across the land that meets the sea, is something you've never seen before.

It's... a city.

A city that sits amongst the rolling, steep hills of the terrain and curls around a meandering river that leads out to the ocean. Tall, jagged mountains surround it from all sides, their hills steep up the top until they give way to gentler slopes, eventually becoming paved roads and streets for magnificent buildings.

The structures gleam, even from afar, made with precision and beauty in mind. Some are white marble or warm sandstone, others the same red stone of the mountains beside the one you're standing on. Small, quaint houses with green copper roofs, their white chimneys smoking softly.

Your breath stutters out in an exhale and you don't dare blink.

A city—a sprawling, wondrous city that was bursting with people, with colour, with life. So utterly unlike the chilled gray-scale of the Illyrian Mountains.

In fact, you wonder briefly if this was even the Night Court at all. This— this incredible sight felt like something you'd imagined of Summer or Spring, imbued with warmth, a place where things could grow and thrive.

The Night Court was... foul. It was the biting frigid cold of the wintry mountains or the shudder-inducing darkness of the court that lay beneath the mountain. This... where is this?

As though you've spoken your thoughts aloud, a voice answers from behind you.

"Velaris."

You start, whipping around fast enough to reawaken all your wounds, forcing you to stifle a pained noise that leaps up your throat. Your heart thunders as your eyes lay upon an unfamiliar figure, stepping out from the empty hallway—a form cut from the very night itself.

Your hands grip the stone railing behind you and you're unsure whether it's to keep your knees from buckling in fear or from bolting off the edge, into uncertain skies.

He's unfamiliar to you, yes, but you have a feeling you know exactly who he is.

"You asked where this—" The male waves a casual hand to the city beyond the balcony before pocketing it, either unaware of your panic or uncaring. "—is. You're in Velaris."

He surveys you, his violet eyes glancing down at the strained way you clutch at the railing.

"I know you must have a thousand questions. We haven't been introduced. My name is Rhysand and I am—"

"I know who you are." You interrupt. There's a lilt of fear in your voice but you couldn't keep it out even if you tried. He's the fucking Highlord of the Night Court.

Which means—Azriel.

His name slams into you like a shooting star, glowing hotly and dripping through your ribcage with a fire warmer than you've ever known.

Azriel must be— he was the one- he's the reason you're still alive. It feels like you relive the relief of his appearance during the storm all over again, remembering that he came back for you.

You have no idea the cacophony of emotion you're giving off, shouting all your unguarded thoughts across the balcony.

Rhysand's cool expression doesn't falter at your disruption. He looks at ease, both hands in his pockets, like he's merely having a conversation with a friend.

"Then it's important for you to know," He continues. "that I mean you no harm."

Lying, lying, liar, LIAR—the thought festers from within you instinctively, only growing in its urgency. You and everyone else where you come from are well aware of the origins of your Highlord.

And while he's your ruler, he's first and foremost, an Illyrian male.

"Only half," Rhysand corrects.

You startle, sickly surprise at the fact he seems to be able to read your very thoughts.

Then he confirms it, by saying, "And I can."

"You can read my thoughts?" You echo, voice sounding so much meeker than you intend. You sound like a child—and you feel like one, feel like the same eight-year-old staring down at the scorched brown earth in Exordor. Old blood. The same dirt you had been forced to kneel upon that now makes you shudder at the fresh memory.

Rhysand's expression falters momentarily at your train of thought, a flash of hurt on his handsome face.

His eyebrows draw together, forming a sympathetic, troubled look. "I can teach you how to shield them, if you so wish."

You don't make a noise. You don't even dare to take a breath, your fingers still crushed around the railing.

Within you, some part of you knows what he's offering. What the very nature of his words implies. He voices it anyway.

"You're no prisoner here. You're free to—”

"Where's Azriel?" The question falls from your lips before you can even think to stop it. Fear hammers through your chest—Fae that make a habit of interrupting Highlord's often find their lives cut short.

But Rhysand gives no impression that he minds. All he does is step to the side, revealing the empty hallway out to the balcony.

Except it's not empty anymore.

There, standing back to hide in the shadows as he did best, is your Shadowsinger.

Reserved and holding back, clearly waiting for you to remember him, to make your call before he made himself known. Making sure you wanted to see him at all.

Azriel, all 6ft something of shadow and muscle, with his wings tucked politely behind him, takes one step out on to the balcony and towards you.

His hands stay at his sides and his hazel eyes watch you with a familiar intensity. Something deep within you unfurls at the sight of him.

It feels like the collision of a thousand stars rain down on you, their jagged, burning fragments pelting into your body.

It's as though the world had been falling out from underneath and then, seeing him before you—when Cauldron knows how long ago you had been resolutely convinced you were never ever going to see him again— suddenly your feet were grounded and the world was still.

You breathe out his name. Azriel sways forward, almost imperceptibly, as though the sound of his name on your lips was a siren call he was helpless to fight.

You don't know that you say it sweeter than he's ever heard it in all his centuries.

Like following an invisible tug, you don't even realise when you start moving, only that you're rushing towards him with an urgency you can't begin to comprehend. It's like he's calling to you and you can't bear to be this close to him and not press in closer.

His beautiful face, usually guarded, reveals a glimpse into his storm of emotions. Concern, care, and something that looks suspiciously like... longing.

Your brain catches up and your feet falter, bringing you to a stand still before him, chest heaving.

Reason starts to catch up to you, asking meanly about what exactly you meant to do, running up to him—you weren't raised with physical touch beyond violence. You and Azriel had barely touched beyond sparring and those quiet nights in your shelter, skin brushing as you passed something to the other.

In the end, it's not you that moves, it's Azriel.

He closes the distance between you with one single step and his strong arms sweep around your middle, pulling you into the tightest hug. Night-chilled mist and cedar swirl your senses.

Helpless to do anything else, with no desire to do anything but this, you melt.

Your weight slumps into Azriel and he takes it without question, your arms curling around his neck to hold him back just as tightly. The light around you shifts, his shadows frenzied as they kiss along your neck and arms, all checking for hurt they can ease. Your heart is torn between soaring and stopping altogether.

The world fades away as his head ducks down, pressing his face the crook of your neck. It's more touch than you've ever known. More safety, more kindness than you've ever dreamed of. You and Azriel seem to exist only in a cocoon of shadow and warmth, in each others arms.

"You're alright," Azriel murmurs, his breath against your neck. It sounds more like he's reassuring himself than telling you. He sounds devastatingly sincere when he says, "I'm so fucking glad you're alright."

"Thanks to you," You whisper back, not wanting to break the silence. "You—"

The words get caught in your throat and you know you need to see his face when you say this. Pulling back from the embrace, you clear your throat as Azriel straightens up. You miss the heat of his body almost instantly.

"I-I thought I was never going to see you again."

It looks as though your words pain Azriel, a flash of pain and shame crossing his expression. His voice, low and gravelly, holds a guilty tone you've never heard him use before.

"I never should have left."

You blink. That wasn't what you had expected him to say in the least. It was you who had lied, who had deceived him from the very beginning. He was— he had— this was what you got for letting anyone get close to you, you understood that.

You shake your head, pointedly ignoring how it makes your injuries throb. "I know why you did, Azriel. I can't imagine—"

Azriel's scarred hands clench into fists at his sides, anguish colouring his face.

"No." He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing."

"Then why did you leave?" Your questions comes out with an edge this time, a biting fury as your emotions process what he's saying.

He says you did nothing wrong. He says he shouldn't have left you behind. It's a ugly mixture of hurt and anger that paints your insides as realisations churn to the surface.

Azriel steals a glance to the side, serving as a quick reminder that there was, indeed, someone else still out on the balcony with you. You glimpse at the Highlord as your anger begins to bubble but you can't bring yourself to care.

You had... trusted him— you had let him in, let him get closer to you than anyone ever had, and he had left. He left, he left, he left. He did exactly as you had feared and he was wrong for it.

The greatest secret of your life, exposed like a raw nerve, and he hadn't said a word as he deserted you.

Your heart warbles at the betrayal and you can't help but step back, putting distance between the two of you. It's such a far cry from the nearness of a moment ago.

And even though you know he wasn't responsible for the events that followed, in the haze of your upset, it's awfully easy to add it to his betrayal. As if in response, your wings flinch and shudder as a wave of agony passes through them. You wince, gritting your teeth and turning your gaze to the ground.

"I can leave to give you both some privacy," Rhysand cuts into the conversation, evidently answering Azriel's pointed glance in his direction. "However, I don't think it will be overtly helpful. She's shouting every thought so loudly, I think I'll be able to hear it from the other side of the house."

She. It's been so many years since anyone has used that in reference to you that it nearly winds you, your entire body giving a visible flinch.

It feels foreign. You can't quite tell how you feel about it; whether it's some lost part of yourself to reclaim or whether it's something you've outgrown altogether.

You don't get time to consider it further as, bustling as she walks, a fourth Fae steps out onto the balcony. She's an older female in appearance but certainly not in her sprightliness. Her eyes land on you and they lighten up, as though you're the one she's been searching for.

"You are supposed to be resting." She tsks, without much further explanation. Your heart sinks, already feeling as though you're in trouble. Rhysand, reading your abrupt switch from anger, jumps in to explain.

"Madja, here-" He gestures to the female with a polite smile- "is our resident healer. She's been taking care of you over these last couple days, helping to heal your wings."

A severe reminder of the sorry state that had been in not too long ago. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes glaze over as they take in the dozens of scattered markings that litter your wings. Irreversible. Your glorious love, changed forever.

There's patches over the ends that you hadn't noticed before, covering where you know the stakes had been. You suddenly feel an immense rush of gratitude towards the stranger before you.

"Thank you," You say, your throat thick. You want to say it again, want to repeat it over and over til your lungs bleed because just once doesn't seem enough.

But Madja nods in a grave way, as though she knows your internal turmoil.

"You weren't supposed to be up and moving quite so soon," She says, this time with less disapproval in her voice.

She directs a more withering look towards Rhysand and Azriel, enough to surprise you. Perhaps, healers held a higher rank within the city than they did in the mountains? The whole scene looks like a mother scolding her naughty children, especially with how both males shrink beneath her glare.

"Anyhow, come now," She turns back to you and gives a gentle wave of her weathered hand, ushering you back inside. "You'll need at least a days rest before you should be back on your feet."

