#part of the length was me figuring out how to do stuff and part of it was because I had to stitch some stuff together inconveniently

[aquilamage]

[Image Description: a set of five edited bug fables screenshots from the pre-battle zommoth encounter. The first is the same as in-game, Kabbu saying "W-What is that!? Something's coming!" The second is of zommoth appearing on screen with its sprite edited to be various shades of pink and yellow, wings the same pattern as Leif's (but still with the purple blight magic stuff in the chest area.) The next three images have the sprite edited in the same way.. The third image is of Leif's saying "...Wh, Rkejrm-m-Muse!? Kjdrira, mebsrgr...!!!" The next is Kabbu saying "Muse!? Leif, that's..." The final is Vi saying "T-That doesn't make any sense!" End ID]

I thought about one of my fucked up and evil au ideas for five minutes again, so I decided to spend like fifty hours making a thing about it. Basically what if Muse went back into Snakemouth later to try to rescue Leif or at least bring back his body and got caught by the roaches.

Putting just the edited sprites under the cut if you wanna see those without the lab mood lighting:

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

So.... You ever... Accidentally write 15,000 words?

[bmpmp3]

and you will listen to my halfway unmixed vocal synth covers. you will. my final message (dies in your arms)

all the virvox guys in voicevox humming! yume no tobira piano ver vsqx by leah ocarina and the instrumental is by 友紀!

[kafus]

please let me introduce you to NeverHappy, my most beloved pokemon ever.

i found her as a budew on someone else’s save file after buying a used copy of pokemon platinum. the name “NeverHappy” was a pretty obvious joke about how budew evolves from happiness, and since the previous owner was going to keep her in a box forever, never use her, and never evolve her, she would never be happy. this activated some feral response in my brain and i decided no. she WOULD be happy. i was still replaying through all my old gen 4 games at the time but i traded her off to my other gen 4 files for safekeeping until i could do stuff with her.

oh trust me game. i would.

so you might have thought my plans were to simply evolve her and beat the game with her, get her to level 100, maybe even EV train her - but i had much bigger plans. i was going to ribbon master her. the ribbon master challenge, or the process of “ribbon mastering” a pokemon, is getting every single ribbon possible on a pokemon from the game it was caught in to the most recent game it can be transferred to. if you weren’t aware, that’s a LOT of ribbons. there are 40 in gen 4 alone. i had a lot to do.

(the above clean screenshot was taken by backing up my cartridge save and screenshotting a battle video in emulator. however, i did all of this on my actual DS! i don’t like playing on emulator. not as fun)

i had to beat every contest (normal-master rank in all 5 categories) and do a bunch of other random stuff but my favorite part of the process was defeating the battle tower... 6 times. the battle frontier contains the most challenging battles in gen 4 by far, as opponents have good stats and competitive movesets. there’s 6 battle tower ribbons in gen 4 - two for singles at different points in the win streak, one for doubles, one for multis /w NPCs, one for multis /w another player (i just played with myself on two dses), and one for ranking up in the wi-fi room, which is now accessible again due to fan servers restoring internet functionality for gens 4 and 5.

NeverHappy was randomly caught in the wild and did not have a competitive nature or stats, so i figured that she would just be tagging along in the back while i took out all the win streaks with 2 good pokemon, but she ended up clutching out wins in times of dire need... multiple times. she even ended up being necessary in the wi-fi room to stall out prevalent hacked pokemon like no guard sheer cold machamp, which hits 1 hit KO moves every time, with a gimmicky and convoluted leech seed + substitute strategy.

i could go into all of my team members and the excessive lengths i went to get them all (don’t even get me started on my shiny competitive latias from pokemon emerald) but that’s a story for another day.

by the end of gen 4 i was extremely emotionally attached and she was already becoming one of my favorite pokemon, now with 40 whole ribbons after days and weeks of effort.

i have ribbon mastered pokemon before, so all of my save files in gens 6, 7, and 8 were already set up to transfer neverhappy into and grab all of the ribbons. i had a lot more battling and little tasks ahead of me. it’s really cool how ribbon mastering forces you to interact with pretty much every feature of every pokemon game.

and so i transferred her! gen 5 doesn’t have any ribbons, so it was just an intermediary to transfer into gen 6. at this point, i had also acquired a shiny luxray from pokeradar chaining in platinum named Nightlight, and i was ribbon mastering them together, but once again, a story for another day.

first into gen 6... getting the super training ribbon was really annoying but the battle maison was pretty easy. i had a team in multis with terrakion and a whimsicott with beat up that could 1 hit KO all of the boss battle’s legendaries in one hit LOL

then gen 7... this one went by pretty quickly but i opted to get the best friends ribbon here instead of in XY or ORAS because it was really simple to get with rainbow pokebeans, since all you have to do is max out affection and it only takes a couple rainbow beans to do that in USUM.

and gen 8! you can see nightlight to the left in this picture. by far the hardest part of gen 8 was getting the ribbon awarded for winning a battle in master rank in online VGC against other players. i definitely had to grind that one for a while.

then, she even got an award in BDSP for being a pokemon originating from the original diamond/pearl/platinum games, which was really cool.

oh, and since i had cloned neverhappy back in gen 4 with a glitch so that i would always have a copy of her in her origin games, i was able to take this neat picture! how the times have changed LMAO

luckily she was even a part of PLA’s roster and i was able to take a picture with her there, too... which actually might end up being important since there’s an invisible flag somewhere in the game’s code that gets turned on when you take a picture with your pokemon in the photo studio, which could potentially become a ribbon in the future in another game.

so, trainer Platina from 2016, you were wrong! NeverHappy is in fact happy now and has done more than most people’s pokemon have seen in their entire lifetime. she is my most cherished pokemon and i love her more than i love myself. i think i would die for her

i abbreviated this story a lot because i didn’t want to make this post longer than it already was but i was randomly inspired to talk about this today since SV is coming out soon and there will be more ribbons to collect for any of my ribbon masters that can be transferred into SV, which got me thinking about her. my journey with ribbon mastering has taught me more about pokemon games than any normal person should ever know and if you were interested in any details i left out or how i accomplished certain ribbons (including battle frontier strategies) feel free to shoot me an ask! :D i love talking about pokemon at any time any day of the week.

[lzaisv]

WRIOTHESLEY . NIGHT SHIFT

sypnosis; being clumsy isn't easy. doing a poor performance due to how you lack skill at work only leads to you earning less credit coupons, which is a result of your week only having one day off. wriothesley, who adores you so much, offers to help you earn credit coupons.

afab!reader

NSFW UNDER THE CUT ; MINORS DNI !

Wriothesley who adores you so much.

Ever since he first saw you in the infirmary, sitting all alone and a bruise on your wrist, you caught his attention right away.

He thought that Sigewinne might've been getting supplies for your wound, and you seemed rather lonely so he approached you and asked about your wound.

When he talked to you, it came to his surprise that your clumsiness got you accidentally tripping and your wrist hit on one of those super sharp areas of a nearby pipe. You explained to him how you couldn't really earn credit coupons that well since you were not used to this environment, and you told him how you were basically really clumsy, too, you were really nervous talking to him back then since you've heard a lot about how he was a cold and mysterious man, but somehow, he managed to change the way you perceive him. 

Now, you saw him as a caring man that had a strong sense of responsibility, welcoming rather, too. He radiated an aura that let you feel safe and comforted by him. The light jokes and sarcasm he had made you feel better.

Since that day from the infirmary, Wriothesley notes to himself about your schedule and he always tries to be there to see you. Initiating small talk that allowed you two to be closer. And everyday, he would see you working hard on your task, only skipping work at least once every week. So when Wriothesley figured out that you struggled earning credit coupons, he proposed a way to let you earn more coupons. He suggested that you could help him out with something in his office, and you'd earn credit coupons in return. 

You were honestly tired from working almost everyday a week, so you agreed. You needed those credit coupons.

So the following day, you went to his office at the exact time he instructed you to come. It was rather late at night, and most of the inmates were asleep already. You thought the task he had stored for you was things he doesn't have time for like cleaning his office, organizing paperworks neatly, just those stuff.

But you were wrong.

Somehow, you're here with your chest facing down on his desk, your hands handcuffed behind you, a mirror infront of you, and your pussy being wrecked from behind by his grace.

“ah ─! shit.. tighter than expected.” wriothesley groaned from behind, his cock slowly entering your intimate area, your eyes shutting tight from the stinging pain of him slowly entering you. He was hung, after all. He only entered half of his length inside you, but you couldn't help but tear up. “it hurts, your grace.” you whimpered, you don't know how much you could take, he wasn't even fully inside yet. 

“i'm sure you could take it all, fuuuuck, your pretty pussy's clenching down on me.” he scoffed, his hands placed down on your waist, tracing your curves with his thumb. “It's like it doesn't wanna let go of me.” Wriothesley had a sly grin on his face, trying to keep his cool and not just enter you in one go. He was trying his best not to lose his self control. 

But once he's fully entered you, now this is a whole different level.

Once he was fully inside you, wriothesley seriously could not stop himself anymore. “'m sorry, princess. I'll give you extra coupons for this.” he warned you, and that got you confused, “h-huh? Wha ─!” your eyes widened, a gasp coming out of your mouth as he started ramming his cock inside your cunt with no stopping. He moved quickly, and still managed to reach the deepest parts of your area that you never thought would be possible to reach.

Your head fell on his desk, tears forming from your lower lash line, and your fists clenching as you tried to protest, but you couldn't. Only whines and moans came out of your mouth, and you were going dumb so fast. 

“fucking─ ngh, gorgeous.” he mumbled in between his low moans. He just adored you. Ever since you stepped foot in the fortress of meropide, that was the first time he was thankful a person even committed a crime. He couldn't stop looking at you, visiting the cafeteria almost everyday just to sit right next to you and ask you about your day. He loved listening to you ramble on about your day, and whenever you mentioned how tiring the jobs were, he would speak with the guards who were there to supervise you with your task to lessen the work for you so you wouldn't have to be so worn out everyday. 

These little gestures of affection were his way of saying he wanted you. And to have you here on his desk, all being fucked dumb, he couldn't be even more thankful to the archons above.

“you don't know how long I fucking waited for this.” he whispered in your ear, yet his sharp thrusts where uninterrupted. Although, he was aware you couldn't even think as of now and just went dumb on him so easily. “going dumb already on me, angel? How cute.” he praised you, placing a kiss on your cheek. 

“'m gonna ─! 'm gonna cum, wrio ─ !!” a high pitched moan came out of you from your nonsense babbles and whimpers. Pleasure was overtaking your brain, all your senses going stupid. 

“hnghhh, go on, milk my cock.” he insisted, his movement becoming sloppier, and he could tell that he himself was close too. He was aware he shouldn't cum inside you, with the possibility of even knocking you up, he could ruin your life. 

“inside, please.” you whined at him, turning your head back on him, drowsy eyes looking at him, begging for him to cum inside you, and who was he to refuse such an offer? That was enough to push him to the edge, and after one last thrust, he spilled his load inside you as you orgasmed, filling you up to the brim, causing your eyes to roll back to your skull.

Immense pleasure washed on your brain, seeing stars, and it felt like a warm embrace, enveloping you with a sense of contentment.

Wriothesley pulled out after cumming inside you, seeing his cum overflow from your sweet pussy, he couldn't help but use his fingers to stop his load from coming out of you, he just adored you. 

“aren't you just the cutest? as promised, I'll give you 5,000 credit coupons for this.”

© lzaisv . do not copy/steal, translate, modify my work.

[thankskenpenders]

Amy's fortune cards

The Sonic fandom has long been the kind of fandom that takes minor details very seriously, for better or worse. On the one hand, this means fans will really dig for the diamonds in the rough, latching onto fun character interactions, animations, bits of background worldbuilding, and more in pieces of Sonic media that many would write off as "the bad ones." But it also feels like every week another needlessly hostile debate over Sonic minutia erupts on Twitter, whether it's over individual lines of dialogue, fanart that makes Tails' shoes blue, or the ideal length and volume for Sonic's quills.

So it was probably inevitable that a fandom-wide debate would erupt upon seeing Amy's new gameplay style in the DLC for Sonic Frontiers, which takes the once-obscure fact that she enjoys reading tarot and shines a spotlight on it like never before.

I mean:

The thing is, while I basically always try to tune out Sonic fandom bickering... for once, I kind of sympathize with the detractors? Don't get me wrong, I like Amy's tarot stuff, and people on all sides of the discussion are being overly nasty about their opinions, as usual. (Sonic Twitter remains my personal hell.) But when I set aside the hyperbole and zoom out, I do think I understand why some fans are put off by the sudden shift in focus for the character, even if I think it's cool.

It's complicated. Let me attempt to present the cases for and against Amy's fortune cards

For years, I was always one of those fans who thought it could be fun if they played with Amy's tarot reading, or even leaned into some kind of magic with her. Part of that is my own biases showing, but there's just something that makes sense there, especially when you look at Sonic, Tails, and Amy as a trio. (I would argue that's the real "Team Sonic" these days, especially in the comics where Knuckles is more likely to be stuck on Angel Island or otherwise doing his own thing.)

