#also god I was read. I was read EMBARRASSINGLY easy

[camellcat]

apparently, I talk about nine a lot more than I thought I did LOL

while hanging out with my friends, I mentioned the post I made about how I thought twelve was like nine and why he's my second favorite when one of them interrupted and said "so, we know you've got a thing for grieving, sad dilfs" and I went "?!?"

he then proceeded to make an accurate list of my favorite doctors. and then said the only reason twelve wasn't my favorite was simply because he wasn't nine. and that I literally never stop talking about how much I love nine and s1 as a whole 💀

[calumance]

The Interview

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: cussing, it got angsty for a millisecond, talking about throwing up, doesn’t actually happen, slight mention of panic attacks

Summary: She is an actor who is embarrassingly and openly obsessed with Pedro Pascal, but when she gets invited to be a guest on the same talk show as him, it doesn’t go the way she planned.

A/N: holy moly, I haven’t written in FOREVER so I apologize now if this is absolutely horrible. And this is also the first time I have ever written anything for Pedro Pascal so go easy on me!

This was not the first time she was asked to be on a late night talk show; she had been on a couple for her smaller roles. But this was the first time that she knew absolutely nothing about what was going on. No one was telling her who the other guests were, when she was to go onto the stage, where she was supposed to sit, what they were going to talk to her about, nothing. It was all kept a secret from her. So when she showed up to the studio, she felt like she was running blind.

“They’re just going to ask me about my movie that is coming out soon, right?” She asked her brother, Jeremy, who was standing behind her through the mirror.

He was the one who set this whole thing up, and he was being the most secretive. “Yeah, sure, something like that.” His phone started to ring and he left the room while putting it to his ear.

“What the hell does that even mean?” She mumbled to herself while she finished the final touches on her makeup.

Jeremy didn’t come back any time soon, in fact, no one had come and talked to her since the moment she arrived. Out of boredom, she pulled her phone out and started to scroll through her twitter. She read her latest tweet to herself: “Watched the most recent episode of #TheLastOfUs; is anyone else obsessed with Pedro Pascal? Just me? Okay.” The tweet had thousands of likes and retweets, and so did the other handful of tweets where she gushed about how obsessed with Pedro Pascal she was.

It was true, he was, IS, a brilliant actor, funny, the most respectful and charismatic man in Hollywood, and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. She was wrapped around his finger, embarrassingly so, and, as far as she could tell, he had absolutely no idea who she was. And she was absolutely fine with that, especially with her tweets about him. “I need to stop tweeting my innermost thoughts.” She said to herself before tossing her phone to the side.

It was a couple minutes later when there was a knock at the door and one of the stage crew members stuck their head through the door, “They’re about ready for you on stage, are you ready?” She nodded as she stood up, running her hands down the skirt of her dress to flatten it out.

No one talked to her as she followed behind the crew member to the stage. This was getting weird, and it made her stomach sink into her ass. What the hell was she about to walk into?

Her hands shook slightly as she waited for the host to finish introducing her, talking about her new movie and the release date. She relaxed a bit, maybe they were just talking about the movie, and this show just happens to not communicate with anyone. The door opened up for her to walk through and she waved at the cheering crowd and made her way to the couches next to the host. The second she caught sight of the other guests, her heart stopped.

Holy shit, he’s right there.

She continued to smile and make her way to the couch, Pedro Pascal and Helen Mirren standing and clapping for her.

You’re a fucking actor, ACT like you’re not having a panic attack.

Helen gave her a tender hug, and a soft kiss to the cheek. Pedro pulled her in for a hug as well, could he tell how badly she was trembling? She moved to sit on the other side of Helen, away from Pedro, when the host stopped her, “Oh no, no, there’s a spot and a drink for you right in between Pedro and Helen there.”

Dear god, this is why it was all a secret. I’ve been set up.

She smiled and switched to sit in between them, but she leaned towards Helen.

Can they tell I’m about to vomit? Holy shit, DO NOT vomit.

They started off by asking her about her new movie. It was her first big role and she was more than happy to talk about it and answer the few questions they did ask her. When they switched the focus to Pedro and his absolutely bombshell success of his shows, she tried her hardest to keep a happy face, but oh god did she want to run screaming.

The host began talking about the attention Pedro has been getting from the success of his shows and if he liked it or not. He bashfully answered that he did. “The internet sure loves you.” The host said, and she felt her heart fall into the empty pit of her stomach. “This tweet here says ‘I need to stop referring to Pedro Pascal as daddy, it’s becoming a problem.’” Everyone laughed, including her, trying to act like she wasn’t about to pass out.

But then she saw it on the screen, the username was blurred out, but it was absolutely her tweet. She knew it was based on the emoji’s she put at the end; and even though the username was blurred, it wasn’t blurred that well. She took a staggered breath that hopefully no one noticed. “This one here says ‘Just caught up on The Last of Us…should I be concerned that watching Pedro Pascal kill that many people turned me on?’”

Please don’t reveal who tweeted that. Maybe I’ll make it off this stage alive.

Pedro laughed, and before he got a chance to comment on it, the host directed his attention back to her, “Are you alright there? You look a little flustered?” The smirk on his face told her everything. They were absolutely going to reveal who tweeted that.

“I’m great.” She said with a smile, but as sarcastically as she possibly could. She was sweating profusely.

“Good! Because, I felt like I recognized the username on this tweet,” The screen with the screenshot of the tweet suddenly unblurred the username and revealed her twitter handle, “Oh my god, that was your tweet!” That was it, she was going in hiding after this interview.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end. They showed three more of her thirst tweets for the man sitting right next to her. After the second she leaned forward and placed her hands on her face just so that her fingers were covering her mouth as she told herself over and over to not cry.

Perhaps Pedro could tell how uncomfortable she was starting to feel because he quickly spoke up with a chuckle, “I mean, you should see some of the things I’ve tweeted. I barely even know how to work twitter.”

She felt a wave of relief when the attention was finally not on her and her absolutely embarrassing obsession with Pedro. However, the feeling of wanting to simultaneously vomit and cry still lingered. But, she put on a brave face and acted as if the entire interview didn’t even faze her.

Once the show ended and she politely said goodbye to everyone around her, she made her way to her dressing room. It wasn’t until she heard the click of the door shutting that she finally broke into tears. She ended up in a squatting position while trying to pull herself together, but the tears just kept coming. Jeremy walked through the door with a huge shit eating grin on his face until he saw his sister nearly in the fetal position on the ground. Before he got a chance to say a single word, she stood up and poked a finger in his direction, “You did this, didn’t you? You were the one who set up this interview, you were the one who told me over and over again how good it would be for my career for me to come on the show. You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“Why are you upset with me? If you didn’t want something like this to happen, maybe keep your thirst in a diary, not on the internet where everyone can see it.” Jeremy pointed a finger back at her.

The worst part was that he was right. She couldn’t even argue his point, because he was fucking right. Maybe it was time to delete her twitter and go into hiding after her movie came out. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself and let out a sigh, “Can you just go out there and tell me when everyone is gone? I want to be the last one to leave.”

Jeremy huffed as he walked out the door. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and started to clean the makeup that had run down her face. It was as she threw the final makeup wipe into the trash when she heard the knock on her door. It couldn’t be Jeremy, the dude never knocked once in his life. The feeling of wanting to throw up suddenly came rushing back.

When she opened the door, she had to swallow her heart. Pedro was standing there, a soft smile on his lips. “May I come in?” He asked softly.

As badly as she wanted to tell him no and slam the door in his face, she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and silently opened the door further to allow him to walk past her. She shut the door behind him and before he got a chance to say anything, she started spewing her thoughts, “Pedro, I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you. I promise I am going to delete all of the tweets, probably even my entire twitter account. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen, I didn’t even know you were a guest. Literally the entire thing had been kept a secret to me and I am so, so sorry if this damages or, or puts a hiccup, or whatever in your career. You are entirely an amazing actor and you deserve to be treated better than that, and-”

“No, no, no,” he softly cut her off and stepped closer to her, putting his hands on her arms. “I came here to ask if you were okay; to tell you that you deserve to be treated better.” She didn’t even know how to respond to that, so she just stared at him. “Interviewers can be brutal and I, even though I promise I had nothing to do with this, wanted to apologize to you.” He looked deep into her eyes and slightly shook his head, “I’m sorry they upset you enough to make you cry.” Dear god, was it that obvious? She looked away from him and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “I’d like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner tomorrow night”

Excuse me, what?

“What?” She whispered the question.

A small smile graced his lips as he looked down at the ground, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. ”I should’ve said something a while ago,” He started before looking back up at her, “I’ve been following your career for a few years now. All the tweets they showed today? I’ve already seen them. I’ve followed you on twitter for at least a year now.”

EXCUSE ME, WHAT?

How had she never noticed he followed her? She was too stunned to speak, so Pedro continued, “I feel like if I had had the guts to talk to you sooner, then none of this would’ve happened. Which is why I would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow, I’m just sorry that I’m asking you after what just happened.”

Her heart was beating so hard she was sure it was about to jump out of her chest. The blood was rushing through her ears so fiercely, she wasn’t even sure she heard him correctly. Her mind was reeling and it took him letting out a soft chuckle for her to realize she was staring at him like a deer in the headlights. She shook her head to stop her mind from spinning and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Yes, yes, I’d like that.”

[carrionsymptom]

Take It Easy | The Grabber x Reader

AN: I’m still here!! Can’t promise I will be particularly active, but I am alright. I’ve been busy and had little motivation to write, but I’m slowly getting more. This isn’t the best thing I’ve written, and I cut it off a little early, but I’ll just say my writing skills are rusty and leave it at that. Here’s a quick spiritual successor to Mistaken, but it can be read by itself.

CW: Implied age difference, bit of size kink, some non consensual touching to start, heavy petting

AFAB reader, no pronouns or gendered terms used. Jenga didn’t exist until the 80’s but I had no better metaphors since Tetris also didn’t exist until the 80’s.

There’s so much shit you have to take to college, it’d be a miracle if you can fit it all into the boot of your parent’s sedan, but God help you, you'll try. Boxes of clothes, bedding, a microwave, books, toiletries and whatever odds and ends you can fit get stuffed into the car. You’re lucky your roommate is bringing a mini fridge because there’s no way in hell you’d be able to fit that in with everything else. 

While you’re busting your ass playing cardboard-box Jenga, he, walking past, certainly notices your ass sticking out of the car. Clad in too-tight jean shorts, you sway like an invitation and were it not for the prying eyes of the other neighbors, he would’ve fucked you right there. Instead, he sidles up behind you, pressing his hips into yours.

“Need some help?” You leap nearly a foot into the air, dropping the box you were holding and whirling to face your older neighbor. “Woah there kid, y’can’t have a heart attack this young!”

With a shaky hand over your chest, you tentatively smile at him. “Jeez, sorry, you spooked me. Uh, help would be nice.” You slot your work-in-progress box into the car, and he takes his place next to you. He’s clad in an old camp shirt and jeans that look way too thick to be comfortable in this weather, but he doesn’t even break a sweat as he easily hauls box after box into the sedan. If you weren’t so flustered from how his thick forearms graze your side as he brushes past you, you might’ve commented on how strong he is. 

You wish you could gather your thoughts for a second, but you can’t help but hone in on the miniscule touches to your lower back as he passes, or how big his hands are when he takes a box out of your arms. Any attempt at conversation seems to end up with you embarrassingly stammering, but he always glances back at you with a half-chuckle and a shake of his head. With his help, packing is quick, and with a sturdy slam, the trunk door shuts.

“Whew!” Your neighbor exclaims, wiping his brow. You try not to stare at the strip of skin that flashes above his belt when he lifts his arm. “Not gonna invite me inside sweetheart?” He all but laughs at the way you freeze and your eyes widen.

You stumble over your words: “Uh, would you– would you like to come inside? I can… I can make some lemonade or something?” Your parents are out, but you’re not sure when they’ll be back. They’d understand inviting your helpful neighbor in to rehydrate after a hard day of lugging boxes, won’t they?

“Or something,” he smiles, sweeping past you into your house. He sits himself at your leather sofa, legs spread wide and looking far too big to be comfortable, but you can see his incisors with how he grins at you. “Really, I’m alright without anything to drink, but I’d still like your company, ‘f that’s ok with you?”

You nod– you have to nod, and make to sit on your dad’s old loveseat, but his mouth creases into a frown so you awkwardly hover. 

“Don’t gotta be so far away sweetheart. C’mon,” he pats his thigh. Surely he doesn’t expect you to… “Come on. Climb up.” You wish you had a glass of lemonade now, with how difficult it feels to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“I don’t want to crush you.”

Your neighbor barks out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. You don’t find it particularly funny, but he’s practically wiping a tear out of his eye as he settles down. “Sweetie, you’re not going to crush me. Now up.” With no better argument, you bite your tongue and climb into his lap.

Despite your initial hesitation, you can immediately tell he’s right. There’s no way in hell you’d be able to crush him. His thigh is thick and sturdy– everything about him is sturdy. A rough hand rests on your hip, rubbing little circles into the denim of your shorts while the other plays with the hem of your shirt.

It’s a little awkward though, the way you’re perched on his leg. You balance precariously on the apex of his thigh, teetering a little as he shifts up the couch seat. Your neighbor, he, tuts as you shuffle. “Mmm… a little uncomfortable, huh? Here, why don’t we…” 

You yelp as he pulls you closer to him, swinging one leg over so you’re straddling his hips. The crux of your legs meets his, and through the layers of denim, you can feel the hardness in his pants. Christ, even his cock is thick. He lets out a low groan, holding your waist as he pushes his hips up against yours. You buck against him, but aren’t quite able to grind down how you’d like to.

“That’s it,” he sighs. “There you go sweetheart. That’s it.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, murmuring quietly in his ear: “Can I… can I take off my shorts? Please?”

He smiles. “Ah, since you asked so nicely.” You shuffle out of your shorts and he pants as you accidentally graze his cock. “Mmm,” he hums, tucking a finger under the waistband. “Why don’t you take these off too? Make sure you’re extra comfy.”

Once more you shimmy on his lap, out of your underwear, and as you settle back down, the thick seam on his jeans catches against your clit. You let out a whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder. Your neighbor wraps his thick arms around you in return, caging you against him as you bump and grind and move and–

Fuck! You come from nothing but heavy petting, clenching around air and tensing in your neighbor’s strong hold. The physical release is nice, but he’s still hard under you, and you’re struck with an overwhelming need for more. Your hands trail down from his neck, down his chest, until they’re struggling to undo his belt.

“Ah, sweetheart. That’s enough. That’s enough.” He pushes your hips back from his so you’re resting on the middle of his thighs. He laughs as he looks down at his jeans, a wet spot darkening the outline of his still-hard cock. “Shit. Would you look at that? Made a goddamn mess of me, huh honey?”

You suppose you should be feeling some sort of embarrassment, but you can only feel confusion; why did he stop you? “But… you didn’t… I mean, don’t you want to… y’know…” You trail off, head too fuzzy to string together the right words. Your neighbor shakes his head with an easy grin.

“Maybe next time, ok honey? I’m a busy man, I gotta get going. Thanks for such great hospitality though.” He says. 

“Can I… I mean will I see you again?”

“You’re goin’ off to college pretty damn soon, aren’t you? Doubt we’ll cross paths again until you get back, sorry to say.”

[runninggolden]

Certified ‘Pain In The Ass’ (part 1)

Leonard McCoy x female OC (can be read as x reader)

word count: 3530

a/n: Hello! I’m writing again! This is an old fic of mine that didn’t work out. But I liked it a lot so I decided to strip it down to its bare bones and write it all over again and now it works! I’m still editing part 2 but it should be up soon! I’m on AO3 as RunningGolden :)

This was originally an x reader fic but I accidentally gave the reader too much personality so I just made her an OC. Whoops. You can still imagine her as ‘reader’, I don’t describe her looks at all and I only gave her a surname. Her personality is very strong, though.

This is sort of enemies to friends to lovers. The enemies part is more of a backstory though.

summary: Her friendship with Leonard was a strange one. They’d banter a lot, she’d playfully joke with him and he’d roll his eyes and occasionally fail to fight a smile. He’d drag her to med-bay everytime she even got a papercut and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it. Oh, and she was deeply, embarrassingly, in love with him. (part 1 of 2) 

warnings: profanity, injuries, blood, aliens, danger, OC is a little shit lmao, they’re both idiots, literally children pulling each others pigtails, almost painful pining

___________________________________________________

When she met Leonard McCoy for the first time, she quickly discovered how easy it was to annoy him. One, admittedly dumb, comment and he whirled on her with a scowl that seemed to permanently reside on his face and frustration seeping out his pores as he snarled; “Damn it, I’m a doctor not a frog! The bio bed is stuck 5 meters up in the air and you suggest ‘jumping’?! Why does everyone insist on being a pain in my ass today?!” 

She laughed in his face.

That clearly wasn't the reaction the doctor expected if his look of disgruntled confusion was anything to go off. He looked her up and down, seemingly only then realizing that he did not recognize the person he just scolded.

"Hold on, who the hell are you?"

She smirked, his obvious bad mood dangling in front of her face like candy on a string. And boy, did she have a sweet tooth. "Oh, you haven't heard? I’m Chief Security Officer Flynn. They hired me to be a pain in your ass. Anyway, have you tried a trampoline?"

Despite her new job on the Enterprise keeping her quite busy, being Leonard McCoy's certified ‘pain in the ass’ was a role she took up enthusiastically. Annoying the notable doctor quickly became her favorite hobby. Bothering him in med-bay, crashing his drinking sessions with the Captain and proclaiming something dumb to get him to argue with her (much to the Captain's amusement), offering more useless comments for him to rant about. It was all a fun distraction from an otherwise stressful move to a new starship.

It was simple, really. A simple game, a simple back-and-forth, a simple source of entertainment.

But it didn’t take her very long to discover that there was absolutely nothing simple about Doctor Leonard McCoy.

There was just something special about him that kept her coming back for more. She couldn't stop seeking him out, bantering with him, learning things about him, trying to get him to laugh at her jokes. It didn't take very long for her to forget it was supposed to be simple.

He didn't make it easy, either. He claimed to absolutely loathe her and immediately seized any chance to argue with her, to complain about her, to glare at her. And of all the things she's learned about him, his god-awful (and overly dramatic) acting skills might just be her favorite. 

You didn't have to be a genius to tell that despite his colorful language, his words were never harsh. He scowled like he got paid for it but his expressions were never cold. And for someone who claimed that she was the unfunniest person in the universe, he sure covered up a lot of laughs with ill-placed coughs.