You amble in her direction, too fearful to glance back at the Highlord and too conflicted to turn back to Azriel. You had broken his trust with you deceit but... he had broken your trust back.

He had abandoned you when you needed him most. But he had also turned up during your darkest hour and saved your life.

You weren't sure what you wanted to do more; hug him once more or throw a shoe at his head. Probably both would make you feel better.

From behind you, you swear you hear a faint chuckle of amusement.

—

When it's just the two of them on the balcony, Rhys turns to Azriel, ignoring his brother's unsubtle sullen demeanor.

"So," He grins. "Mates, then?"

Azriel casts a glance across the balcony, still rigid and unmoving from his spot. His shadows perk up at the word but Azriel gives no reaction beyond a twitch in his jaw muscle. Debating whether to respond at all.

Finally, he mutters, "How could you tell?"

Rhys tilts his head back, chuckling quietly, his mind cast back to an old, fond memory. His violet eyes slice back to his Azriel and he gives a little shrug. "A hunch, really. I think I might have enough to start a theory actually."

He wanders over and nudges Azriel with his shoulder, breaking him from his frozen spot and nodding for them to both head indoors. Rather reluctantly, the Shadowsinger falls into step. Side by side, Rhys gives him only a moment of quiet to stew in before he pipes up once more.

"Say— how much do you remember Cassian and Nesta's first meeting? Any flying projectiles?"

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[toxophilitis]

Spread, Auntie, Spread cont

CHAPTER FIVE

By the time Lori arrived in the living room, Marty had been invited in by the two kids. He was sitting on the couch, her niece and nephew nearby, chattering up a storm.

Lori frowned at them, but they paid no attention to her. "Would you like a drink, Marty?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied, grinning at her. "You know I like these two."

"They're little pests, that's what they are," she said, going to the kitchen to mix him a drink. "If they bother you, swat them on the behind!"

When Lori brought the drink to him, she found Janice sitting on his lap. "Janice," she said in a warning tone, "remember what I said? You get off Marty."

Janice was straddling his lap, facing him. She pouted up at her aunt and started to move, but Marty said, "No, stay where you are, Janice. Hey, I don't mind, really. They're cute kids."

Lori sat across from them on the floor near her feet. She thought, but wasn't sure, that Janice was wiggling her little ass against Marty's laps. She frowned. She was not the least bit jealous, tut she wasn't sure how Marty would take this. He had already made known his displeasure about Lori keeping them. At the moment, Marty did seem to be enjoying them, or at least enjoying Janice sitting on his lap. But if Janice was too forward, he might not enjoy that.

Marty was a horny man, she knew, but Janice was a young girl. It would not bother her if Marty fucked her niece, but it would bother her if something happened to the girl and Karen found out. They had been placed in her keeping, and Lori had to make sure they were okay.

Lori had lived alone for so many years that she sometimes slipped deep into thought when alone. She was deep in thought now, thinking about her niece and nephew, and was not aware that she had slumped in the chair, her knees somewhat apart. Nor was she aware that her nephew was peeking under her skirt, between her nyloned thighs, that Marty, too, could peek up her dress. Neither was she aware that Marty knew Stevie was peeking at her. When she did become aware of it, she blushed, clamping her knees together quickly.

Marty looked at Lori, a grin on his face. Stevie laughed.

"What's so damned funny?" Lori said, somewhat angrily. Her blush had deepened.

Lori primly smoothed her skirt over her thighs, mentally cursing herself for not wearing panties. But it didn't seem to bother Marty, she noticed. Janice was still straddling his lap, and this time she saw, without a doubt, her niece wiggle her little ass against him.

"Okay, you two," she said, sternly, "I think it's time for bed."

"Aw, Aunt Lori," Stevie complained. "You never make us go to bed this early."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I told you two not to be pests, and you're bothering Marty. Scoot... off to bed, both of you."

Janice swung her legs from Marty, her skirt high on her slim thighs. She giggled, and Lori knew damn well she had lifted her leg that high on purpose. Marty had gotten a glimpse of her tight little panties.

Stevie and Janice kissed their aunt, then went off to bed, still pouting.

"I didn't mind, really, Lori," Marty said when they were alone. "You didn't have to be so rough on them."

Lori glanced at the front of his pants, and, just as she suspected, saw that his cock was quite hard. His prick was outlined there, showing that her niece had excited him. She raised her eyes knowingly at him.

"So what?" Marty said, understanding her expression. "Janice is a cute little thing, and if she's feeling a little sexy, that's natural, isn't it?"

"And I suppose it's natural for you to love it?" she said. "Sitting there with your fucking cock so hard and pressing, into her cunt!"

Marty grinned at Lori. "She started it."

"Oh, my God," Lori groaned. "You sound just like a kid. 'She started it.'"

"Does this look like a kid?" Marty said, opening his pants and removing his cock.

Lori stared, feeling immediate desire well up inside her. It was that way every time she saw a cock she would quickly steam up, her cunt pulsating wetly. She licked her lips with anticipation.

Getting to her feet, she went to Marty. She stood there for a moment looking down at his prick, then slowly sank to her knees before him. She reached out with an eager hand and closed her fingers around his cock. The powerful throb of his prick filled her fist as she slowly caressed up and down his cockshaft. Her hot eyes gazed at his swollen, smooth prickhead, the way the come juice dripped from his piss hole.

Holding his cock very tight, she pressed her fist hard into his groin. His cock seemed to become thicker and longer, and she mewled softly with bubbling desire. Leaning down, Lori kissed his dripping piss hole tenderly. When she lifted her face and smiled up at him, her lips glistened with the slippery fuck juice. Her tongue came out, licking slowly over them, tasting his come juice.

She moaned hungrily.

Lori dipped her head, her open mouth covering his swollen cock. Her lips closed hotly about his prick and her tongue raced about his piss hole. Her body shook with pleasure as she moved her lips down, taking his throbbing cock deeper and deeper.

Marty leaned back on the couch, his eyes wide, watching Lori's lips stretch around his cock. He placed his hands on her shoulders, scooting his ass to the edge of the cushions.

Lori sucked his cock fully into her mouth, his swollen prickhead slipping easily into her throat. Her mouth was totally stuffed with his hard cock, and her mind was reeling with the ecstasy she felt. She loved the hotness of a cock between her lips, the way a prick throbbed and filled her throat.

Lori was a born cocksucker and she knew it. She was not uncomfortable with her desire to suck cocks -- she loved it and accepted it. The sensation of a throbbing cock between her lips was much different than inside her toiling cunt, and she often wasn't certain where she wanted the cock. Most of the time she allowed the man to put his cock where he wanted to, her steamy, hairy cunt or in her wet, hungry mouth. Sometimes, though, she would initiate where she wanted to be fucked. And right now she wanted to suck him off.

Gliding her lips up and down his cock now, she made gurgling noises that were becoming louder and louder. She was only concerned with her ecstasy. Her eyes remained wide open and gazing hotly up at him as she sucked. But her eyes weren't seeing much. Even her mind was almost blank. She was filled completely with the pleasure of sucking his cock.

As she sucked up and down his prick slowly, savoring the deliciousness of his cock, she opened his pants and, when Marty lifted his ass, tugged them to his feet. She never turned his cock loose once. Now she brought one hand up beneath his ass, clutching one muscled asscheek tightly, her fingers moving into his asscrack. With her other hand she cradled his hairy balls, gently massaging them. Her hot lips moved a bit faster on his cock, sucking a bit stronger. She felt Marty trembling beneath her and that thrilled her.

She worked a fingertip into the crack of his ass and began to rub at his asshole. Marty loved that, she knew, and she wanted him to love everything she was doing for him at this moment.

She pulled her lips from his cock and looked up at him, her eyes still somewhat glassy. "Mmmm, I love it, Marty!" she whispered thickly. "Oh, God, I love to suck your cock! It's so hard, Marty! So fucking hard!"

And then she was sucking his cock again.

She turned her head about az she sucked, her lips sweetly stretched, her tongue moving every chance it had. Lori sucked up until she held only his smooth prickhead, her tongue lapping across his dripping piss hole, then down she went, until the head of his cock was again inside her throat. Holding his prick there, she worked on his cock with her cheeks and throat, moaning softly, loving the way his prick throbbed in he mouth.

Rubbing at his asshole, Lori hungrily devoured Marty's cock, her mouth racing up and down his prick swiftly now. She became anxious for his cock to squirt down her throat. Her hot, wet mouth hungered for his come juice.

Marty was squirming on the couch, grunting. Lori sucked much harder, knowing he was close to coming. She mewled about his prick as she sucked hard, almost in a frenzy, her ecstasy building.

His cock swelled even more, stretching her lips wider, throbbing powerfully as his prick began to jerk deep in her mouth.

Then Marty came.

Lori squealed as the thick, slippery come juice spurted into her mouth. She squealed again as he spewed more come juice. She quickly pulled her lips up until she held just his cockhead, her tongue licking furiously across his spurting piss hole. The come juice splashed into hers mouth, filling it.

She swallowed eagerly and kept her tongue flying. Her cunt convulsed and her ass shook. The slightest taste of come juice was enough to send her cunt into a clutching orgasm.

Lori sucked the head of his cock until his prick stopped gushing, then she ran her tongue over his cockhead lovingly before pulling away. She caressed his cock and balls as she looked up at him.

"Maybe Janice gave you the hard-on, Marty," she murmured wickedly, "but it took me to handle it."

"Lori," he said, exhausted, "you can suck a cock off better than any girl I know. I've been sucked off by a few so-called experts, but I'll be damned if you don't run circles around them."

"That's why you come around so often?" she said. "Because I'm a good cocksucker and love to suck your prick off? Is that the only reason, Marty?"

"No," he said slowly, "not the only reason, Lori. I have a special feeling for you."

"Sure you do," she sneered as she got to her feet. "And it's all in your fucking balls and cock. Marty, I think you better just clear your ass out." She looked down at him, at his still exposed cock and balls. "At least for the night."

He laughed as he pulled his pants up. "I knew it, Lori," he teased. "It isn't me you like... it's just my cock."

At the door he grabbed her and kissed her hard, his hands squeezing at her swelling asscheeks. "I'll see you tomorrow, baby," he said, then he was gone.