You could argue that Tails is all about logic, relying on science and technology and deductive reasoning to solve problems. But Amy is all about emotion. She wears her heart on her sleeve, is extremely empathetic, and is very prone to magical thinking - both figuratively and sometimes literally. Her origin story has always been that her tarot cards told her it was her destiny to meet Sonic on Little Planet. She's claimed to be able to "sense" peoples' presences - particularly Sonic's. She's the type to believe that The Power of Love is a literal magical force. So, on some level, it makes sense to mirror Tails's science by having Sonic's other best friend believe in magic. And then Sonic is somewhere in the middle, primarily following his own gut instincts but taking advice from both of them as needed. This isn't totally accurate to how their dynamics actually function in canon stories, but I think it's a mode that could work for them.

Going off of that, it's fun to lean all the way into Amy being a magical girl, or even a witch, using her fortune telling as a foundation. Take, for example, this version of Amy from Diana Skelly's old Sonic cast redesigns from before she freelanced for Archie and IDW. This is one of MANY such redesigns for Amy.

Fast forward to the 2020s, and Amy's tarot cards are, in fact, finally getting brought up again in canon. Which is fun! I like seeing that. I like all of the individual stories involving Amy's fortune cards. This is a fun character trait for Amy, a fun nod to old lore, AND a fun storytelling device, all in one. It's really cool that the Sonic universe has its own thematically appropriate arcana, and that the cards are getting made as physical merch. And sure enough, the official card backs and borders were designed by none other than Diana Skelly, in yet another cool example of an ascendant fan leaving their mark on the series.

BUT... when you step back and look at the big picture, I get why some fans find this shift in focus jarring. At the moment, it's starting to feel like every new story about Amy involves her fortune cards to some degree.

The most recent mainline comic arc to feature Amy as the lead character, 2021's Trial by Fire arc, prominently features a sequence where she reads fortunes while camping with the girls. The Origins version of Sonic CD now bookends the game with scenes of Amy and her tarot cards. Sonic randomly mentioned it in a scene in Frontiers. And now, just this week, we got the (very cute, gorgeously illustrated) Amy's 30th Anniversary comic with a story revolving around Amy's tarot cards, followed the very next day by the Frontiers DLC in which she gets a brand new tarot-based moveset. Even her base melee attack now has her throwing tarot cards instead of swinging her hammer. Again, I like all of these individual things, but after years of it almost never coming up at all, it's VERY noticeable that Amy's tarot cards are suddenly everywhere.

To be fair, I'm looking at this from the perspective of a superfan who's actively following ALL Sonic media. Casual fans - especially kids - aren't necessarily going to be reading the comics every month, buying the thousandth rerelease of the Genesis games, or playing the ultra-hard new alternate ending DLC for a game that came out last year. Each of these stories is going to be someone's introduction to the idea that Amy can read tarot, and that's probably part of the idea behind this unified push.

But to play devil's advocate, for my fellow superfans, I understand why it feels like a very minor footnote of Amy's character is suddenly becoming the entire focus of her personality. While Amy has always been said to enjoy fortune telling, that wasn't really a character trait in and of itself, but rather an example of her being a typical girl who hopes she'll be able to find true love one day. It's less that Amy can literally predict the future and more like her using a cootie catcher or going "he loves me, he loves me not" while picking the petals off of a flower. So I get not vibing with this stuff, or feeling like it's being pushed very hard out of nowhere.

What I don't agree with are comparisons like "it's like if they made Knuckles' moveset revolve around him liking grapes." Like, I get it. Ian Flynn loves shoehorning in his little winking references for us nerds, and mentions of Amy's tarot cards were previously on the same level as other random bullet points from old Japanese manuals. But a multifaceted hobby like fortune telling that opens up so many narrative and aesthetic possibilities is obviously very different from having a favorite food. It's ALWAYS been a part of her story, not just a random fact, and there's no reason why the fortune telling can't be elevated to something more.

And, hell, even if it wasn't an established character trait, there's nothing inherently wrong with injecting new ideas into a character. One of the best Amy stories in recent years, the Free Comic Book Day special "Amy's New Hobby" written by Gale Galligan, came up with the idea that Amy's secretly been drawing little comics about her and her friends. Is this based on Lore? No. But it's cute, and helps tell the story of a younger Amy who's still coming out of her shell as both a hero and a friend.

Certain fans are also looking at Amy's Frontiers moveset and using it as evidence that once again the Vile American Contributors like Ian are CORRUPTING Sonic Team's perfect vision of Sonic with their misinterpretations. And like. Come on. Ian does not control the gameplay. He's a freelance writer. The tarot stuff is clearly something that Sonic Team likes if they made it the basis of Amy's new moveset - and, you know, if they keep approving comics and animations about Amy's fortune telling. None of this gets made without their blessing, and lord knows how much they can micromanage shit and shoot down ideas over the most minor of details.

Like, yeah, Amy's fortune telling was probably conceived less as a sign that she Knows Magic and more as a pretty mundane hobby for a lovesick young Japanese girl to have. But you're gonna sit there and tell me that using Amy's tarot cards for more than that could only be the result of a cultural misunderstanding? That nobody in Japan uses tarot card theming and aesthetics (or the general idea of magical cards) for the cool factor? Stardust Crusaders? Persona? The Astrologian class in FFXIV? Cardcaptor Sakura?? Hello??? Do you think Capcom put Gambit in Marvel vs. Capcom ironically because they thought using magic to throw cards at people was stupid? There's tons of precedent for this! It's nothing like Knuckles throwing grapes at people, be for real.

Giving Amy a very magical girl-esque moveset also just makes a lot of sense. For decades her hammer attacks have literally made sparkly heart shapes appear around her. Leaning into both that and her tarot cards in her new moveset makes a lot of sense to me.

But, admittedly... I do think it's very odd that her hammer is treated as a secondary element here, rather than having her primarily use her hammer and adding the cards for extra flair. If hitting the attack button made her swing her hammer instead of throwing cards, I'm not sure we'd even be having this discussion right now.

But the tarot-cycle and Amy riding her hammer like a witch's broom are fucking SICK and I will not concede on this point

The thing is, this whole fortune card discourse is but a small piece of a bigger problem. Amy's been a character who needed some work for ages, but there's basically nothing you can do with her without pissing SOMEONE off.

Years of stories where Amy's crush was her primary motivator and Sonic went "Ew, cooties!" have lead many casual fans to believe that being Sonic's obsessive fangirl is Amy's entire personality. At best people might call her Sonic's Minnie Mouse. This isn't just a matter of Amy having haters within the fandom - venture outside of that bubble and you'll realize that this is how MOST video game playing people seem to see her to this day. I don't feel like this is a fair assessment of the character, but this idea didn't come from nowhere. No matter how much good deeply entrenched Sonic fans may see in their old dynamic where Amy perpetually chases Sonic, this is a very real problem that Sonic Team has to contend with for their leading girl. Of course all those games where the way-past-cool protagonist thought Amy was annoyingly clingy and tried to get away from her made people think less of her.

If new stories were to go back to emphasizing Amy's crush on Sonic a little more, they'd probably be taken as confirmation that Amy's just the girl with a crush on Sonic and that this is her entire personality. Conversely, when the crush is played down, you piss off the hardcore SonAmy fans who don't seem to understand that they're Charlie Brown and Sega is Lucy holding the football. You can't win.

And so here we are. In the absence of what was once her defining trait, now reduced to an occasional blush or wink in Sonic's direction, new stories are trying to mine Amy's past for additional material to work with. Having been a thing fans wanted to see for years, right now we're getting a lot of tarot, but we're also getting reminders of her compassionate nature and her desire to go out of her way to help the little guy. This is an ongoing process. I continue to hope that her bubbly, exuberant demeanor can shine more in future stories. Now, I also hope that the tarot stuff gets balanced out a little better with other traits of hers. But I don't want it to go away. I think it's fun.

This course correcting is far from exclusive to Amy. Knuckles is getting stories that remind us that he's a competent fighter, an experienced treasure hunter, and even a self-taught archaeologist after years of him being perceived as either the dumb one or just the guy who stands in front of the Master Emerald all day. And Tails has been getting some stories reminding folks that he's a capable hero in his own right and not just Sonic's timid kid sidekick.

But no supporting character will ever compete with the sheer number of new ideas Sega has tried with Sonic himself. Like Amy, his Frontiers moveset has also given him half a dozen new superpowers that he never had before, from the Cyloop to air-slicing projectile attacks to his own take on Shadow Clone Jutsu and beyond. He's also been a hoverboarder, a swordsman, a time traveler, an Olympic athlete, a racecar driver, cursed with a Flame of Judgment, imbued with alien power, a fucking Werehog with stretchy powers, and on and on and on.

If Sonic can do all that, Amy can try out using a tarot-cycle.

Anyway TL;DR the REAL problem with Amy's current characterization... is where the FUCK is Amy's bestie, Honey the Cat???????

[danikamariewrites]

She Belongs To Me

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: sorry it’s been forever since I added to this little series. I think this is my favorite story I’ve written for mob!Az so far and I’m really proud of how it turned out!

Warnings: possessive Az, uncomfortable interactions with a man

Twirling once more in front of the floor length mirror you smile, your signature mini black dress hugging every curve perfectly. You pull your lipstick from your mini purse to touch up the darker shade that paints your lips. You decided to go with a clean simple look for the night. You were probably going to sweat it all off later anyway, but you still wanted to look cute for Az.

You were finally going to the club in Velaris Azriel just bought ownership in with Eris Vanserra. A new business deal between the two families. If you had tried to go to this place with Feyre and Mor before you started dating Az you would’ve been turned away at the door, but tonight you’re V.I.P’s. Not that you three ever cared about that stuff before. Just one of the few perks you get.

Azriel exited the lengthy walk-in closet you now share, sliding his usual black suit jacket on. The top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, showing off his swirling tattoos. Popping your lips and capping the lipstick you turn to face Az, giving him a small smile. He returned your look with a smirk that conveyed his admiration and want for you.

Striding over to you Azriel holds your chin between his beautifully scarred fingers. His eyes dart over your face as they always do. Like he’s committing every part of you to his memory. “Breathtaking. You look breathtakingly beautiful as always, my love.” Azriel says softly. You smile brightly at him. Taking his other hand in yours you give it a loving squeeze. Running your thumb over the ridges of his scars.

“You look breathtakingly handsome as well, baby.” Azriel smiled bashfully, dipping his head to prevent you from seeing his obvious blush. Resting a hand against his strong chest, pushing up on your tiptoes you press a kiss to his freshly shaven jaw. You hold your lips against his skin longer than you normally would, taking in his scent and the feel of his soft skin.

Pulling away you make sure to check that you left behind a lipstick stain. Marking him as yours as he’s done for you on a o many nights. Azriel’s smile hasn’t left his lips, the want gone from his eyes and replaced with pure, unfiltered love. Without hesitating he grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers. “Let’s go,” his voice airy as he pulls you out of the bedroom.

Entering the club you couldn’t help but be in awe of it. The place was nothing like the shitty college bars the three of you went to. The music was appropriately loud, a V.I.P section, a bar stocked with expensive liquor bottles with names you’ve never even heard of before. The lighting perfectly dim, bright enough to navigate your way through the crowd.

Azriel pulls you towards the V.I.P section. Climbing the platform you spot Mor and Feyre with Rhys already enjoying bottle service and a comically large plate of nachos. You notice Rhys giving Azriel a tight lipped look, like he’s not happy to give Azriel the news he’s about to deliver. Azriel slips his hand from yours, kissing your temple. “Go sit love, I’ll be right there.” He whispers.

Without another thought you throw yourself onto the booth between your friends. You start a mindless conversation, Feyre bitching and making fun of how Gavin has been acting since you left. Cassian joins you, coming in from parking the car. Feyre eyes his muscular figure. You know she’s been taken with Cass since the day he picked you up for your first date with Az. And you’ve been trying to push them together for months now, tired of the obvious flirting.

“Hello ladies,” he says seductively, “where are my brothers?” He asks, taking Feyre’s glass from her to take a swig of her drink. She lets out a dramatic gasp, reaching for her drink back. “Over there,” she giggles as Cass pokes at her.

The four of you look over to find the two having an animated conversation. You could tell Azriel was tense from the way he kept rolling his neck. Az made his way over to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, whispering, “I need to take care of some business with Eris. I’ll be back before you know it.” When he pulls back you give him a small smile and nod. He turns and Rhys follows. Cassian gives him a nod, knowing what his duties are while Azriel is away.

Cassian stood, hands clasped in front of him with that stoic ‘don’t you dare fuck with me look’. The fun, carefree boy gone. You loved pushing Cass and Rhys’s buttons when they’re acting as your bodyguards. Hiding from them in department stores, pretending to run from them. Tonight, however, was not the night for your shenanigans. Cass would never risk the girls and neither would you.

For a little over half an hour you, Mor, and Feyre enjoyed drinks and endless nachos and chicken fingers. Cassian, with his hawk like gaze, notices you looking for your waitress. “What do you want?” He asks, holding his hand out to keep you seated. You smile at his overprotective nature. “Just another drink,” you shake your empty glass at him, clinking the ice.