If you had asked anyone on the ship, they would’ve told you that he enjoyed their arguments even more than she did.

Perhaps she was also a distraction to him. Perhaps life in between all the action on the Enterprise was so dreadfully boring, that her antics kept him somewhat entertained. Perhaps underneath all the cynical theatrics, he liked having her around.

It took a year into the Enterprise's new mission for them to develop a strange sort of friendship. He begrudgingly made space for her in his life and she toned down her antics. From time to time he stopped acting like she was the bane of his existence and every now and then she opened the floor to friendly conversations. She’d playfully joke with him and he’d roll his eyes and occasionally fail to fight a smile. He’d drag her to med-bay everytime she even got a papercut and she pretended to be inconvenienced by it. They still bantered a lot, but it was softer, somehow.

And it took one moment for her to mess it all up.

She made him laugh, really laugh, and suddenly it all made sense. It was all building up to this, all the bad jokes, all the pitiful attempts, they all came to this moment. And god was it worth it. He let out a hearty, belly-aching laugh and his eyes crinkled at the corners and it was like the stars aligned and heavens opened up. She finally saw the light and was lit up by it from the inside, her heart engulfed in flame by a single sound. It lasted only a moment and she was immediately thirsting for more. Thirsting like she was sweltering in the desert and the only thing that could quench her thirst was hearing that goddamn laugh again. Preferably on her lips. Whilst wrapped in his embrace.

Of course, of course this is what it was about the entire goddamn time!

Oh. Oh, I am so screwed.

-

“Leonard! It’s your favorite patient!” Her call was followed by an exasperated sigh and the screech of a chair. The Med-Bay was quiet that day, only a handful of people littered about and the only notable sound that could be heard was the occasional cough.

“What did you do this ti-“ Leonard abruptly stopped mid-sentence as soon as he rounded the corner and spotted her standing in the doorway clutching her bloody hand. “My god, what the hell did you do?!” He ran up to her and gently took her hand to examine it. She smiled at him sheepishly.

“Challenged Sulu to a duel… again… we got a little carried off.” She chuckled and he gave her the look. His famous ‘I can’t believe I have to deal with this bullshit’ look that most people would whither from in shame. Not her though, no, she reveled in it. She wasn't sure if it was because of her persistent desire to annoy him or that she just liked being in the center of his attention. Perhaps a bit of both.

"Again?! Last time he almost cut you in half and you decided to have another go?!" His arms folded disapprovingly across his chest as he glared at her. Apparently her cut wasn't life-threatening enough to skip a lecture.

She scoffed. “Oh, relax, I was fine, he barely grazed me.”

“You were out of commission for a week!”

“Yeah, because you banned me from moving!” 

“You would’ve ripped your stitches out!”

"I would've been careful!" 

"You seriously expect me to believe that?"

Fair point. “Okay, fine. I promise to never again intentionally get into another sword fighting duel with potentially the greatest sword fighter in outer space.” She promised in a flat voice, fingers crossed behind her back, before grimacing and quickly adding; "Don't tell Sulu I said that."

“You’re a menace.” He grumbled with an eye roll as he led her to the nearest med-bed and started to clean the wound. A stray hair rebelled from his neatly combed hair and she couldn’t help but think how adorable he looked as he continued berating her, each comment decorated with increasingly creative insults.

“Oh, Dr. McCoy… I love it when you talk dirty to me.” She breathed and sent him with a sultry look, successfully stopping his rant short. She snickered as she felt his hands still on hers for a moment before he fixed her with a glare. He drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head with a sigh, and went back to treating her wound.

Huh, that was weird. Managing to fluster Bones was no easy feat, but shutting him up? That’s rare. She could proudly say she's done it twice before, but this one felt different. Feeling like she was on the verge of something awkward, she decided to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“Besides, next time… I’m finally going to beat Sulu at his own game.” She declared, breathing an inward sigh of relief as he immediately latched onto the distraction.

“What happened to ‘never getting into another sword fight’?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I crossed my fingers when I said that.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I cannot fathom how someone would let you be the Chief Security Officer on this ship!” He exclaimed dramatically, not for the first time, but only earned a grin from her.

“Obviously someone saw how awesome I am.”

“Obviously!” He repeated sarcastically. She snorted and watched his hands work on the cut Sulu so graciously gave her, admiring the way his long fingers gently applied a healing ointment on her wound.  His hands were steady, precise, practiced in the art of taking care of someone. His fingernails were better manicured than hers could ever hope to be, cut with a surgeon's precision. He had a few scars, faint white lines decorating his skin, along with a few freckles. His touch was soft, so soft she barely felt it, and she wondered, not for the first time, how a man with such a strong personality could be so gentle. Be so kind.

Despite his sardonic wit, brusque demeanor and his immense hatred for stupidity, Leonard kept surprising her with just how big his heart was. He was compassionate and cared deeply about all living things. He could curse your entire bloodline whilst nursing you gently back to health. He could hate space with a burning passion but still follow you into a black hole to make sure you were alright. They could be in the middle of an argument about her clumsiness (or lack thereof, in her opinion) and he’d still grab her just as she was about to fall over, which would’ve won him the argument. She thought about that moment embarrassingly often.

One of his hands picked hers up and cradled it, warm and comforting, as the other picked up a dermal regenerator and let the soft glow illuminate her hand. She barely registered the warmth from the regenerator, the feel of Leonard’s hands was way too distracting. She tried not to think about the fact that he did not need to hold her like that, she’s seen him use the dermal regenerator a million times by now and he never touches someone during the process. It was unnecessary. Yet there he was…

Her heart was hammering in her chest. Silently cursing, she tried to regain control over her traitorous body before the doctor could notice. She was fighting the urge to shiver… and the instinct to grab his face and kiss him.

I’m gonna go insane. I’m gonna go insane because of Leonard’s McCoy’s hands.

“Did you remember to take your medicine this morning?” He suddenly asked, frowning at the report on his tricorder. She shook herself, realizing he had finished wrapping her hand whilst she had her private freak-out. He still gently held her hand with one of his, thumb stroking her palm as the screen distracted him. 

She fought the urge to scream and melt into a puddle, simultaneously. 

“Uh… yeah! Of course.” She lied. Crap. She totally forgot. He didn’t seem to believe her in the slightest.

“Oh, really?” He arched an eyebrow and stared her down. Usually she could stare back all day with the same stubborn attitude as him, but she was so distracted by the feel of his thumb - he's still doing it! - and silently cursed when she felt her face heat up. Looking away, she decided to just give in.

“Okay, I forgot.” She mumbled and he threw his hands in the air. Her shoulders subtly sagged as his hand left hers. Thank god, having a heart attack because of a thumb would've been embarrassing.

“I swear to god, do I need to physically come to your quarters and shove them down your throat so you’ll remember?” He shook his head at her and she would’ve thought he was furious if it wasn’t for the way he looked at her.

That look. God, she knew she had an unhealthy addiction for the man but he did not help when he looked at her like that. Like he was secretly loving this ridiculous thing between them, too. Like their bantering fueled him as much as it fueled her. She mentally begged her face to return to its original color and looked at him pointedly, with crossed arms, faking bravado. His eyebrows inched up as he mimicked her movements.

“I’d like to see you try.” She tried to sound intimidating but couldn‘t fight the smile growing on her face.

“Oh, I will.” He said, leaning forward, the corners of his mouth twitching. For a moment they simply stared at each other, competing in a wordless game, eyes locked in a heated battle, when the sudden clearing of a throat prompted them to look up at a grinning Jim.

“Okay, so whenever you guys are done flirting, I need you to go on a mission.” His grin grew wider as the two people in front of him blushed and Leonard took a step back, furrowing his brows and fiddling with his tricorder. She was about to retort when the latter part of Jim’s sentence registered and her heart stuttered for a different reason.

“A mission? I’m in.” She beamed and was about to jump off the bed when a hand stopped her.

“Oh ho, no, you’re not, you’re hurt.” Leonard kept his hand on her arm to hold her in place. Again with the touching! She rolled her eyes. 

“I’m fine, see?” She flexed her bandaged hand for them to see, it was still painful, but she wasn’t going to mention that.

“It could be challenging and considering you’re still healing, I’m not clearing you. You’re not going.” Leonard‘s tone indicated there was no room for arguments but unluckily for him, she could always argue.

“I’m going.” She whacked his hand away and jumped off the bed.

“You’re not going.” He tried to push her back on her bed but she wouldn’t budge.

“I’m going!” She said with determination. They started staring each other down again, ignoring Jim‘s chuckles beside them.

“Aw look at you two; you’re like an old married couple!” He cooed and successfully made them stop to glare at him.

“Shut up, Jim!” They said simultaneously, making Jim double over with laughter. She grimaced. He was definitely going to tease them about that. She just hoped it wouldn’t be in public, like the last time.

“Captain, permission to go on this mission?” She turned to Jim fully, ignoring Leonard‘s attempts to get her to sit down.

“Permission granted.” He nodded as he tried to catch his breath and she turned to Leonard with a triumphant smile.

“See? Captains’ orders.”

“Jim!“ He yelled at the Captain. „Well I say she can‘t, Doctor‘s orders.“

„Which one is more important?“ She stage-whispered to Jim and he opened his mouth to reply when Leonard cut him off.

„Mine.“ Fine, he wants to be stubborn? She‘ll just have to resort to desperate measures. Sighing dramatically, she melted away the tension in her body and took a step towards him.

„Len…" His eyebrow quirked at her quiet tone, but she ignored it and plowed through. "I really want to get outside, you know how uncomfortable I can get all cooped up in here. Remember the last time I skipped a mission? I almost went insane! It’s not like it’s my dominant hand, anyway...“ She gave him her best puppy dog eyes, hoping to god he‘ll just let her go. She was glad the Med-Bay was nearly empty at this point, her reputation would be in ruins at this pathetic display. 

Darn him and his ability to make her chuck away her own pride. 

He looked like he was about to argue, but she stopped him before he could by bringing out the big guns. "Please?"

She absolutely hated using that word and he knew it. She could tell he was going over her argument in his head and debating whether it was worth it. Glaring at her for a moment longer, he pinched his nose and let his shoulders drop.

„Fine, but I’m giving you a boost so your skin heals faster, even though I’m not supposed to, and you have to promise to stay close.” He relented and jabbed a finger at her. She jumped and beamed at him and he visibly softened. 

“Don’t I always?” She gave his arm a squeeze as a thank you. He shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Why do I even try?” He muttered. She just wiggled her eyebrows in response, already skipping away to get herself ready for the mission.

„Wait, that worked?“ Jim suddenly piped up, confused as to what just happened.

„Shut up, Jim.“

-

“-It’s a desert area, but there is a forest nearby that we can’t really get a reading on, we’ll just try to stay away from it for now, just in case.” Suited up and struggling with an armful of equipment, she listened to Jim drone on about the mission whilst the rest of the team gathered on the transportation pads. It was a simple run of sample collection but since it was mostly unknown territory, security was required to keep watch. The bright eyed new security recruit and her would have the exciting job of just standing there. But at least she's getting outside. Just the thought of the wind in her hair had her buzzing in excitement.

“Just in case?” Leonard froze and she chuckled.

“It’ll be fine, Len, like Jim said, we’ll only be a few hours.” She shot him a grin and he muttered curses under his breath and something that sounded like ‘fine, my ass’ but she couldn’t be sure as the feeling of transportation took over and her feet sunk in sand.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the sudden hot air. It was warm, almost overbearingly so, and there was a sickly sweet smell in the air. The air, god, there wasn't much wind but the subtle caress on her skin was enough to make her head tilt back and grin towards the sky. Her eyes opened to a captivating mix of pink and purple. Three yellow moons stretched across the atmosphere and she was overwhelmingly glad she got Leonard to stop arguing like a paranoid mule and let her join. She looked down to comment on it when something made her freeze.

She was alone.

Spinning around in confusion only gave her more questions than answers. The sand under her boots seemed to cover a rocky landscape which was dotted with strange cacti-like plants. They were tall, but not tall enough to be trees. Their thorns were larger than that of a cactus and made walking around them difficult. They cast dark shadows that stretched across the barren ground, only interrupted by a few pathetic looking bushes.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made you flinch at the sound of your own breath.

She fought the sudden surge of panic as she hastily searched for her comm, ready to ask what the hell was going on, when a voice suddenly piped up from it, making her jump.

“Landing party has successfully reached its destination.” Jim's voice sounded distorted. Was her comm broken?

“Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, Jim, but I think I’ve lost you.” She spoke into the comm as she started walking around, trying to catch sight of her team.

“What?” A pause. “Wait, where the hell are you Flynn?!”

“Ah, Captain, something ----- happened with the transport-----at caused Flynn to be transported els------.” Scotty's voice sounded even worse and he kept cutting out. She turned her comm around, assessing for damage. It seemed fine.

“What do you mean elsewhere? Where is she?” Jim was starting to sound as panicked as she felt. She had a bad feeling in her gut and she couldn’t shake it. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and swiveled only to be met with another blasted cactus. She raised the comm to her mouth again, eyes fixated on the plant.

“Jim, when you said forest, was it possibly a forest made of… uh, cacti-looking things?” She asked in a low voice and gripped the equipment in her arms tighter.

“She’s in the forest?! The ‘let’s stay clear of those, just in case’ forest?” Leonard’s voice both soothed her and panicked her even further with its words. Yep, something was definitely off. She looked around again, the back of her neck prickling with the feeling of being watched.

“Calm down, Len, I’m sure Scotty can beam me away…. Right, Scotty?” She tried to calm down enough to reassure them both. She would be fine, Scotty would sweep in any second and beam her up. She was met with silence. “Scotty?”

“Ah, eh, no, not exactly— can’t detect— there’s something in there—- disturbing the process.” He sounded apologetic, but she stopped listening halfway through. She saw movement again, this time right in front of her. Did that… no, did it?

“…any idea of what it is?” Jim asked. The movement happened again, this time enough to confirm her suspicions. Before she could react, the cactus in front of her literally started moving towards her.

“Holy shit!”

________________________________________________

sorry to end on a cliffhanger lmao >:) tell me what you think! part 2 should be up in the next couple of days! it will be longer ;)

[whatfamidoinghere]

The Umbrella Academy Season 4 Final Thoughts

I have opinions I need to share. Obviously spoilers ahead so… enter at your own risk?

Firstly, the positives

To give it some credit, this was a beautiful ending. It was technically the only way they could end it bc it was clear no matter what they did, the apocalypse would follow

I loved the reference to them saving the Eiffel Tower in an alternate timeline, like they did in the comics

…yeh, that’s it

Oh wait, I loved Klaus’ relationship with Claire. I love Klaus. I love everything about him. Thank you. End quote

Now for the negatives - this will be in no coherent order so bare with me

It’s embarrassingly clear that this needed its usual 10 episodes. I think I read somewhere that the director felt that 6 episodes were the perfect amount so maybe Netflix didn’t cut it, or perhaps he was trying to make the best of a shitty situation. But every scene felt like it was missing something.

Where was the family dance sesh???

Five and Lila. No. Just. No. They’re begrudging step-sibling and that is it. And even if they did want to go down this direction, even if I wasn’t so opposed to the ship, I just didn’t care. You can’t just time skip 7 years in 1 episode and simultaneously get me to feel invested in their relationship. They needed 2 episodes at least to make me feel the impact of those 7 years. I know for 5 that’s probably nothing compared to his time in the apocalypse, but to Lila, that would’ve driven her insane, and in her breaking point, that’s when she goes to 5, bit like how they did this. Not to mention, they come back looking the exact same. 5 is supposed to be, what, 27 at this point? I sure as hell don’t see it. I would’ve much preferred a scene where, once Lila releases they’re going back home, frantically tries to clean up and cut her hair to look exactly how she did before so that her family still recognise her. Ugh that entire point was just so shit

The baby shark gag was not funny

Why did Diego and Lila have to have twins as well. I get it, they’re tired parents who miss their glory days. But if you want us to feel really sorry for them, and later mourn them when Lila has to say goodbye, maybe let us see the family interact as… as well as family. I was so excited to see Diego in his real daddy era just for him to talk to his oldest daughter maybe once? ALSO why does Lila get that whole emotional goodbye to her children and Diego just, nothing? “Get the family out of here” umm hello, even if you didn’t like the in-laws, those are 3 of your fucking children that you’re saying goodbye to forever. I think I’m just upset that they reduced Lila to being a tired mother (to me anyway) and forget Diego was the father. I would’ve so rather seen him being the dad that he never had in his life.

Like putting the family on the Subway to nowhere. Literally. It’s not like she knew how the Subway worked so she was just sticking her family on the train and hoping for the best. They made it seem as though they had never found a world safe enough. Like truly the best place for them to stay was the fucking Greenhouse world, so how did she expect the family to survive, and with no powers mind you. And also didn’t thy know at that point that all ultimate timelines would be destroyed, except for the main timeline. Was she hoping they’d magicallly be taken to the main timeline orrr? I’m just so fucking confused man

The Subway. What a fucking missed opportunity oh my fucking god. Its only true function was to have all the Five’s meet up to tell Prime Five the super duper important convenient information that would bring upon The Finale. It was such a cool concept and we saw… none of it. Firstly, they made it wayyy to easy that Five just happened to find a journal his future self made that worked out the tunnel system. You’re telling me that in 7 years he never worked any of it out. Uhhh I just wanted to see how the Subway worked and we couldn’t even get that. AND they only showed us 1 world!!!! I think alternate timelines are such a. Fun concept because you can explore multiple worlds that are like your own but a little more freaky with little to no consequences in your own world. I LOVED seeing the Phoenix Academy so much but… that was it. Imagine a montage of Five and Lila visiting a ton of worlds like our own with messed up Academy. Can you imagine if we saw a comic accurate Umbrella Academy??? Omfg the ultimate homage. I’m tearing up just thinking about what we could’ve had.