Lori leaned against the door, her eyes closed. The taste of his cock was still in her mouth and she ran her tongue over her white teeth.

He was probably right, she thought. It is just his fucking cock I like, not him.

She went to her bedroom and showered again, thinking that she was taking a lot of showers these past few days. But then, she smiled to herself, before she had not been getting as much cock as she had been... and pussy.

Thinking of pussy sent horniness and lust rising inside her body again. As the water cascaded over her slender, curvy figure, she thought of Janice. Such a sweet girl, so pretty and so fucking horny. As soon as Marty had arrived, Janice had sat her little ass on his lap, twisting her sugary cunt against his cock.

Forward little shit, Lori thought. Not at all bashful. That damn Marty loved it, too, the bastard!

Out of the shower, she toweled her body until it glowed pinkly. She looked into the mirror at her reflection, still thinking of Janice. And wondered what her sister, Karen, would say if she knew her daughter was such a hot little sex kitten.

Knowing Karen as she did, Lori felt her sister would scream to high heaven. Her brother-in-law she wasn't sure about. She knew hardly anything about Bob. He had always been friendly toward her, but somewhat aloof, even though they had fucked.

With her mind filled with such thoughts, Lori was in the hallway before she realized it. She was still naked and headed for the bedroom door of her niece. She felt the wet pulsating of her own cunt. She paused at the door of Janice's room, looking in. The nightlight was on, and the sweet little girl was visible.

Janice was sprawled on her stomach, breathing softly in sleep. She was naked, and the sweetness of her ass cheeks curved up from her waist and creamy thighs. Lori's cunt quivered with desire as she looked at her niece and then she was standing next to the bed, looking down at her succulent, naked body.

The thought came to Lori that Stevie should be in here, sleeping with his sister. There was no reason not to, not after what she had seen them doing in the living room, joined in with them.

Lori leaned over and caressed her niece's asscheeks. She could feel the warmth of her smooth ass, hotter than normal. But it wasn't a temperature associated with an illness -- it was a temperature of intense horniness.

Janice stirred but did not wake up. Lori moved her hands over the sleeping girl's naked little ass lightly and gently. There was no reason to conceal her presence, she knew, but there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind that she could not pin down.

Leaving her sleeping niece's room, she paused at the room where Stevie was sleeping, looking in at him. Stevie was on his back, his chest moving up and down rhythmically. Her gaze went to his cock and balls, and she smiled to herself when she saw his prick was standing up hard.

He must be having a beautiful dream, she thought as she turned from his room and started for her own.

She had wanted to go in and wake her nephew, play with his cock, fuck him or suck him off. But the thought of how easy all this had been had come back to bother her again.

Lori lay on her bed in the darkness, stating up at the ceiling. Her body was still tingling, her cunt moist and warm. She began to rub gently at her clit as she thought about the things which were bothering her.

As far as she knew, she was the only one in her family with such a hot ass. Karen had never seemed to have much of interest an sex. Where Lori had been fucking her dates almost from the start, Karen had, as far as. Lori knew, married as a virgin.

Then she thought of Stevie and Janice. They were just like their aunt, not their mother.

Karen was so moral and proper, but she had two young kids who were so hot they'd fuck anything. It just didn't make any sense to Lori. Karen was a beautiful woman, too. It was a shame that all Karen's beauty should be wrapped up in that cool, foolish attitude about sex. Deep down, Lori suspected, her sister could be a hot piece of ass if she would just let herself go.

Lori laughed quietly to herself. Marty would be good for Karen, she thought. With that big cock of his, he'd show her how to really enjoy a fuck.

She thought of her brother-in-law, Bob. He was good looking enough, but was such a cool person. Lori wandered how they ever managed to get up enough passion to have Janice and Stevie.

Shoving such thoughts from her mind, she turned onto her side and curled up, a hand underneath her cheek. She drew one knee to her tits, closing her eyes. The wetness of her niece's creamy naked ass was in her mind as was the delicious hard-on of her nephew.

[rowanwithaz]

The dumb anti BKDK/DKBK arguments:

I've seen a lot of people kinda making fun of bkdk/dkbk antis' takes on their dynamic/relationship. But,I think there's also an underlining issue with the mischaracterization of the story,characters,and Hori as a writer himself.

Katsuki/bullying

One of the biggest arguments used against bkdk/dkbk is this one panel.

Which,this scene isn't as deep as people want to believe it is. Well,it IS,but just not on Katsuki's end (I'll elaborate on this in the Izuku section). This scene isn't about Katsuki being an awful person,it's about what Izuku endures as a quirkless person. Don't get me wrong: Katsuki was an absolute asshole in this. But,he's also a fourteen year old egotistical brat. His age obviously doesn't cover for what he's done,but it doesn't make him an evil monster who wishes to abuse and victimize Izuku whenever he possibly can. That's just not true.

(Important side note: it says several times that this is the furthest Katsuki has ever gone with his bullying with Izuku. His friends even comment on Katsuki going too far. So I really don't get why the antis try to claim this is consist behaviour for Katsuki,when it clearly isn't. This doesn't make what he did OKAY though,that's not what I'm saying at all. This scene just gets blown out of proportion most of the time)

Also,let's not forget about the hypocrisy this scene brings. Many antis will say that bkdk/dkbk can't be romantic and it's toxic because Katsuki told Izuku to "kys",but here's the thing; they're the same people who argue they're strictly platonic. It makes no sense. If this relationship was actually as toxic and abusive as they say it is,then they couldn't be friends. Antis use this scene for disproving the romantic interpretation of the two,but then completely ignore it when it's not relevant to their narrative.

Now,Katsuki's ignored development! I've seem a couple antis claim that Katsuki's apology scene was a self pity speech and it was all about him. Which is...SO FUCKING WRONG? I can understand if you've read the first lines of the apology and thought, "Oh,he's just thinking about himself," if you were just really dense and had no context of the earlier events leading up to this apology and stopped reading after a page that is. It's probably one of the most stupid takes I've seen on Katsuki and Hori's writing.

In these panels Katsuki is talking about his feelings,yes. And this is important! Izuku deserves an explanation to Katsuki's bullying,Izuku deserves to hear how Katsuki actually feels. But,right after,he turns it around to talk about Izuku. This sequence of events is extremely important to what Katsuki (Hori) is trying to convey. The truth. I know a people wanted this to be about Izuku being a helpless victim,but that just isn't true to either of their characters,especially Izuku's. And these words are backed up by actions. Over. And over again. Katsuki said he was going to be there for Izuku?

(Note: I'm aware a couple of this manga panels aren't the official translations! And that's because the official translations are very DIFFERENT from what Katsuki is actually saying in those scenes)

He's there. And that's kinda something I feel people forget when thinking of Katsuki's apology. He's already been reconnecting and making it up to Izuku.

Katsuki has gone through so much development over the course of mha,and it's astonishing that people still use the first page of this manga to view Katsuki and the whole story. Of course Katsuki is going to feel incompleted and lazily written when all you focus on is the very first chapter of the manga. Foreshadowing and growth exist,let's not forget that.

Izuku the victim

This is something that definitely annoys me when I see people hating on bkdk/dkbk. Most of the time the antis hate Katsuki so much that they victimize Izuku as much as they possibly fucking can.

Was Izuku bullied? Yes! Was he mistreated? Yes!

But that doesn't make him a helpless victim who doesn't see himself as anything. Izuku does have a sense of self worth. That's just the truth. It always pisses me off when people bring up the "take a swine dive off the roof of the building," line and say if Izuku didn't get OFA he would had committed suicide. Honestly,I think when Izuku starts devaluating himself is when he receives OFA.

For example,when Katsuki backs Izuku into a wall telling him he can't get into U.A,

Izuku says "there's no harm in trying",Izuku thinks he can get into U.A,even without a quirk. He believes,deep down,he can be a quirkless hero. Until he's told otherwise from All Might,then doesn't believe in himself even more when he has OFA.

(In the anime,or just the dub,Izuku says something along the lines of, "they changed that rule!" To Katsuki when we says he can't get into U.A without a quirk,which further proves this point)

And about the, "take a swine dive off the roof" page, this doesn't effect Izuku as much as people say it did. Even in the moment. Izuku wasn't distraught,Izuku didn't go into a deep depression over it,he was pissed.

That is a look of anger. Now,why was Izuku angry? Because he didn't believe this. He knew what Katsuki was saying was just BS. In this scene he calls Katsuki an idiot,then he thinks about his mom. This scene was deep,because it was about Izuku's trauma with his mother and discovering when he was quirkless. This scene was,as I've said,to show what Izuku endures as a qurikless kid and to segway into his backstory.

As for Izuku's self worth,we also see through these pages of him being upset with his mother,he still has hope he can be a hero. He still wishes to become a hero,still acknowledging that he's quirkless,he still believes he can be.

because he doesn't let people hold him back. Because he's stubborn as fuck (a character trait people often forget Izuku has). So I really don't get why people try to paint Izuku as this kid who leaves his self Image in the hands of others,he knows he's not useless.

And when I say Izuku devaluates himself,I don't mean Izuku sees himself as useless. Izuku sees himself as a vessel for OFA from that point on and takes the responsiblity/burden of it. He dehumanized himself because of OFA,not because of the bullying he faced.

(I'm not saying this didn't hurt Izuku in anyway! It did. But I feel Izuku wasn't as effected by it as people think he is,it wasn't something Izuku saw as worth it. He knew what he wanted to be at the end of the day,and stuck the finger to everyone else.)

I hate it when people say Izuku is a basic character,then don't actually know the first thing about him.

Can't be cannon because it's shonen

This argument I can get! But,there are a couple of reasons this is still a dumb argument.

First of all,we're usually talking about shipping. So this doesn't necessarily apply to fan work,which they do for some odd reason.

Second of all,MHA is pretty lgbtq+ positive. With Toga being bi/pan,and they're being several trans characters,and let's not forget about characters like Mineta who is pretty heavily hinted to be bisexual.

And I feel Horikoshi is using the romantic shonen formula,just not in the way they thought he would...

Katsuki is very love interest coded.

With Katsuki being the one the villains (not just villains,people in general) go after to or to get a rise out of Izuku.

And,another important thing to mention when talking about shonen is Horikoshi as a writer himself.