”I’ll get it for you.” Cassian says, desperate for you to stay put. You give him an exasperated look, “I’m a big girl, Cass. I can get it.” Before he can protest you head over to the bar for the V.I.P section.

Ordering your drink you check the time on your phone. It’s been almost an hour. Eris has never dragged a meeting on this long, even if it was urgent. Letting out a sigh you lean on the bar, tapping your manicured nails on beat with the music pulsing through the club.

A throat clearing sounds next to you, making your shoulders tense like Azriel’s when he receives unpleasant news. With lowered brows you turn to face the source of the grating noise. A man, of course, in a wrinkled button up shirt and dress pants that clearly aren’t tailored. His proximity and scent of his cologne making your nose wrinkle.

“Can I help you?” Your voice flat and uninterested. The man smirked as he leaned on the bar next to you. “Just thought I’d come say hi. I saw you with your pretty friends over there, maybe you’d like to join us.” He gestures to a booth behind yours. No drinks, so they must’ve just arrived. Being with Azriel has taught you be very perceptive of people and your surroundings. Not that your boyfriend was paranoid, he just wanted you to be able to spot danger.

You roll your eyes you look back at the man in front of you. “No thanks.” You say curtly, no longer interested in entertaining this man's delusions.

His eyes roam over your body, one of his brows rising as he smirks. The look made you want to vomit on his cheap shoes. “Come on now sweetheart,” he brushes a finger down your cheek and you quickly take two steps back, his touch slimy and foreign. His demeanor changes quickly, anger flashing across his face as he steps toward you. No must be a word he never hears, whether that be his selective hearing or not.

Out of the corner of your eye a dark mass moves with lightning speed. Gripping the man's arm Azriel twists and pins him to the sleek wooden bar. The man lets out a whimper of pain. Pathetic.

“Do you know who I am?” He growled. “Answer me,” Azriel said with more aggression, shoving the man further into the bar. “Yes,” his voice barely above a whisper thanks to how squished his face is.

“Then you know I protect what’s mine. If I ever see you in my club again you will regret it. Get out.” Azriel let go and Rhys swooped in, guiding the man and his friends to the exit before a fight could break out.

You fling yourself into Azriel’s arms, shaken by what just happened and the what ifs had Azriel not shown up. He ran a gentle hand up and down your spine, holding you tightly to his body. “It’s alright, my love. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He coos. Taking a deep inhale of his comforting, warm scent you look up at him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, worry clouding his warm hazel eyes as he takes you in. Searching his memory of you from earlier that night to make sure nothing was out of place. “I’m ok. My dark knight came to the rescue.” A genuine smile pulling at your lips as your fear melts away. The comfort of Azriel’s familiar touch washing away the memory of the unnamed man.

“Do you want to go home? I can have Cass bring the car-’’ You press your finger to his lips to stop him. “Absolutely not. I haven’t danced with you yet and we’re having fun. I’m not going to let some asshole ruin what’s supposed to be a celebration tonight.” The guilt for not being glued to your side hasn’t left Azriel’s face yet. “I promise my dear, I am fine.”

Azriel finally relaxed, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry Eris kept me for so long. I’m yours for the rest of the night, I swear it, my love.” Azriel slowly kisses you. Wrapping his arm around you Az leads you back to the booth.

Sitting, he pulls you on to his lap, trapping you with his arms as he kisses and bites at your jawline. Making sure he’s marked you appropriately, the twin to your still vibrant lipstick stain decorating his tan skin.

[nymphomatique]

I NEED MORE OF LOSER NERD MIGUEL PLEASEEEEE YOU'VE AWAKENED SOMETHING IN ME

ask and you shall receive they say! here’s some more word vomit 2 hold u over while the full fic is loading 🤭

cw: mean reader LOL she calls miguel a bitch, foot humping, spit, shoe licking🫣, d/s play, miguel is down horrendous, hair pulling. might have missed smt but oh well. also this isn’t proofread oops lolz. but enjoy!! 💋

in #my opinion i think that loser boy miguel is into the degrading stuff. like the more embarrassing it is for him the more it turns him on.

setting the scene for you: miguel is over at your dorm doing you online lab work for you on your laptop while you’re getting ready to go out. naturally you have on the skimpiest number, tits out, ass out, the body is hypnotic, the whole nine.

miguel steals glances of you because while you may be a little bit of a bitch sometimes, god were you beautiful. you catch him staring and sneer at him and it makes him blush and duck his head down once more to do his- your homework.

the finisher? the heels you put on. they’re patent black pumps, red bottoms naturally. and miguel absolutely loses it. he feels his dick start to twitch in his sweats instantly and is already blushing a furious red.

“what’s got you excited, dweeb?” you tease, putting on your earrings. “bet your little nerd dick got hard looking at me, huh.”

he doesn’t say anything and just blushes even more and you laugh because he really is hard! nerd or not, one thing you can’t deny is the meat miguel is packing. you could fit some fun for the two of you before your uber came, if you were fast that is.

“promise it’s not cus i’m a perv.. i swear.. you look nice. s’all.” miguel sputters under your intense gaze.

“yeah? what part of me do you think looks the nicest, hmm?” you say while sauntering over him. he looks down at your shoes silently and you see the tent in his pants twitch. “you got a fucking shoe fetish, freak?” you giggle.

“n-no! it’s not-” he tries but you’re already thinking of how to embarrass him.

“don’t lie to me. you like the mommy dom shit, huh? well, come hump mommies foot.” you say standing only two feet away from where he’s sitting on the bed. he stares up at you with his glasses widening his already blown out eyes. “or don’t. i don’t have all day.”

with that he moves your laptop aside and strips down to his briefs. he makes his way to walk over to you but an idea strikes you. “crawl to me.”

and crawl he does, his tan skin and blooming back musculature making it’s way towards you on all fours.

“good boy. kiss my shoes and thank them before you start.” you say, your downcast gaze holding all the same authority and tension as your tone. he places both of his hands on the floor and begins to lower his lips to your shoe, his full lips making contact with your shoe.

“t-thank you, mistress, f- for letting me use your shoe to get off.” he says shakily, eyes averting your gaze. your mouth pulls into a small smile at his pathetic display. you almost laugh.

“i’m pleased. you may begin.” and miguel wastes no time, his swollen dick making itself seen in his boxer print. once again, you find yourself impressed at the heavy dick miguel packs. you figure it was probably given to him in place of a backbone. he scoots until his length is at the tip of your leather clad toes and he slowly begins to grind against your foot, letting out soft exhales of air.

“hurry up, i don’t have all day.” you spit, getting a little impatient at the time he’s taking. wordless, he speeds up his humping at your foot, his hand coming up to your leg, gripping your calf and the other hand placed palm down next to your foot to steady himself. as he speeds up, his moans come out louder and more frequently, his praises seeming to slip in with them.

you’re greatful for his height, because even on his knees, the top of his head reaches your lower stomach. you grab a fist full of his thick hair and jerk his head back so he can face you, and his expression sends a wave of heat through you. his face is flushed, eyes watering, mouth open spilling out moans of “thank you, mistress, so g-good.. i’m your good boy.. wanna be good..”

“wanna be good, huh? open your mouth for me then,” and without hesitation, he opens his mouth to you, and you spit into his mouth, some hitting the corner of his lip. “close your mouth and swallow it, bitch boy.” ever so eager to follow instructions, he does with a sated expression on his face. your spit seems to have excited him more, considering he’s fully thrusting against your foot now.

“c-can i cum please mistress? it hurts so bad. n-need it please, need you. f-fuuuck,” his pleading makes something in your chest tighten, seeing the power you have over this six foot two hunk of musculature beneath you, jumping at your foot like a depraved animal. he’s looking up at you, your hand still present in his messy hair, and with a cruel smile, you allow him to cum. “cum for your mistress.”

with a few more thrusts, he releases a heavy moan and cums into his briefs, occasionally twitching during his come down. before he gets a chance to speak, you push him off your leg and place a shoe to his balls, pressing ever so slightly, releasing a pert whimper out of miguel. “you made a mess of my louboutins.” you say flatly. “clean them.”

he takes no time to get on his knees and begin to lick your heel clean of his semen. you laugh at the sight, and even more when you see he’s sporting the beginning of another erection.

“fucking pathic,” you chortle. with your uber outside, you push your heel against his forehead and begin to walk away to get your purse as if nothing happened. “finish my homework and get the fuck out, if i see you’re still here when i get back, you’re cleaning the soles of my shoes next.” and with that, you leave your dorm with miguel in his soiled underwear on your floor, and your shoes sporting a new shine.

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part One Part Two Part Three

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

Steve feels like shit. He looks like shit. He’s pretty sure something might have straight up died in his mouth when he got that forty five minutes of sleep.

Everything looks good though. The fact that everyone else sprawled around the boardroom also looks like shit makes him feel a little better about himself. Well. Everyone but Nancy, obviously, who could probably walk out of a tornado and still look put together.

Steve only knows it’s morning because Carol just brought them all coffee. Carol does not come in out of hours. Steve learned that very, very early on. It was uncharacteristically nice of Carol to turn up with the little trolley from downstairs; it had a bunch of fruit and breakfast pastries on it, plus coffee.

She then proceeded to explain to Steve at great length how he looked and smelled like he’d been shit out by a bear, so, maybe she had motive. And that motive was being a bitch.

“Happy now, Steve?”

Steve’s got like, a whole bag of sand in each eye. Coarse, if they grade that kind of thing. Coarse sand. “Do you think we got everything?”

“I am confident that the team have done their utmost to pursue every avenue.”

“Nance, stop being a politician. That’s not a yes.”

She purses her lips at him in the way that she has, “can I have a word with you?” She scans the board room, “privately?”

Steve drags himself out of the chair, balancing one croissant on top of his coffee cup and grabbing a bear claw too, and then follows Nancy out and into a nearby office.

She doesn’t pull any punches, “I need to know how you know.”

Steve takes a big bite, then speaks with his mouthful, “can’t. NDA.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, “and who, exactly, did you sign an NDA for?”

“The FBI.”

Nancy brings up her phone, showing Steve the screen. More precisely the headline on the screen, and Steve is thrilled that the picture they’ve used of Hagan is, objectively, fucking awful, “so Tommy Hagan was arrested last night, for Omega trafficking. When you walked into the office yesterday, oh so confident that everything relating to Hagan was going to tank…it was nearly ten full hours before this hit the news.”

Steve shrugs again, “N...D...A.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

The door opens, Henderson’s baby face poking through. You would not in a million years think they guy was in his twenties, “Steve, morning! Sorry, I know it’s early…” Henderson seems to take in the state of Steve. Shirt rumpled, tie hanging loose, starting in on his second pastry, “but I kind of need to know why over a quarter of a million dollars was moved on Saturday, and where it went since it seemed to just...disappear?”

It takes, probably, less than a second for Nancy to leap to a conclusion like an Olympic fucking vaulter, and half a second longer for her to hit Steve with the file she’s holding.

“Er...not now, Dustin okay?” Steve manages to say, trying to shield his pastry and his coffee while Nancy gets it out of her system.

Dustin’s a smart kid, he watches Nancy slapping Steve with the papers...and just leaves.

She finally stops, pinching the bridge of her nose, and says very evenly, very quietly, “Steven Harrington, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t buy an Omega.”

“NDA?” Steve replies quietly, uncertain, and then flinching when Nancy raises the folder again, “okay okay! Yes, yes I did. But! Under the FBI’s kind of...you know, instruction? I was evidence gathering! He’s at mine but I’m figuring out where his family are and I’ll take him back! It’s fine!”

“Why is he at yours?”

“They didn’t have anywhere for him, short notice, plus his feet are kind of messed up, from them like, hurting him. He’s been there a couple of years so doesn’t have anything, so I’ve ordered him some clothes and stuff. He’s fine.”

Nancy tilts her head, like a predator working out the distance they need to strike, “he’s...fine?”

Steve knows he’s fucked up. Nancy is using that tone. It’s...a very specific tone. “Err...yes?”

“You have an injured Omega, who has been held against his will, abused enough to be, at the very least, physically injured, never mind the emotional toll this whole thing may have taken...and he’s fine?”

Oh, no. She’s raised her eyebrow in that way she has. “I mean...yeah?” Nancy glares, and Steve backtracks, “I mean. Obviously he’s not...you know, perfectly okay, I guess. He’s been through a lot. But I made sure I fed him plenty, and he’s got some clean clothes on the bed. The bed in the room...I never actually...got around to showing him to...because I got, distracted. And it’s upstairs…” Steve can feel his insides sinking, “his feet are hurt. Shit.” Well fuck. Steve's...fucked up, probably quite badly now that he actually stops for thirty seconds to think about it.

Nancy sighs aggressively out her nose in that way she has, “Steve your security system is like fort fucking Knox, did you at least…”

But Steve’s already shaking his head, because he didn’t do that, either. He’s just...locked Eddie into a new prison. Shit.

He scrambles, feeling guilty, “I’ll give him some of the money. A lot of the money. Hagan’s...stuff. He can have the ranch?”

Nancy’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, “why on earth would he want the place he’s been kept prisoner for-”

Steve shrugs, “whatever he wants. He can bun it down if he likes, I’ll help. It’ll be like, therapy?”