Gene and Jean were rly fun but again, what waisted potential. I loved my quirky not-so-instance parents sm

Uncle Five? Uncle Luther? Gone. Maybe I’m misremembering but they always seemed so excited to meet Claire. Ik they’re pissed at Alison or whatever (but they’re literally not though) but you’re telling me we never see them interact, despite them being some of the only sibling to care about Claire??? Oh okay, okayyy

The powers. Does nobody care that some have multiple powers now orrr? So Lila had laser eyes but could still mimic everyone else. Also the running gag of not being able to control her eyes could’ve gone on for so much longer. And Alison. Was she just so powerful she could rumour ppl without saying anything now? And when her eyes went yellow, that was a completely new power, right? And did Viktor’s powers seem different to you guys or is it bc he absorbed Harlan’s powers last season. Me personally, I think they’re should’ve gone down the Tinkerbell: The Pirate Fairy route and swapped the sibling powers with each other or completely different ones

It would’ve been such a good plot twist if after learning that the Cleanse restored them to the one true timeline, they all think it’s their original lives as a misdirect and they the horror sets in as you realise that they’re actually part of an ultimate timeline. They just could’ve done so much more than that. I know with limited episodes they had to wrap things up quickly so after they learned they had to be erased they just kinda had to accept it but I would’ve loved an entire episode of them grappling with the fact and saying goodbye and reminiscing about their past and maybe even being in denial and self sabotaging or whatever (kind of in the style of that ep in s2 when they have an hour to meet up

Why was Jennifer in a squid??? Why? did she get all the durango? Why weren’t there 42 other kids who got ur? That could’ve been such a cool parallel like cmonnn

I always suspected Ben’s death to be connected to Reg in some way so I loved the reveal… but I hated Jennifer’s involvement. Like it just felt tooo convenient. And I understand why they did it from a writers/ directors perspective that they wanted to wrap everything up but I just felt it could’ve been done much smarter. ALSO I just realised that Klaus doesn’t know how Ben died. Diabolical. I will not stand for it

Reginald didn’t recognise his own wife??? Like when Fake Gene called him “love” and Reggie didn’t clock it???

Speaking of Reggie ARE WE EVER GOING TO DISCUSS THAT HE’S AN ALIEN ROBOT BITCH???

Soooo Luther never once asked Reggie about Sloane???

Ray. Where’s Ray? Maybe the actor was working on something else and they had to get rid of his character

WE NEVER EVEN HEAD ALISON SAY “I HEARD A RUMOUR” NOT EVEN ONCE like I get she’s powerful enough to the point she doesn’t have to say it anymore but that line eats down every. Single. TIME!

Lastly and most importantly… the soundtrack. The songs didn’t slap. Simple as.

Final Statement

I think I covered all my points. I doubt I’ll make a part 2 bc honestly, the show isn’t worth my time and energy anymore. I just needed to rant bc I don’t know any ppl who watch this who have any lick of media literacy.

The finale was painfully underwhelming. It didn’t feel like the same TUA I’ve grown to love over the past few years. I can accept the ending but the journey to how we got there was one massive slap in the face. I’m going to ignore this ending ever happened thank you <3

[pillarsalt]

Anon worried about her trans-identified friend again, I wish I had the words to express how much I appreciate your kind words!!! (Maybe admitting it made me tear up would help? haha) Your response was just as thoughtful and considerate as I thought it would be, but I never expected you'd write so much for a stranger talking about another stranger, let alone throw compliments my way. You're a truly special person and everyone on here, including me, is so lucky we get to hear what you have to say and chat with you :) (And see your wonderful art to boot!! Finding another bug-lover is such a lovely surprise!)

I'll keep your kind thoughts in mind whenever the rare friction comes up again between my friend and me. It was such a quick process for me to desist and become gender critical that I think it's easy for me to forget how much harder it is for people to change their minds on the trans topic when they're so much more invested in it than I was. (Feel the same way about religion too, even as a little kid I was asking questions about why certain things bothered me in the Bible and getting frustrated when I got shame instead of answers. Maybe being annoying and asking too many questions is just in my DNA haha. But all the more reason why it's important to help those who aren't naturally critical: they're the ones falling for unreality the hardest because of that fact.)

Ultimately I will keep being me and see what happens, like I've done before. If nothing comes of it, then there was nothing else I could've done differently anyway. I've asked her if she'd like to do gift exchange for the holidays. We're planning on getting each other a few embarrassingly nerdy collectibles we've been eyeing for a while :)

Thank you again for your help, I'll cherish your words always!!! Hope you have a blast on your trip and get to see all the little guys you could dream of!!!

I'm very glad to hear from you, anon! :) and thank you so much for the kind words! it makes me very happy to be able to help in any way. ❤️

It's funny that you mention questioning the bible as a kid. I went to catholic school and I remember being taught in first grade that we were supposed to love god more than anything. More than we loved our parents or even our dogs, and I just couldn't get past the notion that I had to somehow love the kinda mean, angry, invisible flying grandpa*, who never says a damn thing when I pray, over the actual people who had raised me. I stayed in catholic school until graduation despite opposing catholicism, argued a LOT. I think my point is that I've also kind of been primed for voicing unpopular opinions, so I'm biased when it comes to people who are more hesitant to take any position on the matters at hand.

*sidenote, around this time I obsessively read My Book of Bible Stories (1978) which was given to me by JW doorknockers. This is a bit uncanny, I haven't seen this since I was about 8. It was a treasured book to me, it's full of old testament stories and pretty brutal:

To demonstrate how young I was while reading this: the book refers to god as Jehovah, but I was still learning to read and thought he was called Joseph. So all the adults I told all these Joseph stories to were confused as to why I thought Jesus's stepdad was so OP. Anyway yes, Joseph was a scary guy in my mind, I mean look what he made abraham do before he said sike:

which really didn't give me much faith in him. Kind of a questionable thing to do to a guy tbh. Finally here's the illustration that basically inspired my URL:

Sorry to hijack your ask anon, for some reason your message sent me down memory lane. Finding that pdf was crazy.

ANYWAY: you made my night with yoir nice message, so thanks for that, hope you stay well. I'm happy that it's chill for the time being, and the gift exchange sounds like fun. Come around to chat anytime.✌️

[banjjakz]

bleed for me; hananene 5+1 oneshot

He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

(Or: Five times Hanako is painfully, embarrassingly obvious about being a vampire -- and the one time he doesn't even need to be.)

wc: ~6.7k

warnings: vampire!au; horror elements; disturbing themes; graphic descriptions of blood & ensuing oral consumption; etc, etc

🖤 read on ao3 🖤

1. Garlic Bread

“I’m home!”

From his lax recline on the bed, Hanako calls out a lazy welcome back. He doesn’t get up because he’s far too comfortable watching old primetime reruns of ridiculous game shows, and also -- well. 

He’s a little unhappy.

Ah, maybe not unhappy. That’s a rather strong word -- sensation? Feeling? For someone who’s felt a lot of them for a very long time, Hanako isn’t the most adept at categorizing his own emotions. Let alone experiencing them. It’s much more convenient to acknowledge that something probably important is sounding off in his chest, and then leave it alone to run its course. Hands-off is always the way to go. Less messy that way.

But then, he’s forced to deal with complex situations such as these:

The lovely, strange, absolutely enrapturing human being whose life he feels lucky enough to occupy even just a small, miniscule part of -- flouncing into his bedroom, all bright eyes and wide-lipped smiles and rosy cheeks and limbs jittering in excitement at seeing him after a mere handful of hours spent apart--

And Hanako, whose cold, dead heart threatens to jolt back to life at the mere sight of her.

How odd. He wonders what it means, and then immediately stops doing that. Hands-off. Mess free.

“Hanako-kun!” Greets Yashiro, rushing to stand at his side, her stockinged feet thump-thump-thumping at the hardwood in a rapid, red-blooded pulse. Her hair flows freely today, which is unusual. Normally, she has it pulled back and away from her face, in one neat platinum sphere at the base of her neck. There’s a decorative clip or three in there, somewhere, too.

Where are those tonight? What happened to the disturbingly skull-shaped barrette? He likes that one. “Hanako-kun, look! For you!”

Oh, she’s holding something. He hadn’t even noticed. Upon closer inspection, it seems to be…

“A greasy paper bag,” Hanako deadpans. “How kind of you, Yashiro.”

She rolls her eyes, and stomps her foot. He can see the vibrant red of her painted toenails even through those dark tights she insists on wearing out everyday. These are one of her nicer pairs, though. No rips or runs in sight. Not even when Hanako scans her legs up and down and up again, just to check. Just to make sure.

Yashiro’s irate scoff sends his eyes scrambling very rapidly back to meet her own. “You’re impossible. You gotta guess what’s in- side the bag, dummy.”

“Radishes. No, wait, we already have plenty of those on hand.”

“Oh my God, I am literally going to kill you. Do you wanna die?” Hanako almost laughs. “Last chance before I change my mind and don’t let you have any!”

“Ohhh. Something I can have?”

Yashiro nods. Hanako tracks the movement of her jaw like a vulture circling a corpse, freshly splayed open and vulnerable and tantalizing with how red the blood, how plump the flesh, how easy it would be to sink his talons in and bare his teeth and--

“I have no idea,” he muses, “what that would be, then.”

“You’re so weird sometimes, Hanako-kun. Anyways, remember how I went over to Kou-kun’s tonight? Because he needed a taste-tester for his school assignments? Remember?”

Ah, and here he returns to the root issue of tonight’s predicament. Hanako is swiftly delivered back into the strange sensation of discontent that plagued him mere moments prior to Yashiro’s arrival. She’d distracted him -- as she is so often does -- from his brooding. 

Hanako remembers that he’s supposed to be brooding.

Hanako begins to brood. 

It’s a pitiful attempt, really, because Yashiro is hellbent on injecting the evening with her unique brand of excitable fanfare, and Hanako has never been able to put up much of a fight against her. He’s weak to the sun and all it’s gifts of brightness, after all.

In a last-ditch effort to save face, he manages to pout. Yes, this will show her. This will express to her his deep-seated dissatisfaction! 

“Hmph. I guess,” sighs Hanako, batting his lashes for good measure.

“Oh quit it. Don’t look like such a jealous puppy--”

“-- Excuse me--”

“--Especially ‘cause I brought you such a good gift! Look!”

And then Yashiro reaches into the bag and pulls out a slice of greasy, buttery, deliciously succulent garlic bread.

Hanako doesn’t even have the time to process her accusation of jealousy (which, hello? A little absurd if you ask him.) as he’s preoccupied with scrambling backwards to the opposite side of the bed, as fast as what will hopefully appear to be humanly possible.

“Kou-kun’s in the middle of his global unit in school, and he chose to make some Italian dishes, so I thought I’d bring home-- hey!! Where are you going!” Yashiro, clearly perplexed, pauses in her bubbly explanation. “Don’t be like that! I know you don’t like Kou-kun for whatever stupid reason, but really? He made it just for you!”

Of course he did, thinks Hanako, scathingly. He will deal with that overgrown menace of a mutt later, when his physical body is not in imminent danger and Yashiro is not growing steadily closer, brandishing the bread as though it were a sword, or rapier.

Oh, if only she knew.

Normally, Hanako would be elated -- ecstatic, even -- to see Yashiro crawling across his mattress, chasing him with a dark intensity in her eyes and a palm outstretched. But the issue here is that her palm, as sweet-smelling and milky soft as it looks and probably feels (Hanako wouldn’t know), is currently wielding a weapon of mass destruction.

He tries to placate her, or at least slow her steady advance, but it’s all for naught. “H-Hey now, Yashiro--”

He should throw her off. She shouldn’t even be in his home in the first place, let alone in his bed, but somewhere along the way Hanako had started making inappropriate, foolish, misguided allowances for this strange woman, and then he… never stopped.

Honestly? For a mistake as silly as entertaining a human of all things, he supposes he should go out in an equally as embarrassing fashion: death by sliced bread.

Yashiro is on top of him now, her thick calves bracketing the bony jut of his hips as she sits on his chest and leans over him, her cheeks incensed a bright and healthy rouge -- a mere few shades darker than those glittering fuschia eyes. Hanako can’t help but wonder just how red she can get; how much red she has to spare. How much red would be enough to burst her open and leak along the sides of her pristinely pale canvas like spilled acrylic in one big, gory, spattering mess. 

For two (definitely, totally, absolutely) mutually exclusive reasons, Hanako feels his stomach contract.

“You’re being ridiculous,” announces Yashiro from her perch atop his body, blissfully unaware of the fact that Hanako could very easily toss her clean across the city if he so chose. 

(Or maybe, it’s the fact that might know, and is unafraid of the prospect. As though she believes he won’t. Humans are such an arrogant, fickle species. He can’t say that he particularly misses being amongst their ranks.)

“It’s bread. Would it kill you to be agreeable for once and just take a freaking bite?”

Her heartbeat. He can hear it loud and clear even as he lays underneath the vice grip of her sturdy legs. Does she even know how fast her pulse rams itself against her veins? Like it’s begging to be rescued from the confines of that pretty, porcelain cage? 

Fuck. Fuck.

Hands-off. 

Mess free. 

“I’m allergic,” says Hanako, slowly, face blank and clean as a slate as he stares unblinkingly back up at his captor. “To garlic.”

There’s a curtain of shimmering white that cascades around the two of them, shifting to block out any and all extraneous stimuli. He should remind her to pick up some more bleach the next time she takes a trip to Daiso. It’s time to touch-up her roots again.

“Allergic,” she parrots.

The way her lips shape around the word, tasting it and rolling it around in suspicion, is captivating. In all his years of dealings on this earth never has Hanako followed a journey so gripping, so intense, as the way that Yashiro Nene’s mouth moves across a sentence. “Allergic,” she says again, flat and faint.

He’s just barely able to nod. “Deathly.”

“You’re deathly allergic to garlic.”

Time grinds to a painful, halting stop. The gradual slowing of the outside world is so acute that Hanako can track with his eyes the moment that Yashiro’s gaze flickers down to his cracked lips and the steady in-and-out of her breath is all but frozen in place. It’s excruciating, the level of detail he’s been subjected to bear witness to as a creature borne of blood and misery. He hates that he can hear her lungs rattle in suspense. He hates that he can name each muscle that goes still and locks solidly into place, anchoring around him in a rigid, tense embrace. He hates that he can smell her fear.

“Precisely. And you are straddling me. Are we done stating facts or would you like to continue on, Yashiro?”

It’s a bad habit he has, relying on humorous deflection. He’s amassed whole lifetimes of bad habits, and never has one felt more grievous than the way his lifeless body threatens to rise again after Yashiro launches herself off of him in mortified realization of their compromising position. A bad habit, thinks Hanako, watching his roommate flee away as he barely resists the urge to give chase. Predator and prey. A body drained dry. I’d take good care of you.

The crumbs in his bed dig into his skin and burn there, serving as a very stark, very physical reminder of his worst habit.

He’s already served his penance. Is currently serving it. Is slated to serve it for the rest of whatever conceivable eternity awaits him. 

So why, then, does his chest twist and ache with an ardor he thought had died with him, all that time ago? 

2. Reflection

The only reason he’d agreed to tag along was because Yashiro promised him that he didn’t have to speak if he didn’t want to. He isn’t much inclined to converse with random humans -- especially not over cheap, young wine. 

But this is, of course, exactly what he finds himself doing on a Thursday evening he would otherwise spend alone, holed up in his room, with his blackout curtains drawn to the side to bask in the glow of the full moon. Longingly, Hanako glances out of the large window he’d surreptitiously made a home next to immediately upon their arrival. Ah, well. Next month.

A round of boisterous laughter startles him out of his reverie. He chances a glance back to the sectional sofa in front of him and is greeted by the sight of Yashiro nearly doubled over in apparent amusement, wine glass tipping dangerously to the wayside. Her cheeks are speckled with the beginnings of a youthful pink. Unshed tears cling to her thin eyelashes. When she straightens up to catch her breath, she meets his gaze and allows her grin to melt into something soft and warm and entirely unsuited for the terrible, awful things that run through Hanako’s mind faster than the speed of light.

Having fun? She mouths discreetly, bringing the glass up to take another sip.

He nods, draining the red in his own grasp long and slow. It tastes like ash on his tongue. 

One of the other humans speaks, then. It isn’t the orange haired fellow who’d immediately struck Hanako as a sniveling, blindsided, spineless fool of a man -- no, it’s his wife, who’s entirely too preoccupied with asking questions about Hanako’s personal life for his comfort. 

“Hanako-san,” she begins pleasantly, gripping the wine bottle by the neck as she tops off his glass. Unprompted. “I’ve been wondering about something! Nene-chan is an Insta-freak, you know, right?” A what? “But you’re never on her page,” she continues with a pout, “And you aren’t tagged in any photos. Are you shy? That’s adorable!”

How can a woman speak so politely with eyes as cold as hers? They glitter at him underneath the fluorescent lighting of the living area, small and hard and blindingly bright, a twin set of enchantingly haunted jewels. Delicately, she tastes at the rim of her glass, and says nothing else.

Before he can conjure up a response that isn’t mood-killing and really little more than a thinly veiled threat, Yashiro pipes up. “Hanako-kun’s super off-grid!” She stresses, eyes wide, words comically over exaggerated as though she is delivering information of the utmost importance. “He has a very troubled childhood! He doesn’t like talking about it! So that’s why!”

“A troubled childhood,” muses the purple haired menace.

Yashiro nods solemnly, gulping another hit of her dry white. “Yeah! He’s got a bunch of weird allergies, too. Did you know that he can’t eat garlic? Not even garlic bread? Isn’t that so sad!”

“...Indeed it is. My condolences, Hanako-san.”

Right.

The evening doesn’t really improve from there, apart from Yashiro falling into his side after she gets a bit too wine drunk. Hanako can smell more than just the saccharine perfume she slathers on all the time; no, from this close, Hanako inhales and internalizes the scent of a robust, earthy musk, far richer than anything spritzed or patted superficially into the skin. Hanako can smell underneath her skin. Hell, Hanako can practically see -- can practically taste the delicacies hidden there, with how firmly she leans onto him. Would she still feel comfortable holding clutching onto his arm, if she knew the kinds of things he thinks about her? About doing to her?

They say good night to the amethyst wench and her sad excuse of a clueless human husband not long after that. The apartment isn’t far away and it’s too late to stumble into the car of a subway, so the pair of them trek home on foot.

A quiet night. The moon is as full as she is healing, and Hanako returns to himself a little bit more underneath her watchful, healing gaze.

“Now that I think about it… we really don’t have any pictures together.”

Although Yashiro has sobered up enough to stand straight, she still maintains a loose grasp on his arm. Her fingernails curl into the sleeve of his button down, a splash of bright, vivid red disappearing in the deep dark of a moonless night. Swallowed right up without a second thought. “Is it… is it because you’re embarrassed, Hanako-kun? Of, um… well. Do you not want to be seen with me? I’m sorry…”

He could break his own neck. He should. He would, if she asked him to.