Horikoshi is doing this for himself. He wants to enjoy what he's writing. So,if bkdk/dkbk becomes cannon? It wasn't fan pressure. He wanted to do it. If it doesn't? Same thing. And,from what I've observed,Hori REALLY likes Katsuki and Izuku.

I mean,he's done so much with these two,so many unnecessary moments,for...what? We have to remember bkdk/dkbk was seen as toxic from the fast majority of the fanbase when people starting shipping them. But,what did Hori do? He kept putting in these moments. Kept foreshadowing something...more. And in the process put down many popular ships at the time. Like,Kribaku (NOT HATING) it was seen as the healthy,fun relationship Katsuki could be in romantically. Horikoshi used this to deepen the bond between bkdk/dkbk. (And to probably to add some gay yearning angst)

and let's not forget all the unnecessary sketches he made between the two,and some of his comments on them,

(From the ultra analysis character book)

From the looks of it,Hori just enjoys these two together. Especially considering some of the new drawings/sketches he's made.

At the end of the day it doesn't matter if it's shonen or not. Horikoshi is going to do what he enjoys. And I hope he continues to do so! If mha's end doesn't result with cannon bkdk/dkbk? I couldn't care less if Horikoshi is pleased with the ending,as much as I see the cannon potential.

[moodymisty]

Author's note: I dunno, blame @kit-williams or something this is my first time writing Tyberos so I apologize and it’s also very rushed

Relationships: Tyberos/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Tokophobia/pregnancy warning, Loss of bodily automoty? Tyberos kind of likes you but you're also his personal broodmare so like do with that what you will, Breeding kink, The consent is indeed somewhat dubious

"Don't fight."

Your teeth ground together tight as he forced his way inside of you, cunt stretched beyond what you felt you could take. It burned, it made your eyes water, but you knew that this was a blessing in comparison to how he could be with you. Your crying had ceased into little more than whimpers, tired as your body couldn’t keep up any longer.

"It will only bring you more pain."

He is massive in comparison to you; When you'd first saw his men you already cowered, but when he had made himself known the sheer size of him had almost seemed impossible. As such he can’t fit between your legs properly, and so your thighs press back into your stomach and slightly to the side as he folded you nearly in half in order to properly fuck you.

By the time he'd fit his entire cock inside of you that sharp pain had faded into a filled, throbbing ache; Far better than what had been. You barely managed to swallow the knot in your throat from how tight it was. Even just the head of his cock had caused you pain, but it’s all passed.

You couldn't stop the whimper that had left your throat when he pulled out halfway, before thrusting himself back into you and sending your body away from him. He'd grabbed your hip to keep your close then, realizing how his strength could so easily throw you around.

Your voice cracked as you gasped, feeling his hips slam into the backs of your thighs as he thrusts into you again. And again. And again. He doesn't relent, and you feel the black void of his eyes looking down at your form as your face grows hot.

You hated how your body was betraying you. How it's twisting his uncharacteristic show of gentleness as something more, and made your skin feel like it's on fire and sending throbs to your clit. There was still tears in your eyes, though the reason why was slowly changing; Fear still gripped your heart none the less.

Your lips parted with a pant, your stomach tight like a vice. Each time the drove himself into you it felt as if he was forcing himself deeper than you thought possible, letting out hiccuping gasps has the head of his cock hits places that makes your spine arch.

"You're going to make good astartes."

He'd said that before. It's why he chose you. None of his men will ever be allowed to touch you. Or breed you. But he said it so softly that it made you lose yourself in that moment, rather than hearing it as the declaration of your fate that it was.

You cried out as you felt like his cock is in your stomach, stuffing you beyond what you could possibly imagine taking. His ghostly visage watched the entire time, stoic and unreadable. You were cracking underneath him, hands grabbing for anything to try and steady yourself, while he looked down on you cast in his shadow. His one hand grips your ribs for a moment as you dangle right on the edge of coming.

“You’re doing well. I was right about you.”

The knocking on the door disturbs you from your slumber, rising upright to sit legs curled to the side. The door doesn't open however, until you verbally call out.

"...Come in?"

The bed is gargantuan, though it's clear it's almost never used. It seems to largely be due to his status as Chapter Master, not due to need. Though you'll be using it now, it seems.

The serf looks at you haphazardly wrapped in the blankets, small parts of your skin exposed. Some skin is untouched, some is bruised, some is freshly tattooed.

They'd tattooed you before giving you to him.

They're unreadable to you, if they're meant to be read, and are unrecognizable symbols that you assume belong to their culture. A few you'd seen on Tyberos' armor, but the rest are foreign to you. The ones on your sides and thighs had been surprisingly less painful than you'd expected, but the one between your hips and just above your mound still cries out from the stabbing of needles. It hovers just over your womb, lines swirls and symbols surrounding at the middle a circle of sharp teeth; Tyberos’ own symbol.

"I, um, my lady?" The serf doesn't know how to address you; You don't blame them.

"We were instructed by Lord Tyberos himself to make sure you ate."

The serf approaches with a large covered tray, and gently sits it in front of you on the bed. You curiously open it, and see unfamiliar food. It’s not like what you remember eating on your home planet, but it is still distinctly food; Not militarium rations of unknown origin. Your finger pokes at it curiously.

Tyberos is making sure you’re well fed to grow his future sons. He knows a shoddy diet of rations isn’t going to sustain what he hopes will be future astartes.

You ignore the deeper meaning behind the food and quickly devour it, before the serf takes the emptied tray from you.

“Thanks… I,” Both of your heads suddenly turn as the door opens, eyes locking on Tyberos as he walks into the room unarmored.

His face is mauled, scarred and skin twisted. His skin is ghostly pale, and you see the serf cast their eyes downward and quickly flee. It’s not the first time you’ve seen this face now, and you know how to swallow that fear so it doesn’t overtake you as bad as it had the first time.

But you understand why one would find his face horrifying. Something about his expression and his demeanor makes it less so, however.

He is almost like the vast openness of space; Cold, unforgiving, but quiet and vast at the same time. It’s impossible to tell his age, but you assume he’s much older than his men.

He watches you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, the other still holding the blanket against your bare chest.

“You’ve eaten, little one?” He says, jaw shifting as he looks down at you. The term of endearment sounds odd coming from him, but it also makes you feel oddly warm.

“Yes. It was good.” It was the best food you’d had in awhile. Before the Carcharodons had arrived on your planet, you were used to eating bagged militarium rations as a refugee.

“Good.”

He comes closer, and you know what he’s here for. He’s going to keep coming back until he knows you’re pregnant. The ship rocks slightly as it drifts through space, but you barely move.

“Lay down.”

You fall back, hitting the mattress with a soft thud and feeling the blanket fall away from you.

A part of you hates yourself for giving in. For letting this happen rather than fighting and getting killed but still keeping what someone might call your honor. But after months of displacement from refugee camp to refugee camp, of enemy fire and fighting for your life even before the Carcharodons arrived, you’ve given in.

The bed is soft. Your belly is full of warm food. Tyberos’ hand and voice are oddly enough more gentle than any commissar or handsy soldier had ever been. Perhaps something in that void-like stare of his has hypnotized you, that ghostly quiet voice whispering enchantments.

He comes closer and begins to remove his clothing and come overtop of you, grabbing your hips to pull you closer. His thumbs press against the tattoo decorating the layer of fat just over your womb and he looks at it, for a moment. Your lips freeze open for a moment, before finally speaking.

“Wait, I w-“

He looks down at you, and you quickly have to dispel any implication that you were ordering him. You do so, and hesitently shift underneath him until you’re on your knees, arms supporting your head and presenting yourself to him. It’ll be easier you think this way, with how large he is. He won’t have to fold you in half.

“You should’ve said this was all you wanted.”

He grips your hips and lifts them ever so slightly to drag you closer to him, and you feel his cock against your ass. When he slowly begins to force his way inside of you again, still slick with his cum from the last time, he talks over the whine you let out as he pushes his own cum back in with his cock.

“You won’t be able to be this way for long. Not when your belly starts to grow.”

[dearanakin]

trust you | anakin skywalker: episode II

Warning: mentions of injury, blood

Word count: 1.3k

Previous chapter | Read on Wattpad

-

(Y/N) 

I've spent the entire day fixing Anakin's metal arm, along with a Droid and another engineer. I still had about two hours to finish my shift when he entered the tech room.

His son was following behind him, an amused look on his face, watching every technology being taken care of.

The way his blue eyes stared at me made me feel a little concerned, considering I still wasn't able to finish it. Anakin still had a frown on his face, walking slowly as he took a look around the room.

The engineer spoke up before I even did, he had told me he wasn't exactly intimidated by the Jedi. "Good evening, Master. We haven't finished yet".

He nodded, taking a sharp inhale. "I gave you one day. I expect it by the end of the night".

While he was shooting us a death glare, Luke was all about looking at the job we were making. The little boy was completely fascinated. His hands were gripping the edge of the table and his eyes were sparkling in awe.

"Luke" I spoke, he looked up at me. "You wanna see something cool?"

Anakin didn't seem to like the way I was interacting with his son, but didn't manage to say a word.

Luke nodded and I looked at the engineer before we hooked up the robotic arm into a few wires. It immediately started to move its fingers.

We all watched as the kid opened his mouth. "Woah, this is really cool! Dad, look!"

My lips curled into a smile and I chuckled. Most of the time I wasn't a fan of children, but he was the most adorable. And he was the spitting image of his father. Especially the blue eyes and the curls.

Anakin looked between the kid and his metal limb, and I couldn't help but notice how he dropped his hard expression and smiled as well. "I see, buddy. They're doing a nice job, aren't they?".

Nice job? I haven't done anything else the entire day besides fixing this thing, but he thinks it's just a nice job? I suck it up and give him a forced grin.

When he looks at me again, I can see the wrinkles on his forehead again and the death stare slowly showing up.

"I want it by the end of the day" He said, looking at the three of us. We all nodded, watching as he took Luke's hand before turning on his back. "Come on, let's have some dinner, kiddo".

As soon as he walked by the door, Anakin was met with Cal Kestis. They greeted each other and as soon as he left with his son, the Jedi made the funniest face.

I had to hold in a laugh that I wanted to bark out. He approached the table and cleared his throat.

"I need a favor, (Y/N). My ship had a malfunction and I'm going to need it fixed for the next mission" Cal had an apologetic look on his face and gave me a shy smile.