Oh no, she gone from pinching her nose to rubbing that spot on her forehead, but then she seems to...deflate. Grasping Steve’s arm to hold him close, she actually speaks gently to him, which is, quite frankly, a million times more terrifying, “Steve. We’ve known each other a long time, now, so I say this with love. Money, wealth...is not the most important thing in life.” Steve opens his mouth to protest, but she shushes him, “I know. Alright, I know it can help, and it makes life a lot better for a lot of people...but giving people things does not...fix anything. Money is not an apology. Gifts are not an apology. And I know it’s hard for you to...see it differently, okay? Because you’ve always been very...driven, and that’s a good thing! I know how you grew up and how your father was with you and I know you feel you have...something to prove, okay, so I understand, I do. But...a lot of people put higher value on...just. I mean, maybe just go home. Say that you're sorry. Look after the Omega for a couple of days, make sure he gets home, okay? Maybe prioritize that, for a moment. You know the office will be fine...and maybe you’ll see that other things in life can have value, hmm?”

Part five

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mx-jinxous @goodolefashionedloverboi @bogwitchlesbian @lunaraquaenby @steddieinthesun @pluto-pepsi @disrespectedgoatman @i-eat-spinal-cords @waelkyring @kal-ology

[aliensunflower-fics]

My Recommended Fic List

So, I got this ask awhile ago, and since I have been re-reading a bunch of my old favorite fics as a way to cheer up after work I figured why not. This list will be long... and varied but mostly its older fics cuz idk there my favs. Now lets go:

Fashion Upgrade - By @soap-lady : Straight up one of my favorite fics ever, its fun, its creative, it never fails to make me laugh when I need something warm and wholesome after a bad day. Also go check out the rest of her stuff there's so much good okay like shes just a writing queen. Shes on AO3 I don't want to spoil you on her other stuff just GO experience it for yourself.

Ode To Decoy pt 1 / 2 / 3 - By @a-marlene-s : Ive always liked this short sweet little fic about Lila getting caught. Its Lila + class salt though so avoid if that's not your flavor.

EVERYTHING - By @unmaskedagain : They have salt, they have sugar, they have funny, they have crossovers. Like honestly they are a just a great writer with so much variety so go check out the masterlist I linked and I guarantee there will be something there you like.

@ravennm84 Is a writer on the saltier side but they have a wonderful selection of weird wacky tales from the salty but oh so well written Damning Evidence that sees Lila get caught in the best way to the 3 part Horror inspired Serafina other great fics from them include Marinettes Family Court Circus pt 1 / 2 and Of Moldy Bread and Cockroaches / Be Kind to Servers honestly its worth giving there blog a look.

@mochinek0 Is another writer with several beloved fics. They write a lot of Maribat and we love them for it. Ones to check out would be Blind Date / Bruce vs Gabriel just go check out there tag list of daminette for more.

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette - By @lady-literature : This is a wonderful idea and a wonderful little fic and I just... I just like it okay. Sadly I haven't read a lot of there other stuff... But I might after finishing this list considering how much I enjoy this one.

@nobodyfamousposts I love a LOT of there fics. They are one of the best when it comes to striking that sweet spot of calling out the show for some of its garbage while not getting so salty that you cant have fun lighthearted goodness. I have been looking for a masterlist of there work but cant find one so just go stalk there tags. I do recommend there Chloe's Lament Series 1 / 2 exploring how certain 'wishes' would backfire. Guardian Assistant Kevin is also a good one Miracle Queen Aftermath pt 1 / 2 / The 8 parter Burn the Witch series / The Wisdom Teeth Reveal / Kagami Vs The Wall of Faces / Resigning With Grace & Spite / I tried to give a lot of links cuz they have a lot of stuff

Kill Them With Kindness - By @luki-fanfic : Well written, good salt without going overboard. Just good vibes. I havent stalked there other stuff but if its anything like this fic its probably excellent quality.

Stephen Vladislav pt 1 / 2 - By @stormiclown : Adrien centered salt on the idea of finally giving Adrien his own proper rival. I like the idea of Adrien having a rival because its usually Marinette and this was just the right length to get those creative ideas flowing. Also just well written what more can you ask for.

Power Trip - By @storygirl000 : This was the first fic that made me go... Wait would it be more fun if Lila was actually competent? And that set me on the path to writing my own fics where Lila is more villainous and more capable. Its short, well written. Good.

Your Wish is My Command - By DemiGoddess28 on AO3 : A great 11 chapter fic looking into Lila's life if she were to win and get a miraculous wish. Its got sugary goodness for our protagonists and the class and salt for our dearest friend Lila.

LadyBugOut AU - By Miraculous-Content on AO3 : A 50 chapter fic made up of snippets and ideas. I found it really inspiring in many ways. I also love how it redeems Marinettes classmates showing how and why they were tricked but holding them accountable anyway its just... Good.

Juleka vs The Forces of the Universe - By goldenlaurelleaves on AO3 : For those of us not yet ready to accept the death of luka/mari we have this wonderful fic showing Juleka being the biggest wingman as she helps these idiots find there way together.

ChaoticNeutral on AO3 has there own Chloe's Lament fic as well as a Gabriel's Lament fic for people who need sweet salty of those two characters.

BroadwayCutie16 was Inspired by the person above and DemiGoddesses your wish is my command fic to write Lila's Lament fic going over Lilas failed wish. Honestly I always love these fics because there just so interesting and the way wishes can be taken and twisted is always a fascinating idea to me.

#WayneAngel - By Tired-Writing-Teach on AO3 : For us Maribat lovers. Its fun and lighthearted with some good gags and some light fluff.

Damian in Paris - By Lilliesandliveries on AO3 : A sweet Maribat series showing what would happen if Damian ran away from home and found himself in Paris and getting therapy.

How a Demon Commissions an Angel - By AlixAnonymous : Damian blackmails Marinette into letting him be her client so he can get his bros the best gifts, they end up becoming penpal buddies.

Mythomania - By LadyEnna_50 on AO3 : Proof that I dont hate Adrien or Mari/Adrien. In this fic Adrien's spine gets titanium plating and he sees just how bad Lila is hurting Marinette and does something about it.

The Contingency - By AbyssalGuardian on AO3 : SALT. Also Tim/Mari but even still I love the way this was written, the style, and some of the ideas just ugh love it. Its not for those who dont like salt so just avoid at your own discretion. Its about a chaotic Marinette done with her life running away to Gotham where she meets her true black cat, and gets her life back on track.

The String That Binds Us - By FaithAndATypeWriter on AO3 : Okay so is there any Mari/Bat fan who hasnt already heard of this one? Who cares its good, its cute, I love it. May the author be blessed with snacks.

The Great IKEA Game - By @batsandbugs : Okay again... I think every Mari/Bat fan has probably heard of this one already because its just that good and that popular. But who cares I am recommending it anyway. Don't read if your allergic to fun I guess.

If this list still doesn't somehow have enough salt for you then try @goggles-mcgee fics here is a link to there Masterlist. They are in a way a professional at salt and angst and they make you want to adopt Marinette and pop her in a blanket fort.

Honestly I could keep going but this list already feels so long for other great recs though I can link you to @jayphoenic who has some great Daminette Fic Recs and some Lila Salt Fic Recs!

Feel free to reblog this and add some links to stuff you would think I or others might like! Also lets just acknowledge how many talented authors the community has like wow.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

-

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run. 

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

-

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you. 

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst. 

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

-

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

-

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth: 

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?" 

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven. 

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks. 

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music. 

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart. 

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

-

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

-

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

-

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

-

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

[justagalwhowrites]

TikTok Trend

Beautiful decides to take part in a TikTok Trend with Joel. A New in Town drabble.

^We're borrowing Mr. Ben for a late-40s Joel, OK? I desperately need more gifs of Pedro's Joel from that era, I'm too reliant on other characters and actual Pedro gifs for these fics GIVE ME SOMETHING PLEASE

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from New in Town

Warnings: Not much! Age gap but not the focus of the fic (reader is 36, Joel is 48). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 1.4k

A/N: I got stuck thinking earlier how Joel would react to the "call your boyfriend your husband" trend and this is how I think it'd go. This is set about 3 months before the last chapter of New in Town. This can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that reader is Sarah's best friend and Joel and Reader have an established relationship of about a year.

“So what’s this for again?” Joel asked as he sat down at the picnic table in the park. 

“It’s a TikTok challenge,” you said, settling in beside him. Joel opened the paper bag the two of you had just gotten from a food truck and started taking out the tacos, putting some in front of you and him. 

“Right,” he said. “And… I’m sorry, baby, but what’s the point?” 

You laughed as you set your phone against your water bottle so it was propped up and ready to film. 

“There isn’t really one, I guess,” you said. “It’s just a fun little video you make and then share. Those interns I have until May are all about it, they were showing me some of theirs the other day. Figure if I work in marketing, I gotta keep up with the trends!” 

Joel smiled a little. 

“So this is the kind of shit Sarah does, huh?” 

“Yeah, she does,” you laughed again. “Her and the interns made one for the company social page the other day, actually.” 

“Can I see?” He asked, interest suddenly piqued. 

“Sure,” you picked your phone back up and found your company’s TikTok, scrolling to the video and handing it off to Joel. 

“We work in marketing, of course we over analyze every ad we see,” Sarah said through your phone, a small smile on Joel’s face as he watched. 

It made you smile, too. One of the fun parts about being in the strange middle ground between your boyfriend’s and best friend’s ages was serving as a bit of a translator between them. Joel still didn’t quite get TikTok. Sarah didn’t understand why her dad refused to go all in on streaming and still had cable. You, at least, could see both sides. 

But this TikTok effort had nothing to do with Sarah. You did try to keep up with the trends on social media to better craft campaigns and content - capitalizing on trends meant that you had to move quick and you couldn’t afford to be out of touch - but your personal TikTok account was mostly empty. It was pretty private, anyway, shared with only a few close friends like Sarah and Maria. All it had were a few reposts of things you liked, some montages of video snippets from you and Joel’s first vacation together, that sort of thing. 

“You should do some of the trends!” Jason, one of your interns, said earlier that day. 

“Just being in the loop on trends is plenty for me,” you waved him off but smiled. “I don’t need to participate.” 

“But it’s fun!” Kenzie, your other intern said. “They’re not all dances and stuff, you know…” 

“I know,” you said. “But it’s just not what I want to spend a lot of time doing is all.” 

“Some don’t take much time,” she said, opening her phone and scrolling for a second. “Here, this one’s easy. You said you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“I do…” 

“Cool,” she said. “So all you do is record yourself making a video where you call your boyfriend your husband, just to see how he reacts. No crazy edits or anything, it’s super easy.” 

You caved after some light convincing and came up with a plan to get Joel in front of the camera. You told him it was a spicy food challenge, just to see which of you handled the heat better and, while you knew he wouldn’t really get the point, you knew he’d be supportive. He always was. 

But there was something about this trend in particular that made you a little nervous. It’s not like the two of you hadn’t discussed marriage. You’d been together a year now, you’d just moved into his house. It had definitely come up. But it had come up in the way that far off things do, something that might happen some day if things fell into place in just the right way. You didn’t want to push it, didn’t want him to feel rushed or obligated, especially since you’d only been cohabitating about a month. Bringing up marriage - even like this - made you nervous. 

“OK I think I get it,” Joel handed you your phone back after watching Sarah’s video twice. “But we’re not doin’ that same thing, right?” 

“Nope,” you said. “We’re going to see who handles the spice better.” 

“Think we both know which one of us is gonna win that one, Beautiful,” he teased, nuzzling his nose against your temple before kissing your cheek. “Us southern men are made of sterner stuff…” 

“Yeah yeah,” you rolled your eyes but smiled, leaning close to him. “We’ll just see about that.” 

You set your phone up to record again, propping it against your water bottle. 

“Here, you gotta get in close because the TikTok format is vertical,” you said and Joel adjusted so you were half beside and half in front of him, his arm going around your waist, hand finding your hip, thumb slipping up below your shirt to find your bare flesh above the band of your pants and brushing you slowly, sensually there. You gave him a look. 

“What?” He asked, brows raised, smile barely contained. 

“Don’t act all innocent,” you shook your head. “You know exactly what you’re doing…” 

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s make your little TikTik video…” 

“TikTok,” you rolled your eyes but adjusted yourself, your heart pounding. 

“Whatever the kids are using now,” he said. “Because the sooner we’re done the sooner I can get you home…” 

“Alright, I’m going to record,” you cut him off. “Behave yourself!” 

“Always do, Beautiful.” 

You rolled your eyes again but took a deep breath, leaned forward and pressed record. 

“Hi everyone,” you smiled, watching the recording of you and Joel as it was made on the screen. “I’m here with my husband and we’re going to do the spicy food challenge…”

“Your what?” He cut you off and you turned so you could see him a little better. 

“What?” 

“Did…” he paused, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if you were losing it or he was. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad. “Did you just call me your husband?” 

“Yeah,” you shrugged, turning back to the camera. “Anyway, my husband and I both really love spicy food and…” 

You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence. Joel grabbed your chin almost roughly, pulling you around to face him and all but crushed his lips against yours, clutching you close, kissing you deep and hard, like he couldn’t get enough of you. When he finally let you go, you looked at him and laughed a little, watching him. 