“You own a Polaroid camera, yes?”

“Ah! You mean my Hello Kitty one? Uh-huh! Why?”

“When we return home,” Hanako says, like a fool, “We can take a picture.”

If he were a defendable creature, he’d point to Yashiro’s sudden and swift ascent into excitement as the justification for the latest manifestation of his long, long list of bad habits. Her strong ankles defy gravity and carry her as she floats on air, giggling as she skips the whole way home. Even as they make their way through the front door. Even as she must root around in her cluttered bedroom (that Hanako cannot follow her into, for obvious reasons). Even as she struggles to remember how to change the film, and inputs a decorative mascot-inspired roll, nicking more than a few of her pale, slender fingers in the process.

Even as she wades through darkness, Yashiro is so bright. 

The actual photo itself requires some set-up which eventually results in Hanako reversing the contraption unto them and pressing down on what he’s only halfway sure is the capture button. He assumes that he’s done well when a thin strip of glossy paper leaks out from the bottom and Yashiro swipes at it in a giddy stupor, remnants of the Riesling from earlier that evening rendering her sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“‘Kay, it’s gotta develop now… should only be a few more seconds! Will you keep it safe tonight? ‘M sooooo tired, and I really gotta shower before I pass out…”

Yashiro is already stumbling away, back towards her bedroom. She slips the rapidly lightening square in his palm as she slips back, lingering for one moment too long against the doorframe.

“Thanks, Hanako-kun. G’night.”

And then she is gone.

Which is probably for the best. The film has finally pulled itself from the murky depths of ambiguity. Hanako looks down at the picture in his palm and Yashiro stares back at him: her bold, red lips and silver-spun hair are two twin beacons of color, misplaced and incongruent within the impenetrable sea of blackness surrounding her. 

Where Hanako should have been instead lies a lapse in composition. The photograph is blank and undeveloped around his general silhouette. But that is not the strangest thing about the photograph.

The strangest thing is howYashiro leans into the darkness, unafraid of the way it spindles into her own boisterous portrait and slowly eats at the brightly hued pigments of her warm flesh, her pretty, frilly dress, her smile. That unerringly loud, human smile.

How long will it take, he wonders, before the shot is entirely eclipsed by that cold, dead void.

3. Sunlight

It’s a bad day before he even opens his eyes.

As a creature of indeterminate longevity and supernatural capabilities, sleep is not the necessity it once was for him. But he indulges, from time to time, when there’s little to do during the daylight hours. After all, he’s confined to his bedroom from sunrise until sunset. Pacing the perimeter of a lion’s cage grows tiresome, even to eternally patient apex predators such as himself. Much easier to force his body to shut down and pass the time for him, as his consciousness wanders aimlessly through the realm of a deep, dreamless slumber.

This day is not one of those days. This day is the peak of Summer’s cruel, tyrannical reign. This day is suffocating. This day is warm. This day is bright. 

This day maneuvers above and below and all around the blackout curtains that are always painstakingly drawn over his windows. This day leaks into his bedroom and weasels its way into his sheets, underneath his skin, scorching him from the inside out with such a ferocity that it renders him immobile. Every fiber of his being threatens to splice into terrifying, meaningless oblivion. 

When Yashiro first asked, Hanako told her it was migraines.

It was a vague excuse that pinpointed some rare, untreatable immune-disease that left him inexplicably weak to sunlight. Yashiro really should have been more persistent in hunting down the real truth -- the actual truth -- especially considering her occupation as an urgent clinic nurse. He considers the idea that it’s an answer she doesn’t care enough to unearth. He mulls over the alternative, which is that she is too frightened by whatever she may find to go searching for it in the first place. He then decides he’s done thinking about her. Today is torture enough.

A gentle knock at his door renders all of his efforts fruitless, however. “Hanako-kun?” Her voice filters easily through the heavy fog clouding his awareness, like a blade through slackened flesh. “You okay?”

She’s still standing hesitantly in his doorway, as though waiting for permission to enter. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so badly to do anything other than lay still and flat as a corpse.

He can’t afford to expend any unnecessary effort lest he wear himself out completely, so he goes for the most direct course of action:

Snakes his arm out of the big, black ball of sheets and comforter in which he’s coffined himself inside. Holds back a curse as he’s made aware of just how weak he’s become. Struggles not to drop his cellular phone when he finally manages to blindly locate it. Unplugs the device single handedly with tremorous fingers. Holds it out to the open air.

“Take this,” says Hanako, voice dim and tepid. “Dial the contact ‘Tsukasa.’ Give him this address.”

Not for the first time, Hanako realizes that he should be grateful for this human’s absence of curiosity. He has amassed plenty of bad habits in the past, all of them metastasizing entirely too close for comfort until he’d been forced to handle them in a way that had been entirely hands-on and the very opposite of mess-free. For Yashiro to wordlessly collect the cellular phone from his trembling grasp and do as she’s told is what he’d call a blessing, if he still believed in feats as fickle as faith. 

She is confused as she makes the phonecall. Hanako can hear the shift of her hair sliding past one shoulder as she tilts her head. He can feel the way her chest flutters in a muted gasp of surprise when the line connects after the first ring. She can’t be more than three or four feet away. Close enough for him to reach out and brush, with the pitifully pale pads of his fingertips. What a sight that would paint, muses Hanako, deliriously. Icarus and his glittering, lethal lover.

Time ebbs and flows and bends and breaks after that. He’s distantly aware that he drops in and out of consciousness. The hot wax slathering each of his limbs is an imagined thing, he’s sure, as is the sensation of free-falling to an anticipated, blunt death. These sensations are from the dreamscape that pulls him beneath its suffocating depths only to release him at the last second, in a cruel imitation of the sea and all her unfathomable terror. 

(He has not dreamt in so very, very long. It’s a bad habit.)

The final time he breaks the surface, he surges up against something -- cold. The kind of cold that forces his own to bow its head. The kind of cold that relieves him of his fever, and sends a violent chill through his body, all at once. The kind of cold one should only absorb in small doses, with limited contact. A once-in-every-three-decades kind of cold. That kind of cold.

“Hi, Amane! You look terrible!”

Tsukasa’s hand on his forehead is frigid enough that it loops back into the realm of burning. Hanako must gently bat it away and blink blearily up at the sight of his twin brother, just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he always was. Always is.

“Hi, Tsu.”

“Hold still, ‘kay? I brought the bendy straws you like. All you gotta do is sip. Open wide!”

Obediently, Hanako parts his lips and accepts the flimsy piece of plastic. 

He tries not to think about what, exactly, it is that he’s doing. If he closes his eyes and holds his breath, Hanako can almost pretend that he’s being fed by different hands, in a different world, as a different person. 

“Hey, Amane?”

Gulp, shudder. Resist the instinctive gag that claws its way up his throat like a beast bending the bars of its cage. “Yeah, Tsu?”

“Why are you starving yourself?”

Eyes closed. Mouth shut. Another swallow. Hands-off. Mess free.

“You have food right there,” Tsukasa whispers. “Is there something wrong with her? Is she sick? Y’know, I’m not picky. If you don’t want her, I can--”

Hanako, with newfound strength, launches upright into a sitting position. What wonders a couple of mouthfuls can do. 

Oh, how to explain this. Oh, how to navigate his way through an intersection of muddled implications and unspoken subtleties, all of which will go right over Tsukasa’s head. How can Hanako pretend to be a creature of innuendo and self-control, when his biggest, most glaring lapse in judgement sits across from him in the damned den of his own design?

He struggles for a moment, running a tired hand down his face. “Yashiro is a -- friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” confirms Hanako, desperately avoiding Tsukasa’s curious gaze. “And friends don’t eat friends.”

The words are slimy and leave a bad taste in his mouth. Well. Maybe the words themselves aren’t what lingers at the back of his tongue and stains his teeth. But they are odious, nonetheless, and hang in the air like empty nooses dripping down from a gallows.

“Friends don’t let friends starve,” is Tsukasa’s counterpoint. “If it were me, Amane, I’d let you. Even though you already did, I’d let you do it again. I’d always let you.”

Hanako has never understood why Tsukasa refuses to cover up the twin bite marks that marr his jugular. Is it to punish him? Is it not punishment enough, that Hanako has to see his face at all? 

When his brother grins at him, it cuts like a knife. Hanako remembers a time where those cheeks stretched wider, when those eyes glistened with something other than black ice. Tsukasa plucks the bendy straw out of the cup and drinks straight from the rim, tossing his head back to give Hanako full view of the way his throat opens and closes around the infernal contents. 

He can’t stop staring at the scars: two lone stars fixed in an empty, pallid, apocalyptic sky.

The younger boy is sated only when the cup has been drained dry -- and even then, he pants, exhilarated, pupils blown large and dangerously obsidian as they flitter back and forth as though in search of more, more, more. 

Why are you starving yourself?

He’d always been a messy eater. His baby brother, Tsukasa. Tsukasa who loved Katanuki. Tsukasa who loved to paint. Tsukasa who still loves to paint, but now works solely in abstract monochrome. Tsukasa, who paints himself over and over and over again until he’s dripping, covered head-to-toe in a masterpiece of his own design. Tsukasa, who licks his canvas clean at the end of each night only to start anew in tomorrow’s dangerous twilight dusk. Tsukasa, who collects victims like portraits.

Tsukasa, who had once been a portrait himself. Hanako, who held the brush in his hands and created something freakishly beautiful that wretched, awful night.

Why are you starving yourself?

He feels full enough, watching Tsukasa pass his tongue over his chops. He feels like he’ll never need to eat again.

By the time his brother makes his departure, the sun has long since sunk beneath the horizon. Hanako’s room is once again as it should be: a thick, inky fog of opaque black. It’s so dark, in fact, that had he not been what he is, he would never have spotted the slight gap between his door and its frame, where a slender figure lingers in apprehensive wait.

Yashiro is checking on him, he realizes belatedly. 

Why are you starving yourself?

“Good night,” She calls, softly. “I’m about to head out for a double.”

“Be safe.”

“‘Course! I always am… I hope you feel better soon, Hanako-kun.”

He couldn’t have this if he ate like an animal. He couldn’t have Yashiro -- sweet, gentle, lovely Yashiro -- living alongside him as he devoured bodies made in her image. Already, Hanako struggles with what his baser instincts urge him towards… to give into those temptations would be putting her in danger. 

His door clicks quietly shut. His room is bathed in the cover of night once more.

Left alone to his own devices, the beat begins to roam its cage. A growl sounds, low and deep and mortally wounded. Not from his throat -- but from the very pit of his stomach.

Resistance is one thing, but ignorance, however feigned, is quickly ruled out of the realm of his personal possibility. There is no disregarding the sensations that fester inside of him. There is no course for his desires to run. There is only the ugly, maddening truth:

Hanako is hungry.

Hanako needs to put his hands on something.

Hanako needs to make a mess.

4. Silver

“Promise rings!”

“... Excuse me?”

“N-Not in a weird way, or anything like that!” Stutters Yashiro, fumbling with the miniature wooden box in her shaking, manicured grasp. “They’re just little cheap ones. I saw them on display at the mall, and I couldn’t just not… plus, do you even know what day it is?”

Hanako raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s our six-months-as-roommates-a-versary!”

“Wow.”

“I’m really happy you recognize the importance here, Hanako-kun. Now stick out your hand so I can put yours on! And then you do me!”

If he didn’t know any better, Hanako would wonder how Yashiro gets anything done with those delicate fingers of hers. They’re as soft-looking and malleable and enticingly peachy as the rest of her, topped off at their gracefully tapered ends with a neat coat of ruby red. They dance along everything they touch, nimble little ballerinas hopping from pose to pose, commanding rapt attention wherever they leap. 

As his own hand raises to meet hers, he must fight the urge to clench into an ugly, defensive fist. 

The first touch sends something like electricity ricocheting down his spine like lightning through a weather vane. She is so gentle. How can she be so gentle? How can she be so round-edged and rosy-cheeked and expect him to just stand here, wordlessly, with nothing to do or say about it? How can she live in his house for six months and celebrate, rather than mourn? How can she look at him, a creature innate to unsightly presence and habit, and say to herself: this is something worthy of care.

The second touch is just as unnerving, but for all the wrong reasons.

“I thought you said this was cheap,” grits Hanako, exhaling sharply through his nose as the silver ring slides slow and meticulously down the length of his finger. 

Yashiro pauses, eyes narrowed. “Is it not? How can you even tell?”

“A-allergic… !”

To her credit, she’s properly mortified. Yashiro almost falls all over herself  to wrench the offending piece of jewelry off and away, apologizing profusely as she studies the burn wound on his middle finger. Her mouth twists into a tense little knot. Hanako wants to smooth it out.

Instead, he follows her obediently into her bathroom after she tells him to come inside and sit his ass down on the toilet -- which he does, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe -- oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hanako-kun… Just, hold still okay? It’s only gonna hurt a little, I promise.”

It’s an injury that would’ve long since healed itself by now, if he were in any other state than the one he currently occupies; which is to say that he’s rather unhealthy. Which is to say that the rats and possums and other small rodents he guiltily entraps in the alley behind the house do nothing besides sate a momentary desire. Which is to say that it is impossibly difficult to keep himself aware and conscious and disciplined enough not to careen head-first into Yashiro’s exposed clavicle and unhinge his jaw and feel his skull shift to accommodate the extra layer of fangs and sink his claws into her perfect, supple hips and feel her go paralyzed with terror as he--

“Okay! All done. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” It’s a pretty bandage. Pink and bright with tiny dancing radishes along the perimeter.

“I really am sorry,” mumbles Yashiro, encasing his frigid hands with her own, squeezing and rubbing with her soft thumbs. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’ve always -- you’re always so kind to me, all the time, and it just seems like… well, I don’t know. Lately I feel like I just never know how to help you, Hanako-kun. I feel like I just make things… worse. So can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonesty.

“You have to tell me when you need something. Or when you don’t need something. Or when you -- uh, well, I really want you to be honest with me. Okay? Can you promise me that? Because it makes me really sad that you struggle with… a lot, and there’s not so much I know about how to help. So, please? Do you promise? To be honest?”

“I promise,” says Hanako, unblinkingly, because blinking is a sign of dishonestly and also because he can’t close his eyes without seeing her body splayed out in the bathtub behind her, limbs limp and gore overflowing past the rim and into his eagerly awaiting mouth. In this fantasy, he uses his tongue to follow the carmine droplets bulleting down the porcelain edge, licking and slurping until he reaches the source of the mess, the heart of the storm, the original inspiration to all his reverence. He would take his time. 

(Or would he lose himself? Would it be hands-on? Would it be messy?)

“Thank you for trusting me. I trust you… with my life, you know. Maybe it’s naive, but I hope one day you could do the same.”

He can’t touch her, not right now, even though she looks like she’s about to shake apart at the seams. All Hanako can do is watch from a safe distance, and wonder. And want. And ache.

As always.

5. Blood

She comes home early.

Hanako has only just padded his way into the kitchen when he hears the front door unlock. Is it that time, already? No, it can’t be. Yashiro usually arrives when he is just settling in to go back to sleep. She brings with her the pale light of a budding dawn, and although Hanako regrets their sparse interactions and conflicting schedules, he’d rather not disintegrate into a pile of ashes atop the living room couch just because he felt like saying welcome home, honey.

Tonight is different, apparently. A cursory glance thrown over to the microwave clock reveals that it’s only a few minutes past the witching hour. And despite there being a total absence of sunlight when Yashiro opens the door, Hanako still falls to his knees in a sudden onslaught of unadulterated agony.

His vision turns spotty, only worsening as Yashiro rushes inside and screams at the sight of his crumpled body. “Hanako-kun? Oh my God! Oh my God, can you hear me?”

Barely, is what he wants to say, but can’t. His throat is too tight, too dry. His mouth begins to salivate at an alarmingly disgusting rate. 

That smell.

Pathetically, he crawls over to her on his hands and knees, body running on autopilot as it drives him towards the source. Hanako can feel his body shift and transform with the pavlovian response he’s developed over the decades -- an instinct borne out of the memory of a chase, of a hunt,of warm flesh twisting and stretching and tearing underneath his capable grasp, of muffled screams and kicking legs and the eventual, gradual descent into permanent stillness, of hands scrabbling desperately into dirt, into pavement, into carpet, as they scream his name and beg him -- no -- no, stop -- what are you -- Hanako-san--!

Blood. But, not just any kind of blood. 

Fresh, human blood.

Six months is a very, very long time to go without food.

The scent wafts from the messenger bag thrown haphazardly over Yashiro’s shoulder. Hanako claws weakly at it, burying his nose into the worn fabric and moaning in relief at the contact. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, breathy. The debauched soundtrack of his own muffled desperation would embarrass him, probably, if he were cognizant of anything other than the metallic tang filling his nostrils.

The last thing he remembers is Yashiro running her fingers through his hair, shushing him quietly. 

And then it all fades to black.

“Oh, Good. You’re awake!”

Hanako gets about halfway through a sarcastic reply before something is shoved past his lips. Something… familiar. Something -- bendy?

“Drink up,” huffs Yashiro, pushing the straw more firmly into his mouth. “You’re lucky we had a contaminated batch of bags today. I-it’s still safe to drink, though! Or at least… I hope… tell me if it tastes funny, okay? Jeez, Hanako-kun… I didn’t know you were so hungry! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

His lack of a response only propels her onward. 

“Well… I know you don’t like to talk about it… I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just sit and watch you waste away--”

“You knew?”

“... Um. Was I not supposed to know?”

“You knew,” Hanako repeats numbly around the plastic in his mouth, dumbfounded. “This whole time, you knew.”

Unimpressed, Yashiro raises an eyebrow. “That you’re a vampire? Duh. Allergic to garlic? And silver? And sunlight? I’m not stupid, and you aren’t nearly as slick as you think you are, mister.”

 The chuckle she gives after this quickly peters off into something more melancholy, a little bit darker in origin. From where she’s perched on the couch, leaning above him to adjust the straw’s positioning into the medical packet on his chest, Hanako can see the sorrow, there, in her big, doe-like eyes. 

“You never brought it up… and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries! I’ve never, erm, done ‘this’ before… if you couldn’t already tell. But since you never said anything… I just thought that, I don’t know? Maybe my blood wasn’t good enough to drink, or something like tha--”

“That is absolutely not the case.” 

He’s quick to cut her off. Too quick. “Far from it, really,” he attempts to joke in an effort to lessen the intensity of the blow, but the damage has already been done. Yashiro’s hand freezes around the blood bag, her eyes flitting up to lock onto his own. 