"I'm sorry, red head. I can't help you with this" I sighed. Just the thought of having to finish this work for Anakin makes me feel completely drained. "I still have no idea how long this work is going to take".

He definitely knew how Master Skywalker was, so he spared me from another hard work.

*

Anakin was so frustrated that he thought he was going to fail this mission. As soon as he stepped foot on Kalevala, the Jedi knew everything wasn't going according to the plan.

He had to come along with Cal and other Jedi Masters. Leading the assignment, Anakin barely came up with good instructions, all because he couldn't have his metal limb in time.

To say he was pissed was an understatement. Because to him, (Y/N) was nothing but a useless tech engineer. He didn't understand how difficult it was to fix the limb, especially since it almost got blasted.

To be honest, the man didn't want to understand that. Anakin needed his robotic arm like he needed air to breathe. He couldn't go out there with a missing fake limb.

He was closing in the position against his opponents with just his lightsaber. And the hopes he would beat them all up. Anakin watched as Cal and the other Masters furiously defeated the men, destroying their territory.

In a moment of distraction, he got his tunic sliced and a burning sensation on his chest. He groaned in pain and gathered every inch of malice he had to shove his lightsaber into the men's stomach.

Bad timing it was. Not having another arm sure made Anakin defenseless. He didn't see another incoming behind his back, only then realizing that he was being retained.

Master Kestis called his name out loud when he saw, from afar, that Anakin had been stabbed with a knife on his side. He bent over, growling as he used his force to choke the man.

The red head rushed to help Anakin, the blood staining his clothing and running down his hand. "Oh, shit. Let's go back".

Cal ripped a piece off of his own tunic to try to stop the bleeding. He carried Anakin to the small bunk on the back of the spaceship and laid him carefully.

"You're going to be fine, Master!" He made sure before going back to the cockpit. He grabbed his comlink to warn the medical bay they were going to need assistance as soon as they arrived at Coruscant.

-

It didn't take Cal long to land on the hangar. He rushed out with Anakin in his arms, asking for a medical stretcher. (Y/N) was helping out other engineers when she saw her friend carrying the Jedi.

"What happened?" She asked, nervous to see Luke's father like that. Following Master Kestis, she jogged by his side on the way to the medical bay.

The poor guy was panting, catching his breath every five seconds. He made a mental note that he needed to do more cardio after that. "He got stabbed!".

(Y/N) stopped on her tracks and thought of Luke. The kid is going to be devastated. Although, she had no idea if Anakin wanted his son to know he was attacked.

The doctors brought him to the emergency room, leaving him shirtless. The wound seemed to be pretty deep and he was losing a considerate amount of blood.

They sedated him and started working on the stitches. They also bandaged his burned chest. Cal was pacing back and forth, both hands on his hips. (Y/N) stood behind him, wondering if it was a good idea to let Luke and C-3PO know he was there.

"I- I didn't see it coming. He was talking about how he didn't want to fail the mission. He kept complaining about his missing arm-" Cal was still in a daze. He had to drink a glass of water because he felt his throat drying.

"Kestis, hey" (Y/N) placed her hands on his arms, trying to calm his nerves. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't his fault either".

She bit her lip. No, this was her fault. She couldn't finish her damn job when he asked. He was definitely going to rip her heart out. "Jesus, I should've fixed it faster".

Now it was her throat that felt like drying up. A pang of guilt washed over her body and now she was starting to panic. "Luke has to know his dad is here".

"Stop, no. This wasn't your fault, either. You can't push yourself to do hard work. You had to rest too" He tried to reason with her, but she shook her head in disbelief.

"Look at him, Cal!" She raised her voice in desperation. "Look at him. Anakin, he- He needs to be good. He needs to be there for his kid!".

(Y/N) could barely see right through teary eyes. She felt her throat burning and she wanted to scream. She couldn't lose someone again either.

She just couldn't accept that someone might die because of her, again.

Her friend tried to comfort her in a hug. He ran his fingers through her hair, while his other hand was planted on her back. "He's going to be just fine. And we'll get his son, okay?".

Cal used his thumb to wipe away her tears and kissed her forehead. He always knew he had a soft spot for her. 

@jackie-on-the-loose @adorbzliz @himesuedi

[snivyartjpeg]

Yuma Month Day 26 - Role Swap

god i was excited for this one. it first started off as a joke, but the more i thought about it, the more interesting this swap became. so here's my massive lore dump of changes that'd happen in the story beneath the cut (spoiler warning):

i think, fundamentally, yuma and yakou are very similar characters. they're both very protective and kindhearted, with a strong sense of justice and a penchant for attracting terrible luck. because of this, some things would remain the same, such as the NDA's dynamics with their doormat chief as well amnesia!yakou's massive unpaid intern energy. i think yakou would be pretty similar to how he behaved in the light novel- a bit more optimistic and naive, like yuma. but there are two key differences between them that'd make this a different story, especially in ch 4: yuma has a forte, and yakou is very selfish. so here's some changes:

yakou's wife is his shinigami now, as you can see, while shinigami is yuma's dead wife. i think mrs furio would act cooler than shinigami. she'd still be playful, but she takes her job more seriously. also she hands yakou the solution keys normally without throwing up. they still have to do the dance and mouth sword thing tho. and the other stuff. that's just death god protocol

shinigami (or in this case the unnamed Mrs. Kokohead but i will still be calling her shinigami for convenience sake) was a scientist at amaterasu who studied forensics and thanatology instead of regenerative medicine. this also means that the pill she gives zombie yuma is not going to bring him back, but instead grant the zombie homunculi a peaceful, painless, but permanent death

speaking of zombie yuma, he's the homunculus now! yakou is 100% human and also doesnt have a forte. he's still number one, but instead of having a forte he's just that good at solving mysteries

yes this means makoto looks like yakou now. sorry makotoheads. i think he'd have really long, shaggy hair dyed to be like. idk. black or something. also he's more clean shaven bc stubble with a mask on is a sensory nightmare

yuma still cant cook. he subsists entirely on takeout, meat buns, black coffee, and beer. he's still in a lot of debt and under a lot of stress and his personality is essentially "what if canon number one just gave up"

he doesn't smoke though. he tried once and got into the worst coughing fit

imma say it right now. kurumi is not a love interest. yakou likely disguises himself as a faculty member instead (also i think one of the teachers gets a crush on fem yakou bc i just know she'd be hot)

ANYWAY what about chapter 4? im SO glad you asked! because here's where things get spicy!

so, lets start with the dead wife. shinigami catches onto huesca's inhumane research and she's just as adamant about bringing the truth to light as she always is. she blows the whistle, so he blows her up. yuma investigates, but they dont let him look any further, yada yada, yuma stews in his misery for five years

yomi sends in the evidence to motivate yuma to kill huesca, and makoto lets it happen because a dead huesca would be convenient. he even introduces the hitman, fully expecting yuma to make use of him

yuma doesnt. in fact, he wants to kill huesca with his own hands. and now that these detectives are here, he can do it and even return alive. the thing is, he doesn't want to put them in danger, so he chooses to do almost everything alone (sound familiar?)

his plan is simple:

ask desuhiko for a peacekeeper uniform. desuhiko trusts him enough to take "i want to investigate kanai ward's ultimate secret by infiltrating their ranks" as an answer. he does, however, let yakou know about this as an offhand comment before the mystery ever begins

hold fubuki's hand. it doesnt really matter how. she'll gladly allow it because she's fubuki. he stores her time powers and heads out the sub. yakou also learns this as an offhand comment played off as a joke (maybe fubuki affectionately comments about how she never expected the chief's hands to be so soft... idk. there has to be some way for yakou to have this as a future clue)

use his peacekeeper status to sneak into amaterasu HQ and demand a functioning ama-pal from that one creepy researcher

use ama-pal + fubuki's borrowed powers to bypass huesca's security. sneak the bot past the hard-of-hearing doctor and press the button to shut off security

this would probably alert huesca, but since the doctor never received a warning, yuma has enough time to rush in and stab him before he realizes what's going on

leave HQ while still in uniform, dispose of the disguise once he's safe, and return to the NDA like nothing happened. success!

soooo.... yakou, on that same day, decides to investigate amaterasu HQ with makoto

all the while, vivia has his suspicions about yuma's actions and keeps an eye on him in spectral mode. he... basically witnessed the whole thing, so he gets up off his ass and decides to follow yakou to the lab because he has a Very Bad Feeling about this

just like canon, he senses the death god and deduces that our protag has been killing off murderers, and so he wants to protect his chief as well as his peace and quiet (his dynamic with yuma would be the same as his dynamic with yakou, since it's entirely believable for yuma to treat vivia with the same kindness yakou did)

yakou tries to speak to huesca, but surprise! security is disabled and he's dead in the lab! no one else at amaterasu liked huesca enough to check on him, so yakou and makoto are the first ones at the scene of the crime. yakou, of course, decides to start investigating this murder

vivia somehow sneaks into the lab (dont ask me how) and confronts yakou, threatening him with his boxcutter and adamantly imploring him to stop pursuing this particular mystery in the same way he did yuma in canon. unfortunately, this attracts attention, and now they're in trouble (maybe even yomi's there to fetch his files). at this point, yakou has enough solution keys, so he panics and goes right into the labyrinth (and maybe others can enter for another reason that isnt coalescence idk)

so... they go in the labyrinth... vivia tries to stop him every step of the way, until the answer is right in front of them

yakou kills yuma with his own hands. there's no stab wounds or toxic gas to leave any doubt. yakou begins to question what good his justice really does. it doesnt even save them from their predicament, just like the other deaths. instead, makoto ex machina comes in to save them, and hands yakou a small black box

when they return to the agency, everyone is heartbroken over their chief, who seemingly died out of nowhere. fubuki tried rewinding time, but to no avail. halara tried everything to wake him up, knowing it's futile. desuhiko stood aside, feeling completely helpless. and yakou and vivia return looking like they just came back from hell

they barely get the chance for a funeral before the knockout gas trap activates... you know the rest

AAAAND SCENE! so that's my extremely long winded lore dump about this au. i thought about it Way Too Much but god it's so interesting to me. i love these characters and swapping them was immensely fun

[roxxie-wolf]

𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝒪𝓇𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒

Chapter 1 🌸 Chapter 2 🌸 Chapter 3 🌸 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 🌸 Chapter 6 🌸 Chapter 7 🌸 Chapter 8

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your parents want you to marry someone of their choice, but you already have eyes on someone else. Will you follow what your parents think is best for you or will you go with what your heart desires.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: human!alastor x fem!reader, slow burn, this story may contain mature sexual content. Your in your late 20's, Alastor is in his early 30's, you still live with your parents idk. If I forgot anything else please let me know.