“What was that for?” You asked. 

“You wanna call me your husband?” He asked, a serious look on his face. “Beautiful, we will go to the courthouse right this damn second, don’t tempt me…” 

“Joel, it’s 7 p.m.,” you laughed. “The courthouse is closed.” 

“Don’t care,” he said, giving you a quicker kiss this time. “C’mon, we’ll grab Sarah on the way, see if Tommy wants to meet us…” 

“That’s all it takes, hm?” You teased, heart pounding but for a good reason now. “Just me slipping up and calling you my husband and you’re ready to run down the aisle?” 

“Baby, I’ve been ready to run down the aisle for about a year,” he pressed his forehead to yours. “Just been waitin’ on you to catch up.” 

“Well,” you kissed him softly. “I’m more than caught up. But think I’m still gonna make you ask.” 

“Good luck stopping me,” he said, kissing you again, longer this time, needier, until you pulled away with a groan. “Forget this food challenge, I gotta get you home and devour you. Let’s go, wife.” 

You laughed and stopped the recording on your phone, saving the video to drafts as Joel gathered up the food. You made the mental note to edit out that last part before posting, no need for the interns or Sarah to know quite that much about your sex life. 

“Sorry for ruining your little video,” he said as you started back toward the car. “We can try again later, promise to actually behave myself then…” 

“That’s alright,” you smiled, lacing your fingers with his. “I already got everything I need.”

[thatdeadaquarius]

SAGAU / Isekai Genshin:

You can still use your characters! ... as in possessing them 👻

(all art by me down below, hope its decent lol - did it for u guys and myself i mean what )

Edit 9/7/23: 1,500+ NOTES??? BRO WHAT!! THABK YOU <3

Edit 12/24/23 + 4/5/24:

☆

My dumbass forgot to put this here .-.

Anywya this is a full length fanfic now ;)

PART 1 (you're here!) / Part 2

So.

You got sucked into a video game. 

Crazy, but it happens ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

yknow how it issss

...you very quickly discover that unfortunately video game rules still apply...

which wouldn't normally be an issue! like, needing to use the bathroom in the middle of a fight? Nope! minor cuts and bruises like papercuts, only actual enemies or fall damage counting? hell yeah that'd be great (theoretically no chronic pains if you got that?? hmmmm unsure)

see the issue comes when you realize, you as a player, don't have a "character" that's all your own

there's aether/lumine yeah.. but bc the game's real now, they're their own people, and you didn't wake up to find yourself as a blonde twin...

the closest you can describe your form as is .. like a seelie?

or like the way ghosts look in game?

but a lot more "starry"

like your specterlike, but you look like you got filled up with stars and the milky way, maybe a reference of you being from another universe/world? (aether/lumine/dainsleif/khaenriah star symbol reference secret thEORY-)

but yah.

you also got just, white eyes.

like, not iris, not pupil. like your pupil and iris got erased

you gotta admit, at least you look really aesthetic now.

(u also got a little cape and hood on at all times, and you cant take it off to see your starrified hair >:/ ,very Blue Diamond-esque, look up Steven Universe, Blue Diamond if you dont know who im talking about)

so needless to say, as soon as you sort of glitched your way into existence you were HYPE

i mean ur ACTUALLY IN TEYVAT WITH THE BOYSSSS

...then you realize your a spooky-no-character-to-pilot-around-thus-no-character-model-body-for-you thingy

and that you cant touch stuff!! >:(

like wth!!!

thats just downright unfair.

so, you figure if you got no body to be.... you gotta find a new "character" to pilot >:)

...

I choose you, yellow fungi!

...

....

you're in the fucking woods (Sumeru somewhere obv, u knew that the moment you opened ur eyes),

what'd you expect?? an archon??

..wait a minute. can you possess an archon-

these kinda thoughts plague your first few days of irl genshin impact playing

a rishabold tiger? yep.

a sumpter beast? kinda slow and heavy feeling but yeah.

...you also try a ruin machine LOL

by far, the fungi and ruin machines are the best to possess, mostly because you can remain upright with those

(tho u did find some type of flying monkey that wasnt in game, but its like,, a real world and jungle now so that makes sense there'd be more complexity + stuff)

you do eventually think you should try and possess a person at this point... but ur kinda nervous 👉👈

its ur first time doin this okay nobody explained the basics to you youve been winging for a week now!

will your mind be replaced with theirs? it hasn't been so far with the creatures/bots

and as far as you can tell, they kinda just-

forget what happened or "wake up" after you possess them

(the tiger you were for a day looked confused as hell when it realized that there was a new pile of fruit next to it when it "woke up", it was your way of saying thank you to the animals of the jungle, u left them little piles of food you collected running around as them)

so THEORHETICALLY-

you should be good to go and possess a random poor eremite

... you figure you want to possess something human-like eventually even if you get a puppet body like wanderer/raiden so...

here goes nothing...

♤

so it's been 2 weeks since you've been forcefully yanked into teyvat, and by the second week, you were trying to possess eremites

which! worked out!

mostly..!

you kinda convinced the entirety of two eremite camps that a certain part one of sumeru's forests is hella haunted bc ppl keep "blacking out" and doing things they don't remember doing, yknow... like possesssion LMAO

they kinda ran off to escape you but, hey!

experiment #2: people possession, success!!

now you were kinda convinced of this when you realized no matter the angle the animals and machines of sumeru didnt react to you getting super close to them (you dont have to touch something to posses it, just look at it really, but you wanted to test limits, so you walked up to sumpter beasts and fungi and ruin machines)

but no one can see you.

you don't have a "character" most of the time, you can float and glide around the ground like scaramouche lol

you cant touch stuff bc of this, you cant smell stuff (u saw the eremites campfires & couldnt smell the smoke until you were them)

you cant eat stuff w/o a body, so.. it makes sense that the eremites and passing merchants, cant see you when you float around, trying to reorient yourself after 2 weeks of experimenting

:( ur only a lil sad about it... but mostly not bc lol u got possession powers so trade off u guess

the first time you see a vision-bearer you literally scream

LMAO

ur so lucky u cant be seen or heard

bc Collei would have def screamed back lol

needless to say u stalk the forest ranger- ALL DAY.

Collei goes on patrol around the woods? you go on a patrol.

collei goes to visit other forest rangers? you "visit" other forest rangers at base (lol u def possess a guy who was asleep on a bench nearby & wake up to go talk to Collei "in-person", poor guy was so worried he sleep walked/talked so hard he went to see Tighnari an hour later lmao)

welp, you decide this is your life now, follow Collei everywhere, talk one-sided to Collei until you can possess a forest ranger w/o it being suspicious (dont wanna turn the poor rangers into the terrified eremites from a week or two ago...)

then, after you get the courage and erase the paranoia that tighnari can just... somehow hear your ghostly bullshit-

u do the same to Tighnari (then Cyno when he visits! no u didnt squeal, so what, nobody can hear you- )

♧

Tighnari begins to get suspicious about 3 weeks into this routine.

he's been starting to collect and start a file on all the rangers or nearby villagers that've started randomly "blacking out/sleep walking" in the evenings usually

(u possess as close to nighttime as u can so it seems like sleepwalking)

So when Cyno comes back from a mission gone wrong,

having nearly been decapitated by a rogue flying ruin machine, only to black out and come to standing calmly 10 feet further than he remembered being 1 minute ago...

Tighnari's suspicions are confirmed, and he launches into researching this phenomenon.

his first thought is something like the aranara, but that doesn't account for the effect this thing is having on people

after all, what little forest spirit is strong enough to-

-control humans??

Tighnari begins to get the sense he's in over his head after he finds himself pushed into going into Sumeru City in order to collect more library books or ask around if the blackouts have spread to the city people

he answer is negative, on both accounts.

and he spends about one half of the day walking around, and the other reading up all he can on mythical creatures or ailments

Tighnari gives up for the day, and as he makes his way back to Ghandarvaville, he almost gets ambushed by some particularly nasty muggers

...and then he wakes up 20 feet away, his denro vision thrumming with power, full of worry and fondness for himself??, (just like Cyno said he felt happen to him..)

...Tighnari decides he needs reinforcements.

YOU GUYS-

UR LOCAL ZODIAC SIGN OBSESSED W/GENSHIN HIT A CHARACTER LIMIT ON A POST FINALLY. 😦

??? THIS WOULDVE BEEN LONGER BUT I BARELY GOT SPACE FOR THIS- I- EVEN THE QIQI POST DIDNT HIT LIMIT-

uh cya ig!!

Safe travels lmao,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist @revonie / @hat-on-a-cat / @takottai / @sickly-falling (?) / @iruiji

(Sorry about the late tag! I forgot to update my taglist before i posted this 💀 my bad guys)

Also if the people who got put there who i couldnt find a blog for see this, idk what went wrong ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ - maybe check and see if ur setting for "being able to be searched/looked up" is turned on?? Idk man

[killsaki]

final girl. ☆ surely all the girls being murdered in your town having something that fits your own description is a coincidence… right?

izuku midoriya x female!reader

4k words | part 2 (tbp)

cw/tw : yandere!izu, quirkless/loserboy!izu, stuttering, stalking, drugging, thighfucking, facial, male masturbation, noncon, somnophilia (kinda), alcohol, oc side character, kidnapping, murder (mentions).

“you’re not seriously going out, are you?” comes from your doorway, you turn towards the voice in just enough time to catch sight of your roommate inviting himself into your room, as he always does, before plopping himself down on your mattress.

you sigh before answering, knowing he’s about to spout some of his repetitive nonsense.

“of course i am, fuzen.” he blinks at you with his usual unamused expression, heterochromatic eyebrows slightly raised in a way that you’ve come to learn is a signal for you to ask more about what he’s saying. you take the bait. “but, why do you ask?”

“you’re the target of that serial killer.” you purse your lips at his immediate and dramatic response to stop yourself from laughing, you really shouldn't entertain him all the time. he’s mentioned a few things that could probably cost him his job for disclosing the, in his words, eerie similarities, that you have had with all the victims of recent murders.

it started with things like how they all had your eye color, or that they were all described to have your height and build. you passed those off as generic things, but fuzen didn’t. it spiraled into things as specific as one of them having your hair. well, their hair, but it was the same length as yours, the same color, and her body was found with it styled with the same way that you’d fallen in loved with and wore repeatedly that week. one girl was found with copies of the jewelry that you frequently wore, another even had her nails done almost exactly like your new set.

the longer it went on, the more insistent your roommate became about you listening to what he had to say. but you always changed the subject, figuring that the less you know the easier it’ll be to shake off the cold feeling on your back you sometimes get after leaving the apartment.

“i thought you were a stealth sidekick,” you laugh him off, yet again. ”when did you get demoted to a detective?”

“why does your room feel weird?” he asks suddenly, adjusting his sitting position like he’s been made uncomfortable while he looks around your space. “has someone been in here?”

“uh, yeah, me.” you suck your teeth at him before turning back to your vanity and get back to finishing getting ready.

“why don’t you believe me?” he asks, you can tell he’s a little irritated and it makes you feel bad for always brushing him off.

“‘zen… i know you care about me, i’m sorry.” you meet his gaze in the mirror, finding him already looking back at you. “maybe you’re just overthinking because you care about me?”

he nods slowly, before cracking a grin and shaking his head, “nah, i’m probably just jealous because i don’t have a stalker.” he rolls his neck and you wonder how much truth is in his words. “though i’d probably prefer it without the murder.”

“i don’t have a stalker.” you retort while he chuckles to himself before standing.

“you know,” he stretches his arms, fingertips touching the ceiling as the hem of his shirt lifts to reveal his toned stomach, something you quickly look away from. “that habit of immediately denying stuff that you’re anxious about is gonna bite you in the ass one day.”

his mouth is good at keeping you from being attracted to the rest of him.

“but not today,” you speak matter of fact, “because i do not have a stalker.”

“right, yeah.” he sniggers, clearly not believing a word from you. “didn’t you say you felt like you were being followed home the other night? you should think harder on the description—”

“anyways!” you cut him off, knowing that he’s not going to stop talking unless you make him. sometimes you’re not sure if he actually likes having conversations with you or just the sound of his own voice. “shouldn’t you get back to tying some red thread between the pictures and articles hung up on your wall mr. detective.”

“fuck off.” he flips you off from where he’s now lurking by your dresser, leaning against it as he’s focused on checking his phone. “i know you think i’m joking, but they put me on the west end so i’ll be patrolling over by the party if you–”

“oh! my rides here,” you lie, jumping up to slip past him and out of the conversation. “so, i’ll text you when i make it back home since you’ll be on patrol and i won’t see you again tonight, right?”

“wait!” he calls after you, annoyed by your sudden escape, as you slip on your shoes. “text me if something happens with your ride and i’ll walk you back!”

“bye, fuzen!” you yell back, walking out the door. “love you!”