It’s unfairly attractive, the way her blush blossoms across her face. Hanako takes a long drag from the straw and swallows, never breaking his stare.

“I would… definitely be okay. More than okay. With doing -- ahem. That.”

“Drinking,” supplies Nene, so quietly that Hanako reads her lips more than he hears the charged word spill from her pink, glistening tongue. “You’d drink from me?”

What a question. Oh, if only she knew.

“Sure,” he hums, easily, “as long as you promise not to bring home anymore garlic bread. Especially not from that mangy mutt.”

“Hey, that isn’t very nice! Kou-kun isn’t… wait. You’re… you don’t mean…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. That’s why you don’t like him!”

“His pack leader really, really hates me. Heh.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t look so pleased about that.” She says, with a fond smile. Hanako wants to taste it. 

On his next sip, he’s met with an ugly slurping sound. Normally, the fact that he’d sucked down a pint of blood in less than five minutes would be cause for concern. But his circumstances are not normal. His circumstances haven’t been normal for quite a good while, really, and Hanako can’t bring himself to think about it too hard. Not when his worst bad habit is within arms’ reach; not when she’s digging into her bag and procuring another packet of blood for him to puncture with the blunt end of his straw.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, awestruck.

“And I’ve got seven more where that came from! So just take your time, okay? No rush. I’ll stay here and make sure you get your fill… I promise.”

Hanako thinks he will hold her to that.

+1: Feeding

This is nothing like the first time, which is what he’d originally been terrified of. This is nothing like the second, or third, or fourth or fiftieth or hundredth time.

(How could it be? How could having her pliant and wanton underneath his capable grasp be anything other than pure ecstasy?)

Before he takes the plunge, he -- has to warn her. Again. Just in case she’s changed her mind. “Last chance,” Hanako breathes into the fleshy meat of her, the aroma of pumping blood doing unspeakable things to his mind. “This is your last chance to back out, Yashiro.”

She’s pretty as a portrait, the way she shifts and wriggles underneath his body reminiscent of the melding of a varied color palette coming together in one grand, epic composition. 

But he’s about to stain her in monochrome. 

“Don’t be gentle,” Yashiro gasps, dragging his hands to hold her down. “I’m not afraid o-of a little mess.”

You should have been, thinks Hanako, mournfully, as he paints his first stroke of bright, brilliant red.

[total-killer-brainrot]

Two's a Party, Three's a Crowd

You would never typically consider yourself ‘easy’. But here you were, face down ass up on Stu fucking Macher’s bed. He hadn’t even taken you on a proper date. Only feeling you up briefly in the theatre before convincing you to ditch the movie and go home with him. You hadn’t meant to let it get this far, but god. He was just so hot. And when he kissed you as you stumbled through his front door you caved immediately.

---

A quick hookup with Stu Macher turns into much more than you bargained for when his partner in crime shows up.

---

All my fics are also on AO3

Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 1,459. Ship: Stu Macher x Billy Loomis x You. Fem!Reader. Tags: Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, Spanking, Degradation Kink, Begging, Verbal Humiliation, Hair-pulling, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Choking, Creampie, Biting, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Cunnilingus

---

You would never typically consider yourself ‘easy’. But here you were, face down ass up on Stu fucking Macher’s bed. He hadn’t even taken you on a proper date. Only feeling you up briefly in the theatre before convincing you to ditch the movie and go home with him. You hadn’t meant to let it get this far, but god. He was just so hot. And when he kissed you as you stumbled through his front door you caved immediately. 

A long groan left your lips as his cock dragged wonderfully against that perfect spot inside you. Behind you he let out a soft huff. Probably a barely contained laugh at how needy you were acting. Rolling your hips back against him like you just couldn’t get enough of the taller man's dick. He knew exactly what he was doing to you and he was revelling in it. Like this guy needed the ego boost.

You felt his hand slide down the small of your back to grope at your ass. Giving it a light slap just to watch the plump flesh jiggle.

“You know… I never thought you’d be such a whore. You always seem so uptight…” You could hear the smug grin in his voice. And you were actually grateful that he had you face down so that he couldn’t see how your face turned red.

Just as you were about to respond, something snarky and clever of course, he gave a particularly hard thrust that sent any bickering thoughts flying out of your mind. Any retorts died on your tongue with an embarrassingly loud groan. 

Stu paused as he was deep inside you, just grinding his cock into you in such a way that you were sure he would drive you mad. Your breaths came out in stuttered gasps as you gripped his sheets until your knuckles turned white.

“Please..” You stammered weakly. Voice muffled. He heard you, but of course he pretended he didn’t. 

“Hm? What was that, babe?” One firm thrust sent you reeling once again. Your thighs quivered, struggling to hold you up. But his large hand on your hip made sure you’d never slip away from him. “Speak up.”

Every time you tried to collect your thoughts he’d slam into you, or flick your clit, or pull your hair. It was maddening. You could barely pull your broken mind together to respond to him. Which only amused him. He knew how difficult he was making it, and he was determined to make it harder.

“Fuck… Please! Go faster Stu…”

He laughed. The fucker actually laughed at you. That loud, obnoxious laugh that made you swoon but also grind your teeth. It sent another spark of humiliated pleasure down your spine and you clenched around him as he finally sped up again. Your moans reached a new pitch. 

So loud that you didn’t hear the window open. You didn’t even realise there was a third person in the room until a hand gripped your hair and pulled you up so you were eye level with another perfect cock. 

“Seems like you two are having fun without me…” 

A particularly hard thrust sent you forward, Billy fucking Loomis’s dick poking your cheek. Of course you couldn’t have one without the other. The two were glued at the hip. 

It didn’t take much coaxing for you to welcome Billy’s cock into your mouth. And he took full advantage of that, thrusting deep until you gagged and tried to pull away. He was much stronger than you thought as he easily kept you in place with just one hand gripping your hair. Watching you with an eerie kind of silence and you choked on his dick.

“Sorry man..” Stu’s voice sounded strained now. Holding himself back as he slowed down again. “She jumped me… couldn’t possibly keep a slut this desperate waiting…”

Billy let you get some leeway so you could breathe. Watching your cheeks turn redder, both from the lack of oxygen and from Stu’s vulgar words. As humiliating as it was, you loved it when they talked about you like you weren’t right there. You met his eyes from your position between them, curling your tongue against the veins on the underside of his cock. Relishing in the way his lips parted and his breathing lowered. A soft chuckle escaped him.

“‘Desperate slut’ might be a bit of an understatement… you should see her fucking face, Stu.”

Another groan sounded behind you and your eyes rolled back as you felt Stu’s long fingers press against your clit. Both boys' movements faltered as you simultaneously clenched and gagged at the barrage of sensations. Feeling lightheaded with your nose pressed against Billy’s groin. They seemed to forget about you for a moment. Both focused on their own pleasure. You could do nothing but take it. Shaking and moaning around Billy’s cock as Stu’s grip on your hips tightened. 

It took a moment but you managed to open your eyes again. You wanted to see Billy’s face when he came. You were surprised to see Billy and Stu lost in their own makeout session. Billy’s free hand gripping Stu’s hair much like he was doing to you. Stu leaning down slightly to reach the shorter man. The image was burned into your brain as quite possibly the hottest thing you had ever seen. And one final thrust sent you spinning over the edge into your orgasm. 

If the two of them hadn’t been holding you up, you would have collapsed long ago. You felt Stu’s hips stutter and pause as your walls clenched around him. Surprising him as his own finish hit him hard. Moaning into Billy’s mouth as he stilled deep inside you. His cum oozing out around his cock and dripping down your thighs. Too lost in pleasure to care. You’d worry about the implications of that later. 

Above you Stu whined, a high noise that surprised you. You were able to glance up once again to see Billy tugging the taller man’s bottom lip between his teeth. These two would be the death of you. You hollowed your cheeks just to see Billy’s reaction. He cursed as his head dropped back. It felt great to be able to make him good like that. But any sort of power was quickly taken from you when Stu pulled out. Feeling the last of his cum follow made you whimper. And that drew breathy laughs from both of them. 

You felt Stu move off the bed behind you, but you weren’t sure where he was going until you saw him appear behind Billy’s shoulder. One hand dragging up his stomach to his chest while the other gripped at the base of his cock, what little that wasn’t deep down your throat. Billy left your mouth and you sucked in your first proper breath in who knows how long. Billy allowed himself to be a little loud as Stu’s hand slowly gripped up his length. His chin resting against Billy’s shoulder, watching you with that wonderful smug grin that drew you to him in the first place. 

Billy slowly started rolling his hips into Stu’s fist, then faster as he chased his orgasm. Still gripping your hair tight to keep you in place. And once again finding Stu’s hair with the other. Keeping you both exactly where he wanted it as he reached his peak with a strained curse. You were far too enraptured by the scene above you to pull away as he finished on your face. Not that you would have wanted to. Opening your mouth and letting your tongue hang to catch any cum. Both of them loved that. Stu biting his lip hard while Billy’s breath hitched mid moan. 

“She’s perfect, man…” Stu mumbled, lips pressing against Billy’s neck. The shorter man could only nod in agreement as he caught his breath. Leaning back against Stu for support. When he finally released your hair you were able to sit up. Knees aching from being in the same position for so long. The rapidly cooling cum on your face and cunt making you cringe. You laid back against the pillows with a long sigh.

“That was fucking incredible…” 

You bounced as Stu flopped down next to you, laughing when his tongue dragged up your cheek, collecting as much of Billy’s cum as he could. You snorted, pushing his face away. 

“Gross dude!” You cried, wriggling away from him. He gripped your hips and pulled you closer. Trying to get his tongue back on your face. Basically wrestling you into a position that you couldn’t escape from.

“Hey… why let it go to waste right?” At that Billy also broke out into laughter. Helping Stu pin you down by gripping your thighs. Your struggles quickly faltered when Billy’s own tongue prodded your entrance then curled inside you. Eating Stu’s cum out of you. With a needy whine you said,

“You’re both disgusting…”

[vulpes-fennec]

Pumpkin Fields Forever (Part 4) 🎃

Summary: Elain and Lucien try their hand at some Harvest Festival games, but will they be able to win each other’s hearts? 

“Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see. It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out, it doesn’t matter much to me”

**I know the last three parts were pretty angsty, so I promise this one is more fun**

Read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

The sun was setting by the time they found a festival game to play. Well, technically the dart game was Lucien’s pick. But Elain was also drawn to the floating transparent sugar balls that scattered faelight in pastel colors. Apparently the players were supposed to throw darts at the sugar balls, earning points if they made a successful hit. 

“I’ll pay for this game, you can pay for the next one,” Lucien winked with his good eye as he handed the attendant several bronze coins. Is he…is he making a reference to our earlier tussle to pay? Elain thought incredulously. 

The attendant gave Elain 15 darts and she supplied her name for the magical scoreboard. Her first attempts were embarrassingly dismal: the darts did not fly straight, she could not follow the ball nor time her throw properly. Elain was acutely aware of Lucien’s searing gaze behind her. Oh gods, he must think I’m incompetent and weak in comparison to my sisters!

“You should hold the dart like this.” Lucien took one of the darts in front of her and held it up as an example. Elain frowned, trying to copy his pose. 

Lucien took a small step closer to her. “May I?” he asked, reaching for her hand. Elain nodded, feeling like she’d vomit from the nerves if she opened her mouth.

She breathed in his crisp scent as long fingers hesitantly adjusted her thumb and middle finger. Lucien gently moved her wrist back and forth in the motion of throwing. “Don’t grip it too tightly,” he advised, stepping away. Elain blushed furiously at the double meaning of the phrase, turning away from him so he wouldn’t notice. A lady does not think improper thoughts, a lady does NOT think improper thoughts, she chanted to herself. 

Lucien’s pointers did help the darts fly straight. But she was still missing the balls. “They keep moving,” she cried in frustration. 

She chewed her bottom lip, eyes following a pink ball and letting the dart fly when it felt right. Pink was certainly her lucky color. Elain could scarcely believe her eyes as the dart shattered the ball into sugar shards. 

Elain tried a couple more times, managing to hit one more sugar ball with her last dart. It wasn’t enough to make it on the scoreboard or win a prize, but she was proud of herself. “Good job,” Lucien said encouragingly. Elain dipped her head bashfully in thanks, heart fluttering at his praise. 

Lucien then stepped up, confidently assessing the circulating sugar balls. Elain shivered at the sight of the Fae male before her: the strands of burnished red hair that escaped his bun, the dagger-sharp focus etched in his set jaw and narrowed russet eye. With a flick of his wrist, Lucien shattered the tiniest of the sugar balls—a golden one that was no larger than a coin. 

Elain’s jaw dropped. He said “good job” to me when he was fully capable of doing THAT? A murmur of awe arose from the onlookers. “Who is that?” “The games are spelled against players’ powers, right? “He must be skilled indeed.”  

Possessive pride swelled in her chest and Elain stood a little straighter. That’s right, he’s with me, she thought smugly. Wait. No. 

Lucien didn’t give her any time to sort her thoughts as he swiftly shattered two more golden balls with the ease of an experienced hunter. Tiny shards tinkled as they rained down onto the grass. 

Elain glanced at the magical scoreboard on her left. The House of the Wind group had apparently stopped by earlier, since Cassian, Azriel, and Gwyn’s names were on the board. But Lucien’s name already showed up with only three successful attempts. It must be because he’s going for the smallest ones, the ones with the highest number of points, she realized.

Lucien readjusted his position but did not break concentration. With every golden orb felled by swift darts, his name crept up the board. The game attendant’s shock mirrored Elain’s as Lucien surpassed Cassian, becoming the reigning champion.

“Take your pick, sir, any prize you’d like.” The attendant flusteredly waved his hand, reassembling the shattered sugar balls when Lucien finished. Lucien was surprised at the small audience that had amassed. 

“What prize would the lady like?” Lucien asked quietly. Elain glanced at the rows of enticing prizes. Is it typical for Fae males to win festival games for their companions? What would it mean if I accepted the prize? If the tradition is a way for males to show off their skills….well, the fireling had outranked the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies. Elain felt her mind going haywire at the thought.   

“I’m alright, just pick the prize that you want.” She didn’t mean to reject his offer in front of all these people. But if she entertained the idea that he really did win the game for her, she would dissolve into a puddle of giddy emotions. 

Lucien studied the rows of prizes. “I’ll take the sheep stuffed animal,” he announced, pointing to a medium-sized sheep. It looked soft and fluffy, and absolutely adorable. Cauldron boil me, has the sheep become an inside joke between us? “Shall we?” He gestured for Elain to take the lead. 

“How are you so good at the darts,” Elain grumbled as they walked away. 

Lucien gave her a sharp-toothed grin, revealing pointy white canines. A wily fox with a sheep in his clutches indeed. “Centuries of practice. Tam’s sentries and I were competitive.” 

Why the Mother thought 25-year old me would have the life experience to match Lucien’s centuries of life is beyond me. Prime example: I can’t throw a dart while he is the highest-ranking player in the whole Harvest Festival. 

“How is Tamlin?” Elain broached cautiously. Her sister’s former lover and Rhys’s former friend…there was so much bad blood between Night and Spring. But she’d gotten more tidbits about Lucien’s old home today than she ever did, and she was curious about its current state. 

Lucien studied Elain for a few minutes, evaluating. Oh. It’s because I’m Feyre’s sister, Elain thought bitterly, and he doesn’t know if he can trust me. 

“Tam’s doing much better,” Lucien finally said. “He stays in his Fae form more than half the time now, and he’s leading a team of builders in restoring the manor. I visit him about twice a week.” 

“Oh. I’m glad to hear it,” Elain voiced. At least he’s willing to talk to me about Prythian matters. “Is Tamlin still paying you?” 

Lucien shook his head. “His coffers are strained because the Tithe was not conducted last year.” Elain did not know what the Tithe was but did not want to demonstrate her ignorance by asking. “The Tithe occurs twice a year, when Spring Court residents give the High Lord money or gifts that fund the Court,” Lucien explained, noticing her confusion.

So Lucien truly depends on Feyre and Rhys…are they privy to Tamlin’s finances? “Did Tamlin hurt you? Erm…I mean…I suppose there’s a reason you aren’t living with him?” 

Lucien stiffened. “It’s…complicated. He did. But he was there for me during my lowest time, and I want to reciprocate the gesture.” He winced. “I’m sorry…you probably still associate him with Hybern and I—” 

“I don’t,” Elain interjected simply. “I-I know now that it was the priestess. Tamlin bought us t-time when I was c-captured.” Her voice wavered at the traumatic memories and Lucien’s face flashed with the agony of not being able to save his mate. “I know what he did to Feyre. And Rhys…it’s complicated.” 

She felt herself babbling on and on. “Well, you’re a good friend to him, regardless of whether he deserves your help or not.” Lucien regarded her carefully, his metal eye clicking. For once, he did not respond. 

They walked in silence for several minutes until Elain spotted an interesting game. Players were using large mallets to hit toadstool mushrooms popping out of holes in the table. It had been a highly emotional day and she was feeling jittery, so what better way to blow off steam?

“Let’s play this one,” she suggested as she paid the attendant and wrote down their names. “You go first this time.” 

“Hold this, please.” Lucien gave her the stuffed sheep he was carrying. Elain hugged it close to her chest, taking a discreet sniff of it when he turned his back. 

Lucien picked up the mallets, waiting for the red-capped toadstools to begin springing. The first one popped up with a loud boiinngg sound that made him jump. Lucien smacked the toadstool squarely with his left mallet, but missed two other toadstools that popped up a split second later. 

For someone who was so skilled at darts, Lucien was terrible at whacking toadstools. His golden eye expanded and contracted, trying to catch the toadstools that were emerging from multiple holes in the table. He let out a growl of frustration when more toadstools evaded him.

Lucien let out a heavy sigh as he finished the round with a mediocre score. Elain blinked at him. “You’re surprisingly bad at this.” She handed him the sheep, which he tucked under his arm. 

He scowled. “You try, then. It’s harder than it looks. Fighting with twin blades is much easier than wielding mallets against regenerating toadstools.” 

He passed her the two mallets, holding them by their wrist straps to avoid contact with her hands. His gesture shouldn’t have bothered Elain, but it did. 

Elain curled her fingers around the mallet handles, feeling the remaining warmth from Lucien’s grip. Her pink lips were set in a tight line of focus, her knees bent slightly.