Note: Hope y’all like this chapter. 😊

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟪

The evening was yours, the house quiet without your parents, and the anticipation of Alastor's visit sent a flutter of excitement through you. The knock at the door came just as doubt began to creep in, and with a quick adjustment of your dress, you rushed to answer it.

There he stood, Alastor, his presence instantly calming the storm of worries that had started to gather in your mind. "What ever is the matter, dear?" he inquired, a note of concern threading his voice, seeing how your face showed concern.

"Oh nothing," brushing aside the momentary anxiety with a casual wave of your hand. His arrival had chased away the shadows of doubt, and the relief was palpable. "I'm just glad you're here," It was then that you noticed he was holding red roses in his hand.

As he extended the roses toward you, his smile was like a beacon in the soft light of the entryway. "These are for you, my dear," the gesture both traditional and heartfelt.

You accepted the flowers, their rich color a vivid contrast against the muted tones of the room. "They're beautiful, thank you," the simple elegance of the roses reflecting the growing connection between you both.

You stepped aside to welcome him into the warmth of your home. Alastor stepped inside, his eyes taking in the warmth and charm of your home. "It's a lovely place you have, darling" his voice carrying a note of admiration.

You led him to the living room, where the soft glow of lamps cast a cozy ambiance. "Would you like something to drink?" you offered, wanting to make him feel at ease.

Alastor declined the offer with a gentle wave of his hand. "Oh no, I’m perfectly fine, thank you dear," he assured you, his eyes taking in the room with an appreciative glance.

“Alright, stay right here, you can have a sit if you like I’ll be right back,” with a reassuring nod to Alastor, you excused yourself and ascended the stairs, the bouquet of roses cradled gently in your arms. In the sanctuary of your room, you found the empty vase waiting, as if it too anticipated this moment. You filled it with water, each rose finding its place, the petals unfurling slightly as if to breathe in their new home.

With the roses now arranged, you paused for a moment, allowing yourself a brief respite. The anticipation of returning to Alastor's company sent a ripple of excitement through you. With a final glance at the blooms, you made your way back downstairs, each step quickening with the thought of the evening ahead.

As you returned to the living room, the sight of Alastor waiting patiently brought a sense of warmth to the evening. “I didn't take too long, I hope?" your voice softening with a hint of concern.

“No, not at all," his voice carrying a softness that seemed to fill the space between you. “Shall we get started with dinner then?" Your question, more an invitation than an inquiry, was met with an affirming smile from Alastor. Together, you moved towards the kitchen.

As you laid out all the ingredients on the counter, you realized the plates you needed were just out of reach. "Alastor, could you please get the plates from that cupboard?" you pointed to the high shelf.

Without hesitation, Alastor reached up and retrieved the plates, his height an advantage in the cozy kitchen. "Thank you," you took the plates from his hands and set them aside for later.

“You're welcome, ma cherie," the endearment rolling off his tongue with an ease that sent a flutter through your heart.

As he rolled up his sleeves and set to work on the meat, you found yourself captivated by the sight. His glasses perched just so, his hair a soft, fluffy crown that seemed to dance with each movement. It was a moment of quiet appreciation, a snapshot of domestic bliss.

"Your staring, darling," he teased without looking at you, his voice pulling you from your reverie.

"That I'm not," you countered playfully, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned your attention back to the vegetables. Alastor simply shook his head, his smile a silent acknowledgment of the moment, before he returned to his task.

With the meal well underway, you allowed yourself a moment of respite, gazing out the kitchen window. The world outside was quiet, the soft light of dusk painting everything in hues of gold and amber.

It was then that Alastor's presence became a comforting embrace, his arms encircling your waist with a gentle firmness. His face buried in the curve of your neck, he inhaled your scent. The arch of his body, the subtle shift, allowed his chin to find the perfect resting place atop your head. The surprise of his touch widened your eyes, a silent gasp of unexpected intimacy.

Your initial shock gave way to contentment as you leaned into the embrace, the warmth of his body a comforting presence.

————————————

The meal was ready, and Alastor took the lead in serving, a gesture that allowed you to simply sit and take in the moment. The absence of your parents gave the dinner an intimate atmosphere, free from interruption.

Alastor placed the plate before you with a grace that matched his earlier movements. "What would you like to drink, dear?" his voice a soft note in the quiet kitchen.

"Water, please," you responded, meeting his gaze. There was a comfort in the simplicity of the request.

He moved with purpose, then paused, looking back at you for guidance. "The cups are in the cabinet next to the fridge," you directed, pointing him to the right spot. His acknowledgment was a nod, and he retrieved two glasses, filling them with water before returning to the table.

As you ate, the memory of Alastor's embrace lingered in your mind, stirring a mix of emotions and questions. *Maybe he just wanted to give you a hug, nothing else,* you mused, trying to rationalize the gesture. Yet, the way he had held you, the warmth of his body, the closeness—it all seemed to suggest something more, something beyond a simple hug.

*But why like that?* The question echoed in your thoughts, unanswered. It was a moment of vulnerability, a crossing of an unspoken boundary that left you both connected and confused.

You glanced at Alastor, his features softened by the ambient light, and wondered if he too was contemplating the significance of the hug.

————————————

"The meal was lovely, darling," his voice carrying the weight of sincerity. You couldn't help but smile in response. “Indeed it was," you agreed, the smile lingering on your lips even as you felt the evening drawing to a close.

With the meal finished, Alastor got ready to depart. The possibility of your parents' return hung in the air, a silent reminder of the world outside the bubble you and Alastor had created.

As you walked him to the door, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His demeanor had changed, his eyes held a certain intensity that made your skin prickle with unease. And when he stopped in front of the door, turning around to look at you, you could feel the tension in the air between you.

You couldn't read the look in his eyes, but it was enough to make you take a step back. And then another, as he advanced towards you. With each step he took, you kept retreating until your back was pressed against the wall, leaving you with nowhere else to escape to.

Alastor's hands found their way to either side of your head, trapping you in a cage of his making. You could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his presence pressing down on you. And as he arched his back to be at eye level with you, a shiver ran down your spine.

His gaze bore into yours, searching for something in the depths of your own eyes. It was a silent communication, a wordless exchange that spoke volumes. And in that moment, you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that you had never experienced before.

But despite the fear that gripped your heart, there was something undeniably thrilling about the proximity between you and Alastor. His nearness was intoxicating, his intensity drawing you in like a moth to a flame. And as his face drew ever closer to yours, you could feel the magnetic pull between you growing stronger with each passing second.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you stood there, locked in a silent dance with Alastor. You were acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every sensation that coursed through your body. And as he leaned in even closer, his lips just inches from yours, you could feel the primal urge to close the distance between you.

But just as you were about to give in to the overwhelming desire that threatened to consume you, Alastor pulled back, breaking the spell that had enveloped you both. He turned around, away from you, only to look at you again.

This time, as you looked into Alastor's eyes, you could see the intensity of love and admiration within them. He moved closer, his hand firmly gripping your waist as he pulled you towards him, putting one hand on the wall behind you.

“I can’t hold back anymore, darling,” his voice was soft but gentle.

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with anticipation. You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, and every nerve in your body hummed with longing.

Alastor stared at your lips with hunger before locking eyes with you. With a deliberate slowness, he brushed his lips against yours, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation. Closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned in as your lips met in a passionate kiss.

His back arched as he deepened the kiss, biting lightly at your bottom lip before exploring your mouth with his tongue. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, your body responding eagerly to his touch. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourselves in the intensity of your desire.

Your hands gently tugged at the back of his hair, causing him to groan. Alastor wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, lifting you up as your dress bunched up. You wrapped your legs around his slim waist.

He pressed you against the wall, your hands entangled in his hair as you playfully pulled on it. But as you thought about your parents possibly arriving soon, you broke the intense kiss, a thin trail of saliva linked your lips together. "Alastor, we should stop. My parents could be here any minute now," you said breathlessly.

Alastor, also out of breath, looked into your eyes and nodded. "Of course, darling," setting you down on the floor. "I'm sorry, I got carried away,” just then, there was a knock at the front door.

"Honey, we're home. Can you please open up? Your father forgot the keys," your mother called out from the other side of the door.

Your eyes widened as you looked at Alastor, who in turn looked back at you. “You have to go, now” With a sense of urgency, you slightly pushed him through the hallway out the back door.

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the night. You fixed your dress, took a deep breath, and composed yourself before heading to the front door to let your parents in.

As you opened the door, your parents greeted you with smiles, completely unaware of the heated moment that had just taken place. You ushered them inside and followed them to the living room, your mind still reeling from the intensity of the encounter with Alastor.

Throughout the night, you couldn't shake the feeling of Alastor's touch lingering on your own skin. His presence seemed to follow you everywhere, even in the mundane conversations with your parents. You found yourself lost in thought, replaying the moment over and over again in your mind.

Exhaustion settled over you like a gentle shroud as the day's events replayed in your mind. The soft murmur of your parents' conversation was a comforting backdrop as you bid them good night.

"Good night," your voice carrying a hint of the day's weariness.

"Good night, sweetheart. Remember, we are going to see Cindy and her son James in a week," your mother reminded you, her voice filled with the warmth that only a mother's love could provide.

“Yes, mom," though your thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on the moments spent with Alastor. The idea of seeing anyone else seemed so trivial.

With a soft sigh, you ascended the stairs, each step taking you further from the evening's enchantment and closer to the sanctuary of your room. The routine of showering and preparing for bed was mechanical, your mind still ensnared by the intoxicating blend of emotions that Alastor had stirred within you.

As you slipped beneath the covers, the world outside faded away. And in the quiet of the night, you allowed yourself to dream of him, of Alastor, and of the infinite possibilities that awaited.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so you be updated every time.^^ I do try to proofread but if I missed something please let me know.

Also I sometimes tend to make minor changes to the chapters.