/// /// ///

maybe… fuzen wasn’t just talking to hear his voice. maybe, there’s a small possibility that you do have a stalker.

you could chalk it all up to your roommate giving you anxiety about the whole situation, or that you’ve had a few too many already. but you can’t deny the fact that from the moment you stepped out of your apartment building until you climbed into your ride’s car, you felt something watching you.

it was a hot gaze, a familiar one. it could’ve been a neighbor, you reasoned to yourself as you waited for kirishima to arrive, and that theory sounded best as you repeated it to yourself at the party, laughing with him and his friends and downing drink after drink. until the chill on the back of your neck reappeared, despite how warm your blood is from the alchol. and no matter how much you looked over your shoulder to try and find some kind of source for it, there just wasn’t anyone there.

“you good?” sero asks when you fail to reply to your name being called.

“huh?” you turn to him to find the whole group looking at you with concern, your face flushes at how ridiculous you must look, being so skittish. “oh, i’m fine,” you force a laugh, hoping it seems genuine. “think i just had a little bit too much.”

“no sweat.” kirishima nods towards the glass door behind him and you try to ignore how sero and denki exchange glances. “let’s go get some air.”

“yeah, okay.” you hope the earth swallows you whole as you follow behind him.

you regret coming, regret not shutting your door while getting ready, regret letting fuzen talk his mouth off at you for so long about it. you’ll chew him out about it tomorrow.

you take a deep breath as you walk out the glass door, kirishima’s large palm rubbing soothingly on your back helps settle the nerves. there’s a comforting warmth that takes over the anxious heat as you lean into him.

“sorry i’m being weird.” you mumble as he guides you into his chest, melting into him and the sound of his steady heart beat.

“you’re fine,” you feel the arm holding his cup raise, the pause between his words meaning his downing the rest of his drink that smells way too strong. “don’t worry about it.”

the two of you sway for a bit, his arms around you and your head on his chest with the muffled music as ambiance.

it could be blamed on the alcohol but in this moment, you’re thankful you have kirishima. thankful for how it took absolutely no time at all for you to get comfortable with him, how it felt like an instant connection when he silently prompted the two of you to play tictactoe in the margine of your notes. something that quickly snowballed from passing messages to walking you back to your dorm, and then hang outs as his frat house.

he’s always offered himself as a stress relief for you, making sure you’re comfortable while you’re with him and pressing you about it any time that you seemed tense. there’s been a few awkward moments where you thought he’d tried making a pass at you but he’s always been quick to clarify. plus he’s so warm, like… really warm. his arms feel like a blanket around you. god, how is someone so big and bulky also so soft? you could probably fall asleep like this, surrounded by him.

“hey.” you’re pulled from your thoughts, and from where you were tucked into him. “you knocking out on me?”

“sorry.” you giggle, at his ever playful expression. “you’re just so comfortable.”

the smirk on his face is a harmless one, you think. and it’s awfully pretty.

“bakugou needs me at the beer pong table.”

“i don’t need you, fucker.” you hear the blonde shout from where he stands at the door. did he yell at him before too? “they just don’t want me to embarrass them by beating their asses by myself.”

kirishima laughs. ”you stayin’ out here?” you hesitate, but nod. you feel better, but the thought of facing his friends again so fast is a little too intimidating. “i wont let anyone come out here and fuck with you.” he squeezes your hip before chasing his friend inside. “come watch me when you’re ready!” the redhead calls to you from where he now hangs out the door, his toothy grin clear as day even from this distance.

you only wave back, your dizziness telling you it’s not a good idea to raise your voice right now.

you let yourself stumble back against the wall before pulling your phone out. you try three times to call fuzen and it immediately cancels before you realize you have no service where you’re standing. you curse under your breath as you push off the bricks and force your legs to carry you around the corner of the house. finally a full bar of service, you have to focus on the blurry phone icon while your thumb finds its way there.

why is everything so hard?

you manage to fumble your phone before you’re able to start the call. it feels like there’s a brick in your skull with how heavy your head becomes as you bend over to reach for the device. just as your finger tips touch your screen, there’s big, rough ones which grab at your hips. you don’t have time to scream before your arm is wound behind your back and used to press you against the brick of the house. you lose any hope of grabbing your phone and yelp as your chest and cheek sting at the harsh contact. your vision spins as you blink in the dim light, you can’t even make out the shape of the person behind you.

”don’t scream.” the stranger speaks in your ear, though slightly muffled, it still makes you freeze all the same. the adrenaline delays the recognition of the cold blade at your back, a knife. how were those girls killed again? you immediately nod, further scraping yours skin against the jagged edges of the brick. fear courses through your veins as he takes hold of your free arm and brings it back with the other, wrapping a large hand around both to keep them in place.

you try to plead with him when his knife moves from your back, the threat of it gone, or maybe all the alcohol making you bold enough to speak.

“i haven’t seen your face.” you whisper, hoping it was low enough for him to allow it. “you don’t have to kill me, you could just let me go.”

“let you go?” he asks, surely it’s your intoxicated mind, but he sounds genuinely confused, almost hurt by your words. “i can’t,” he mutters and you whine as your heart hammers in your chest. “i f-finally have you.” you hear the man sigh behind you before he presses his face into your neck, you can hear the echo in whatever metal he has wrapped over his face as he inhales deep against your skin and your body instantly reacts with chills shooting up your spine. “you smell so good.” he begins to pant as his free hand gropes at your body. “so m-much better than any of them did.”

“please… don’t,” you beg when he reaches your breast, where he squeezes it just enough to hurt before clumsily rubbing his fingers over your nipples through the cloth.

“but i knew you would.” he continues as if you didn’t speak, as if your words don’t matter. “you’re the b-best, the only good one, only you.”

his hand drags from your chest down to your waist where he starts to struggle with your bottoms. and your eyes begin to feel with tears at the inevitable.

“please just let me go.” you try again, hoping for just an ounce of pity. “i really won’t tell anyone.”

“i’m sorry.” his body pressed up against you, shoving you farther into the hard wall, ”i’m sorry, angel,” you finally realize just how much bigger the man is than you. “im just–i can’t stop. i need you.” his grip on your arms disappears as he opts to use his large stature to keep you pinned, with both of his hands to work your bottoms down to your knees before he’s humping against your ass. “i wanted to wait– wanted our first to be special.”

the deadweight feeling at the back of your mind aches to takeover, the dizziness, the fear, the effor it takes for you to just breathe right now it far too much, so you succumb to it all– making you completely helpless. all you can do is stand there and hope he’ll let you go once he’s had his fill. not that it’s easy, there’s bile churning in your stomach when you hear the click of his belt, feel the shuffle of him tugging his own pants down.

you have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from crying when you feel the heat of what has to be his cock prodding between your thighs. the only thing keeping any distance between its heat and your most vulnerable parts is the underwear holding the last bit of your dignity together. but once he wraps his arms around you—which squeeze you so tight you think you’ll burst— and he angles you so your hips stick back enough for him to rub between your thighs while pressing up against your cunt, you’re sure you’ll throw up regardless.

he, however, groans at the contact. “s-so warm.” you can hear him begin to pant as his hips start rhythmically pressing into yours, the force alone enough to jolt your body against the wall. “f-feel so good.” you can taste blood as you hold back your sobs. it feels like an eternity passes, each groan and inhale against your nape makes you more nauseous until your body has had enough.

being pushed too far from the fear, the drinks, and the pain, it causes you to collapse on yourself. everything seems like it fades as you fall slack in the stranger's arms. maybe if you die while unconscious, it’ll be okay. at least you won’t feel the pain.

sounds come in and out like you have bad radio service, your eyes too heavy and body too weak to get a good sense of what’s happening, but you hear—

“t-this? my girlfriend drank too much s-so i’m j-just—“ comes from somewhere around you, somewhere close.

“awww!” you hear, whiney and dragged out from some girl who definitely had more than you tonight. “you’re such a good boyfriend for babysitting.” your heart aches when you try to fight, to move, to scream and you’re far from successful.

“i wish my boyfriend let me drink that much.” if you could just tell one person what’s happening, if you could just show even a little bit of struggle, someone could save you. “you’re even carrying her! so cute!” if someone could just see your face, maybe they’d see that this is not who you arrived with, someone could tell kirishima. “you guys get home safe~!”

you feel like a boulder is set on your chest, the weight of your failure weight bearing on you when everything’s quiet again.

/// /// ///

you don’t know how much time passes before you’re able to bring yourself out of your useless state until you’re finally able to blink your eyes open and take in your surroundings. it’s all blurry at first, but the furniture in your line of sight slowly starts to resemble that of the setup you have in your room. there’s your vanity, your nightstand, this is your comforter, a weak smile works its way onto your lips.

you could cry from the relief. whatever happened, whether it was all a dream or something you won’t be able to remember, you don’t care. you’re home.

you toss your head back into your pillow, taking in a deep breath, catching the smell of what's likely your own sweat before you try to stretch your arms out, the needles stabbing into your hands making you feel the need to shake them to fix your blood flow. but they don’t budge, and the sound of metal clanking makes you shoot your eyes open and then you feel it.

your grogginess to blame for you not being able to the cuffs that encase them before. nor the sinking weight that kneels beside you, a large figure looming over you looking that much more daunting with the light behind him illuminating only his towering figure as he hunches over you, huffing and whining with his cock only inches from your face.

your lips tremble when the false sense of safety washed away and you look up past the movement of his hand, slowly taking in the dark green mess of hair that falls around his face, the chunky metallic mask that causes each of his heavy breaths to be echoed before you meet his eyes, the wide, terrifying green gaze that burns back at you makes you wish you were still unconscious.

“o-oh.” he’s so loud as he shoots out his load across your face and the bare parts of your chest, thick and hot where it lands. you cringe as your name is chanted off his lips and you squeeze your eyes and mouth closed, not wanting to let yourself be any more violated than you already feel. your head pounds as you feel the urge to cry, but you can’t seem to force yourself to.

“i didn’t—i didn’t finish earlier,” you hear him mutter above you, “and it hurt—looking at you,” a hand smoothes along your hairline, making you jump at the contact, and he retracts. “s-sorry… you’re just… so pretty.”

“can i…” he starts and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to answer if he actually asks you a question. “can i take a picture? it’ll only be for me, i promise.”

“please…” your voice is weak and you have to try and gather some spit to swallow to allow yourself any more volume. “don’t…” your request is sure to be ignored, he’s seemed to do whatever else he’s liked.

“you’re r-right,” you feel the mattress rise once he disappears from beside you, “another time.”

you try to test your voice again, you’re not sure how long it’s been since what you can last remember, but if fuzen wasn’t on patrol, he’d be in bed. if only you could scream.

“i’ll clean you up, is that o-okay?” you don’t reply, only tense when the warm cloth wipes at your skin. “sorry, again. i feel like such a pervert.”

you open your eyes again once they’re clean, and staring at your curtains, you try to think. you can’t even speak, can’t move, can’t fight. how long are you going to be so helpless?

“are you okay? i know i probably scared you…” you wish you could scoff. “could you at least look at me?”

you don’t move to face him, not wanting to look into those horrifying eyes again. just the thought of him, next to you now, staring at you with them makes you shudder with fear.

“look at me.” he grips your jaw, reminding you how big his hands are as he forces you to turn towards him. you avoid meeting his gaze. not wanting to know if it’s just as piercing as before, instead, you take in the green mess of curls, how they stick about and fall into his face. you can see him staring at you, but still, skip over making eye contact and make out the freckles at peek out from behind the metallic mask that seems to be slipping, making you close your eyes again.

if there was any small chance of you getting out of here alive, there’s no way you can see his face.

“hey–”

“your mask,” you whisper, and his grip loosens as soon as you speak.

“oh,” he mumbles back. you can hear what you guess is him toying with it, but you realize as you peek up, was him removing it. “guess i don’t need this.”

with his face fully revealed, you can feel yourself sinking into acceptance of your fate.

“you’re staring…” you can visibly see him swallow, his eyes darting between yours and the floor. “am i attractive?” a soft smile grows on his lips at him complimenting himself as if you’d really said it. “i’m happy you think so.”

“i have a roommate,” you speak, voice cracking.

“what?” his eyebrows drawn together, face set in a scowl before he pushes himself from your bed. “you need some water.”

“he’s a hero.” you try again, even as he walks away and you’re sure you’re out of earshot. “a strong one, and he’ll be home soon.” you pick your head up to watch him throw the door open, and all of your hope for your roommate saving you drains as you stare down a hallway that doesn’t belong in your apartment; you’re not home…

if you saw any typos, no you didn’t !!&lt;;33

reblogs + asks + feedback appreciated !

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi! I love your Hazbin Hotel stuff and I wanted to make a request. If you haven’t done something like this, could you write the Hazbin characters, specifically Vox, Lucifer, Husk, and maybe Lute with an S/O (would prefer fem but G/N is fine) who has bad body dysmorphia? Like, they can never take compliments about their body, always thinking they’re overweight, not eating, etc. If this is too difficult/uncomfortable, totally understand! Would hate to trigger anything. Hope you have a great day/night!

If you like what I’m doing consider tipping me for priority requests & access to characters I don’t usually write for such as Charlie, Valentino, Carmilla, and more.

Husk

Husk will never compliment you in public after figuring out that you hate to be complimented.

That does not mean that he’ll never compliment you.

He will because he truly thinks you’re beautiful.

He simply elects to do it in private so he will be able to explain to you in length why he disagrees.

He wants you to understand why he loves every single thing about you.

Maybe you don’t agree but he will let you know why he thinks it’s all so beautiful.