She was more than ready when the first toadstool popped up in front of her. Elain brought the mallet down like a blacksmith in a forge. The second toadstool was intercepted by her right mallet before it could retreat. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Every hammer was a killing blow to the grasshoppers that devoured her herbs and flowers. A slice into the incessant ivy on the ground. A punch to Amarantha’s face. Elain had no idea what the Hybern general actually looked like, but it didn’t matter. This is for Clare, for Feyre, for Rhysand. For Lucien. Lucien. Lucien. 

A deep-rooted fury took over her as she lunged and struck, Elain’s focus sharper than it had ever been. Amarantha’s face. Her body. Her wicked soul. And almost as quickly as it had started, the game ended.

Elain stilled, breathing hard. Her brown wavy hair was in disarray, her dress suffocating. The game attendant was staring at her with alarm, utterly unused to proper Fae ladies savagely hammering away at toadstools. But Lucien Vanserra was grinning widely, russet eye sparkling with what looked like appreciation.

“Absolutely vicious,” he declared. “The poor toadstools didn’t stand a chance.” He leaned against the booth’s wooden beam, still smiling.

Lucien’s radiant smile reminded Elain that they were at the Harvest Festival, among pumpkin-decorated booths and buttery yellow faelight. They were not in imminent danger. Breathe, she told herself. Don’t focus on him holding that damn adorable sheep. Breathe. 

She turned to the game attendant. “Did I win anything?” she asked. 

The game attendant quickly recovered, relieving Elain of the mallets. “Yes, miss. You came in third on the scoreboard, and may select from the top row of prizes.” 

Elain studied the prizes before her. The top row had stuffed animals, but no sheep. In fact, none of the stuffed animals interested Elain. Her attention was drawn to the jewelry, particularly a necklace with a small sun pendant. It was the size of a coin and made of cheap brassy material, but Elain did not care. Long winter nights were coming, and having something that reminded her of sunny days would be nice. 

“I’ll have that one please,” she announced. “Thank you!” Elain pulled the necklace over her head. The sun pendant rested on her orange dress.

“You know, I would have appreciated a few whacking tips and tricks in return,” Lucien murmured jokingly as they walked away. 

“I-I didn’t know how it would turn out! It’s my first time playing festival games!”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “You’re missing out. The Dawn Court, in my opinion, has the best carnivals in all of Prythian. They have many festival games, and mechanized contraptions that you can ride on.” 

Elain felt a prick of envy. Dawn Court, Spring Court, the continent. He’s been to so many places. How can I compare to his worldly-ness when I haven’t been anywhere except for Velaris and Hewn City? 

The male looked at her with hopeful expectation in his russet eye, as if waiting for her to suggest that they visit a Dawn Court carnival together. A proper response would be just that, except…I’m so confused about how I should feel. Maybe I could ask him to elaborate on Dawn Court instead? But what if I come off as naive…

“It’s hard to find time for leisure,” she mumbled instead. “The courts are still rebuilding from the war, and there are other issues on the continent.” Koschei. The human queens. Montesere, Rask, and Vallahan. 

Lucien dipped his head, hiding the disappointment on his face. “The lady is right,” he acknowledged. “But in my opinion, allowing brief moments of joy helps us get through these tough times.” The melancholy in his voice gave Elain the feeling he was speaking more to his past experiences, than future plans. 

She tightened her mouth bitterly: every step towards easy companionship between them seemed to relapse a half step back to their somber selves. The realization that she wanted some progress to be made…well, her former self would have never imagined it possible.

Read: Part 5

[ceesimz]

Okay well for starters - GREAT to see you’re back, and on your own terms! I know we all would have happily waited for as long as it took, but I was still SO excited when I woke up and saw that you had posted!

Now, for the actual story! First off, thank you for posting it all in one part (you’re better than me fr), and WOW I just REALLY loved it! The argument broke my heart entirely for R, Alexia was just SERIOUSLY not thinking anything through, I mean my god!

I really, really enjoyed this idea of the analogy of R’s mental pain being shown within the injuries she sustained when using the punching bag. I had to sit there for a second when you drew that comparison because WHEW…genuinely just a phenomenal idea from a literary perspective.

I’m amazed by everything you write, and this was no difference in the slightest! You balanced dialogue with the characters thoughts and emotions exceptionally well, and it makes your stories easy to read and SO enjoyable. It’s an absolute honor to get to read your work, thank you so so much for sharing it with us!

So so blessed to be occupying the same little corner to the internet with someone as talented as you are! 🩵🩵

Oh man, where to even start with this!! This is so incredibly kind, my mind can't even comprehend it. Thank you for taking the time to write this, it means so much🧡

I was typing with anger in solidarity with R during the argument section, trust me. Funnily enough, that was also the part I wrote last. I couldn't have done it in two parts either, would have annoyed me too much hahaha!

Thank you for picking up on particular parts of the story, and for the very generous compliment of the overall structure. (Tangent warning) when I'm reading through my own writing, it find it so challenging to get a good sense of what the readers will feel because I feel absolutely nothing emotion-wise when reading my own stuff. Whereas when I read other people's stories, I'm overcome with all kinds of thoughts and feelings and that's what I kind of correlate the quality of writing with, how many different emotions and the intensity of them that the author makes me feel.

So before posting I get very nervous because I can't for the life of me gage the quality of my work and figure out if it's good enough before I let it out into the world, but then you came along and left this long, wholesome ask in my inbox and I'm just so happy now. It really made my day, because I've been an avid enjoyer of your stories for a while now and I, embarrassingly, still geek out when I see you and some of my other favourite writers reblog or like or do such things like this. It just really makes a difference and I'll remember this forever, it'll always be in the back of my mind when I'm writing!

Really, this has made the world of a difference, and I can't believe you took the time to write this to me. I'm so grateful, and I wish you nothing but the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you🧡

[bbael]

hiii 🖤 i missed u,,, I’ve wanted pop by and say hello for so long now and always think of you <3 but i have been generally dead to the world for a little while now sdjsdjsdj im fine tho !! but life has just been beating my ass fr these last couple months 💀

anywho !! here i am using my last ounce of energy to lovingly scribe you a message, written in my own fair blood of course, on an ancient parchment,,, but the little bat i paid (in beetles) to deliver you my letter got lost; so im forced to type my message to u here instead, which will have to do 🙄 (sillyness)

but how have u been dearie!! i myself have not been up to much during my expiring, but the sun has started to come out again, and the bluebells where i live have started to bloom, and my pet doggy is loving to sunbathe, so those things are good. i saw a concert too the other month and have another booked for next year ! and am contemplating booking einstürzende neubaten for later this year, but i genuinely have nobody to go with that could stand it 😭

as always and forever, love u lots, and hope you have been well,, i feel so bad for not messaging for so long now, but please know i have thought of you every day 🖤 sending many of hugs, & till later my dear !! 🖤

Hiii oh my god, getting this ask a couple weeks(?) ago was such a relief hon because I was starting to think you were actually dead, like not even kidding I was concerned 😭 so good to hear that at the very least u lived and are well enough to make it to here my humble ask box.....

Literally praying for the bat bc girl is he okay :((

But I'm glad over your side of the world things are getting warmer, I yearn for the sun as much as your doggy might tbh :(. (Puppy sunbathing is such a wonderful visual too omg...)

Hope you're spending lots of time outside and making the most of it! Here's cooling down pretty fast and I'm shivering 24/7, I hate it and hate being bundled up in 500 layers >_<.

I can't believe you have the chance to see EN this year omg... I would so go with you 🥹🖤 ur hanging out with the wrong ppl hon..... I hope u can still go though, live my dream please~

& how are you now?? You still half-dead and busy or already doing better? 🥺 I need more updates, felt like forever truly..

My life has not been super exciting either....

Idk if i got to tell you about my latest development which was that a while ago I started working as a prof, finally. Had it coming for years but felt so damn unprepared.... it's been embarrassingly easy though, I'm very happy with how things turned out and just getting 2 hours here, 1 hour there at different schools for very short term periods while I keep my half-time on the place I was already working at 🥹 sounds busy as hell but it might be the most free time I've had in years lol.

I'm sorry if I already told you that btw, can't remember at all and I must sound like a broken record if I did ahhh

I'll also be moving couple provinces away soon which is,,, amazing...unbelievable even! But I'll update on that as it happens bc I really am too anxious to even think bout it atm lmao

Anyhow,, I really really I'm so unbelievable glad to read from you my dear 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 you have no idea,, I was sending my little moths to find you 😔💔🥀 holding u in my arms tightly so I don't lose sight of u as easily omg.

Really hoping things are well over there and that you are having a much easier time now ;w; sending literally all my love like leaving none for nobody else, mwah 🫀

[seaottersandstrings]

something lgbt just happened to me (extreme emotional pain edition)

(ignore me I just need an internet void to scream in where she wont see it or read if you’re nosy and willing to be nice about it)

(also if anyone has any advice for how to not be so fucked up about the girl who is kinda your ex but not really (in the “never actually dated but we both had feelings and acted like it a lot” way) officially dating a new person for the first time since she shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces please dm me said advice this is 100% serious)

like we have all the same friends and it’s been over half a year so I feel weird talking to irl people about it. even I am surprised at how intensely the emotions punched me in the lungs when she told us she has a bf now. like cmon brain I knew we weren’t over this but I thought we were at least getting better. 

also there’s the added fun layer of “her own internalized biphobia and biphobic family members made it so our connection was always laced with shame and repression and suffering anyway.” and now she gets to celebrate this moment with friends and family and do boy talk with her mom and ask her parents for advice about this guy she’s known for a couple months and have an easy friends to lovers arc with him. while I was stuck listening to her family coo over how she should get back with her ex bf once he transferred to our college while she and I were literally sleeping in the same bed the night before. but bc I’m not a guy ofc nothing could possibly have been going on there. 

like you’re telling me I was in a years-long, will-they-won’t-they sufferfest where I was embarrassingly emotionally devoted to this person only for npc #3 to crawl out of the woodwork and get the instant stamp of approval for wanting to get to know her better and giving it the old college try? 

and to be clear I’m not blaming her she feels how she feels and obviously the bi/homophobia is a societal/community level issue. it just sucks so bad to fall so deeply in love with someone over such a long time and have those feelings be treated less seriously because of things we can’t control. like just on top of the regular heartbreak of it all. and believe me the regular heartbreak of it all is more than enough for my little eggshell heart to handle. 

and on a regular heartbreak level it also sucks because she’s a good person that I genuinely care about on a non-romantic level and still think very highly of. like our relationship wasn’t and still isn’t perfect but she’s one of the best people in my life and an objectively decent human being. so it’s not like I can even rationalize to myself “well it was toxic” (actually maybe the dynamic was but like SHE wasn’t a toxic person y’know) or “she treated me badly” or “she sucks so I’m better off now anyway.” like no she’s wonderful and her new bf is very lucky life just sucks sometimes. 

did I mention she and I are still best friends and even though we live in different cities now which helps I still have to pretend to be totally 100% excited about this for the sake of being a good bestie? like god I love being a lesbian if I had to do life all over again and got a choice I would choose to be queer every single goddamn time. but this is the most painful shit I’ve ever felt in my life and that’s a pretty high bar at this point. especially since this is technically not my first heartbreak but it’s my first one since realizing I’m a lesbian and not bi and started having a lot of The Piercing Loneliness of Breaking Every Societal Expectation feelings about it. like I think my brain was unintentionally pulling a “maybe I’ll turn out normal-passing” on itself (which is total bullshit) for a while there. and even though I know that was bullshit coming to terms with being a lesbian was so much harder for me than coming to terms with being queer at all and everything related to it has just felt so much more intense since. 

and on some level I’m also jealous bc she got out and can have a relationship she can celebrate and talk about with her family without fear and I can never have that. like bi people obviously go through so much shit and have a hard time getting both straight and gay people to take them seriously and as someone who lived that (in the “other people treated me like I was bi bc we all thought I was” sense) and thought that was who I was for 7 years I would never want to diminish that but oh my god being on the other side now I can understand how easy it is to let yourself get bitter. And I never want to be that person but at the same time speaking purely of my own experience it didn’t take me so long (2+ years) to figure out I was a lesbian because I just didn’t know like at some point deep down I knew especially near the end of my questioning era but I kept asking myself “well are you SURE?” because didn’t want to face the loneliness of it. Of closing the door on the last possible chance I had for my family and I to bond over something in a normal way for once. And coming out again was incredibly freeing but I also had to be willing to break my own heart to do it and the compounding heartbreak is just so much. 

anyway if anyone is reading this I love you and I hope you’re having a better day than me. happy new year. 

[sinfulcries]

hi sir! i really enjoy your works so could i request atsumu's senpai catching him jacking off while moaning reader's name in the locker room and reader takes his virginity on the spot?

maneater — atsumu x male reader

author's notes. UHM I AM SO SORRY THIS IS REALLY LONG I GOT REALLY INTO IT HAHAHA. this was also beta read by my lodicakes @bunbyy <3 thank you so much NJKNDKJA

tw. senpai kink, public sex, exhibitionism, mating press, caught masturbation, university au, virginity loss, peer pressure, belly bulge, size difference, unprotected sex, barebacking, facefucking, facial, sleazy senpai reader

Miya Atsumu, by all means, was never interested in dating or the concept of love and crushes and infatuation. All of those seemed vaguely unfamiliar to the boy who only had volleyball on his victory-hungry mind. When it came to a certain male on his team however, he would instantly lose his composure. His knees would feel like jelly whenever their fingers would brush against each others accidentally and his face would heat up like wildfire when the flirty, tall senior would attempt to flirt with him.

A crush, Miya supposed. These feelings would go away sooner or later but Osamu and his teammates who clearly caught onto Atsumu’s strange behavior, begged to differ.

More often than intended, you two would have the thickest and most uncomfortable sexual tension. And one of those instances was right now.

After one of your practice matches, you had peeled your shirt off to reveal your seemingly perfect body. Atsumu revelled in the way your skin glistened under the sheer layer of sweat coating your big arms and your toned abdomen, or the way the fabric of your shorts hung low and exposed more than what meets the eye, leaving Atsumu to imagine the rest of what laid beneath. The blonde made sure to take his sweet time memorizing every crevice of your toned stomach, failing to notice the teasing smirk plastered on your face.

Interrupting the male’s not so discreet sightseeing, you chuckled. “Enjoying the view, Tsumu?” You teased, making the said male blush embarrassedly. “N-No! Shut yer trap, Senpai!” He sneered only to receive a grin from you in reply. “You know, You’re really cute when you’re flustered, dollface.”

God, the things you did to him were dangerous and the cute pet name went straight to his cock, making it noticeably twitch against his thigh. The shorter man merely ignored your statement with a blush on his face, giving you an embarrassed wave before walking towards the locker room, “I'm gonna take a shower.”

By showering, Atsumu meant releasing his sexual frustration by jacking off to the thought of you fucking him. The wing spiker shut his eyes in pleasure as he flicked his wrist around his length shamelessly, lips parted ever so slightly as he moaned your name.

The thought of you manhandling him, having him pressed up against your chest as you fucked him raw made Atsumu shut his eyes tightly. His pace only increased as he fisted his cock much faster, imagining that it was your bigger hand instead. This was definitely more than a crush-- Miya just came to the thought of his teammate for fuck’s sake! Thank God you weren’t there to witness the sinful and humiliating act that he had just committed.

By the time he came, shooting thick ribbons of white cum onto the tile walls, he rinsed the rest of his body clean before reaching out of the stall to grab his towel. Before he could even grasp the cloth, another person snatched it before he could, making him groan frustratedly.

“‘Samu, I swear if this is you, I’ll cut yer ba—”

When Atsumu opened the shower curtain however, the culprit was not his twin brother but instead, you stood in front of him with an amused look on your face. Your teasing expression only making the shorter man gulp nervously.

Avoiding your coy gaze, you taunted, “You’re a bad boy, Atsumu.” while moving to pin the blonde against the tile walls. Atsumu let out a soft squeak, feeling your calloused fingertips rubbing teasingly against the rim of his ass.

“Touching yourself to the thought of me.” You growled, leaning in to lap at the expanse of his neck, your teeth slowly dragging against his skin leaving bite marks on the clean flesh.

The blonde let out a breathy moan, as he tried to explain himself, however his mind was clouded with nothing but lust and disbelief. “I’ll give you the real thing instead. How does that sound?” You whispered, making the blonde shake his head. “I-I don’t want to..”

As much as he desperately wanted to feel your cock messing up his insides, he was embarrassingly enough, a virgin. And to have his virginity taken in some dirty locker room had him thinking more rationally, holding himself back from succumbing into his desires.

“Why not? Are you a virgin?” You teased, making Atsumu pipe up with humiliation. “Am not!” He protested.

Not believing the blonde, your hand inched towards his ass, prodding at his entrance with one finger. The male immediately jolted forward into your chest, squeaking as you pushed the digit in. “F-feels weird…” Atsumu murmured.

Ah, a virgin. How adorable.

The best people to fuck, in your not so humble opinion, were virgins. They were quite similar to new toys— they’d have your cock inside of their cunts, getting a good feel of how big you are before they’re reduced to a sobbing mess, feeling your cock molding them into your shape.

“C’mon now, ‘Tsumu, don’t be such a buzzkill for yer senpai.” You mused, giving his ass a harsh slap. “I’ll take good care of you. I’ll be gentle.” Your words weren’t the most convincing especially paired with the predatory gaze in your eyes. Nonetheless, Atsumu complied hesitantly, deciding to trust you instead, “Ugh fine. Ya better be gentle or I’m backing out.”

‘You’d be too addicted to even think about backing out’ You thought to yourself, grinning as you pulled the blonde out of the shower, urging him to lay down on one of the benches before pulling your shorts off along with your boxers.

By no means were you remotely close to small. Atsumu shamelessly drooling at the sight of your thick cock leaking beads of precum in your hand. Miya could only gulp as you pressed the smooth head of your cock against his bottom lip, letting the fat head part his lips open. “W-Wait you won’t go too deep right?” Atsumu mumbled worriedly.

“Just trust me.” You responded, guiding the rest of your cock inside of his mouth slowly. And without a single warning, you grabbed the boy by the back of his head, pulling him in closer as he choked helplessly on your cock. “You can take it right Tsum? Senpai knows you can.” The condescending grin that wormed its way onto your lips made Atsumu moan against your cock, your hips now moving to fuck the wing spiker’s warm throat.