Thank you! For reading I hope you enjoyed it.💖

TAGLIST: @magictoebean @little-slyvixen @bitchywitchygardener @diffidentphantom @catticora

[hermitw]

Chapter 261 has me taking a social media break bc 90% of the reactions are shit I swear to god

Jjk fans have become addicted to despair and complaining

There is more hope for Gojo Satoru to return now than ever

But gege has a lot of points to make about love and drawing his parallels before we get him back. it's a process, and I think it's beautiful

But think about how Yuta released Rika and she, even after death, still has her own autonomy and still shows up to fight beside yuta.

Yuta is going to release Gojo in a bit. Maybe bc his brain can't handle Gojo's techniques and everything it will take to fight Sukuna, or because he can use Kenjaku's technique to restore his own body and return to his own skull.

To feed into this narrative, I'm sure that Yuta killed the higher ups alongside Gojo. We saw that Katana wound to the head-- Gojo's techniques don't make slices. Yuta was down to share that burden and not let Gojo be the monster on his own anymore. They're sharing, guys.

Yuuji's old school acquaintance has the technique to create sugar. You know who was always eating sugar, and got super burned out? Gojo is getting his brain sugar levels back up and then he can get his own body back when Yuta returns.

Hell, even if that's not right, knowing Yuta, he would share Gojo's body between both of their souls. It wouldn't be the first time something like that happened.

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

<- Prev | Next ->

thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[sageistrii]

I remember someone asking why namjoon picked a song like come back to me for radio promotion also I've seen a lot of people me included wondering at some BTS members choice of title tracks despite the fact that they seem to want chart success. I had an answer for that when cbtm was released but I wanted to wait until the full album drop to say what I wanted and now the discussions surrounding him taking inspiration from Tyler the creator proves me right.

Certain members of BTS release songs that obviously do not have the potential of becoming big with the hope that it does become big because just like scooter did with jk, over the years some members of bts have tailored their artistry after other popular acts.

Members like namjoon and tae especially continue to release these boring lifeless music even if they know the fandom wouldn't like it because

° They can't do anything else

° They see artists like mitski, joji, Billie, Tyler the creator, frank ocean, Daniel Caesar artists that have been able to create a name for themselves with alternative music/alt rap/ alt rnb and have decided that this is what they want for themselves. "If they can do it, I can". They forget that these artists have a certain something that prevents their music from falling flat or being perceived as boring.

They enter the studio with a particular artist in mind and they decide that this is who they want to emulate with this record. They have these artists on their moodboard, replicate their aesthetic, employ artists who have worked with these people in their quest to replicate their success.

They don't want to have to make radio friendly music to find success because they can't (for example tae's vocal tone is a huge limitation and I think it's one of the reasons why he's stuck with alternative RnB) and because they have decided that they're going to follow in the path of these alternative artists forgetting that 8 times out of 10, these artists are only able to get a hit song because one of their songs suddenly goes viral on social media, they don't get huge numbers right off the bat.

Alternative music can be fun as we have seen with artists like Billie, but if you decide to release alternative or rnb songs that fall flat, when you're still dependent on a fandom who are fans of pop and upbeat songs, don't act disappointed when you don't get the same success as these artists you're imitating.

How about market your music to people who are fans of these alternative artists instead of dropping these songs without marketing them to it's target audience all because your group has a huge fandom.

And I don't even think it would be so easy to get an audience for these songs because as a huge fan of RnB and alt music, I have not liked any of taehyung's songs in chapter two, also only liked the title track of rpwp. So instead of making music in an attempt to replicate someone else's success and art, how about make music for you without having any specific artist in mind.

There's nothing wrong with choosing to do a specific genre and taking inspiration from other artists, just make sure it doesn't fall flat in your attempt to replicate exactly what they've done in the past.

Just because Tyler found success with "earthquake" doesn't mean "lost" would have that level of success, and just because "glimpse of us" by joji was one of the biggest songs by an Asian act, doesn't mean it's songwriter will give you the same hit, just like working with mhj did not guarantee a successful or memorable debut album.

Last time I fully enjoyed a namjoon album was mono, and even indigo was better than rpwp.

Way too much singing, not enough rapping, and all the songs seemed disjointed and not in a fun way, about 4 songs sounded more like interludes than actual music.

[nanaminokanojo]

ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE | part 27

-meet cute? a cheesy musical number? forget it! love makes itself known to you through a minor car accident, a broken arm, and a treacherously charming temporary chauffeur

CHARACTERS: sukuna x you/reader | jjk characters

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | bad boy x good girl | college au | a lot of firsts | aged-up characters | strangers to lovers | smut | fluff | angst | ooc depictions - soft sukuna ftw

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts | mentions of alcohol and/or smoking | mentions of injury, promiscuity and bullying | pet names because they're cute with 2D men | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 27 next>>

A/N: Contains prose with panels in between. 8th panel is a video.

Sukuna found it difficult to concentrate on the plot of the movie playing on the screen when Uraume's words to him rang clear in his head instead. He didn't have any intention to hurt you, and after the accident that brought him to you, he didn't think he had the heart to inflict any kind of pain on you. It was unthinkable.

Rather than that, he wanted to do the complete opposite and keep you away from harm as much as he could. He had never met anyone apart from Uraume whom he wanted to be a human shield for, and you were gradually changing that for him. He hasn't seen the full extent of what lies behind your smiles, but he only wanted to see genuine mirth whenever he looks at you. And if he can be the reason why you're always happy, he will make it so you never feel otherwise.

He glanced at you and found you sleeping, your head leaning on his shoulder for support halfway through the film. You looked so peaceful when you sleep. You didn't belong in the world he lived in when you looked like a higher being altogether even in your unconscious state. And yet you did. Sukuna was glad.

In an attempt to make you more comfortable, he placed an arm over your shoulder, his hand holding onto the side of your head to keep you from falling. But then, he noticed everyone looking at him with sly grins on their faces.

"What?" he snapped, causing them all to look away except for Uraume who smirked at him as if he knew something everyone else didn't.

Sukuna ignored that and fixed his eyes on the TV, glancing at you from time to time to make sure your injured arm was in the right position. He ended up not watching the rest of the movie as he, too, dozed off, reveling in the feel of your silky hair between his fingers.

"Dude, wake up," he heard Yu's hushed tones. "Movie's over."

Sukuna blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness of the room, noticing how everyone else was getting ready to leave. Taking out his phone, he checked the time, noting that it was already half-past midnight.

"Slept alright?" the vexing male asked him, making him frown when he realized where Yu's eyes were repeatedly glancing.

You were still asleep, snuggled to his side, your form seemingly infinitely smaller than his stature. Just then, your eyes opened and you blinked slowly. The sight was so adorable that he broke into a grin.

"Hey," he greeted you like a lover would, startled when Satoru suddenly squealed like a banshee.

You also straightened up, looking for the source of the sound, breaking the spell that seemed to have engulfed the room with the two of you staring at each other.

Sukuna suddenly felt cold when you distanced yourself from him, his arm tingling at the loss of contact between the two of you. But he concealed that by saying, "Ready to go home?"

"Sure."

TAG LIST: @catobsessedlady @kyo-kyo1 @junehasnotbeenfound @lavender-hvze @guacam011y @eyered @hellomeow12 @its-princessmara @light-yagami-l @domainofmarie @mythoscalliope @noble-17 @pheonix-eclipses @weebbuscuit @sukunasbudussy @lu-c1na @vinnieswife @the-haitani-baton @iaminyourfloors @needtoloveoutloud @r-ryuko09 @somestardeww @swirlingcurses @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @bronze-metal @bronze-metal @kidd3ath

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240526]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[screamsofanoutlawbrain]

I have the silliest theory for pt.2 of Dark Cacaos showdown with Mystic Flour. (I'm gonna just call Dark Choco 'Choco' and Dark Cacao 'Cacao')

Cacao is quite literally on the brink of following the rest of his kingdom into flour. Before Choco appears through the flour, reaching out a hand and picking up Cacao's sword. Cacao is stunned silent and is pulled to his feet by Choco, and gets his sword put in his hands.

Choco is basically talking some sense into Cacao (in turn, stopping Mystic Flours hold on Cacao's soul jam) before Cloud Haetae appears, angry that "How dare someone selfishly stop Mystic Flour from reclaiming her soul jams second half!" and Choco argues back with that it's rightfully Cacao's soul jam, Mystic Flour is killing Cacao's kingdom, and that Cacao is here in the first place to protect and aid his kingdom.

Choco, while using only a normal sword, fights off Cloud Haetae while Cacao is still coming to terms with all that's just recently happened. later, while Choco and Cacao are trudging through the flour storm, Choco and Cacao end up fighting the Dumpling Kings(those four Dumpling guys from back in chapter one), having a similar argument that Choco had with Cloud Haetae.

Crunchy Chip, Caramel Arrow, and the rest of the watchers wake up in a place made of flour, and meet Peach Tree Spirit (that pink cookie next to Mystic Flour on the title screen) and learn some more about Mystic Flour from a different perspective, learning that many of Mystic Flour's followers died when outsiders came in to find treasure, and how it greatly affected Mystic Flour, the isolation and grief that came with the years after making her turn to apathy and futility, almost forgetting why she cared about life in the first place.

Peach Tree Spirit tells them that they're in a purgatory for those who chose to become flour, like she has been for many, many years, but she hasn't moved on to becoming fully flour, she doesn't want to leave Mystic Flour alone when she gets there.

Choco and Cacao go forward deeper into the temple, getting out of the flour storm, and finding Mystic Flour in the deepest part of the temple, infuriated that Cacao and this new person (she doesn't know Choco is his son, she didn't even know how Choco got there) survived. Mystic Flour goes off on them, and Cacao fires back with anger, but not a physical fight yet. Until she says that all connections with people are useless, and that's what angers both Choco and Cacao even more. The fight happens, and at its height, a wave of flour is flown through the room by Mystic Flour, which is then combated by Cacao's sword (The levels of magic present in the room is almost sending him into that berserk state), and the magic clash of Mystic Flour's Apathy and Cacao's Resolution, making the Flour start to twist and form into shapes (that kinda look like cookies) and Dark Choco takes a bit of life powder out of a bag, and throws it into the flour.