He doesn’t try to make you love it all like he does but he will at least try to make you accept that he loves it.

Lucifer

Lucifer can’t understand why you don’t see your own beauty.

At least at first.

Then he realizes how close self loathing is close to depression and how they can often intertwine and how hypocritical it is to be so befuddled by your lack of understanding of his love of you & your body when he can’t understand how giving people free will is a good thing in any capacity and wow— he was too hard on you and himself.

Hello, something new to unpack with a therapist.

He definitely starts being more understanding after that revelation.

Not that he was ever cruel but he was a lot more insistent on how amazing you are not understanding that his insistence may not help but could make it worse.

It could make you think he was lying, covering up some hidden disdain with an over abundance of praise like he does with sinners who thank him for free will.

He’s not.

Make no mistake. He truly does love and adore you and every single part of you is amazing in his eyes but he understands.

He lets up on his pouring compliments and his combativeness over whether or not he means it.

He still compliments you but he no longer fights with you.

He just says what he thinks and then goes on, ignoring any expression of disbelief with a small, “A difference of opinion.”

Lute

You cannot dislike her partner.

Not allowed. No one can dislike her amazing partner.

Will spare with you when you disregard her compliments.

She means what she says.

Why would she waste her breath with words that weren’t true when she doesn’t have to?

Everything she says is said because she means it.

You best learn that.

Vox

No, no, no, no.

You don’t love your body? Unacceptable.

“Velvette! A photo shoot is in order right now!” “I’m busy!” “Well, clear you schedule!”

Velvette actually has a way of making you feel a bit more confident without seeming like she’s trying.

The photo shoot actually goes well even if you refuse to look at the pictures.

Of course, that doesn’t last long because Vox puts them up in his office, just too large and gigantic to ignore.

He has pictures of you everywhere because he loves looking at you.

Will kiss every part of you in front of a mirror while saying why he loves every part and forcing you to look at yourself otherwise he’ll stop. He records the entire thing to watch back later.

If you like what I’m doing consider commissioning me for canon/canon stories AND personalized canon/reader stories.

[thinkingaboutjaedyn]

ex [a.bonmati x reader]

prompt: aitana pushes you away after the break-up, but you want to be more than just past lovers.

author notes: a full fledged fic? who would have thought 🙇🏽‍♀️ anyways this fic is angsty, but i swear it's not anything toxic. enjoy it 💕

playing ex by kiana lede 🎵

hey, hm

we went from 2 am calls to

zero communication, yeah

we spent too long in heaven that

we felt the elevation

just 'cause it's different and

we're not the same

doesn't mean things have to change

i got no trouble with my pride,

got trouble cutting ties

friendship breakups are bone-crushing, worse than actual relationship breakups most of the time. if you knew the moment aitana left out of your place that day meant to the end of a years long friendship, maybe you would have figured it out. aitana was a constant figure in your life since you were only eleven. with you both playing at a youth academy a friendship was bound to emerge and that it did. the spainard should became one of your closest friends as the years went by.

by your late teens, she was basically a part of your family. coming over to your family home almost everyday and even staying overnight when it was too late to make the trip back home. you two watched each other change from awkward eleven year olds to established adults. the bond between you two was special; aitana always said so. you were her bestfriend, her soulmate, practically the love of her life. eventually that deep friendship blurred into something more, but the short spainard didn't address how intimate the friendship has gotten by the time you were both twenty-two, so you didn't either. what's the point of ruining a good thing over feelings you don't even know are repiocated?

when you went overseas to the wsl, aitana was heartbroken. she was planning on confessing to you right on your twenty-third birthday, but no, you just had to take a different direction in your career.

the night before you had to leave for manchester, you and aitana were sitting on the beach. side by side. shoulder to shoulder. it's around nine pm, so time was ticking by. you would have to head home soon to get a good amount of rest for your morning flight and by the silence between aitana and you, she didn't like that fact.

"why are you leaving?" she breaks the silence, mumbling. her head leans over to rest against yours. the question sounds so sad coming from her lips that you almost want to tell you that no, you weren't leaving. weren't leaving barcelona. weren't leaving her. but you couldn't so you just sigh.

"i want to try something new. you know, see a new style of football," you try to explain but the words don't sound that convincing. you didn't add in how you wanted to get away from aitana so you could settle your feelings. you didn't add in the fact your contract was only for a year and a few months, not even the media mentioned the length of your contract with manchester city.

"you can try new things here, no?" aitana leans away before turning her head to look at you. her eyebrows are furrowed; showing the slight annoyance in her mood. "barcelona has been trying new things, so why won't you stay?" she says, no, nearly begs to know.

you interlock your hands with hers. giving them a gentle squeeze before saying, "i swear i want to stay. i would never want to be apart from you, but it's not just that.."

"then what is it? i'll try to fix it, i'll help you fix it. just tell me and we can figure it out. we always do," her eyes glance into yours. the sad pout on her lips makes you want to just cancel your flight and stay here in spain, but you can't so you just pull her into a hug. the tears start to flow from her the moment aitana stuffs her face into your neck. "it feels like i have never been without you.." she cried into your skin. you fight your own tears, rubbing her back gently.

some may say that display of emotion was dramatic, but they just didn't understand how deep you and aitana's friendship went. you two spent nearly every moment together, off the field and on the field. without each other to be physically around all the time, who would fill that empty spot in you two's lives now?

maybe aitana would react to the news better if you confessed your feelings then, but it was too late to even try to in the moment. you just let her cry as you comfort her. inviting her over to your place afterwards to spend one last night together.

when you did come back to barcelona after your contract with manchester city ended, aitana cried again in your arms. this time out of happiness instead of sadness. the spainard became determined to keep you in spain for the rest of your career; she couldn't deal with just facetimes and texts anymore.

the rest of the barcleona team welcomed you back with open arms. teasing you about how you better not leave home ever again. you didn't ever plan to anyway, so you would just joke back.

your plan to leave spain and get over your feelings for aitana was an absolute fail. everytime you heard her voice over the phone your feelings just got bigger. you would rather endlessly want more with her than be away from aitana any longer.

you slip right back into your role in the team and in aitana's life. going over her house after practice everyday, cuddling while watching movies, becoming a great duo on the pitch again, and all the other stuff you two always do. your feelings were still there but you always pushed them away. not wanting to ruin a good thing. you had just got your best friend back.

fast forward to aitana's twenty fifth birthday. the short spainard had a large dinner with her family and her barcelona teammates. afterwards, it was her and you, a little tipsy on the balcony of her apartment. she was getting horribly handsy, but it didn't bother you. people in spain are just naturally affectionate and this was also your bestfriend, your aitana. she could touch you however she liked. it wasn't until she pulled away from you, but not too far, her hands holding onto your hips.

"y/n.." she says softly. looking up at you with a nervous look in her eyes. your heart races at not only how beautiful she looks in that moment, but also the nervousness in her eyes; aitana is never nervous around you. she doesn't have to. you are her bestfriend, her y/n, her rock. she can be whatever she wants around you. however she wants.

"what is it?" you whisper out, moving your hand to push some of her hair behind her right ear. she leans in closer. eyes a little dazed from the wine she drank earlier.

"i like you.. a lot. no, i love you a lot," she says. you chuckle before saying, "of course you do. what would you do without me." your heart races so fast hearing her speak. her words carry a different tone than before when she usually says those three words. why did it feel different now?

aitana pouts before furrowing her brows. obviously annoyed you haven't caught on to the different meaning behind her words. this i love you wasn't the same one she first said back when she was thirteen, when she realized she wanted you to stay around in her life forever as her best friend. this was more than that. "no.. i love you. i just want to kiss you.." she says.

you widen your eyes before smiling. aitana actually returned your feelings? before you can fully react she pulls you into a kiss. too impatient to hear your verbal response. the kiss is pretty messy with aitana being drunker than you, but still you savor it. your first kiss with aitana is worth remembering.

when she pulls away she pouts away, "i didn't ask you if you liked me back or if you even wanted a kiss." you giggle and peck the pout off of her lips, "of course i like you back."

after that you two got together. your relationship didn't feel that different though, just with more kisses and more than before. whenever you got jealous you actually had the right to act on it. there were many perks that came along with being consider aitana's girlfriend rather than just her best friend. however there were some setbacks as well.

you realized people were right when they said just because someone is a good friend, doesn't mean they would be a good girlfriend. not to say aitana was a bad girlfriend, but she struggled to understand why you would get jealous when she would be incredibly touchy with others. she didn't want to reveal your relationship to the public, perfectly fine with only the people in you two's personal life knowing about the change between you. which wasn't so bad until you see how many people think she's dating someone else and have to fight the urge to post about how she's yours. she was the worse at arguments. quicker to do the silent treatment than to try to work anything out. it was a bad habit from your friendship that you knew she had and just dealt with because she was your bestfriend, you knew how to get around it, but in a relationship with her you didn't want to. you wanted to communicate like a healthy couple should.

everything came to a head a few days after your twenty-sixth birthday. almost a year after aitana confessed to you.

the barcelona team have dragged you out for a good time in the club since your birthday was on a match-day, meaning you couldn't go out like you wanted to. aitana was clinging to you the entire night until she was swept away by some blonde stranger.

you were sipping on your drink, a glare directed right at the blonde whose hands were on your girlfriend as they danced. why did you let her pull aitana away again? because your feet were hurting? yeah well now your heart was. when you finally had enough at the sight of that stranger moving her hands down from aitana's waist to her hips, you pull her away. ignoring the spainard's complaints as you pull her all the way outside. quick to take your jacket off to make sure she didn't feel cold in the paris winds; you may be annoyed at her, but you still love her.

"why were you letting her be all over you?" you want to shout badly, but instead just talk calmly. not wanting to draw attention to the fact two barcelona players were outside about to argue.

"it was just a dance, amor."

"it wasn't just a dance. she obviously wants you," you grab onto her arm, holding in a soft grip before saying, "why can't you act like you have a girl? that you aren't single."

aitana frowns hearing your words. where was this coming from? she quickly tries to deny your statement, "i do. it was never going to go further than dancing."

"that was already too far."

"then why didn't you say anything?"

"why should i have to? you should know that nobody would be fine with some woman dancing with their girlfriend like that!" you say in a hushed tone. pulling aitana closer so that nobody would hear the conversation between you two. the confused look on aitana's face makes your heart hurt. why didn't you communicate your feelings? you always hated how she goes straight to silent treatment, but you go straight to being angry every single time.

"you have never been angry about this before," she replies. fighting the instinct in her to just shut down and go back into the club. she can't even if she wanted to with you holding onto her.

"before what? before this situation or before we got together? i'm not just your bestfriend anymore, i'm your girlfriend, act like it!" you finally let out all the frustration from previous times where aitana just didn't get it. aitana glares at you before shaking her head. "don't tell me what to do. don't yell at me! yes, you're my girlfriend and i'm yours but you don't control me. i'm an adult, so treat me like it!" she argued back. pulling herself out of your grasp harshly before rushing back into the club. leaving you by herself outside.

aitana ignored you for nearly two days. it felt like a year with no texts from her, no calls her, and her refusing to hang out with all the other barcleona players who went to brunch right after the night at the club. even when you all went on the plane to head back to spain, she sat next to alexia. sleeping the entire flight away and being the first to get off. you knew you screwed up and it was your entire fault for her behavior even if it wasn't the healthiest. you should have communicated better even with your frustration.

finally when the silence all got too much, you went over to aitana's apartment. it only takes two knocks for aitana to open up. she sighs once she sees it's you, but doesn't turn you away. instead letting you inside silently. walking over to her couch while you slip your shoes off at the door. your eyes noticing your jacket from the night at the club hanging on a hook near the door.

"aitana.." you move over to the couch, sitting beside her with some space left between you two. she scoots closer which is a good sign that the anger from before isn't still present, but still the silence made you nervous.

"aitan-" you don't get to finish your sentence before aitana speaks. "i'm sorry.." she says with her head down, "i get what you were saying that night. i shouldn't had let her just be all over me and at the time i didn't understand, but after thinking about it, you're right. i'm so used to thinking about you as my bestfriend rather than my girlfriend that i overstep."

the genuine regret in her voice makes you want to reconsider the reason you came over here; to break up with aitana. it has been on your mind for a while now, but that day in paris was just the last push you needed to go through with it. that's not the only reason you're here though. you wanted to come check up on aitana and make sure your words didn't hurt her too deeply, you still love her but it feels like you're slowly falling out of love with her.

"aitana, listen. i love you, okay?" you smile when she lifts her head up. a happy look on her face as she listens to you. "it's just.. i don't think we were meant to be more than best friends. you're my world i swear and i love you but not like this.. anymore," aitana's face immediately drops after you finish speaking.

when she saw you at her door she thought, yes, i could fix it but instead this visit is just the death to the relationship she's been craving from you for a while now.