You could vaguely hear the sound of him choking and gurgling around your thick length, the younger man’s jaw now going slack with how long you’ve been mercilessly thrusting into his mouth. “Shh, Samu might walk in at any minute. How would he react to seeing his cute lil twin getting facefucked by his sleazy senior?” You whispered tauntingly, Miya only “mmf!”-ing in reply.

With your thrusts slowly becoming sloppy as you felt your high approaching, you took your cock of the blonde’s mouth before spilling your load on his pretty face, relishing in the way your cum dripped over the boy’s cute features. “S-Senpai…” The boy panted, shakily taking your cock in his small hand “Want more…”

Your prediction was proven to be correct. Miya Atsumu was already addicted to your cock and you haven’t even taken his virginity yet! What a charming lil whore, so easy for you to break and corrupt!

Smiling at the blonde, your fingers were now pushed against the puffy rim of his ass, the dampness from his recent shower making it much easier to prep his hole for your cock. Atsumu let out a soft gasp as you started to curl and twist your fingers inside of him, his body writhing cutely against the bench he was laying on. “Mm so tight, I can’t wait to fill this cute cunt up.”

Miya blushed at your words, the venom in your voice making him flush red with how needy he was for you. Jolting upwards, he could feel your fingers brushing against his prostate, a flurry of high pitched moans ripping past his throat as you continued to fingerfuck the poor boy. “Ssssso good~!” Squealing girlishly, Atsumu’s cock trembled before he came on his stomach.

“Fuck, you look so hot” You rasped out, admiring the way his chest heaved up and down, his oversensitive cock now twitching against his stomach. As much as you wanted to spend your time admiring the view, your patience was wearing thin, and you could barely keep yourself from climbing on top of his quivering figure, aligning the head of your cock against his puckered rim before pushing every inch inside of him. The pain was absolutely unbearable-- the thought of pushing you off of him was the only thing occupying his mind as he blinked back the fat tears forming in his eyes.

As expected, his ass felt so good wrapped around your cock. Nothing beats the feel of a freshly entered, young virgin, especially since he looked so pretty folded down on the bench with your cock filling his ass.

“It hurts! Too big--!” Atsumu whimpered, finally letting the tears he had been holding back stream down his pretty little face. You only grasped both of his legs in response, folding him with ease so that his ass was raised to take in more of your cock. With you, balls deep inside of him-- It was safe to say that Atsumu was slowly breaking. It was obvious with how his tongue was stuck out, eyes crossed lewdly as the tears, cum and drool on his face mixed messily together. The satisfaction of burying every inch of your cock inside of his ass only brought a wicked smile on to your face and it didn’t take long for you to start fucking him and breeding him against the dirty bench, each euphoric thrust sending atsumu overdrive as he breathlessly panted for more. His whimpers sent you into a frenzy, your hips pistolling deeper to abuse his prostate-- and the blonde could only scream for dear life as you pounded into his guts mercilessly.

Rich, deep moans spilled from your lips only aiding Atsumu into orgasming much faster. And Your brash, rapid thrusts made ‘Tsumu moan out in pure bliss, keeping himself balanced as he held onto your sturdy arms. “Such a fucking cockslut for a virgin.” You groaned, Driving your cock deeper inside of him so that you could marvel at the little bump bulging out of his toned stomach.

“Look at that, you can even see my cock in yer little tummy.” Teasing him never got old, especially with the cute whine that came out of his mouth. “If only the team was able to see just how much of a virgin whore you really are.”

That alone was enough to make Atsumu cum once more, and with one more drive of your hips against his colon, you watched as his body spasmed against your cock, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he cried out your name.

Although you did have a bad habit of tossing virgins away once you were done using them up, you were certain that you’d keep Miya Atsumu for a while. After all, he was quite fun to play with.

[elysianslove]

secrets that you keep; iwaizumi hajime 

synopsis; in which his best friend is secretly a camgirl. part 1, part 2 

pairings; iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

genre; smut

trigger warnings; i highly recommend reading the first two parts before this. they’re only drabbles that introduce everything! anyways, this is absolute filth. don’t read this if any of the stuff mentioned could trigger you, please! masturbation, camgirl stuff, one mention of the word ‘daddy,’ self choking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of choking, accidental breathplay, not proofread unfortunately 

she knows. 

does she? 

it’s an ongoing inner battle he’s been having for weeks now, ever since he’d been directed to that trending video of yours. he sees you in his dreams, hears you loud and clear, moaning and crying for him, and worst of all, he feels you, so perfectly, against his, around him, and it’s overwhelming in the worst way possible. even maintaining eye contact is tiresome at this point. 

but he does wonder whether you know or not, more often than he should— were you deliberately calling out for him, in hopes that he’d find this video somehow? or had you said it because you’d assumed this is your safe place, that there’s no way he’d be able to find these videos? had it been a slip up? or, more accurately, multiple slip ups? what were the chances anyways, that it had been an accident, or unintentional, or intentional and he had been losing sleep over it, or that he wasn’t the hajime you were crying out for? 

his heard hurt. awfully. there’s already the constant worry of regulating his breathing around you and cleansing his thoughts of anything he’d seen of you the moment you meet, but this added dilemma is in no way helping. every day that you text him for a coffee date, or a night out after a rather stressful week, or a night in at your apartment, and he agrees, his mind diverts immediately to where it shouldn’t as soon as he lays eyes on you. and the worst part of it all is how aware he is of how wrong this is. he knows it’s wrong to choose the revealing shirt over the other when you ask him for his opinion, just because he wants that effortless glance at your cleavage. it’s also so wrong of him to give a higher rating to that obscenely short dress than that other, knee length one because of the way your thighs squeeze when you sit. it’s definitely wrong of him to offer clasping your anklet, the one he’d gotten for you, the one that had been the dead giveaway to your secret online persona, just because your legs feel so soft against the rough pads of his fingers, when he resists the urge to trail upwards, upwards, upwards—

it’s fucking ridiculous. 

he can’t believe just how deep of a rabbit hole finding one of your videos is, how it’s impossible to climb out and away, and even worse, how he keeps falling deeper. the one time he decides to jerk off to porn. it’s really ridiculous. 

about a week ago, three weeks after finding that video of yours someone had uploaded— which had been taken down because of copyright, and hajime personally thinks that’s fair, considering there’s a reason you pay people to watch your videos and look through your photos, otherwise you would’ve taken the liberty to post everything for free yourself— hajime gives in, and subscribes to you. it’s with a randomized account name, something he tried his very best to make as anonymous as possible, so that it would in no way lead back to him. he doesn’t check in on your account as often, also having taken the time to turn off notifications and not have anything sent to his email, and it’s mostly out of shame. he already feels dirty enough having seen this much of you, even more that he’s fantasized about you. he’s not about to make it worse for himself.

every once in a while, though, especially days where he’s sure he’s completely free of responsibilities, he logs on, and finds your page. it just so happens that tonight, you’re hosting a live stream. swallowing his pride and shame, literally so, he shifts on his bed, sitting up straighter, and clicks to join. 

he’d been a little late apparently, because you’re already bare, sitting on a chair. your legs are lifted up, knees bent and hooked over the chair’s arms, the camera angled to show everything, from your cute eyes to the flesh of your ass. there’s a vibrator in your hand, buzzing lightly as it hovers by your clit, dipping between your folds, sliding back up again to rub lazily at your clit. beneath you, on the chair, is a small damp spot, leaking from your cunt. hajime stops himself before his jaw falls slack at the sight of you, and instead, he clears his throat, gritting his teeth and watching carefully. 

you’re not so talkative during your videos, just exclamations of pleasure and (the most beautiful of) noises, so he hadn’t expected you to be during your lives. to his surprise, you are, and it’s filthy. 

whimpering lightly, you press the vibrator harsher on your clit, your other hand traveling up to squeeze at your breast. “m’so needy,” you admit with a soft pout, adding, “want you to tell me what to do, mmh.”

he’s assuming the ‘you’ is the audience, whoever’s willing to speak up, and it’s then that he notices the chat option. his eyes flicker curiously to it, hands twitching where they sit fisted at his lap as he sees the chat explode with orders and commands and suggestions for you. 

one writes, stuff urself full, and hajime gapes. 

another commands, wanna see u cry tn, and hajime privately agrees. 

someone else writes, gonna squirt princess? 

hajime’s hands twitch again, and he frowns, digging his nails into his palms. you’re ignoring all the suggestions, and it’s obvious because you’re reading through them, mouthing some of them, giggling at some, curiously gasping, ‘oh,’ at others, eyebrow quirking. the vibrator trails down to your hole again, and you experimentally dip it inside slightly, shivering visibly as the vibrations rush through you, and the moment he hears you moan so loud, he thinks, fuck it, and his hands reach for his keyboard. 

choke yourself. 

fuck, fuck, fuck, he did not just do that. 

his heart is racing embarrassingly fast beneath his ribcage, loud and pathetically deafening in his ears as he watches your eyes read through the rest of the messages, and you’ve stopped mouthing them, your eyes are widening— which one are you at now? are you just going to ignore him? why wouldn’t you? of course you—

“you’d like that, huh?” you teasingly slur, a lazy, cheeky grin painting your lips, your teeth biting down on your lower lip and your hand— your hand— 

it’s trailing upwards, upwards, upwards, until it finds its way around your throat, resting lightly, and just as he sees your fingers squeeze at the sides of your neck slightly, carefully, you pout at the camera, looking straight at him, and asking, “like this, daddy?” 

a low fuck wheezes past his lungs, and his hand quickly presses down at the bulge in his sweatpants, squeezing and rubbing at his clothed dick as he watches you, entranced. people watching you with him have taken to thanking him for the idea, and to praising you, calling you a good girl, cursing, rapidly typing out something along the lines of you’re so hot i wanna fuck you so bad, and god, hajime hates that he relates to something as stupid as that. 

your hips roll and your head falls back, hand not once leaving your throat. if anything, your grip tightens. you click on the vibrator, and the buzzing becomes louder, your moans with it, as if you were competing. you cry and gasp and sob, writhing in your own hold, your thighs tensing and your hole clenching around nothing as you harshly rub the vibrator against your clit. your cunt gushes and drips as you bring yourself closer to your orgasm, as you cry out a string of, “m’gonna cum, so close, so close!” and a mixture of lewd curses, until finally, you cum. you’re sent over the edge, legs swinging on the chair, high pitched squeals falling from your lips— which hajime can’t decide are real or not, or whether he wants them to be or not. you thrash and cry, tears, as promised to some other watcher, dripping down your cheeks. 

the last straw however, is your comedown from your high, sobs hiccuping and muscles twitching, eyes half closed and body limp as you mewl out, “hajime, hajime, hajime,” like you’re not even aware you’re doing it. like it’s subconscious. 

hajime swears again, a deep, low, “fuck,” and looks down to find a damp spot on his lap. he really came from barely any friction, all because of you. this really is as ridiculous as it gets. 

the next time he sees you, there are the faintest of bruises on your neck. it’s not so obvious that just anyone would notice, but ever since becoming hyperaware of everything that is you and everything that you do, it’s hard not to have them be the first thing he sees. to ensure that the atmosphere between the two of you remains easy, he flicks at your neck and tuts with a smirk, asking you jokingly if you were in your hoe phase. 

“so vulgar, hajime,” you sarcastically retort, teasing him. “you like calling me mean things?” and he has to avert eye contact because all his walls crumble so quick. 

it’s just the two of you tonight, in his apartment, all your other mutual friends having cancelled at one point or another. it’s not an unusual occurrence; more often than not, the two of you are alone. however, it’s been a while since you’d been alone, privately. a while meaning ever since hajime had discovered your side hustle of a sort. he hadn’t been purposely avoiding this— no, maybe he has, but to be fair, he’s still yet to recover from the initial shock. 

it also doesn’t help that since today had meant to be a relaxing night in, you’re dressed casual, but in the hottest fucking way possible. he hopes he hadn’t been blushing as hard as he thinks, and feels, he was, when you’d first stepped into his home. on your hips is a short, black skirt, flowing out to your upper thighs, where just above your knees start a pair of dark thigh highs, squeezing at your thighs and accentuating your legs as you strut around his apartment, feet bare of any shoes or slippers. he can’t decide whether it’s cute or just plain hot. somehow, with you, it’s both. your shirt is off the shoulder, a dark, navy blue bardot, and beneath it, peeking out to rest at your collarbones, is a black bralette. he can barely just see the intricate lace designs, but it disappears and dips beneath your shirt before he can see more of it. 

you’re spread out on the couch, laying along it on your stomach, a pillow tucked in your arms and beneath your head, your clothed legs bent and swinging up in the air. he sits right by you, thigh right by your head, his body as tense as ever. it’s impossible not to be you, not with you in such close proximity to him when only a few days ago he’d watched you make yourself cum, and had heard you whimper out his name after. who can blame him, really?

with your eyes trained on the screen, he hadn’t been expecting you to speak up. 

“iwa, what type of porn do you watch?” 

he nearly chokes, eyes widening as he spares you a glance. your legs continue to swing innocently, your eyes unmoving, your voice unwavering. the suddenness of the question certainly threw him off, but it’s your nonchalance that really shocks him. but, considering everything, it really shouldn’t have. 

“uh, what?” he offers weakly, wincing slightly at the barely there crack in his voice. 

you sigh, shifting to sit up. you plant yourself on your knees, spreading them apart slightly to get comfortable, and shrugging at him. “i’m just curious,” you say. “or,” your eyes squint cautiously, your head cocking to the side slightly, “do you not watch porn?” 

challengingly, his arms lift up to cross at his chest, and he doesn’t miss the way your eyes momentarily glance at the way his biceps bulge. it makes his confidence spike slightly, nervousness ebbing away. “what type of porn do you watch?” 

you gasp dramatically, joking, “take a girl out to dinner first, my god.” he laughs, relaxing lightly at the banter, before his eyes fall back to you. you inch forward curiously, cautiously, still on your knees. now closer to him, you ask again, “seriously, i’m really curious! confirm my suspicions for me.” 

“oh?” he quirks an eyebrow. “so you think you know?” 

at this, you offer him a knowing smile, eyes slightly half lidded. you’re somehow even closer now, leaning towards him with your hands resting on the small space between you and him in the couch, helping you in lifting yourself up slightly on your knees as you say in a low voice, “baby, i think everyone knows.” 

at the sight of you by his side, he feels himself shiver, and an idea invades his mind before he can even process it. “oh, do you now?” he’s not sure where this boldness is emerging from, especially with how cautious and shameful he’d been and felt for weeks now, but he accepts it either way, because the way you’re staring at him like that, he never wants to let it go. and although he wants to drag out this intense eye contact even longer, in order to do what he wants to do, he has to break it, reaching for his phone instead. unable to contain your curiosity, you peak over, watching with confusion as he types out a link. 

the blood drains from your face when you recognize your page on his browser, and he’s logged on— he’s subscribed. 

“what type of porn do i like to watch?” he wonders rhetorically. the phone is pushed aside, and he sits up straighter so that even on your knees, he looms over you. his eyes are skimming over you, along your body, up to your neck, to your lips, to your shocked, wide eyes. and just as his hand trails up to your throat, his palm resting at the base and one finger tapping lightly, he says, “the type where my favorite girl cries out my name when she cums for the world to see.” 

the hand around your throat—

“you,” you breathe out, and finally, finally, when your brain makes sense of everything, your body relaxes, sags against him, leaning more into him until his hand’s properly wrapped around your throat. 

with your mind hazing over, you reach over, and kiss him. 

he meets you halfway, as if having expected it, lips pressing harshly against his. his hand tightens as he pulls you closer, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him as his mouth parts, breathing you in, and kissing you deeper, lewder. you shiver and gasp, hands grasping at his wrist and forearm, not to push him away but rather to urge him closer, as you kiss him back just as eagerly. it seems like hours, with his hand around your neck, tight and a daunting reassurance, and your lips wet and hot against his, but eventually, his hand slides down, the other mirroring it, finding their way to your waist, squeezing and bunching at the skirt as he, with complete and utter and shocking ease, lifts you up off the couch. 

you gasp as he stands up with you, your legs quickly wrapping around his waist as he pulls you to him. as he blindly walks the two of you to his bedroom, he breathlessly asks in between your kisses, “is this— you sure this is okay?” 

with a sharp tug at his hair, you jokingly spit out, “iwa shut up.” 

he tosses you onto the bed, allowing you a minute to strip yourself of your shirt while he slips out of his own, before quickly falling above you, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you again. “not iwa,” he quietly asks of you. 

for a moment you’re confused, before everything clicks again— your slip ups— and your legs lift up, wrapping around his waist and pulling his hips closer to yours just as you mewl out, “hajime, please.” 

god, he is way easier than he thought he was. 

his entire body shudders above you, one hand lowering to push at your skirt to grind his hips down against yours until his clothed crotch meets your bare cunt and— holy fuck, holy fuck. 

“fuck, you slut.” 

you gasp at both his words and the feel of his bulge pressing down against your clit, his lips meeting your neck instead. “you do like calling me mean things,” you say, and he scoffs, his hand traveling upwards to squeeze at your breasts instead. 

“you like me calling you mean things,” he notes, and you let out a muffled moan as he pinches at your nipples through the bralette, lips biting and sucking at your neck. 

“i do,” you pant, arching up into him. “i do, i do.” his hands are fumbling at your chest, and god, they’re so large, so big and warm and harsh, it’s fogging up your brain. 

“yeah, yeah, fucking whore,” he growls, pushing himself slightly on his knees, hands tugging at the bralette. his fingers dip past, gripping the fabric tightly, and as he says, “can’t fucking— take this shit— off,” he tears through it, knuckles whitening as he pulls it away from your body, or what’s left of it. the frills of the ruined bra fall off the edge of his bed, and he watches your wide eyes and gaping mouth follow it, so he grabs at your jaw, twisting your gaze away from it and grunting a low, “shut up.” 

you pull away from the kiss, breathing heavily as you say, “that was so fucking hot, hajime,” before kissing him again. he parts his mouth as you lead him to you again, tongue easily meeting yours. 

it’s a messy kiss as he slips himself out of his sweatpants, taking his boxers with it and discarding them somewhere in his room. his cock slaps against his stomach, a single string of precum messily staining his tan abs. your eyes are quick to gaze down, lips painted a dazzling grin as his hand finds his cock, squeezing at the head and smearing his precum along. 