Due to Mystic Flour and Dark Cacao being busy fighting each other, neither notice that the cookie-like shapes in the flour are starting to look more like cookies and are starting to speak. Cloud Haetae enters and witnesses what's going on in the sidelines, the flour in the air slowly disappearing as it forms back into the cookies who died from the pale aliment, and Choco helping them get a grip on themselves.

Soon, the watchers (+ Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip) get to their senses, and nearly attack Mystic Flour, but a scream fills the room, putting everything to a halt, even Cacao and Mystic Flour's fight.

The scream was from Peach Tree Spirit, now just Peach Tree, in horror of everything that is happening. Yeah, she heard from the watchers and dark cacaoions that it was because of Mystic Flour, but surely it must've been a mistake, the Mystic Flour she knew wouldn't have done anything like that! But it was true, the Mystic Flour she knew is nothing like the one that is here now. Peach Tree questions both Mystic Flour and Cacao, and points out the hypocrisy in Mystic Flour trying to take Cacao's half of the soul jam, Cacao has the soul jam to protect and aid his kingdom, a task he has not strayed from unless he has strayed from the soul jam, and that Mystic Flour taking it would go against her own (once) morals. This shakes Mystic Flour only a small bit, but completely shatters Cloud Haetae's view on Mystic Flour, and he points out that what Mystic Flour has tried to do to Cacao's kingdom is the same thing that happened to her temple. Which stuns Mystic Flour more.

Then, Mystic Flour and Cacao fully realize that the people lost to the flour are back (minus those who moved on while in the purgatory). This is what sends Mystic Flour into a crisis, while Cacao directs the watchers to get out of the way of any attack that Mystic Flour might make, Choco goes under the raidar for only a momment, staying behind with Dark Cacao.

Mystic Flour retreats into another part of the temple, Peach Tree following a ways behind, while Cloud Haetae leads everyone else outside of the temple.

On the way out, Dark Cacao, Crunchy Chip, and Caramel Arrow ask Dark Choco how the witches did he do anything of what he did. Choco responds that he followed them and that there's a few more people from the Cookies of Darkness who are planning to leave and are willing to share information on how to combat some of the beasts magic.

They travel back to the Dark Cacao kingdom, get the information they need out of Dark Choco to cure the Pale Ailment, and cure the ones with the Ailment before Choco and Cacao actually have a conversation about what just happened, and Dark Choco goes into the wild of the Dark Cacao kingdom again willingly.

[vapolis]

I know I’m prolonging this discussion my apologies, it’s just, this IF is the only one I’ve personally seen with such “dedicated” readers, that it’s a bit jarring haha.

The irony is that Seven isn’t moving on with Avina. Not yet, if ever seen played out at all, it’s the idea that has people riled. They’re an RO for a reason which has been stated multiple times cause of the “dedication” from some readers, along with their route not being a love triangle like G and V. Joking, sad comments about dynamics and a healthy amount of frustration are, I think, normal, as it means the readers are invested. But it’s when readers make it too personal and act as such that it goes off the rails. Trust the process and waiting to read what happens is a hell of a thing.

Similar to D and Orla. They’re both RO’s to the Merc for a reason. (They could never make me hate you D..and maybe Orla, though I’m a little more wary of her with her position and all).

yeah, I agree. obviously, everyone is allowed to feel what they feel and if you're that invested in someone's route/character GREAT. massive kudos to the author for being able to get those kind of reactions out of people but I think it's a bit much still.

we're on chapter 2 and idk how long the game will be in the end and the brief interactions w seven and avina have been ok. they seem close but I personally haven't gotten a very romantic vibe (so far) so who knows where their story will go! I'm personally more invested in the codependency and if things will crash and burn again.

and I also agree on the d and orla thing LMAO especially since I've stated they're not even in a poly route or anything close to it so the reaction I've gotten to it has definitely been a bit of a surprise.

[foxufortunes]

So like, I was gonna add this onto my post about the Raven's win percentage and how that compared to lacrosse with NCAA Exy and NCAA Lacrosse being about the same age, but I figured I'd put it here so everyone can see, because this is what I mean about the exy timeline being complicated and why zero losses makes sense over 30 years.

And yes, I know AFTG is not aiming for hyper realism grounded in reality, but I like figuring out a cohesive timeline for things like fics it's TRC all over again. Also I just like to think way too deep about this things, and if I'm descending into madness over these things you're coming with me.

That said, the timeline of exy and Evermore as much as I can make sense of it:

So, the exy/Evermore timeline in kind of a mess and a great example of how adding more makes something make less sense. What we're going to do is take the books at their most concrete fact and say that Tetsuji and Kayleigh invented exy 30 years pre-canon, and for ease of timeline we'll call it exactly 30years. So, here we go:

So our base line in 1976 (for the record NCAA Lacrosse was formed 1971, this is what I mean when I say they're roughly the same age). Tetsuji and Kayleigh were in university and in Japan, but it's not clear at what point in their studies they were and how long they had left to go at university.

Nora's EC says that Tetsuji was reaching out to the NCAA before he graduated. During his last semester he was reaching out promising funding and himself as a coach. So this is, at most a few years after exy was created unless Tetsuji had the slowest university career ever.

The next fall semester NCAA Exy officially starts with Ravens vs Trojans at Castle Evermore. So, as I've said before, the Big 3 were in on the ground floor. This is why they're so dominant, but that they started with the Ravens means they should be more competitive. The Raven's won the first match 13-12 and if it's that close at the start, the idea that the Raven's undefeated 20year+ streak is because they've been around longer loses all ground.

Evermore was the first stadium completed, followed by the Golden Court for the Trojans and Pride Court for Penn State Lions (which is such a cute name, I want a book on them please Nora). Pride Court was delayed but Penn State kept up training, while USC and EAU had their courts built at impossible speed. For reference, building a sports stadium, from first plans to completion is at speed roughly an 18month endeavour, if everything goes right, but depending on how you read the point above this could be just a few months. Either way, it's very fast. Other universities had pop up stadiums or played at the bigger stadiums of the Big 3 or local stadiums until theirs were complete. Ironically, given his apparent treatment of his female players, a lot of Tetsuji's funding came from getting women on board, promoting how co-ed the sport was.

The first pro teams were formed around the first graduates from the NCAA league. So 5 years after Evermore and we get a professional league.

And the US Court 2 years after. So 7 years from the start of the NCAA competition and we get a national team.

Then exy is in the Olympics the next year. So 8 years from the first NCAA game for exy to be Olympic recognised (a generous estimate makes that 1988, 1992 at a push, 14-18 years pre-canon and roughly a decade pre-foundation of the Foxes).

The problem with all this, of course, being that the book in only chapter 2 of TFC says that Kevin (born in 1986) and Riko were around with Tetsuji when Evemore was still in the blueprint stage.

Now, there's a couple of way I can think to maybe square this all. Firstly, obviously the 30years is a rough but that should mean closer to 30 than anything else, but to be generous either way, we're looking at between '71 (35years pre-canon) and '81 (25years pre-canon) and the later timeline can square a little better. It's also possible our Castle Evermore is a new stadium and the first Castle Evermore is an old one they've knocked down and replaced at the new one is the one Kevin and Riko were around for. It's also possible to be more generous with Tetsuji's university career: say he was in his first year in 1976, did a longer/postgrad course and stayed for say 7 years giving us 1983 for his graduation, then be generous and say "next fall semester" actually means '84 (which is still fast for a stadium) for Evermore's completion and the NCAA starting, which gives us the '92 Olympics.

So, let's work backwards instead. For Evermore to be being built while Kevin and Riko "already had custom racquets" we'll be generous and lowball age 2? So, we'll work with Evermore opening around '88. Even working with the most generous estimate of when exy was invented (1981, 25years rather than 30) that means, assuming Tetsuji spent his freshman year in Japan, he was in university for 6 or 7 years (depending on how you read next fall). Putting us at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta and making NCAA exy 20ish years old.

[dilatorywriting]

I’m so in love with your stories, mostly Leona’s, Vil’s and Rook’s. The chemistry and personality that the main character that you write has is so entertaining and just makes me want to continue reading even when I should just fall asleep. Hopefully finals are treating you well because you deserve it❤️ I’ll read all the new chapters whenever they come out 💕

Thank you!! I'm still waiting for the results in a bit of terrorized frenzy, but fingers crossed. But yes, I adore giving all these boys their own little, grouchy idiots to love them, so I'm glad they're enjoyed ❤️

[honora-antares]

Severus Snape Headcanons for my upcoming Fanfic!

Uses Muggle supplies

For studying & note taking in class because they're cheaper than Wizarding supplies.

Ex: spiral notebooks, wooden pencils, pens

Only ever uses his parchment and ink quills when doing class work and essays that need to be turned in.

Professor Flitwick noticed and charmed his pen so that the ink will last until the school year ends.

"Best to not tell" is all he said when he did before awarding him 10 points for his cleverness and resourcefulness.

Is Actually Left Handed

But because Tobias deemed it another "freakish" trait from his mother, broke his fingers every time he caught him writing, forcing him to use his right hand, therefore making him ambidextrous.

Reason why his school work is immaculate and his notes are a complete mess. because even though his left hand has a slight tremor, he still uses it in the comfort of his own privacy.

His Mother is Jewish so He Knows a Bit of Hebrew

When he's in Potions or any other class that require numbers, he only ever counts in the language under his breath.

The Marauders (not Remus) think his mumblings are incantations of Dark Magic spells because of course they do.

He Was a Late Bloomer

Meaning his first growth spurt happened during the summer between 4th and 5th year.

His voice changed to a deep throaty tone that everyone immediately pointed out. Both Severus and Eileen mastered honey-lime tea.

He refused to speak for almost half of first term & only relented when Regulus told him how his voice is perfect for Reading Nights. Especially if he's reading in Hebrew.

(the Slytherins have a short of "poetry night" which I find kinda cute)

He Steals the Library's Candles

Madam Pince is convinced its the Marauders so she has made countless complaints to Headmaster Dumbledore, but he just lets it be. Claiming how wonderful it is that students are working so hard into the night on their studies that they need the extra light.

Only that Severus uses the candles to coat and seal his more expensive and/or important potion ingredients since their wax is of more higher quality and its charmed to last longer than regular candles.

I've only posted a brief Prologue of sorts but feel free to check it out! ✌🏽

And if you like a bit of Snirius too, chapter 8 for To Take Your Name is currently being edited 😉