"so you want to break up? why..?" aitana's voice cracks, "why are you leaving me again? i don't get it."

tears start to flow from her eyes before she could stop them. this break up reminds her of when you left for manchester; she felt like she lost you. now she's losing you again.

you sit there awkwardly, not knowing what to say. seeing aitana cry makes you cry as well. you pull her into a hug that she accepts quickly; even when you're breaking her heart, she clings to you. as her bestfriend you have always been her source of comfort, but now you're her source of pain as well. a condiaction that she's not willing to think about.

for the rest of the night, aitana clings to you. not allowing you to do anything without her by your side and eventually you two fall asleep in her bed. with her face nuzzled into your neck, her arms wrapped around your waist, her legs tangled with yours.

the next day you didn't leave her apartment until three in the afternoon. aitana almost begged you to stay, but she just lets you leave. she loves so much that she will respect your choices and if that means breaking up than she will respect that.

after the break-up, it's like aitana continued on the silent treatment. hardly replying to your texts or answering your calls, she stopped sitting by you everywhere, no more cracking jokes while in the locker room, she just disappeared from your life. it was just like when you left for manchester expect that she didn't try to stay connected.

and you understand why, you would never hate her for it. she's trying to get over you and can't do that if you two are acting like the closest people ever but still it hurts. hurts so bad. you have never been without aitana since you were eleven years old. she was always there, being her cute self. and now she's gone; it feels like your world is collapsing.

you may have broken up with aitana, but you still love her. you're just not in love with her.

you want your best friend back.

i don't wanna be your ex

we way too good at being friends

can we still hangout

on the low, get wild

i don't wanna be your,

i don't wanna be your

hit ya girl up with a text,

when you're alone and feeling stressed

i don't gotta be in love with you, to love you

i don't wanna be your, so

don't treat me like your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

i don't want to be your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

without aitana, you felt lonely. you have tons of friends outside of aitana of course. you're close with all of your fellow barcelona teammates and have made a reputation of being friends with many other women footballers. then there are your childhood friends from your schooldays that you cherish with your entire spirit. but none of them could compare to aitana. she has been and still is your number one.

all those nights where you held eachother, the daily ice cream trips you two would go on, the endless movie nights could never be replaced by anyone else. it just wasn't the same.

the rest of the barcelona team realized you two broke up as the days went past. when aitana who would usually jump up at the first opportunity to pair up with you for training exercises instead choose to pair up with ona, everyone knew something was up. their suspicions were confirmed when you left before aitana. unlike before when aitana and you would leave together, either going to get food together or going home together.

nobody wanted to be one to ask the question they knew the answer to, so everyone acted like everything was fine. aitana and you still connected on the pitch, but off of it that connection was dead and cold.

aitana wasn't doing any better than you mentally. she felt alone, even when she was hanging out with alexia or ingrid. her mind always drifted back to you, but the hurt you caused to her heart makes her want to resent you. to punish you for leaving her. she's know this is unreasonable, childish, and partially true because you love her.

aitana knows you love her dearly, she can see it in your eyes but it isn't the love she holds for you. it's just as deep, just as intimate, just as special but not romantic anymore and that kills her.

her own romantic feelings were slowly fading though and the yearning for you was getting stronger. not as her girlfriend, but as her bestfriend. she's used to waking up to either you cuddling her or a text from you saying good morning. now she has neither, she hates that. she wants you, but feels too stubborn to do it just yet.

whenever aitana felt down, she would go through you two's messages. her mood getting better just thinking about all the moments attached to the texts. she scrolls through her photos of you, trying not to just call you and hear your voice. she craves you deeply, but won't let you know.

a month passed then two then three.

aitana ignoring you was becoming old. you want to be back in her life, you need to be. she's your soulmate; has been since you were both eleven. a life without her doesn't sound right, so you become determined to make her come back to your arms. seeing aitana be so loving to everyone else while giving you the cold shoulder was incredibly annoying and heartbreaking.

you aren't sure on how to get aitana to pay attention to you. she seemed set on ignoring you for the rest of you two's careers, but you weren't going to allow that.

one day you just decide to take a leap of fate by calling her. the phone rings for so long you almost think she isn't going to answer, but she does. aitana doesn't say a thing, but you can tell she's on the other line. her breathing clear as day.

"tana..?" you say softly, slightly nervous. it feels strange to feel nervous when talking to aitana. it reminds you of the first time you two met as children. feeling too shy to speak to the talented eleven year old that was aitana. she took the first step by handing you a freezepop after practice one day, scooting closer to you before eating her one. you felt it in your spirit that she was made to be your bestfriend then.

"yeah?" she replies. her tone not being venomous like you thought it would be.

"can we hang out or just talk? i miss your voice.."

"but you hear my voice everyday, no?" aitana jokes. you roll your eyes at quick she is to make the conversation light, but it's an endearing trait you love about her. quickly she gets more serious, "why? why would you want to be around your ex?"

you groan at hearing the word ex escape her mouth. in your mind that small relationship was just a chapter in your friendship with aitana, not anything that holds any impact. you want her to think of you as her best friend, not her ex.

"because you aren't just my ex, aitana. you're my best friend and i can't stand another day without spending time with you," you say. aitana goes silent on the other line. her silence makes you frown; was she going to grow angry that you aren't fully acknowledging the fact the feelings between you two were very much real?

it takes a minute but aitana eventually says, "i miss you too. can i come see you..?"

the smile on your lips was probably the warmest you have ever smiled. "yeah. let's meet at that ice cream shop, you know, the one we always go to," you say. aitana hastily agrees before hanging up.

you couldn't wait to see her.

let's skip the awkward run-ins, or

pretending like we're strangers

and get back to how we started, yeah

don't pour water on fire

just 'cause it's different and we're not the same

doesn't mean things have to change

i got no trouble with my pride,

got trouble cutting ties

seeing the familiar ice cream shop that aitana and you have been regulars at since you were eleven brings back the best memories. the first time you two became super close, the first time aitana comforted you, the first time you and aitana considered eachother bestfriends. it all rushes back as you walk through that simple white door where the paint has been peeling off for years now, but nobody ever fixes it.

you arrive twenty minutes before aitana is supposed to meet you here, wanting to have some time to breathe and figure out what to say. this would be the first time talking face to face where you weren't saying soccer related things in three months.

"been missing you," the old lady behind the counter, esperanza, says. she's been here since forever. you don't remember a moment where she wasn't working the counter. she knew all of you and aitana's favorites.

"missed you more. sorry for not coming around as much," you say. happily accepting the vanilla ice cream she hands you. esperanza doesn't let you pay, saying it's on the house since she's been missing you.

"it's okay. where is your little friend?" she questions. you just shrug before shaking your head, "she's coming. she would never miss seeing you."

esperanza chuckles at that before gesturing for you to go sit down, so your ice cream wouldn't melt. you sit at one of the tables near the window. the shop wasn't huge, but it was homey. with various decorations that have been up since you first came here. everything was same it felt like expect for the relationship between aitana and you. the rest of your lives seem to be frozen in time while the friendship between you two was speeding past.

you look out the window, thinking about what to say. would aitana even show? hopefully, she isn't the type to just blow someone off even when angry. she cares about others time. your question is answered when aitana passes by the window before coming through the door.

"hi esperanza! i have missed you, you know," she says with a huge smile on her face. not even noticing you near the window as she comes over to the counter. it isn't until she finishes her conversation with esperanza and gets her strawberry flavored ice cream before she spots you. turning to see you at the window. the way her body tenses makes you cringe; is this how everything is going to be for now on?

you stand, half eaten ice cream in hand, and walk out of the shop. why were you moving away from her like she's some stranger? you couldn't help yourself, seeing her stand there awkwardly makes you want to scream. however you don't go far. sitting down on the pavement in front of the shop; this street doesn't allow cars and it wasn't really busy on thursdays, so there was no one to bother you or spot a top footballer sitting outside of some quaint ice cream shop.

aitana is still standing in the shop. frowning as she looks out the window and see you just sitting there on the pavement, like you always do when it's too hot to stay inside of the shop, but you weren't out there because of the heat this time around. it was because of her.

she didn't mean to just fall silent once she saw you. aitana had so much to say, but hardly the words to express it. seeing esperanza than you seriously brighten up her day that she froze up a bit. hopefully you won't shut her out.

"go talk to her. she misses you," esperanza says, leaning against the counter. before aitana can question her words, esperanza says, "i'm an old woman. i know these things. do you know how many people come in and out of here with love stories? she loves you. talk to her and make whatever this is right. you guys almost made my shop chillier than the ice cream."

esperanza's words make aitana really realize she wants to make this right. her feelings for you were still lingering in her mind, but she could care less; she needs to talk to you.

aitana walks out of the ice cream shop. sitting down right next to you on the pavement, shoulder to shoulder. your ice cream is completely gone by now, aitana takes that as an opportunity to start up a conversation. "you just couldn't wait?" she jokes, gesturing to your hand that had a lack of an ice cream cone in it.

you look at her in confusion before giggling loudly. "not my fault that you are such a slow eater," you joke back. pointing to her strawberry ice cream that was half melted by now. aitana tries to eat the rest of her ice cream quickly, but that doesn't really help as her ice cream melts away.

you two fall back into your roles. easily getting comfortable again despite the obvious conversation that needs to be had. you want to bring up what happened, but can't, worried that it will ruin the atmosphere between you. aitana seems to worry about the same thing as she says nothing about it, but that doesn't you two don't enjoy yourselves and sorta apologize in your own little ways.

aitana brings up how you know she can be really stubborn sometimes as a joke and you easily tease her about it before she teases you about your anger issues.

you two don't get to fully apologize that day, but you do rekindle a friendship that almost went stale.

i don't wanna be your ex

we way too good at being friends

can we still hangout

on the low, get wild

i don't wanna be your,

i don't wanna be your

hit ya girl up with a text,

when you're alone and feeling stressed

i don't gotta be in love with you, to love you

i don't wanna be your,

so don't treat me like your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

i don't want to be your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

don't act like i don't care for you

cause you know i'd always be there for you (oh)

don't act like i don't care for ya

cause you know i'd always be there for you

i don't want to be your ex

we're way too good at being friends

can we still hangout on the low get wild

i don't want to be your, i don't want to be your

i don't wanna be your ex

we way too good at being friends (yeah)

can we still hangout

on the low, get wild

i don't wanna be your, i don't wanna be your

hit ya girl up with a text,

when you're alone and feeling stressed

i don't gotta be in love with you,

to love you (love you)

i don't wanna be your, so

don't treat me like your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

i don't want to be your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

i don't want to be your

e-e-e-e, e-e-ex

it takes a while for aitana and you to fully become comfortable with eachother. you two start to hang out more outside of soccer just like before; visiting that same ice cream shop nearly everyday.

those unsaid feelings still hang in-between you two, but you refuse to be the one to address them. even though you said you would fix it, if things are going well, why mention it? you were afraid of ruining what aitana and you have again. running around the topic wasn't doing either of you favors either. you couldn't bring up new crushes like you used to because you didn't know if aitana had moved on fully yet.

aitana was having a mental challenge of her own; she wanted closure. the break up to her felt so sudden that she had no time to process it even when she spent months not talking to you. during those months all she did was yearn for you, so it wasn't that beneficial. her feelings for you had definitely faded into something small; aitana will probably always like you in that way for a tiny amount but the platonic love she has for is even stronger. she just wants to be apart of your life as your best friend. the one you can always trust.

how can she get to that point fully if she doesn't express how she's feeling? aitana ponders about this for nearly five days. the question becoming larger and larger in her head everytime she saw you until she had to say something.

"y/n, want to come over to my place today?" aitana asks as you two walk around on the practice field. she's holding her waterbottle in one hand and yours in the other. you shrug before saying, "what do you think?"

right after practice you two go to aitana's apartment. she convinces to hold her bag all the way up to her apartment floor, reminding you that she held your waterbottle earlier. you jokily grumble about how you will never let her do something for you again. the atmosphere between you is light for nearly a full hour. aitana makes a large salad for you too even though you begged for her to add chicken pieces in it; she refused.

"tana, stop," you groan softly. your eyebrows furrowed together as you push her with your shoulder. currently you are trying to beat her in fifa, but she's been distracting you the entire game. laughing loudly during a game should be a crime with how loud aitana can be when she wants.

"but y/nnn. i wanna win," she giggles. pushing you back which lets her win the game. you roll your eyes, setting your controller down on her coffee table. mentally you remind yourself to tickle her for revenge later on. suddenly as aitana sets down her controller, the air around you two feel so serious.

she gives you a nervous glance, you thought you two were over this awkward phase? why is she acting so nervous now?

aitana grabs onto your hand before resting her head against your shoulder. you rest your head against hers, squeezing her hand gently to let her know to not be nervous. "i have something to say.." she says. you let out a sigh; now it's your turn to be nervous.

"why did you break up with me? i just want to know.." she trails off, glancing at you to see your reaction. why does it feel like you two are walking on eye shells around eachother? it's annoying.

you sigh before saying, "because i realized we weren't meant to be more than bestfriends and that's not in a bad way. i love you so much. i can't live without you. when we weren't friends, i lost my mind. all i want in life is to be with you."

aitana stares at you for a moment before smiling, "i love you too. let's promise to never push each other away again?" she holds out her pinky to you. just like back when you two held out your pinkies and promised to be friends forever at eleven. "promise," you say, linking your pinky with hers.

you pull her close into a hug, just relieved you now fully have your best friend back. you may not be in love with her, but you do love her.

© THINKINGABOUTJAEDYN