“knew you were fucking big,” you gasp, eyes trained on him as he strokes himself above you, and he is. he’s so big, thick and heavy, and veiny and your mouth waters at how that’s going to feel when inside of you, stretching you out so good, so much better than any of the toys you had at home. “i thought,” a squeal hiccups out of you as both of his hands grab at your hips from beneath your skirt, one sticky and warmer than the other, “about you all the time.” 

your confession draws his attention, and when he’s pulled you close enough, two of his fingers trail to your cunt, quirking an, “oh?” just as he dips his fingers inside. the lack of resistance he’s met with is surprising, and he chokes out, “did you stretch yourself out before coming here? fuck yourself on some fake cock?” 

tightlipped, you moan, brows furrowed and back arched into him. god, his fingers were not enough. “yes, yes,” you gasp, head falling back. despite not needing to, he still fingers you, his thick digits fucking into you slowly, driving you insane by the second. “yes, i— pretended t’was you,” you whine loudly. at your words, he curls his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist and pressing his palm directly on your clit. 

“do you always?” he lowly asks, dipping closer to you as he fucks his fingers deeper. his fingers were inside of you, the cunt he’d spent over a month marveling at through a screen, the pretty pussy his dick had drooled over for hours. you’re real, as real as ever beneath him falling apart, making a mess of your black skirt, drenching it with your arousal. 

you moan out a hum, nodding dumbly as his fingers vibrate with the intensity of speed inside of you, your toes curling in your thigh highs and face twisting to press into his mattress. “always,” you cry out, like a promise. “always think of you— hajime!”

it’s an unexpected orgasm, hitting you so fast and quick that it’s outright dizzying. it has you lifting your hips up into his fingers and palm, grinding and trembling, your legs falling and spreading open, shaking wildly by your side and above you as he fucks you through the orgasm. 

“hajime, hajime, hajime,” you chant, words trailing off into tiny sobs and shuddering breaths as your hips slowly fall back onto the bed, body still trembling with aftershocks. 

you’re fucked out beyond words already that you genuinely don’t feel a thing until he’s pressing inside of you, the fat head of his cock stretching you out. he’s really no match for your toys, and if seeing him hadn’t been enough confirmation, the feel of him pressing inside of you definitely is. he doesn’t ease himself in slowly, urgently grabbing the back of your thighs with either hand, keeping your legs spread for him as he bottoms out. 

“fuck, fuck, knew you’d feel so good,” he grunts, brows furrowed harshly as he digs his fingers deeper against the flesh of your thighs, forcing your legs closer to your chest, and somehow pushing himself even deeper within you. you whine and mewl, toes curling and uncurling and legs trembling. “knew it the moment i saw your pretty pussy creamin’ around that thick cock.” 

at the reminder that he’s watched and witnessed you, multiple times, that he’s subscribed to you willingly and curiously, you clench down around him. you feel him twitch inside of you, groaning loudly as he falls closer to you, your legs falling to his waist. 

“you like knowing i was watching you?” he sneers, his hand reaching up and gripping at your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing a pout on your lips. your eyes nearly fucking cross as he rams into you, his fingers digging into your jaw. “you like that i fucked my fist every night to you? to your pretty cunt and your pretty noises and your pretty face— yes, good girl, that one.” 

your eyes do cross this time, spurred on by his words, your tongue peaking out through the small gap he allows with how harsh he’s gripping your face. he’s pushing out little mewls and cries from you, but otherwise, you quite honestly feel braindead. 

“fuck, you’re a gorgeous little slut,” he gasps. “all mine to fuck and use.”

you’re quick to nod rapidly, whining and moaning for him as you grip at his biceps. you’re choking on your breath as you struggle to keep up with him while he fucks you into the mattress, so fucking hard and rough that you’re sure there’ll be an indentation of you once you leave. you can feel your cunt gushing, and you can hear it too, squelching loudly with every thrust of his hips, every time his cock fucks into you. your skirt feels sticky and gross, and so does the rest of you, but you’ve never, never, felt this euphoric, this blissed out. 

your stomach tightens impossibly, the tension gradually increasing as your walls tightly squeeze and clench at his cock. slowly and surely, the pressure within you increases, your hands flying to hajime’s arm, the arm whose hand grips your face, which quickly moves to your throat at your simple gasping warning that you were close. 

“gonna cum, gonna cum, hajime, fuck!” 

he tightens his grip, pressing harsher on the sides of your neck as your eyes shut tightly, your head falling back once more. 

“yeah, come on, show me how pretty you look cumming on a real cock,” he whispers by your ear, using the hand that’s around your throat to lift up your head, before roughly pushing it back down, squeezing tighter. “you like it this rough?— shit, shit, you’re tightening.” 

you scream, voice cracking and broken as he slams into you again, his hips grinding against yours momentarily, pelvis hitting your clit— and you’re gone, thrashing in his hold, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob and heave, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him, hips shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. it’s not a few seconds later that he’s spilling inside of you, accidentally pressing his palm down against your throat as he cums, blocking your airway momentarily. 

“hngh,” he gasps deeply, cock twitching inside of you as he cums, hips barely grinding. you’re gasping, a little painfully, struggling to take in any air as he blinks dazedly, before he finally takes notice. “shit, shit, i’m sorry.” 

his hand flies away from your throat, and you inhale sharply, coughing lightly as air fills your lungs all too suddenly. the strength of this man, holy fuck. 

“i’m so sorry; are you okay?” 

chest still heaving, you fall onto the bed, body relaxing as you try and regulate your breathing. “s’okay, i’m okay,” you reassure him, hands reaching up to pat at his cheeks and comb through his messy, sweaty hair. 

he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and it’s so endearing that you nearly forget he’s still inside of you. but you feel the shift of his cock, feel his cum slowly start to ooze out of your cunt, and he winces from the oversensitivity, shifting away to instead pull out of you. his soft cock falls from your cunt, a steady flow of his cum following. hajime has to physically resist from reaching out to fuck it back into you. 

“i’m sorry i wasn’t careful ‘nough with the—“ he makes a gesture with his hands around his neck, “—the choking.” 

you laugh lightly, tiredly, hands slowly caressing at his sweaty biceps. “stop apologizing,” you reassure him again, shrugging with a small smile as you add, “just be more careful next time.” 

his breath gets caught in his chest, and he only softly exhales when he falls on the bed, to your side, carefully repeating, “next time.” 

from beside him, you lift yourself up on your side on your elbow, palm cradling your head, trying your best not to wince in pain. “hajime?” 

he spares you a glance as he mumbles, “hm?” opting to stare at the ceiling and contemplate whether what had just happened was real life or not. 

“do you wanna do a video with me?” 

he all but chokes. 

end note; please this took me like 4+ hours. please please please don’t flop, and more importantly, i really hope i don’t disappoint. i know this has been a long awaited piece, so i’m praying and hoping you guys love it. 

love you all, mwah <3 

[junhuiste]

stress relief. (excerpt 2)

a/n: just publishing another excerpt bc i feel bad bc i’m far from finishing this! also if u haven’t yet let me know if you wanna be part of the taglist

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

tags/warnings: smut (first time writer um…) so minors dni, college au, angst, fluff, friends with benefits to lovers, mentions of mental health and sexuality

word count: this excerpt is 800 but kinda aiming for over 10k

current taglist: @dreamilyjake @itsthe-neo-zone @dudejuststop @jungwonseyebrowsonflick @woniebae @kiillmeee @nyfwyeonjun @enhyptxt @woonieiv

stress management is a billion dollar industry, but sunghoon wants to resort to other, affordable relieving options. you think you could help him. the thing is, overwhelming love isn’t relief.

After what seems like three missed calls you finally pick it up, irritatedly so. However, the phone flashes Park Sunghoon’s name, screaming at and urging and begging on its knees and on the verge of throwing up for you to make a move. Of course there’s no hesitation to answer on your part because you just had to be at his beck and call.

“And what lovely favor can I do for my lovely friend at this lovely hour?”

“Hi…I’ll be at your place in nine minutes. Wait, make that seven since it’s cold as fuck and I’m freezing my ass off so I’ll have to run,” it comes out in hurried breaths and it dawns on you that dear god he really is running almost 10 minutes just to see you. Not in that way of course, for his own bemusement and non-romantic super high sex drive, obviously, but still.

“You couldn’t just solve it with a little game of self tug-of-war?” As much as you try to sound annoyed you just cannot contain your excitement that Sunghoon needs a quick fuck in the middle of the night.

It’s not annoyance at him per se, but more so sheer annoyance at yourself for feeling this way because of your unspoken (yet totally consensual) contract. Was it the fact that you knew you’d be having sex with some Apollo that walked among mortals…just sex right? It doesn’t reek of desperation…it really doesn’t…it’s just uncontrollable libido.

Definitely not the fact that you’ve possessed this outpouring—what was the word? Because it’s definitely not love. At least not for now—infatuation for this person you’ve all but had a conversation and a half with. Throw in some lingering smiles here and there. None of those count, sadly.

Your core said otherwise.

Instead of clicking and clacking away at the keyboard because there are still a whopping 950 words to power through, your body lay sprawled across your bed, anticipating when your special friend would arrive. You wonder if the two of you would actually score a home run tonight or if you’d just stay stuck between the batter’s plate and first base again. If you could dodge and slide to third base that would be more than enough. Anything was fine really; he could kiss you and leave and that would suffice. Whatever got the touchdown. The slam dunk. The ace.

The buzz invades your thoughts again and this time you don’t even pick your phone up and bolt a little too quickly for your liking to your door to let him in. Yeah, you are down terrible, if that wasn’t evident enough.

You’re nearly bouncing when your hand turns the doorknob and the sight of Sunghoon makes the ecstasy surge through your veins at an unprecedented rate. He’s had his tongue down your throat and soft hands roam your body before but this happening during some ungodly hour while there were a billion other tasks for you to complete had you thrilled, heart rate fluctuating unhealthily.

Sunghoon’s leaning against the door frame nonchalantly, whether he did that intentionally or out of habit was something you had to query about, but not now. Not when his raven hair is all tousled underneath his hoodie, dark eyes reading of pure exhaustion yet signaling they wanted your lips on his.

The bastard has the audacity to bat his eyelashes at you, flaunting a lazy smile, and invites himself in, past the threshold, footsteps towards you, cupping his velvety hand around your cheek. Sunghoon presses his lips to yours so sloppily you almost moan right then and there. For a second you think about pulling away but his tongue is in your mouth and you can hear the reverberations of this lip lock so clearly it feels too good to separate your mouths. And for what seems like minutes you’re exchanging open mouthed kisses while his hand trails below the small of your back further and further.

“So…what brings you here,” you finally pull away from the kiss that has your chest heaving and turn your head to the nearest clock in your apartment, “at 1:21 AM?”

Sunghoon leans in with his lips grazing the shell of your ear, “kinda need you,” his hands bring themselves to grab your ass, “well…little Sunghoon needs you.”

Suddenly your face feels hot and the room is spinning.

It’s embarrassingly easy to get quite flustered around Park Sunghoon, but when he indicates that he wants to be inside of you, you’re struck with a noticeable feverishness that sends goosebumps all over you.

[andypantsx3]

shoto and 'when i find out who is responsible for this...' IM A SUCKER FOR OVERPROTECTIVE SHO LMAO

This one was one of my faves to write, I really hope you like it!

Damage | Todoroki/Reader

Prompt: “When I find out who is responsible for this...” Word Count: 1600 words Tags/Warnings: SFW, ye olde quirk accident trope Notes: Special thanks again to my lady love @bobawithpomegranate for beta-ing me!! Also, for anyone who hasn’t suffered a corporate job: KPIs = key performance indicators, which are a set of business metrics used to measure success in certain areas.

The first sign that something was wrong should have been in line for security. 

Ayako—your favorite member of the Todoroki Agency security team—was waving a detector wand over your clothes when she asked casually, “How’s it going?”

Any other morning, your response was something along the lines of, “Oh, it’s going. How are you?” This morning, however, you blurted, “Good! Except that I bumped someone on the train and spent ten minutes trying to get a coffee stain out of this shirt, and I feel a little sick when I think about leading the KPIs review because Shouto’s property damage numbers are up again which doesn’t look great, so I skipped breakfast but honestly I’m super hungry right now, that was a bad choice, and—”

You cut yourself off, utterly bewildered. Ayako looked similarly nonplussed, raising a slim brow. 

“Uh, nevermind. I’ll just be going,” you said, and hared off to the rest of the security checkpoints before she could give commentary.

So you might have known that something was wrong even before you let yourself into Shouto’s manager’s office, armed with your monthly spreadsheets and performance slide decks. But you hadn’t given it more thought since then, a move which proved to be a complete mistake.

Shouto was already there, lounging in the set of chairs in front of his manager’s desk, looking less like a hero waiting for a meeting and more like some airbrushed ad for his dark turtleneck or his close-fit grey slacks. Your heart shot into your throat at the sight of him, like it usually did, and you had to remind yourself to relax.

Though he was unbearably handsome to the point of distraction, Shouto was relatively easy to get along with, something that should have made you calmer in his presence. He was straightforward, possessed of very little ego, thoughtful, and a very linear and strategic thinker—you’d worked extremely well with him the past couple of years, and Shouto, though he had less to do with the daily operations of the agency, had helped push your promotion last year to Director of Public Relations. It should have added up to an easy and uncomplicated work partnership, but his personality only made your unfortunate crush on him even worse.

He was so horribly, horribly perfect. And you were an awful little metrics gremlin, called in to roast him over the open flame of public opinion once a month. Really not something Shouto might be interested in.

“Y/N,” he said, looking up from his phone and fixing you with an intent look. Your heart stuttered under those heterochromatic eyes.

“Hi, Shouto,” you said, setting down your bag and digging out your laptop for something to take your attention off of him. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” he answered in his deep tone. “How are you?”

And that was it. The damning question that sent it all to hell.

“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered, naming the symptoms of his very presence.

There was a beat of silence. You froze, crouched over your bag, laptop halfway out of it. Then it hit you what had just been said, and you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror. 

Shouto was up out of his chair in the blink of an eye, kneeling in front of you with cool fingers on your face, angling it towards him.

“You’re not well?” he asked, those eyes locking on you with an alarming intensity.

His attention only made things worse. “I feel like I might pass out,” you said, cringing even as the words left your mouth.

Fuck, what the hell were you saying? You were making it sound like you were some Victorian maiden, ready to swoon in the mere company of a gentleman. And why were you saying this shit? You’d worked with him for years and you’d never let slip the effect he had on you—what was wrong with you this morning?

You thought back to the coffee incident on the train this morning, the way the girl whose drink you had spilled had startled, the way she had weirdly apologized to you even as you were in the midst of your own apology.

A sense of foreboding settled over you. 

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“I think I’ve been hit with a quirk,” you blabbed.

Shouto’s features shuttered, a hard look you’d never really seen before entering his eye. He went over to his manager’s desk, dialing a number on her office phone, and then he was talking in low tones, asking someone from medical to come up to her office immediately.

Then he was back at your side, easing you carefully to the floor like you actually were in danger of passing out, and not just a huge idiot with an incredibly fat crush that made you say the world’s most ridiculous things.

“When I find out who’s responsible for this,” he uttered, low and dangerous, “they might never be able to use a quirk again.”

For some reason, the threat warmed you, even as it sent a little shiver down your spine. Was it weird to find him hot when he was angry?

You clamped your mouth firmly shut, lest you tell him exactly what illness prevailed you, but your silence was all for naught.

Because when one of the medical staff made it up to the office, pressing a quirk testing strip to your skin, she pronounced, “A truth quirk.”

Shouto caught your hand before it could smack into your forehead, looking surprised that he had done so. And then even more surprised at the pronouncement.

“A truth quirk,” he echoed, looking down at you curiously. His fingers were gentle where they held your wrist.

You squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“But then, you’re still not well,” he said. He looked up at the medical staffer. “She’s feeling faint, and having problems with her heart.”

“She’s fine,” the staffer confirmed, holding up a scanner with your vital readings. They were embarrassingly perfect—incredibly, perfectly, damnably normal.

You could have died. You literally could have died.

Shouto looked down at you with a little wrinkle on his perfect brow, obviously wondering how you could admit symptoms like that given a truth quirk, only for there to be no physical sign of them. You tried to hold down the truth, but another question from him doomed you.

“But how?” he asked, clearly concerned, cool fingers smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I have an insanely huge crush on you,” you blurted. Then you unleashed a string of colorful swears, flushing so hot you thought you might catch fire.

Those heterochromatic eyes went a little round at the edges.

The medical staffer looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh as she bade a quick farewell. She was out the door before you could catch her sleeve and hold her like a shield against Shouto’s incredibly penetrating stare.

“I’m. Um. You know, sorry and everything,” you added. “I won’t let it interfere with work. I mean, I haven’t, any of the past couple years—fuck, oh my god, I just said that—”

Shouto was watching your mouth like he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of it.

“Say it again,” he said.

You paused, staring at him. “What?”

“Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered obediently.

“Because of me,” he said, like it was a wonder.

You gave him an annoyed look. Obviously because of him, who the fuck else did he think wielded that combination of attractiveness and straightforward appeal like an S-class quirk of its own?

Shouto choked on a laugh, and you realized with some horror that you’d said all of that out loud. 

Damn the fucking truth quirk.

“I don’t know,” Shouto said, sounding amused. “I think I rather like it. When I find out who is responsible for this, I might have to thank them instead.”

This stopped you short.

He what now?

“I’m sorry, what?”

Something a little like a smirk curled the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “It is generally gratifying to know one’s feelings are returned, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know—” you started, feeling annoyed with him again. Then you choked when the implication of his words sank in.

Shouto’s fingers slid down to cup your chin, and suddenly it felt like every nerve ending in your body was concentrated there, the touch magnified a thousand-fold into an all-consuming sensation. 

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked lightly, looking smug.

“Oh my god yes—” The answer was out of your mouth before he’d even finished the question.

Shouto laughed, and then he was leaning in. You could feel the smile still on his mouth when it met yours. Shouto’s kiss was careful and attentive, but you could sense something deeper beneath, the same kind of restrained sort of passion that underlaid his quirk. Having that kind of controlled intensity turned on you was something you could have never prepared for.

The kiss became deeper and more heated, and Shouto was just easing you backwards again, still pressed firmly to you, when the door opened and his manager blew in.

“This is a fucking office,” she said, stepping over the two of you like you were a grimy puddle in the street. “Now hurry the fuck up, we have KPIs to review. Shouto—don’t think this will derail me from your property damage numbers increasing.”

Shouto huffed into your mouth, slumping against you.

You couldn’t do anything but laugh.

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